#more like wip shame game

[moonyflesh]

What if Wolverine took you to a hockey game?

WARNINGS: (not much). no smut- just a playful set of imagines/headcannons — very fluffy and ‘lovey-dovey’ (small kisses and cursing).

CHARACTERS: James “Logan” Howlett (‘Wolverine’) - (MARVEL/X-MEN)

🍺 .*.. 🏒

- At first you thought he was joking.

- i mean- can you imagine trying to squeeze his massive frame into one of those tiny, plastic stadium chairs?

- sure you know nothing about the “Calgary Flames”, but supporting the beast either way is entertaining enough as it is—

- (^) literally the worst person to sit around. he’s loud, obnoxious, (big), and curses like there’s no tomorrow.

- “fuckin- can you fuckin’ believe these pieces ‘uh shit? i totally could’ve fuckin’ made that fuckin’ shot. buncha’ bullshit ifya ask me.”

- he’s definitely big on stadium snacks. constantly has to get up and get more food (and beer).

- (^) the bar would 100% have to draw a limit on the amount of beer they can physically sell him.

- probably walks you through the basic rules of ice hockey, and/or the different players, and the fan-favorites.

- little forehead or cheek kisses when he needs to run to go to the bathroom or grab more food.

- one of his arms is slung around your shoulders at all times.

- throughout the game, he’s constantly glancing over at you- reading your facial expressions. are you enjoying yourself? do you know what’s happening? is this entertaining for you, too?

- definitely likes to show you (and your jersey) off.

- (^) forced you to wear a Flames jersey (that’s much to large on you) and is proud of you for “pickin’ the right fuckin’ team”— so what? at least you get his undivided attention.

- puts you on his shoulders so you both have a better chance of getting on the big screen.

- (^) and if you do? jesus, it makes his whole month. the second that camera pans to you two he’s already tongue-deep into your mouth, grinning like an idiot as you try to push him away from embarrassment.

- you totally go to the photo booth and take the most grainy, out-of-focus pictures known to man together in some shitty ice rink backdrop, (to which he insists you look beautiful- and sticks the entirety of the photo into his wallet).

- buys you a shitload of merch, including one of the collectible hockey pucks.

- claims to know some of the players personally (he’s never met any of them outside of the rink).

- distinctly shouts out each player’s first and last names when cheering them on.

- boos the other team, and their fans with zero shame whatsoever.

- the drive home depends on the outcome of the game.

- (^) The Flames lose? he’s not even mad- he’s just disappointed that that was all his team could manage for your first game. he promises to take you to more, though.

- (^) and if they win? he’s already discussing the ticket prices for the next game (if you’re willing to go with him again); excited grins tossed your way here and there as he makes sure you’re paying attention.

@trenchcoathunnybee08 this is dedicated to you! Sorry it took so long to finally get out (in some ways, it’s still a WIP). 🫶🏼

((if any of you would like to be added to my taglist, let me know through my inbox.))

[tgmsunmontue]

I never knew I was missing you 1/? WIP

Jake is just trying to find a connection. Shame the guy he connects with the most is lying about his identity online; because he sure as hell isn't A-list Hollywood star Bradley Bradshaw.

PART ONE

                Bradley hadn’t ever meant to become famous. He’d just been minding his own business, doing his own thing and adding some extra curriculars to his schedule to pad his USNA application when someone had sidled up to him after the school production and asked him if he’d ever considered doing it professionally.

                He’d been so confused he’d had to ask do what professionally?

                Act.

                Apparently, he has a flair for the dramatic.

                When he’d relayed this, Ice had rolled his eyes and looked at Mav and muttered I wonder where he gets that from and Mav had, for some reason, just snapped his teeth and then said truly a mystery.

                Bradley had just decided it was safer to ignore them and leave them to their dramatics, because who did they think they were kidding if they weren’t equally dramatic? So he figured he’d give it a shot. He had a year left of high school, and he could delay joining the Navy. Weirdly Maverick had been incredibly supportive, almost pushing him toward it, but he had left all his options open, and then… Well, he’d been asked to do a screen test, and then he’d done an audition and reading, which had then spiraled into being the previously unknown but now new-and-upcoming-star of Hollywood.

                All that is over ten years ago now, he’s closing in on thirty, regularly on the most eligible bachelor and sexiest men lists to his mortification, and he’s also considered one of the most billable actors. He was open about his sexuality from the start, despite his agent advising him against it. So he’d found a new agent, who had crafted a very well worded statement which meant that Bradley has remained scandal free because he’s… Well, he’s pretty boring really. When he takes people out on dates they seem to think he’s going to be like one the characters he plays, and are always a little (or a lot) disappointed when they realize that Bradley is just… well, Bradley.

                “I made you a dating profile,” Callie says, slapping his phone onto his chest and Bradley grabs for it before it can slide down and hit the floor.

                “You did what now?”

                “A dating profile.”

                “Yeah. Sorry, I got that part. I meant why?”

                “Because you haven’t left the house for anything other than work in three weeks.”

                “So? I’ve been keeping busy. Plus I don’t have trouble finding someone to date. When I actually want to go on a date.”

                “Uh…”

                “What?”

                “I’d like to hold up exhibits A through D. Your last relationship and the last three dates you went on. All fucking disasters. If not PR wise, then romantically and-or sexually. Disasters. With a capital D.”

                “And he wants another type of D!” Neil calls out and Bradley rolls his eyes, because of course Neil is chipping in.

                “Do I have an HR department? Can I report you both to HR?”

                “Nope. You’re stuck with us. Your fault for hiring people who know you’re just a giant nerd with no game whatsoever,” Callie says with a grin as she settles on the sofa beside him and shoves her cold feet under his thighs.

                Bradley groans, he hates it when they’re right.

…            …            …

                Jake flicks through the profiles, looking for something to catch his attention. He doesn’t need perfect looking bodies, or dick-pics, he sees enough of both in the locker room. Plus he gets plenty of unsolicited dick-pics whenever he’s horny enough to reinstall Tinder and got looking for something uncomplicated. Of course, as he’s gotten older he wouldn’t mind something a bit more complicated, but some people like having a partner or boyfriend that is around, and Jake isn’t a lot of the time. So his job can be somewhat of a deal breaker, has been in nearly all his past relationships. He reads over his profile and he should probably take out GGG if he wants to be serious about something more but… It’s still true.

GGG Flyboy looking for something a little more heavy duty than a ONS but only in town for six weeks.

                He keeps scrolling and then there’s a picture of A-list actor Bradley Bradshaw and he snorts in amusement. He sure as fuck wouldn’t be on a fucking dating app if he was Bradley Bradshaw. He reads the profile and laughs again.

Half-decent actor, boring AF human. Hobbies include avoiding social interactions with people I don’t know, pinball machine restoration and building model planes. WLTM genuine M or F for dating to something more serious.

                He’s got nothing better to do, so he fires off a message.

>>No way you’re actually Bradley Bradshaw. Catfishing is illegal you know.

>>But I am actually Bradley Bradshaw.

>>Yeah, and I’m a veterinarian and part-time fire fighter.

>>Pretty sure Bradley Bradshaw wouldn’t be admitting to the world that his favorite past times are building model airplanes and restoring pinball machines.

>>Also if you don’t like social interactions with people you don’t know then a dating app is NOT the place for you.

>>I like pinball machines.

>>Well. I like playing pinball. The machines are just kind of necessary for that and sometimes I need some quiet time.

>>Plus this app wasn’t my idea. My friend made my profile.

>>Sure buddy.

>>Your ‘friend’ has some mad photoshop skills though.

>>Legit looks like Bradshaw is working on that pinball machine.

>>That’s an original Lumet. And I am working on it.

>>Not the oldest one I have, but the one that needs the most work.

>>Sure. Okay.

>>So what do you do?

>>I’m in the Navy.

                Jake settles back, wonders if the guy has even bothered reading his profile.

>>Huh. Flyboy. Aviator then?

                There’s his answer.

>>Yep. What do you do?

>>Restore pinball machines and lie about my identity on dating apps apparently.

                Jake laughs, and at least the guy has got a good sense of humor, even if what he’s doing is illegal. Jake’s never been that much of a stickler and he’s not hurting anyone.

>>Also said you build model planes. What kind? Vested interest and legit first hand knowledge….

>>Wait, your username is Brad2lover? You’re a fan?

>>Yeah, hello, I’m not blind. Guy’s scorching hot. And yeah, I guess I’m a fan. But he can do whatever the fuck he wants when he’s not working.

>>Except restore pinball machines. That’s the step too far?

>>He wouldn’t be using a dating app to hook up.

>>Wouldn’t need to.

>>You’d think that wouldn’t you.

>>And not looking to just hook up.

                Jake rolls his eyes. He could fucking start be being honest with who he is, but he feels like he might as well be talking to a brick wall with as far as he’s been getting there. So he’ll talk.

>>Well, I am and I am not…

>>?

>>Vague.

>>Well. I’ve got six weeks leave. I’d like to find something more than hooking up, but most people need more than six weeks to want a relationship, so I’m…

>>In a catch-22 situation.

>>So going to try meeting someone on this app and get to know them and then… what?

>>You’re still going to be deployed again for months on end.

>>Yeah, no shit. Got to at least try though right?

>>Might get lucky.

TWO

[starrbright]

𝐃𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐋𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭| Matsukawa Issei

As the title says, this is just me writing Issei in a different light from what I've always thought of him. But a study as well of what I do think of him, can be an outside part of my series I've yet to write about him. And lastly, another venting of mine, I think I projected too much on this, really. I had a light situation that happened and bothered me so much earlier that i had to stopped writing my wip for kishibe (it'll come out this may or before, i promise this time), so.....byeeeee, i teared up at writing this. @iwaberry, @seijhoeist 😁

499 words. LMAOKSKSJSKXKSK. fluff. angst. light smut. all my y/n are afab, fat and of color. La Belle Dame Sans Merci by Marc Fishman

Issei is Issei. Full of wit he effortlessly drives to a cunning state. Persuasive. Simply a snake that slither to anyone for whatever in his gain, the sin that rises from beneath one they didn't even know was there in the beginning, the beautiful murmur that echoes, the one wouldn't dare tempt themselves to be trapped. He's never been a deceiver despite his games, truth always easy to show behind his facade as he intends—he's him.

But, unfortunately—it doesn't work on you. In some very specific cases you most need it, that is.

As his cunningly self is engraved in him, so is a part of yours that keeps you grounded, humbled, mostly too anxious, just straight up so resentful of making a mere mistake that couldn't even count as one in the eyes of many but it is for you. The want to be perfect. Your pride that embarrasses you, one that shames to think it's more about your image than kindness, that strangles you for praise.

It's all unyielding even for a man like him.

He's already found it that part of you is as said; indeed indelible. An endless cycle of episodes.

You're his lover. The most delicate for him. Despite that he tried to ease that away from you, he didn't—never deceived your mind. Then came a simple solution to him after barely thinking about it.

The most normal or rather easy to do that can anyone think of. What he has always done for you to have nothing in your brain.

What he's plainly been doing from the start; loving you.

"My baby." Issei sighs heavily against your mouth that merely kisses him back, as you're already overwhelmed with the scarce time he's began fucking you, keeping his slow thrusts in your cunt above you with his one hand tightly gripped on the headboard of his bed and the other wrapped around your wide and soft back close up against him. Keeping his steady and antagonizing pace amidst the words he praise for you, " I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. My baby. My baby. I love you. My love. My baby. " —relishing your tears, it's liquid gold to him out of what he gives you. "Prettiest thing." Says him as your tears are kissed by his lips.

You're lost in him. Always willingly bending to him until mindlessly as you want it. Moans weakly drowned by your gentle cries, before you can utter anything, he takes your lips again, tears in your mouths. "Y'know, you don't need to say a thing." He mutters between his kisses, still going with the same pace of his pleasure for you both. It's always easy to use his sharp tongue as it is for making you hear how beautiful you are truly.

" Just be good for me, doll. "

" Always good for me. "

" Lovely girl, mine. "

" You're so good to me. "

Loving you is he most loves besides being himself.

[sibylsleaves]

wip wednesday

tagged by @iinryer & @daffi-990

more from the next chapter of some things fall when they're meant to fall:

“So, there’s a Dodgers game this evening,” Eddie says, jiggling his car keys nervously while he waits for Buck to finish changing after their shift. He rests his gaze somewhere to the left of Buck's bare chest. “I was thinking about inviting Tommy over to watch. And I know you’re helping Chim and Maddie with wedding stuff tonight—” “Eddie,” Buck tugs his shirt over his head and looks at Eddie quizzically. “We’ve already been over this. I was never actually mad that you were hanging out with Tommy without me. I mean yeah, I guess I felt slightly excluded, but it was more about—” “Yeah, yeah I know, the giant crush you had on the guy,” Eddie says with a fond eye-roll. There. That’s something two-weeks-ago Eddie would’ve said, right? “Anyway, it’s fine,” Buck says. “You guys should be friends. I mean, you are friends. Just because we’ve been on a couple dates—well. It’s fine, is what I mean.” Eddie stands there in the locker room and feels a sudden awkwardness he doesn’t know what to do with. The thing is, he hadn’t been worried about Buck feeling excluded again. He just…he feels like he needs his permission, or something, to keep hanging out with Tommy? It doesn’t make any sense, but. This is uncharted territory for them. Not that Buck’s dating a man. That he’s dating a friend—one of Eddie’s friends. Someone Eddie actually likes. And he does like Tommy. That hasn’t changed just because he happens to be dating the love of Eddie’s life. He and Tommy had had the beginnings of a pretty solid friendship going. They’d connected on a lot of different levels, and it seems like a shame to let that go to waste just because Eddie had a life-changing realization at a supremely inconvenient time. Buck cracks a smile. There’s a small, small part of Eddie that maybe even likes Tommy a little bit more just for helping to put that glowing smile on Buck’s face. Almost as much as he hates him for it.

tagging @colonoscopys @transboybuckley @messyhairdiaz @the-likesofus @trippedandfell @bucktommys @homerforsure @glorious-spoon @eddiebabygirldiaz @devirnis @clusterbuck @buckactuallys @gayhoediaz @bibibuck @spaceprincessem @housewifebuck

[michellemisfit]

✨Weekly Tag Wednesday ✨

Thanks for creating the game and for the tag @jrooc thanks for the tag @vintagelacerosette

Today we’re talking fandom. Come play!

Name and A03 handle: Michelle, michellemisfit

Current Location: Living room, surrounded by feathers, as I’m currently fletching some arrows

Favourite picrew: This one is pretty fucking spot on. Or at least it was at the time. Hair is very different now. But then, hair is always different… lol

Also this one is spiritually VERY me

What's one thing you want in a picrew? Ability to add coloured streaks! And a wide selection of scars, or alternatively the ability to move them around the screen. Either is fine. But mostly the hair thing. My hair is generally 4 different colours. Don’t try and limit me to one!!

Favourite thing you’ve created (or seen created) for the fandom? Erm… 3 way tie between Mexico Gallacrafts, Fimo Gallavich, and Cookie Gallavich? Maybe? Argh. Turns out, looking back at my art tag… I’ve created some pretty cool stuff. Huh. Yay me.

Why is it your favourite? I don’t really do photography, and I’m really proud of the idea behind and the execution of that photo. And while I LOVE drawing more than anything, I don’t think I’m exceptional or anything. But I’m damn creative when it comes to silly 3D craft projects, so both Fimo Gallavich and Cookie Gallavich make me happy and feel like something not just anyone could do… I dunno.

Did it come easily or was it hard to create? It was LONG to create. Both cookie and Fimo Gallavich took several days in total. And I think that’s the other thing I like about myself. I am willing to put in the work, and it usually pays off.

Last ao3 fic you commented on? Hah! You’ll be able to corroborate this, I’m not just sucking up!! LOL I’m currently reading Camp is a Battlefield by @blue-disco-lights, @jrooc, and @mybrainismelted, with artwork by @creepkinginc, so that’s the last one I commented on :)

Biggest WIP heartache you’ve ever experienced? I mean… every single WIP I have ever started reading, only to realise that maybe there won’t be any more of it… 😱 Every. Single. One. They’re all special, and they all hurt in their own special ways. And I will remain subscribed to all of them FOREVER, because you never know!!

Also? Comment on WIPs. Tell authors how much joy the story brought you, how much space it’s occupying in your brain, how much you would love to see it continue but how happy you are to have read as much of the story as there is because it’s changed your brain chemistry… do NOT comment saying ‘next chapter when?’, cause that makes you a dick bag.

Favourite trope or head cannon you like included in a fanfic? I’m a sucker for fake dating, only one bed, and a soulmate AU 🤷🏽‍♂️

Least favourite? …not a huge fan of kid fic, but hey, all it takes is a great author to make it work.

Secret or surprising kink or trope? Again, do not kink shame, because you’re only ever one good fanfic away from discovering something about yourself you did NOT see coming…

Describe how you feel after you’ve created something new? Exhausted and antsy. Is it good enough? Are people gonna like it? Should I even bother anyone with this? Why don’t I just go and hide under a rock forever?? I felt okay about this when I finished it, why is it suddenly the worst thing to have ever been created??? …I wish there was a sense of calm and accomplishment. There is not. Brains suck!

Top hype man you have that always helps you get across the finish line: @deedala - I so appreciate how we’re on a similar wave length when it comes to art as well as ‘everybody wants to hunt me for sport’ vibes. I know I can always count on you for kind but honest words, and that’s so important!!

It's been a bad day, you turn to the fandom and you _____? Read comfort fic. Probably Like Real People Do or None the Wiser.

Edit: Also? Go and read comments and tags on old art posts. That’s a sure fire way to cheer me up!

This was fun, and made the 15 minute wait between fletching each feather pass much faster. Thanks!!

If you are currently making your own arrows and need something to occupy your wait time with… how about completing a tag game? lol

@heymrspatel @loftec @creepkinginc @deedala @too-schoolforcool @darlingian @iandarling @iansw0rld @ian-galagher @mybrainismelted @palepinkgoat @crossmydna @mikhailoisbaby @sickness-health-all-that-shit @rereadanon @rutherinahobbit @energievie @junemermaid @francesrose3 @deathclassic @faejilly @rutherinahobbit @gallawitchxx @look-i-love-u @jessij1997 @callivich @celestialmickey @wehangout @doshiart @lynne-monstr @the-rat-wins @blue-disco-lights @suzy-queued @sleepyfacetoughguy @spookygingerr @burninface @gallapiech

[wanderingblindly]

omg Sleepless in… Wherever for the ask game 👀

(WIP List)

Gahhhhh I haven’t touched this WIP in a really long time, I just can’t seem to get into the headspace? And as it’s sat, I’m less confident that I like the current tone. But I still LOVE the concept so I’m not letting it die!!

The general idea is: comfy, cozy, ambient, getting together. Lando’s a racer with bouts of insomnia, Oscar is a teacher that streams himself reading books in the evenings — and, apparently, the only thing that can knock Lando out cold.

I’m thinking some cute getting together, Lando being painfully awkward about, some cute wag behavior? Oscar’s students figuring it out and mocking them? Anyways.

Unedited snippet below the cut!

He nearly drops his phone as he hits play. Because Jesus Christ did this guy, this Pastry81, sound significantly different through his headphones. Lando hadn’t noticed that he wore a tiny microphone clipped to the top of his hoodie, the sound of his voice clear and soft in his ears. Almost as if he was right there, lips grazing his sensitive skin, murmuring something just for him to hear –

With a measured breath, Lando puts his phone face down in his lap and pulls his hood over his head tightly – hiding his very apparent, very red shame.

He didn’t realize an Australian accent, such a flat cadence, could affect him so badly.

“…but outside, the sound behaved differently. In any case, I could see…”

He takes a peak again.

The man doesn’t look up at the camera as he reads, laying the book flat in the space made by his crossed legs. Lando wants to groan in embarrassment as he realizes he wants, more than anything else, for him to look up; to see those beautiful brown eyes again, to take in the sharp angle of his brow.

[belladovah]

Sims 2 Mod Creators: Is there any particular reason you don't upload to Nexus Mods?

Nexus Mods is one of the largest gaming modification websites and it has a cool feature that allows creators to earn redeemable reward points when their mods are downloaded at no cost to the users doing the downloading.

It is the main site for Skyrim mods, which is one of, if not the most, modded games. Because I love Skyrim, I browse the mods on Nexus a lot and I really like it. It currently has just 58 downloads available for Sims 2 which I think is a real shame, I really wish more creators used it. I am planning on making that the alternate source for my mods besides my WIP website, but I will still announce my mods on here.

Update addressing some concerns:

Nexus mods is far far less restrictive than Mod The Sims. Mods go live immediately and are not put into an approval queue. They would only get taken down in very rare circumstances if they were deemed inappropriate. You also get more options and flexibility in regards to style and formatting.

Update 2:

I'm not suggesting that I would MOVE there or that anyone else should. I'm considering it as an alternate source for my mods, especially since its somewhere reliable where the downloadable file will always be found alongside the description rather than separate. But, I'd still post here all the same, my download links would just be different.

Please comment with your thoughts!

[witchywithwhiskey]

Ok but Logan and his cigar & sleazy landlord bucky sounds so intriguing 👀🤭

eee i talked about my logan & his cigar wip fic here, but i will absolutely talk about sleazy landlord bucky!!! it's inspired by this photo + convo from a...while ago. the whole fic is essentially inspired by seb's look at sdcc this year.

i have the full first draft done, but something in it isn't really working. when i was writing it, i was struggling with how sleazy i wanted to make bucky and how far i wanted to push the line of dubcon and whether i wanted to go full noncon. i struggle a lot writing dubcon/noncon fics because, for me, there's a line where it becomes no longer enjoyable to write. add to that, my instinct is always to add in a level of softness or sweetness, especially at the end of a sex scene, but it doesn't always make sense for the characters and it can make a fic tonally inconsistent.

so yeah, i needed to put some space between me and this fic so i can come back to it with, hopefully, a fresh perspective and a better idea of what i want the tone to be and where i want the line to be with bucky's sleaziness.

hopefully i'll get back to it eventually! for now, here's a little snippet (18+ content ahead):

“Y’know, doll, there are other ways you could pay me.”

For a moment, your brain stuttered over the words, refusing to process the insinuation beneath them. When you finally did, you recoiled as if you’d been slapped, the flames of embarrassment rising fast and fierce in your cheeks. 

“Excuse me?” you forced out, your voice a high squeak.

Bucky huffed a laugh, his eyes finally deigning to meet yours, after he’d spent the better part of five minutes staring at your tits and bare thighs like he wanted to undress you with his gaze alone. He scrubbed a palm over the short scruff surrounding hi mouth, your eyes dropping to the movement. He dragged his thumb along his lower lip, and you couldn’t help but bite yours as you realized just how soft and kissable his mouth looked.

It was only when he chuckled that you realized he’d done it on purpose, kept your attention his mouth, and you looked away, the prickling heat of shame nipping at the back of your neck. 

“We both know you heard me loud and clear,” Bucky rumbled, his voice gruffer and more gravelly than it had been even a moment before. Your eyes flicked to his face, and the corner of his mouth kicked up in a smirk, his hand sliding down the front of his body—your gaze following all along—until he grabbed the slight bulge in the front of his slacks. “I’ll take another form of payment, but you have to offer it up willingly, baby doll.” 

Your eyes widened and a different kind of heat warred against the blaze of embarrassment, sinking down between your thighs and making you squirm as you felt the telltale beginnings of wetness starting to gather between your lower lips. You were so concerned about your body’s reaction that you didn’t notice you were still staring at Bucky’s bulge, not until he chuckled, the patronizing sound washing over you and making tingles of desire burst throughout your core.

“C’mon, doll, don’t play dumb with me,” Bucky cajoled, squeezing his half-hard cock hard enough you could see it twitch through his pants, and you immediately looked away, your gaze rising back to your landlord’s handsome face. That damnable smirk was still fixed on his mouth and his eyes were watching you closely. “Make me an offer I can’t refuse, and this little problem with your rent can just go away.” 

thanks for playing my WIPs ask game!!

[codename-adler]

6 and 12 for aftg ask game bc I am obsessed with character foils

6. A non-canon ship you love?

Obviously per the last ask, Kevaaron. So I'll speak on others.

I sincerely love Jean/Aaron. It works. It so works. Trust me. Might have a little wip on them... also, this fic by @merceyca was gifted to me and it's absolutely bonkers amazing: Bury Me in the Glow

Jean/Neil. Forever misplaced partners... Even before TSC, the intimacy they share and the worse they see of each other but still do the best they can to protect the other...

Renee/Allison. To me atp they're just canon fr. like, ofc they work.

Kevin/Andrew/Neil. Duh. That includes Kandrew & Kevneil. At times too painful for me, but the proofs are all there. So.

i'm probably forgetting to many bc the possibilities are infinite so, last but not least:

Katelyn/Thea. Yes. Mangum Opus of mine. Good ol' switcheroo genius move. Give it a try. It'll stick. I need more people with me in the boat. Pls i'm lonely.

12. Favorite narrative foil?

I have already touched on Jean vs Neil here, and I could go into heavy details because oh my god these boys. these boys. but i can't really bc it hurts too much!!! yippee.

so instead I'll mention Kevin vs Seth. (bc they are soooo much less painful right...) Not! Talked! About! Enough!

Seth "His life is not more important than mine just because he's more talented" Gordon

vs

Kevin "One of us has to make it, Mom. It wasn’t going to be Neil. It was obvious he was too stupid to survive without his mother if he let himself get into messes like this. But maybe Kevin could do it. Maybe he’d get through this somehow, riding his talent and Andrew’s psychotic obsession and Wymack’s fierce protection. Maybe he’d get through this season on the Foxes' roster and be sage. He’d recover and he’d be free. Neil couldn’t leave until he knew Kevin would be okay" Day

And especially how they're foils of each other in Neil's opinion, not just objectively from a reader's pov.

Also something about Kevin's alcohol addiction being treated as a necessary crutch others allow, make fun of, purposefully utilized, while Seth's drug addiction being treated as dirty, shameful, sinful, problematic, a hindrance, his own fault entirely. Andrew forcefully making Matt and Aaron clean, but letting Seth be. Andrew actively encouraging Kevin's alcoholism. Seth dying of his own addiction, murder or not. Kevin living despite his.

Seth not getting his chances. Kevin getting them all.

[mila-mi-mi]

Discord server is live!

My friend and I officially launched the discord server we’ve been working on!

Now you might ask: ‘what the hell do you mean?’ That’s fair. My friend and I were working on a server because we struggled to find one we liked and felt at home in. This being a server for tf2 fan artists with more focus on the art than the game (don’t worry there’s space for game discussions too. Personally I’ve also tried to make it more friendly to more shy people like me.

So. Are you an artist or into tf2 art and want to try and find friends like we are? Are you 15 or older? Join us! We’re trying to harbour a (small) community where we can find new people and make more mutuals on here.

We’re also open to the usual fandom stuff (shipping, oc x canon, fanfic, oc’s..)

Cringe is dead lets unlearn shame together!

I hope I can interest you in joining us. Do know the server is new! You might be the first there. But we will be happy to see you!

Also the server takes on the character (?) of like a mercenary team. Like BLU & RED. It just has a theme but it doesn’t affect the overall server. More of a fun gimmick. Some parts are still in development ! And we appreciate feedback.

I think that’s all! Hope we see ya there! (We got a fun event planned too once the server gets rolling 👀)

Groetjes! 🤍

Mila and Tonie (@therealstdrm )

Have some wips under the cut and sketches (med school been beating art man 😔)

[inaconstantstateofchange]

don't come crying - a young!Raphael fic

An incredible rendition of young!Raphael by @shahs1221, here: please go check her out and give her some well-deserved adoration for it!

A/N: I'm gonna be so honest, I have no idea how to tag this in a comprehensible way, relationship-wise. Suffice to say, the Mephisto-lovers are... probably going to appreciate this more than I wish you would, and if you too are fifty leagues down the Niche Forgotten Realms Characters™ rabbit hole, you may also be enticed by the Baalphegor inclusion. 18+, please and thank you.

Summary:

Raphael blinks, attempting to reason past the howling fury within him. He has never before felt so truly attuned to his more fiendish instincts, working in concert with his mortal ones in a truly dangerous storm. He swore when he first came to this wretched plane that he would be its master one day, and he’ll be damned – well and truly – if he fails here. Or: Centuries prior to the events of the game, Raphael's return from a routine fetch quest on Mephistopheles's orders is interrupted by a summons to the throne room. His father has a lesson to impart to him, and he's going to ensure it sticks.

This is part of an ongoing story I've had in the back of my mind for several weeks now. Rather than another WIP longfic, I'll be posting additional segments from this 'verse in a series if/when I add more. If @sky-kiss has any say in it, I'm sure I will.

The only background info you really need is:

All characters are drawn from actual Forgotten Realms lore.

Raphael has recently been plucked from the Material Plane to join his father's court on Cania, in the Nine Hells.

Due to Raphael's stunted development, and an unwillingness to be shamed by his spawn's weakness, Mephistopheles has placed Raphael under the purview of his consort, Baalphegor.

Baalphegor's body is able to produce an empowering draught, too weak to hold much significance to true fiends, but sufficient to bolster Raphael's growth.

Finally, it is a pet headcanon I've incorporated into this 'verse that Baalphegor is the same individual later know as Haarlep, but you are welcome to use your own interpretation.

Raphael stumbles through the extravagant entrance doors to Mephistar, the flesh-shearing winds of Cania grabbing after him as he ducks behind the solid, enchanted stone. He’s done his best to cover all exposed skin, but there is always some that escapes his notice, leaving him bleeding out strength he can ill afford to lose. He loathes these “errands” his father sends him on, tasks purported to test his skill, devotion, and cunning. In reality, it feels more like busywork designed to keep him weak and subservient, reminding him of his contentious existence in the hierarchy and reinforcing his dependence on his father’s dubious goodwill.

The desiccated parchment that proved the focus of this most recent quest crinkles slightly, as he shifts his gaze up, the slight sound echoing across the cavernous hall as he looks with certainty for the being he knows to be waiting for his return, just as always. But — they’re not there.

He furrows his brow, an agitated and disquieting anger growing within his gut. He strides across the marble floor on frostbitten feet he can barely feel, shoving the parchment at the lone figure of Mephistopheles’s chamberlain Barbas, standing at attention at his post, and wearing his habitual sneer as he looks down at Raphael. Raphael ignores it for now, as ever, but files the snub away with all the other insults he will one day be strong enough to return tenfold.

“Where is m—the Lady Baalphegor?” He demands imperiously. They are almost always waiting for him upon his return to bestow his reward. That is the deal, the entire reason he engages in these banal fetch quests even though they are entirely beneath his rank and status. He pushes sharply at the errant thought of the pretty fiction it makes, knowing all the while that his true choice is to bow to his father’s whims or perish. True or not, it does no good to dwell on such matters, not when he will be changing them just as soon as he can manage.

Barbas’s sneer gouges even deeper into his face, growing a biting and nearly gleeful edge as he answers Raphael, “Well, young lord, as your august presence must surely have ascertained, the Lady is certainly not here.”

Raphael can feel his face going blotchy and red, and curses his mortal heritage once again for its constant betrayals. The ice-blue crystals in the eye sockets of the chamberlain harden and glint with glee at the sight. Raphael spins on his heel, marching furiously away, the parchment crumpling further within his fist. Barbas’s mocking voice rings out behind him, “Don’t forget to report to His Grace, little lord! He insisted it be done immediately upon your return.”

Raphael almost turns again to berate him, but manages to stop himself at the last moment, lest he lose even more face from the encounter. He’ll make his report as quickly as possible, then hunt down his wayward… Baalphegor, and claim his rightful recompense. The brilliant halls of Mephistar blur around him as he storms through them, focusing only on making his way to his father’s great hall with haste.

He doesn’t wait to be announced, merely pushes firmly on the doors, both with his physical form and, in a manner only recently attained, with the lashings of his own metaphysical aspect. They creak open, the sound like distant screams even on the well-kept mechanisms, and he steps through without hesitation, words of complaint already springing to his lips, when he stops dead in his tracks.

He’s found Baalphegor.

The succubus – and they are in full succubus form in this moment – is perched indolently on his father’s lap, where he sits on his ostentatious throne. But not just perched, no — impaled, as he finds when, with stricken eyes, he watches them move their body in a smooth, undulating motion up, degree by degree, before dropping back down, brilliant hair falling around them and catching the flickering hellfire-light as it glints off their red-brown skin. Soft, melodious moans are driven from their throat with each movement, as if pushed out by the — by the member within them. Their round breasts shift with the motion, the revitalizing milk within them welling up and dripping down their chest, squandered and disregarded.

He swallows, throat dry, his eyes and chest burning in stark opposition with one another.

His father casts an apathetic glance across the hall, and his eyes alight on Raphael, a cruel smirk curling at his lips. “Ah, the returning triumphant! What have you brought me this time?” His voice is nothing but mocking, no attempt made to couch his disregard for his unwanted and unloved spawn.

Raphael blinks, attempting to reason past the howling fury within him. He has never before felt so truly attuned to his more fiendish instincts, working in concert with his mortal ones in a truly dangerous storm. Everything within him is raging at the broken contract, even as it boils with jealousy at the manhandling of something that is his, and it is only the barest dregs of his staunch self-preservation that manage to keep him from attempting something truly foolish. He swore when he first came to this wretched plane that he would be its master one day, and he’ll be damned – well and truly – if he fails here.

He holds the parchment, now looking rather worse for wear, out before him on a finely trembling hand. He searches for the words he needs in a mind nearly whited out by rage.

“I… your cult in Waterdeep sends their obeisance, y–your Grace.” He curses his tongue for its fumbling, driving home further how well his father’s ploy is working to discomfit him.

“Oh,” Mephistopheles waves a careless hand. “That collection of rabble. You will leave it with my steward.”

Raphael ducks his head a bare inch, keeping his eyes away from Baalphegor as much as he can, and turns to leave.

His father’s voice rings out after him before he has completed even half his turn, sharpening with the first warning edges of his infamous temper. “Where do you think you are going, whelp? You have not yet been dismissed.”

Raphael turns back to face him, slow and careful, as the true danger of the situation sets in. He has rarely found himself in the presence of his father when these moods strike, and never without at least the tenuous support of Baalphegor behind him. And yet… he meets their gaze now, searching, and the barest fraction desperate, but there is nothing. Their red eyes meet his without flinching, cold as Cania’s glaciers. Trickles of the subtly shimmering draught spilling from their breasts have reached down to their hips now, soaking into the thatch of hair between their legs.

He tears his eyes away and forces his attention back to the far greater threat, scrambling for an answer that will satisfy his father.

“My apologies, your Grace.” The epithet comes easier this time, its passage eased by his awareness of his own precarious position. “I misunderstood your direction, and wished only to carry out your will with utmost alacrity.”

Mephistopheles rests his chin insouciantly on his hand, elbow propped against the arm of his throne. His voice, when he speaks, is sardonic and shows no signs of the ongoing actions of the succubus on his lap. “Oh very nicely salvaged, whelp. My wishes, however, are for you to remain just where you are, and appreciate the lesson I’ve prepared for you.”

Raphael swallows, the boiling heat within him growing fiercer, rage intertwined with other, less-savory feelings.

With little warning, Mephistopheles moves his hand to entangle within Baalphegor’s tresses, pulling the succubus fiercely down onto him as he wrenches their head back against his shoulder. A tremulous cry breaks from their throat, and Raphael only barely keeps himself from starting forward at the sound.

Mephistopheles brings his free hand forward and toys with Baalphegor’s breasts, pushed forward into the air from their current position. He twists pitilessly at them, prompting yet more cries as the liquid inside spills out in greater quantities, splashing, wasted, against the smooth skin of Baalphegor’s stomach. It runs in rivulets onto the throne, and down, to collect into puddles on the floor of the grand hall.

Raphael feels his stomach turn even as his mouth, well-trained by association, waters, unhindered by every other horrible aspect of this waking nightmare.

Mephistopheles wipes his hand dismissively on Baalphegor’s hair, leaving behind silvery streaks, then draws them up by their hair and hip, beginning to move within them in earnest as he continues his reproach. Raphael wants to close his eyes, his ears, every one of his senses, but knows such an admission of weakness would be worse than his undoing.

“You’ve prevailed enough upon my largess, and I am no longer willing to indulge your weakness.” Mephistopheles sneers. “You’ve proven more fortunate than any other cambion within the Hells, but from now on you will make your own way, or fail. Such is the way of Baator.”

The fires around the hall burn fiercer in alignment with their lord as he looks down at his unloved progeny. “Should you find yourself desperate for one last taste to stay your appetites, however, you may lap it from the floor like the whelp you are, and thank me for the concession.”

Raphael feels like he is become hellfire himself, the hatred he knew within him for his progenitor stoked to dizzyingly fierce new heights. Jaw aching with the effort of withholding the flood of vitriol within him, he grits out, “My thanks for your… beneficence. I would not dream of prevailing upon it further.”

Mephistopheles snorts, dismissive, then turns his attentions back to Baalphegor, by all accounts having forgotten Raphael’s entire existence.

Raphael stands, Baalphegor’s unfeeling eyes burning into his, until he is finally – finally – dismissed. All the while, the ambitions within him, already cast in carbon, are pressurized further and further, until they are as fearsome diamond, reflecting the blood and fire around him.

He will not remain his father’s lesser for long. He will see him deposed, and make him suffer for these indignities heaped upon his person.

By Asmodeus, he swears it.

[tea-with-barbatos]

ULTIMATE GUIDE TO PLAYING OBEY ME: NIGHTBRINGER FOR FREE! [MASTERPOST]

Do you want to know how to play Obey Me: Nightbringer like a pro? To put Leviathan to shame with your gamer prowess? Want to make Mammon feel broke because you have way more Grimm and devil points than he'll ever have? Well you've come to the right place.

Since my guide is pretty long, I've separated it into different parts for your convenience and easy reading. Feel free to reblog/comment with your own insights if you have any. This is free for everybody.

Before starting my guide assumes a few things:

You're a free to play, non-VIP member

You are the virtuous Avatar of Patience

You're playing Nightbringer and not the original game

SECTION 1 - HOW TO GET CARDS

SECTION 2 - HOW TO GET DEVIL POINTS

SECTION 3 - HOW TO GET GRIMM

SECTION 4 - HOW TO RAISE YOUR BOND LEVELS

SECTION 5 - PLAYING EVENTS (WIP)

Translation guide for lingo used within my guides:

DP = Devil Points

DV = Devil Vouchers

AP = Action Points

EP = Event Points

Fav(s) = Favourite Characters

[liquidluckandstuff]

Okay, hi, for the writers ask game (SINCE I WAS SILLY AND FORGOT), 3, 12, and 20. ❤️🧡💛💚💙💜 Hehe~

3. Most proud of?

Right now? Oh by FAR Sunrise and Reality. She has been so much fun to write and work on. I've laughed, I've cried, It's been a total rollercoaster and an absolute joy to work on.

I can't believe how far i've gotten with it. I thought it was a total dud the first time i attempted it. It was one of those "I really like it, but i'm not putting in a lot of effort and also no one else seems to care and i have other things to work on so I think i'll quit" and suddenly when i STOPPED people cared? Wild man.

anyway. I love her. So. Freaking. Much. Dadmort forever.

12. How many WIP’s do you have in your docs for next year?

I have a few main ones for my goal

Going back to Darlings and Dragons. (Harrymort) She is my OG baby and I miss her so much. I've had her plotted out its just i've had my attention pulled in every direction. I really really need to focus on her. She deserves it.

To Late to Fix the Broken. (Harrymort) She is going to get a fresh coat of paint and then i'm going to keep going. This is one of my NSFW fics that is on the "possession as a metaphor for sex" ideas.

I'm thinking another dadmort fic in the works after I finish Sunrise and Reality, But also i really really want to finish Darlings and Dragons first. I still have 10 more dadmort ideas though. Also more wandavision style ideas to go with it? Idk man its a lot.

20. Which work of yours have you reread the most?

Heaven is Your Sleeping Enemy. A lot. Like a lot a lot. No shame.

[smittywing]

WIP Wednesday - Marriage 101

This incredibly flimsy premise was brought to you by a post on this site that I can no longer find. It basically said you get more FAFSA money if you're married, so I picked the two characters least likely to ever use FAFSA and married them. I have no regrets.

The aroma of pizza rolls and popcorn notwithstanding, for a minute Tim had forgotten whose safehouse he was actually in.

Damian’s safehouses tended to have the video games. Tim’s were full of prototype gadgets, and Dick’s usually had fuzzy blankets and squishy pillows. Jason’s had the food.

Jason’s apparently also had a FAFSA application.

“Hey,” he said, picking it up. “Are you going back to school?”

Three things happened at once. (1) Jason vaulted off the sofa, overturning a bowl of popcorn onto Dick’s lap, (2) Damian grabbed Jason’s abandoned controller, and murdered Dick’s player, and (3) Dick grabbed Damian and mashed his face into the cushions.

“What’s this?” Dick asked as Tim turned away from Jason’s flailing hands to read the notes Jason had made in the margins. “Is my Little Wing going to be a college man?”

“No, fuckit, Timmers - no.” Jason was bigger and had a longer reach but Tim was extremely adept at dodging and weaving. He’d had a lot of practice. “Just a class or two. Dammit, Tim!”

It wasn’t a class or two. It was a full semester under the name Jason Peterson.

“Let me see,” Dick said, blocking Jason’s swipe and taking the papers from Tim. “You need money?” he asked, scanning the pages.

Jason made a sound somewhere between a groan and a growl. “Tuition’s fucking expensive, okay?” he said. “Now fuck off and give me that. That’s personal information.”

“Personal information for someone who isn’t you,” Dick commented, stepping just out of reach.

“Father would gladly pay for your tuition,” Damian piped up unwelcomely from the couch. “Why do you waste your time with tedious paperwork?”

“I am *not* taking money from Bruce.” Jason’s voice resonated with certainty.

“Didn’t you have like, some...passive income?” Tim asked, not sure if bringing up Jason’s time as a drug lord was a faux pas these days. Jason had a hair trigger temper and Tim really didn’t feel like being on the pointy side of his knife. Again.

“If you’re talking about the blood money, I donated it to some of the rehab places,” Jason mumbled. “Clearly I hadn’t come up with this brilliant plan at the time.”

“Why not take Father’s money?” Damian asked. “He enjoys spending it on philanthropic pursuits and you are clearly destitute.”

“No more pizza rolls for you,” Jason said, picking Damian up by his collar as he was peeking over Dick’s arm at Jason Peterson’s income. Damian kicked but Jason’s forearm was steady, as he levered Damian away from the paperwork. Tim quietly watched the tensed muscles running from the edge of Jason’s sleeve to his wrist.

“We’re going to have a little talk later about independence,” Dick told Damian.

“Independence is a worthy outcome,” Damian argued. “But many scholars and artists subsist under the patronage of a sponsor without shame.”

“I mean, he’s not wrong,” Dick conceded, glancing at Jason. “But look, we’ll talk about it later, okay Dami?” He turned back to Jason. “I think it’s great,” he continued, squeezing Jason’s bicep. Tim waited for violence, but the fight seemed to leak out of Jason as Dick handed him back the paperwork. “And I understand why you want to do this on your own. But if I can help, in any way, let me know, okay? Contrary to popular belief, you don’t have to do everything on your own.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” Jason muttered, color high on his cheeks. “Get Cosimo de Medici out of here, will you?”

Dick grinned. “It’s past his bedtime anyway.”

Tim lingered after Dick and Damian left. “Sorry I didn’t think before I said something,” he offered. “I didn’t mean for it to turn into such a big deal.”

“Yeah, I know,” Jason said, running a hand through his hair. “It’s fine, whatever.” He opened the fridge and considered the shelves for a minute before pulling out two beers. Tim would have preferred coffee but he knew Jason was offering an olive branch so he took the bottle.

“Are you thinking about Gotham U?” Tim ventured, twisting off the cap and taking a sip of his beer.

“If I can get in,” Jason said, playing with his bottle cap. “If not, then Gotham State. I took the GED just to see if I could pass.”

“Of course you could,” Tim said automatically. “You were always better at school than Dick.”

Jason looked at him oddly. “Yeah but I quit at 15.”

Tim didn’t correct him. Quitting actually did sound better than getting murdered by the Joker.

“What do you want to study?” he asked instead.

It might have been a cliche, but Jason’s face literally lit from within at the question.

“I want to minor in English lit,” he said, which was a weird place to start, but Tim was too fascinated by the change in his demeanor to comment on it. “For a major, criminal justice would be the obvious choice but the background checks for law enforcement would be too comprehensive to make a career of it. I wouldn’t want to be a cop anyway. I was thinking maybe education but I don’t know for sure. It might make more sense to study something I can use in day-to-day life, you know? This is the most solid cover I have but it could use some backstopping if I’m going to use it in the real world, you know?”

“I could, um,” Tim said, transfixed by the animation in Jason’s voice and face. He had *never* seen Jason this happy or excited, *ever* and the truth was that he would do anything, *anything* to keep seeing it. “I could build out some - you’re really, you’re really excited about this, aren’t you?”

That hadn’t been what he’d meant to say at all, but Jason’s rueful grin tugged at his chest.

“Yeah,” he said. “I mean, if I can swing it. It takes more than a few Pell grants to keep me in helmets. Obviously this wouldn’t be a full time thing.”

“Yeah,” Tim found himself saying. “I know. I mean, I’m enrolled in a few classes next semester and I don’t know how I’m going to juggle those and regular patrol and the Titans.”

“You’ll do it,” Jason said immediately. “Isn’t your IQ like a million? It’ll be cakewalk.”

“Yeah,” Tim echoed, conviction solidifying. He and Jason would be starting at Gotham U in the fall, together. “Cakewalk.”

$

The concept of Jason happily studying English Lit (English Lit? Really? Jason?) at Gotham University started building itself into a happy fantasy by 4am. Tim Googled “how to pay for college” on his phone when he probably should have been trying to catch a few hours of sleep and 36 hours later, he was crawling in Jason’s window.

“Ugh, you too?” Jason greeted him.

“Hey Tim,” Dick said, looking up from his bowl of cereal.

“Hi, yeah,” Tim said, replying to both of them at once. “I uh, I had some ideas.”

Jason picked up the coffee pot and upended it into a mug. The toasty-burnt aroma hit Tim’s nostrils like a big cuddly freight train and reminded him of just how long he’d been awake. “Thanks,” he said.

Jason raised his eyebrows and lifted the mug to his own mouth. Tim felt its loss acutely. “All right,” Jason said with a sigh. “What’s your idea?”

“Ideas,” Tim clarified. “Plural.” He pulled his convertible laptop out of his backpack and rotated it into tablet mode.

“You didn’t,” Jason groaned.

“Of course he did,” Dick said. “PowerPoint was baby bird’s first computer game.”

“Scholarships,” Tim announced, drowning out the negativity.

“On my stellar GED score?” Jason asked sardonically.

“There are scholarships for non-traditional students,” Tim said, bringing up a selection of postings he had found when anticipating this exact argument.

Jason made a face. “Home-schooled?”

“Which you basically were,” Dick pointed out.

“Don’t help,” Jason told him.

“Granted, you’re probably not looking at full-tuition level scholarships,” Tim said, “but a few thousand dollars to pay for your books will help out a lot.”

Jason nodded grudgingly.

“Work-share!” Tim announced, flipping to the next slide.

“You would make a great lunch lady,” Dick suggested.

Jason glared sideways at him. “No.”

“I was thinking the library myself,” Tim offered, because who liked the library better than an English Lit major? Or minor. Or whatever. “Plus you’d have time to do your homework.”

Jason groaned, but it sounded acquiescing. “Okay,” he said. “What else ya got?”

“Income Share Agreements,” Tim went on. “GC has a program or you can apply through a private matching program for someone to front you the money and commit to paying back a percentage of your income once you graduate.”

“No,” Jason said.

“It’s like a loan,” Tim told him. “Just zero interest. And a zero balance. It doesn’t matter how much you make.”

“I’m doing this because I want to do it,” Jason said. “Not to be a nine-to-five, tax-paying drone, or to be stiffing some jerk on his investment. Next?”

“So, you’re probably not going to be a fan of this one,” Tim cautioned. “But you could get a job. And a company with tuition assistance.”

“Oh, really,” Jason drawled, narrowing his eyes and Tim knew Jason was on to him. “And would this job just happen to be at Wayne Enterprises?”

“I mean, I have an in,” Tim offered weakly.

“Or you could just get married,” Dick said.

“What?” Tim asked.

“What?” Jason asked.

“I mean, if pissing off Bruce is a prerequisite,” Dick said, in the same maddeningly casual tone, “you could just get married.” He held up the FAFSA information booklet. “You’d get double the housing money and some other stuff.”

“I’m in,” Jason said immediately.

“Wait,” Tim said, hating that he was going to be the one to throw a wrench in this extraordinarily *amazing* plan of *marrying Jason*. “Wouldn’t getting married to me fuck up his expected family contribution?”

“Um,” Dick said.

“No.” Jason had clearly been all over this paperwork. “When you file as married, you file as independent so your family isn’t expected to contribute. So our combined income would be the four thou Jason Peterson made at Bat-Burger last year and whatever your summer internship at WE paid.”

“Okay, let me see that worksheet,” Tim said, grabbing it out of Dick’s hand. He did some quick math in his head. “Yeah,” he said, the blood rush of a plan coming together hitting him full force. “I’m using the Nest as a permanent address anyway. You could do the same. I’ll work up a lease between us and Drake Industries. I don’t have legal access to my trust until I turn twenty-one, though Bruce has pretty much signed off on whatever, remind me to check and make sure there’s no marriage clause.”

“Um,” Dick said.

“Gotham has a 48-hour waiting period and blood test required for marriage licenses,” Jason said, scrolling rapidly through his phone. “But after that, we can go down to the courthouse and have the Justice of the Peace do the deed.”

“Figures,” Tim said. “Two days gives the press time to jump on this. Let’s apply on a Friday afternoon. Hopefully, whatever intern they have looking will miss it.”

“I didn’t mean you had to marry *each other*,” Dick said.

The room went silent.

“Who else are we gonna marry?” Jason sneered, clear in his opinion of Dick’s idiocy, and then turned back to the matter at hand. “Your marital status is as of the FAFSA submission date,” he said. “So we need to hook up before I submit.”

Tim shrugged. “Deal.”

[simplegenius042]

Music Monday, WIP Wednesday & WIP Ask Game

Tagged by @aceghosts

Tagging @noodlecupcakes @direwombat @socially-awkward-skeleton @voidika @imogenkol @la-grosse-patate @inafieldofdaisies @cassietrn @adelaidedrubman @shellibisshe @josephseedismyfather @icecutioner @derelictheretic @shallow-gravy @strangefable @rhettsabbott @josephslittledeputy @cloudofbutterflies92 @skoll-sun-eater @carlosoliveiraa @g0dspeeed @wrathfulrook @afarcryfrommymain @strafethesesinners @turbo-virgins @raresvtm @softtidesworld @starsandskies @ladyoriza @florbelles @minilev @yokobai @thewanderer-000 @omen-speaker @justasmolbard @alypink @thesingularityseries + anyone who'd like to join.

Two songs for The UnTitledverse on a Transformers Prime WIP called Trust In Us, the sequel to Honour Thy Father, a snippet WIP for A Radioactive Calamity Of Love, Bombs & Gore, which has a Trigger Warning because the Raiders have evil intentions (but are unable to follow through with them) and also for graphically detailed bloody violence (because Alph is a champ and Ress believes the punishment should fit the wrongs), which is the main reason why this post is labelled mature. And lastly, a list of WIPs from The Silver Chronicles that you can ask about. You can listen and read these below the cut:

There's around two plot points to Trust In Us; the first is simply the Autobots finding a possible Energon Lab that Arcee took the decipherable coordinates of in Honour Thy Father, pushing back against the Decepticons and have them go on a wild goose chase so they can find the lab, and then getting ambushed by the Decepticons at the location. Second plot point is Arcee and Soundwave finding themselves in that lab and finding The Horrors(TM), with faulty equipment and weapons, wounded (from each other LOL) and being hunted by deranged A.Is. Sneaking around and outwitting their foes is a key part of this fic... considering the "deranged A.Is" are smarter than they act. Which is why I chose "You Can't Hide" as a song for this fic:

"I knew I was right to think I would find you over here Well, isn't it intriguing that you seem to be just A little bit weary enough to run off on me* Well, there's no need We know you want to deactivate us But we just can't let that happen Every night, always, it never changes But we can make accidents happen."

"We can make accidents happen We can make accidents happen We can make accidents happen We can make accidents happen."

[*Bon-Bon doesn't exist in this universe so had to change it up here to better fit the context]

During the second half of the plot, Arcee and Soundwave meet a Cybertronian who claims to have had "deserted the Decepticon cause" and found himself trapped down in the lab. They come to know him as Flatline, and while he is inherently suspicious, they must rely on his medical expertise and mapping knowledge to get out of the laboratory alive. Tumult arises when Arcee begins to trust one of the less deranged A.I's who only pokes holes in Flatline's story, which leads to a conflict on who to trust. Soundwave, while displeased with Flatline's desertion of Lord Megatron, does put more trust in him than the Autobot he's stuck with and the A.I she's been listening to. Shame that both options lead them to the same conclusion.

"Feel the grove Feel the grove Feel the grove Feel the grove Keep moving Keep moving Keep moving Keep moving

I feel like, you are not trusting me enough And I know what's right, I will guide you safely through this night And though it's true I kidnapped you, please know it was for your own good I've kept you hidden, now phase* four can begin, begin Now phase four can- Now phase four can- Know- I- can begin Know- it's true, I- can begin I kidnapped you

Safely, safely Please know Safely hidden, safely

You are not trusting me enough Trusting me enough You are not trusting me enough."

[*Night four doesn't make sense as a lyric in this context. Phase four better fits Flatline's plans]

Here's a snippet for my Fallout 3 WIP The Waters Of Life Flow. Alph and Amata are held captive by raiders in their first ten minutes of being on the surface. Fortunately (not for the raiders), a bigger fish shows up to steal from the small fry. [TW: While physically "Mohawk" only manhandles Amata, his and the other raiders words indicate more depraved intentions with her and Alph. Nothing graphic ever occurs though. However, TW for graphically bloody and detailed violence, courtesy of Alph's resistance and Ress' mercilessness in a Fallout world. Also strong language]. Read below:

Alph struggled against two of his captors as Mohawk howled with laughter at Amata's frenzied defiance. He had her restrained against the ruin's wall, a grin unnaturally wide filled with a wicked glee.

Sideburn and Iron Nose cackled and guffawed respectively at the display, manic grins all around on most of the thugs. The two that kept Alph pinned to his knees didn't wear smiles, though more from apathy corrupting their hearts than any moral discontent with the situation.

Mohawk chuckles died into a mockery of Amata's terror, mouth gaped wide into an open frown as he sputtered out an exaggerated cry. He soon replaced it with a tainted smile, hungry eyes roaming over Amata's figure.

He glanced over to Sideburn and Iron Nose, cocking his head to Alph, "I reckon we should all treat ourselves to a bit of early desert for lunch... and dinner if the meat lasts long enough."

The other woman, shorter than Sideburn, tittered cheerfully on the locker she kicked her feet on, the attention of her wide soulless eyes locking onto Alph, caressing the flamer beside her.

Alarmed, Alph pushed himself against the weight holding him down, but all for naught as he exerted his limits. He breathed rapidly, panic surged into his heart at how Mohawk gripped Amata's arms above her. Once more powerless to help. And it's all my fault.

Amata shook her head rapidly, a begging no, a choked plea going unsaid. Mohawk was undeterred, "What does everyone think? Nothing like a good fuck to release some steam, eh?"

His gang of monsters cheered in unison, amoral to the evil they were going to inflict. Mohawk bared his dark yellow teeth, "Alright then! Trix, you have a turn of the red-head first. This one's mine."

Trix cackled as she leapt off the locker, skipping her way over to Alph. The vault dweller in question shook his head in pure shock of the immorality the demons in flesh were willing to partake. His eyes became glassy as Mohawk pushed himself further into Amata's space, her desperate attempts to shake out of his hold futile.

When Trix came closer to him, he felt one of the goon's slacken in their hold. He felt a bold and ferocious fire ignite, and with Amata's life hanging in the balance, he delved into a source of fury he's only felt towards Butch and the Overseer.

Once Trix leaned too close, Alph bounced up into a pounce, his forehead colliding with Trix's nose.

A resounding crunch stopped everyone in their tracks, and a blood curdling scream from Trix filled the sparse seconds of silence, crimson splattering her mouth and face.

Alph shook off the pain that pulsed at his forehead. He took advantage of his captor's shock, pulling one arm from the guy on the left before elbowing his mouth, and proceeded to gut punch the other to his right.

Alph didn't spare a second to claim back his baton clumsily strapped to rightie's leg.

Alph made a dash for Mohawk, an action that made the depraved leader shove himself off of Amata for a chance to reach his sawed-off shotgun.

It didn't matter once Iron Nose's fist collided with Alph's jaw.

Alph lost his grip on the baton, and once he fell to the hard ground, he felt the dazed pain of a missing tooth and torn flesh on his lips.

"Alph!" Amata rushed over to Alph's side, hastily turning him over and pulling him up to check on him. She glanced to the approaching Mohawk, and she tried to drag a disoriented Alph to the corner of the ruins to put some distance between them and the thugs.

Mohawk stared at Alph, letting out a bemused chuckle, his eyes narrowing onto the two vault dwellers.

"Motherfucker!" Trix screeched, cradling her broken nose spilling red on the ground, "Fucking cunt broke my nose!"

Sideburn rolled her eyes at Trix, while Mohawk grinned in excitement, "Yeah, these vaulties got some bite in them."

Alph leaned onto Amata for support, spitting out the tooth that had broken off. He attempted to push himself in front of Amata, but his best friend remained firm, eyeing Mohawk with a fury to try and distract them from the tremors of her body.

Mohawk bit his bottom lip in thought, and tsked, "A shame really. We can't have our meat biting us back now can we?"

His hand pulled the sawed-off shotgun from his side, aiming it at Alph, "Let's see how much fight the damsel has when her hero drops dead."

Fear grasped Alph and Amata, the latter of whom hugged Alph closely to her as he weakly tried to push her away, eyes wet from the thought of his failure to protect Amata and find his dad, all the while surrounded by dirty and vile vultures of human beings, who grinned with eager anticipation to reach satisfaction.

"Now is that really necessary?"

Mohawk's gang and their captives turned their attention to the additional voice, spotting a tall woman standing above them on the crest of the slope.

Alph and Amata held onto each other, their eyes scanning the stranger. Her long platinum hair singled her out from the blue sky behind her, dark-tinted shades displaying Mohawk and his gang in the reflection, hiding her eyes from them. Her skin was darker than Amata's, she was cleaner than everyone in the ruins too; including her attire.

She was wearing a black zip-up leather jacket, with a high collar that was broad. She had matching slim black pants and dress boots, a fancy contrast from the blues of the vault dwellers and the faded garbs of the marauders.

"Who the fuck are you?" Mohawk questioned, the vaulties at his mercy forgotten at the appearance of the woman.

"Marissa Bishop," she introduced herself, her head bowing into a tilt, "But my family only have the right to call me that. So how about Ress instead?"

"How'd you even get in here? Jeremy should have splattered your brains against the pavement," Mohawk inquired, aiming his weapon at this 'Ress'.

Ress' lips opened up into a wide grin, showing off teeth too pearly for someone that's living on the surface.

"Well," she said, taking a step down the slope to walk closer to them, "I think I did have a run-in with this 'Jeremy', but our introductions ended with a handshake."

She stopped when she was at even leveling with Mohawk, surveying the group, "But I'd be more worried for yourselves than of him."

Mohawk blinked at her with an incredulous expression, though Trix seemed to have a more visceral reaction at the news.

Alph watched as Trix sauntered up to Ress, mouth and nose stained with her own dried blood, pulling out Amata's 10mm pistol, aiming it at Ress' face.

"What have you done to him you freaky bitch?! What the fuck did you do to my Jeremy?!" Trix shouted at the taller woman, who didn't change her expression.

"Aww, how cute," Ress cooed, replying, "To answer your question; nothing more than trash like him deserved. And the sames going to happen to all of you."

Trix sneered at the taller woman, while Alph and Amata glanced to each other, wondering how the newcomer was even keeping a straight face from being threatened with certain death.

"Oh yeah? Newsflash fucker; I'm the bitch with the gun," Trix cocked the slide back.

Ress hummed, taking a step back before lifting her hand in front of Trix's face; pinkie and ring finger curled into her palm, index and middle finger stacked together and point forwards, with her thumb standing up.

Is... is she for real?

Alph was baffled by the woman mimicking a gun with her hands, and couldn't help but wonder what joke she was trying to pull off, and the sensation of dread at the sinking chances of the likely unwell woman succeeding against Mohawk's gang being as close as Alph and Amata got to actual rescue.

"Mine's bigger," Ress replied, reeking of overconfidence and delusion as Alph began to mutter a prayer.

Mohawk and his cronies burst into laughter, the leader pointing his shotgun downwards as he nearly doubled-over from the embarrassing display.

Trix cackled at Ress' face, shocked and enraged and bemused. The taller woman, with her "gun" still pointed towards the broken nose of Trix, merely shrugged at the reactions. Her "hammer" pressed down onto her index.

Alph could have sworn her saw a small blue light leave from her fingertips until he witnessed Trix's skull caved into the back of her head in an explosion of crimson blood and white cartilage with bits of brain matter spattering onto the concrete ground.

Trix's headless body stumbled back, Amata's pistol falling from its grip as it fell to the floor with a massive thump.

Mohawk and his goons stood shocked, trying to process what they just witnessed, while Alph and Amata began to drag themselves to the corner wall, making distance.

Ress, however, merely wiped away the gunk that got onto her face, taking off her stained sunglasses to reveal captivating ocean blue irises, putting it away in one of her pockets.

She looked from Mohawk, to Sideburn, to Iron Nose, to the two goons who had sullied themselves.

"So," Ress stated, pulling the raiders out of their stupor, "Who's next?"

And lasting the WIP Ask Game for The Silver Chronicles.

Rules: Make a new post (I've broken this rule already) with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! Then tag as many people as you have WIPS.

Some of these are NSFW (which in this case only refers to sexual themes, because otherwise I'd have to put an asterisk on everything LOL) so I marked them with an asterisk in case you wanted to ask about something (relatively) SFW.

The Silver Chronicles

Silva's Hope

La Última En Pie

Old Dusk

Call To Arms Duology

Ain't It A Joy?

No One's Safe At Home

An unnamed Bloodborne fic that's straight up depression for the soul like the game but with twin sibling Hunters and a demigod, as well as a mix of the worst unrequited toxic yaoi I've made thus far between the demigod and his ex-buddy.

All Yours*

Faithful

Generosity (or the fic where the sexual tension is strong between Silva and Faith aka Faith tends to Silva's wounds to symbolize the intimacy of trust or something)

Hands On Bare Skin*

No Snake, Only A Boa In The Garden

Only One Person Can Frustrate Me (And That's You)*

Strawberries

The Most Wonderful Of Mistakes*

Weaponizing The Obstacle

We're Primal Beasts After All

Where She Belongs

[queerweewoo]

SEVERAL SENTENCE SUNDAY

tagged by @inell—thanks, lovely! this is from yet another wip i have on the go; this one is about buck stealing an old photo of eddie from eddie's phone, for... nefarious purposes (p0rn. it's for p0rn purposes). however, this part is sfw. my no pressure tags are beneath the cut at the bottom of the excerpt xp

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Buck knows it's wrong, okay? He does, he knows it.

Then again, he thought he'd known that he was long past Buck 1.0's chaotic, hedonistic ways (S.S.D's as he calls them only in his own head i.e. his Shamelessly Slutty Days), and that he'd grown into a more respectful, level-headed kind of man. A better man.

Buck really, honestly thought he had finally become a Grown Up.

But there's just something so enticing, and so fucking hot about this photo of Eddie—and it has him handbrake-turning and pedal-to-the-metal reeling straight back to Fuck It Town.

Literally.

Because he—he seriously wants to fuck the Eddie in this photo.

The fratboy-looking cap? The way Eddie's pearly whites are sinking into his bitten lip? The almost challenging sneer? God, it's making Buck want to wolf whistle or rev like a motorcycle or sing opera in soprano or hell, some kinda crazy shit. Also, he is sure that the white-hot fire dancing in Eddie's gaze (the one anybody with eyes can see) isn't purely from the reflection of the camera flash, like, there is definitely a juicy story there to tell. And just—the overall effect of... of... of fucking everything; this particular Eddie that Buck has never seen before. It's all just lighting something wild inside of Buck, a spark that wants to catch on every one of his major organs and blaze through his body like convection flames and shit, the Good Decisions section of his brain has logged off. Gone offline. Shut down.

Error 401

— Unauthorised

Buck knows he is breaking both his own self-preservation rule and his best friend's trust when his thumbs fly across Eddie's phone screen like The Roadrunner, a cartoon-ish explosion that is equal parts shame and excitement going off in his chest as he almost gives himself whiplash checking that Eddie is still busy in the mud room loading the machine with Eddie's, Chris’s and Buck's clothes, before Buck is rapidly getting back to committing his (hopefully) perfect crime.

“We need to buy fabric softener this week, bud,” Eddie shouts through, and Buck is starting to panic.

He's sent the old picture that he accidentally happened upon of this younger, definitely drunk, hot-as-all-fuck Eddie from Eddie's phone to his own phone, and although he can currently still see the curve of Eddie's beautiful bubble butt just peeking out past the door jam—meaning that his best friend is indeed still crouched down in front of the tub—Buck has yet to delete all of the evidence. As he fumbles, be can hear the machine's buttons beeping from being pressed by Eddie (thinking of his own buttons being pressed by this damn photo) and knows that Eddie's must be almost done in there. 

Fuuuuck. 

“Er, yeah, okay, on it. I'll put it down on the list in a sec,” he’s calling back, desperately hoping he doesn't sound like the freak he thought he wasn't anymore.

But before he's had a proper chance to check he's scrubbed away every bit of evidence of his misdemeanour, like deleting both the sent picture message and the duplicate photo from the WhatsApp gallery in Eddie's phone, Eddie is done with the laundry and is standing up and striding back into his kitchen, those sinfully tight blue jeans of his—and Eddie's crotch, Christ!—now squarely in Buck's eyeline and very understandably putting him off his clandestine game. 

See! Not your fault!

Buck's brain is trying to convince him of his innocence, but he knows as soon as he thinks it that it's a weak as fuck defence, and if found out he would definitely be getting jailed by the Stealing Sexy Photos of Your Best Friend For Your Own Sordid Desires police.

Eddie's then walking past him and stretching his fine self across the kitchen counter to reach out and push the window open a little further, and that perfect ass is right. Fucking. There. In all its impeccable stonewash glory, right fucking next to Buck's fucking face where Buck is is sitting at the Diaz kitchen table and supposedly looking at old baby photos of Christopher that Sofia sent to Eddie this morning (yes, he knows he is a truly awful person for that one), so when Eddie is easing himself backwards and brushing off both his of pretty, huge hands on those spectacular denim-clad globes before turning around to face a Guilty Evan Buckley, Buck feels almost justified about his surreptitiously mad, bad behaviour.

I cannot be held entirely responsible for my actions, your Honour!

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weewoo taglist, play or nay:

@rosieposiepuddingnpie @sortasirius @angela-feelstoomuch @woodchoc-magnum @eddiegettingshot @veronae-buddie