#my brain at 4am

[poppitron360]

Okay but like… something something Jason being a Prince since Jupiter is king of the cosmos, something something Leo always being referred to as the “Court Jester”, something something AU something something historical fantasy romance something something.

[luc-and-harlee]

As I'm sitting here trying to stay awake for night shift I was immersed in Spotify and realized half the stuff I was listening to fit Mister Sinister may the gods help me I made this fool a Playlist!

[pillowspace]

No one:

Tumblr user pillowspace: hey y'all mind if I drew another ISAT au that's going to occupy your brain forever? No? Okay! *Blasts with co-op ISAT*

(It's so cool I need more on my hands and knees)

The House has the prologue's wine! And since SAAPfrin and ISATfrin are both a split of the "original Siffrin" for co-op... You could say that some aspects go to one Siffrin that the other might lose

(This was drawn with the help of one of the poses from this post by @albanenechi)

[b1mbodoll]

perv loserboy taesan save me… i cannot stop thinking about him being so cocky n sleazy n obsessed with you, the prettiest lil airhead he’s ever seen, he’s constantly telling you he’d make you feel so good if you let him, only to cum just from feeling your cunt gripping him tight; his hips stuttering n his mouth falling open in pleasure.

taesan’s so embarrassed, but he really tries to make you cum!!! except… he’s all talk. has never fucked a girl, let alone made one cum n his pace is sloppy as he thrusts into you, and it’s such a shame because his cock is so perfect. it’s thick and hits your cervix every time he drives it deeper, making you squeal but it’s not enough to push you towards your orgasm. what’s the point of him having the biggest cock you’ve ever taken if he has absolutely No Idea how to use it.

you don’t let that deter you though, switching positions so you can fuck yourself on his cock and use him to make yourself cum, grasping desperately at his hand to guide his fingers between your legs, begging him to rub at your clit and telling him how you like it. it’s not long before you’re overcome with white hot pleasure, gasping out his name and it’s enough to make taesan cum again, the feeling of his seed spilling in your womb causing your walls to spasm.

you may be a ditz but you’ve taught him something and to show you just how grateful he is, taesan takes it upon himself to practice using your body n before long you’re the one always reaching your climax first.

[thevoidstaredback]

The plan was set and the game had begun.

There was a meeting on the Watchtower exactly three days after the Bat Clan had decided to mess with the Justice League, so that's when they planned to set everything in motion.

Robin couldn't be at the meeting because it fell during school hours, so Nightwing had come to the meeting with Batman. He'd already had the day off, so it wasn't too much of a hasel. Red Hood and Red Robin had both wanted to come, but they also had civilian duties to take care of.

When the meeting was over, the 'main leaguers', as many others had dubbed them, stayed behind as they always did. Normally, it was just so they all could catch up, sometimes to arrange another meeting, or even to discuss more sensitive topics.

This time, when everyone but Batman, Superman, Wonder Woman, Green Arrow, Green Lantern, The Flash, Aquaman, Martian Manhunter, Cyborg, and Nightwing had left the room, Nightwing threw his arm across Batman's shoulders and said "You all should come to the Cave!"

All conversation stopped as everyone turned to look at the black and blue clad vigilante. For a long moment, no one spoke or moved. Then, Batman nodded.

"Perfect!" Nightwing's smile got even bigger.

"Um," Superman, the sweet midwesterner, flicked his eyes over to Batman's face before looking at Nightwing. "Are you sure? Bat's has never let any of us into Gotham, let alone the Bat Cave."

Nightwing winked at the hero, his domino mask not hiding it, "Yeah, well, me and the others managed to wear him down. Besides, we've all wanted to give you guys a tour! We've been to all your secret hideouts, so we figured it's about time you saw ours!"

"I'm sorry," Green Lantern raised his hand slightly, "'Others'?"

Nightwing blinked, his smile dropping. Batman straightened up. "Did you-" Nightwing cut himself off, "You do know how many of us there are in Gotham, right?"

The heroes all looked at one another. Sure, they'd heard that there was two, maybe three, working with Batman, but nothing had ever been confirmed aside from Robin working with Batman and Nightwing working in Bludhaven.

Batman fought very hard to keep a smirk off his face. Nightwing didn't even try to hide his amusement.

Wonder Woman was the one to ask, "There are rumors, but I can't say any of us know exactly how many heroes work within Gotham City limits."

Nightwing and Batman shared a glance. This added so much more to their game. They had to tell the others! This was already so much fun, but it was about to get so much better!

"Then, I guess you all have no choice but to come to the Cave with us so you can meet everyone!" Nightwing exclaimed.

The eight heroes shared looks with one another before looking back at Batman and Nightwing. Their choice was obvious to the two Bats before the group had even decided.

"Alright," Aquaman said, "When would you like us to stop by?"

Right on script. Batman said, "Meet here tomorrow at fifteen-hundred New Jersey time. We'll be here to bring you down to the Cave." Then, he left, Nightwing trailing behind him.

"Cool," Flash nodded, "Cool, cool. Totally not nerve wracking at all."

Cyborg stood from his seat. "Don't be nervous, Flash. We're actually being allowed in Gotham. Batman doesn't let anyone in Gotham."

"No," Green Arrow said, "He doesn't let anyone operate in Gotham. I've been many times."

"As Green Arrow or as a civilian?"

He fell silent and the others all laughed. He joined them.

"Regardless," Martian Manhunter said, "I think it's good he's allowing us to see his main base of operations."

"Yeah," agreed Superman, "I wonder what it'll be like."

Wonder Woman was the next to stand from her seat. "It will be quite the tour, I'm sure."

Part 2 Part 4

[chromxena]

it's probably for the better that i lent my copy of p5r to my sister - otherwise i'd be playing tycoon all day everyday,,

(this is based on a tycoon game i once had hehe <3)

[frogaroundandfindout]

Au where Jason has no idea why he keeps circling back to the name Red Hood but eventually decides to just go with it. It’s not half bad.

He doesn’t remember, but as a kid he kept stealing all of dick’s red hoodies and sweatshirts. This lead to an extensive list of teasing nicknames, the most common of which was Little Red Robin’ Hood.

One day dick catches him mid theft and they both freeze while staring at each other. Dick starts counting down from five and Jason breaks into a dead sprint out the door while Dick play chases him through the manor.

Jason gets into the drama of it all and starts monologuing through his laughs about how he, the evil Red Hood The taker of all red hoods, plans to steal all of dicks sweatshirts from him. Dick eventually tosses Jason onto the couch and tickles him in revenge.

Fast forward to dick hearing the name get used like this and getting absolutely furious

[vunderjoy]

i am a fucking visionary

[hellogoodbyeitsme]

Damian + Jon: [playing Minecraft]

Dami: I've secured us some suitable living conditions. We will be safe from enemies now.

Jon: nice oneeeee now help me mine for iron plz you need armor so bad noob

Dami: don't call me that. I've killed people in real life.

Jon: ya ok noob

Dami: 😡😡

(some time later, when they return to the house) (to paint the scene: it is small, square in shape, and it's obvious Damian had no idea how to build a proper house, since a lot of it is made with dirt, which is a very convenient block but makes for an ugly.. ugly build)

Jon: aren't you like.. into art? Why did you build it with dirt??

Dami: it's about functionality right now, for safety. Tomorrow I will begin renovations. Obviously.

Jon: right..

[they enter the house. There is a chest, a crafting table, a furnace, and a double-bed at the side of the room]

Jon: omg... you put our beds together?? Omg I knew you loved me 😭😭😭😭 woooow 😭😭😭😭

Damian: [immediately breaks one of the beds to move it away to the other wall] now you've made it weird. It was for convenience.

[ghostbeam]

Tomura shigaraki x reader, tomura is an art student, takes place in the same universe as my charcoal artist!dabi stuff, tomura is like very insecure in some of this, if the writing feels pretentious and flowery and unnecessary that’s because it is<3

His hair is getting long.

Running your fingers through the ends, you notice how it’s nearing his shoulders now. His head is in your lap, staring up at you as you lean against the mountain of pillows on your bed, clad in a pair of underwear and the tee shirt he arrived in. His jeans are stained with paint, hanging low on his hips, unbuttoned and quickly thrown on so he wasn’t naked and vulnerable in your lap. You thumb at the scar by the corner of his mouth and he kisses it, then your palm, then your wrist. Tomura takes your hand in between three careful fingers and places it over his heart.

Love is not how they told you it would be.

The two of you were assigned to the same group in painting iii, formed so that the students could give one another critiques independently. Only, you couldn’t find a single thing to critique in his work.

Tomura worked with oils—or Tomura lived and breathed and died for them. He painted people, always caught in a moment, in the middle of talking, or yelling, or drinking, or sleeping. His attention to detail was unlike anything you’d ever seen before, colors you’d never realized could appear in skin tones, shine on limbs and cheeks that made his subjects both more alive and human than any real person. His work felt sort of dirty, sweaty, perpetually damp. But it was beautiful. You couldn’t say a thing about it.

He’d confronted you about it one afternoon, stuffing handouts from the professor into his bag, which looked to be filled with more loose paper and no text books.

“Do you hate it that much?” It was the first time he’d ever talked to you, actually talked to you and not just about your work during a critique. “You never have anything to say.”

It stuns you for a moment, his anger and annoyance, how he’s decided to aim it at you instead of the group of people clamoring for issues with his painting all class period.

“I’m supposed to point out flaws, tell you where you could have done better, explain how I wasn’t moved,” you explain, staring down at your shoes, “but I can’t do that. There’s not—I don’t see how I could possibly tell you how you could do better.”

“That’s bullshit.” He mutters, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Don’t just say what I want to hear. I won’t like you any more for it.”

He leaves you standing alone in the classroom. Like you? He thought it was about being liked? You’re in such awe of him that you can’t speak, and he thinks you’re just trying not to hurt his feelings.

During the next class, when he stands before your group for critique, you don’t say a word. And he keeps looking at you like he’s waiting for it, like you’ll be angry enough at him for last week that you’ll rip his painting apart. But your silent, once again. Nothing’s changed.

He’s the first one out of the class once you’re dismissed. He walks fast, and you’re out of breath by the time you catch up with him, resting a hand on his shoulder that he flinches away from. Your breath comes out in quick puffs that you can see, wrapping your coat tighter around yourself as you fix him with a glare.

“You’re wrong.” You say once he’s turned around. “I don’t care if you like me or not after critique. It’s not about sparing your feelings. I’ve never seen anything like what you do. And I watch you in class, and you paint like something is clawing it’s way out of you, like you need to do it or you’ll die.”

“You’re honest with everyone else but me.” He argues, unable to accept your words. You have real things to say to your peers. You don’t hold back with them. You make them better. Why couldn’t you do that for him?

“You are not everyone else.” You watch his eyes widen at your words, and if you had any shame, maybe you wouldn’t have said something so bold. “You’re leagues above all of us. Everyone knows it, and that’s why they’re harsh on you.”

Where you say nothing, your group rips into him, picking at each and every detail until there’s nothing left. He takes it all in stride, accepting their words like it’s absolute truth, and returning to his canvas with sunken shoulders and furrowed brows, concentrated on how he could be better. It’s exactly what they want.

He opens his mouth the say something, but stops, feeling a drop of something fall on his cheek. He looks up at the dark clouds above the two of you, and it begins to rain. He curses, taking a hold of your hand and leading you underneath the front of the design building.

“They’re harsh because I deserve it.” He points out, still holding your hand. You could say a million things right now, tell him in detail how moved you are by every piece he makes, but his hand is still in yours, and you don’t trust yourself not to trip over your words because of it. You can only shake your head.

“Why can’t you accept that you’re brilliant?” You question, exasperated. It makes him laugh, his smile being something you’ve never seen before. It makes you think of all the people who have seen this smile before, the stretch of his lips, the creases by his eyes. Had they felt this lucky?

“I think you’re crazy.” He tells you, knocking his knuckles against your head.

“Do you wanna go out?” You ask before you’re able to stop yourself. He leans away from you, surprised.

“What?” You can’t find the words to speak, to tell him you’re sorry, that it was uncalled for, that you’re a total creep. His face is red, you notice. He speaks a moment later, “yes.”

Rising from your lap, he leans over you, kissing your lips with as much tenderness as he had your palm. Your lips are his favorite thing to paint, second only to your thighs which he grips tightly as he wraps your legs around his waist.

When he’d met you, all full of hope and belief in him of all people, he’d thought of you as such a faraway thing. Unattainable. If you couldn’t talk about his work, there was no way you’d ever talk to him. But he was wrong, something he rarely ever is, your faith in him changing how he viewed his own art forever.

He paints you. He paints you a lot. He even paints the two of you together, though your faces are never in those ones, just bodies tangled together on one canvas. He’d call you his muse if you didn’t hate it. And besides, he knows you’re so much more.

If there had been something inside of him clawing it’s way out, you had noticed it, freed it, kept it safe with you so it wasn’t so agonizing to carry on his own.

No, it’s not how they told him it would be at all.

[nightislandnoveltymug]

never gonna stop being fucked up about how marius treated armand's turning like a wedding while armand treated daniel's turning like a funeral, send tweet

[camzverse]

now spell sin

[ysabellious]

thought about the frog show again at 4am

[beheamothscreamoth]

Hear Me Out on This-

Okay, I'm like 100% sure that someone has talked about this, but for my own sanity, I need to say it again. So, in the trailer for Touchstarved, we get flashes of the LIs' "true nature"/"hidden side" if that makes sense? We get a glimpse of what's going on beneath the surface of these characters and what they're hiding - We see the outline of Kuras's angel form, Vere's monster form, Mhin's cursed bird form, Ais and Ocudeus, but Leander?

Leander's got nothing going on, which I find both funny and a little scary- He has no body transformation, no big monster, nothing. It's just him.

From just the silhouette alone, and comparing it to the other's silhouettes in these cuts, he's Just A Guy™. He's Just Some Dude™. He's not hiding anything! :) (He is-)

I think his having no physical changes can be sort of tied into the fact that Leander is trying to present himself as more trustworthy/normal than the other LIs?? Everyone else has something going on with them in these quick cuts, but Leander has nothing but his usual sprite and FNAF movie glowing eyes (/j /lh). Leander not having any sort of changes in this cut could be him trying to convince us as the viewer/player that he's trustworthy, not just the MC in the game,, He has no transformation/glowing magic tattoos/chains binding him, so obviously he can be trusted, right?? Am I making sense??

Leander doesn't have any hidden horrors/monstrosities beneath the surface because he IS the horror /lh

[tiredwishes]

how has no one written the fic where oscar finds out lando not only held checo up cooled his tyres which helped oscar's race out BUT ALSO climbed eleven whole places AND oscar's deliciously adrenaline high off his win, so when he finally gets back to the hotel and sees his beautiful, gorgeous, perfect boyfriend waiting for him, all he wants to show lando is how proud and grateful he is.......

"Oh hello," Lando's voice washes over Oscar the second the hotel door shuts behind him. "Welcome back, two-time race winner."

He's sitting on the edge of the bed, their bed, bundled up in one of Oscar's hoodies that hangs off his frame just slightly. Phone tossed to the side, Lando beams across the room at him through damp curls, and Oscar feels his heart stutter.

God, he's beautiful. Oscar watches as his boyfriend moves to his feet, to him. Lando stops infront of Oscar, eyes impossibly bright through his lashes.

Oscar inhales sharply, and all he breathes is the familiar notes of Lando.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Lando frowns, "Tell you what?"

"That you-" Oscar splutters, because how is he supposed to be normal about this? "That you covered Checo off with the undercut. That you protected your own race even when doing so. That you drove so well."

"Oh."

Lando blinks, clearly not expecting all of that. He stares up at Oscar, two figures in the hallway, the lingering scent of champagne slowly intertwining with bergamot shampoo.

"It's not that big of a deal." Lando shrugs, before whispering with the smile he's only ever had for Oscar. "Osc, you won."

At his words, Oscar stares at his boyfriend like he's grown a second head. "I couldn't have done it without you."

"Yes, you could." Lando's face scrunches in protest. "I saw your overtake on Charles, and your defence after was spectacular. He never would've gotten through. You would've won even without me."

It makes Oscar want to scream. Because his incredibly talented boyfriend, who out-performed what everyone thought was possible, would use every breath in his body to defend Oscar's skill, only to not save anything for himself. The thought of it pains Oscar so terribly.

Oscar pushes back. "I might not have. Charles fought strongly, and Checo would have been a lot closer if you hadn't held him off."

"Still," Lando says stubbornly, refuses to budge. "You would've won anyway."

"Not without you."

"Even without me."

"Nope."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes- Why are you fighting me on this?" Lando snaps, crossing one hoodie-clad arm over the other. It shouldn't be as endearing as it is. Oscar shouldn't be finding it this hot.

The glare he's giving Oscar makes him want to kiss him senseless, amongst other things. Oscar looks into Lando's sea glass eyes, and all he does is want.

"Because," Oscar says plainly, stepping into his boyfriend's space. Lando's sharp intake of air goes straight to his core. "I need you to know how I could not have done this without you. I need you to know how your race was absolutely bloody brilliant, it was fucking hot. I need you to know how much I care about this, about you."

Oscar's hands fall to the sides of Lando's waist, and all it takes is a singular, fluid motion for their bodies to be pressed together. Lando lets out a squeak of surprise, the tips of his ears turning pink.

"And it really fucking kills me that you don't think the same about yourself, you know that?" Oscar continues, despite their lips being inches apart. "Eleven fucking places, Lando. And nevermind that, you won't even let me tell you how proud I am or otherwise."

Lando's flushed brilliantly, and Oscar smiles slowly at the sight. Then he leans in, and Lando lets his eyes flutter shut, waits for his boyfriend's next move.

Only, Oscar's not quite done.

"So I guess I have no choice but to show you." Oscar murmurs next to his ear, it takes him by surprise. Lando jumps, eyes flying open. Oscar's breath is hot, starved, it sends shivers down his spine. "I don't think I've thanked you properly yet."

His thigh presses between Lando's legs. The sudden unexpected pressure has Lando reeling. At his boyfriend's whine, Oscar pulls back. Lando's eyes are blown wide, and they meet Oscar's, dark and wanting.

"Please," Lando nods desperately. He whispers, begging. "Please."

With a smirk, Oscar sinks to his knees.

[snowe-zolynn-rogers]

Ruin: This is the worst outcome…

Kitten Solar: *wriggling and squeaking as he crawls onto Moon’s foot and wiggles for warmth*

Moon: One man’s worst case scenario is another man’s dream.