#my writing isn't the best

[macabremilieu]

just a short, angsty fluff drabble for you.

(mention of PTSD!abby, depressed!reader, some cuddling and petnames)

♡

thinking about abby with depressed!reader.

struggling to text her the whole day: your thoughts spiraling and fatigue getting the best of you. merely reaching for your phone felt like too much, and when you finally did...

the sheer amount of sweet, loving texts she'd sent you throughout the course of the whole day. it instantly filled you with a sour, guilty feeling. she knew you struggled, and she always tried to be understanding, even if it frustrated her when you distanced yourself. struggling with PTSD herself, she empathized heavily.

just one "hey, abs" and she was immediately texting back, checking that you were alright before practically begging to come over and see you. you couldn't deny her, of course.

•

"hey, baby, i brought you some stuff— i know you don't feel great," she'd immediately start blabbering as soon as you opened the door, hands filled with snacks you liked, little things she thought you might need.

you'd welcome her in with a lethargic, guilty smile, watching as she frantically set her things down and moved to wrap you in a tight hug. it had always calmed you down to feel her muscular arms wrap so entirely around you. the pressure was comforting— like a weighted blanket.

"you know i'm always here, baby, i love you, i love you so much." she'd mumble into your hair, subconsciously pressing kisses to the side of your head as she spoke. her other hand would gently cradle the back of your head, holding onto you like something so fragile, so delicate.

she'd offer to cuddle with you sheepishly, as though she never had before. climbing into bed with you, carefully opening her arms to hold you in them as long as you needed. to hold you and press loving, gentle kisses to your forehead was a dream for her. something she felt honored to do at every opportunity she got.

no matter what, you knew she had your back. through anything and everything.

♡

[trashartgalleries]

A tiny section from a story I'm cookin' up

This is, like, the middle section of a chapter I just finished writing. I might post a chapter on here, but I won't be the one this section's from

The story's called "A Light in the Darkness" and it's inspired by mistanfishu's animation on TikTok (i saw it on YouTube)

-

         The inside of Theodor’s home looks as fancy on the inside as it did the outside; Benjamin was almost scared to touch anything or sit on one of the plush couches in the living room. There’s not a lot of decorations in the spacious room, other than a few house plants and the fireplace with a large (flat screen) television hanging on the wall above it. The hero manager could feel loneliness dancing in the lightly scented air around him; the vibe of the house doesn’t match Theodor’s personality, or the amount of his personality Benjamin’s seen thus far.

The two text each other any and every chance they get, even if it’s just to check on one another.

Ben accepts the glass of iced fruit juice Theo offers him before the taller sits down next to him.

“Like I said outside, before I help you look into the Mocker of Heroes… there’s something I need to tell you.”

The shorter nods his head, remaining silent while he waits for the taller to continue. Theo, “I’m not a hero. I’m a vigilante; that’s the reason you and I have never run into each other at the Grand Hall.”

Benjamin hums, “Then… why were you there the other day?”

“I figured you’d be there,” Theodor teases kindly, “you’re always at your job, you workaholic.”

The smaller man pouts slightly with blush staining his cheeks, “I am not,” he huffs out, “technically speaking, being a hero is a twenty-four hour job!”

That flew right over Theo head while he laughs softly at Ben, “I didn’t mean for that to upset you, my dear; I was just trying to tell you what I’ve noticed about you. … I’ve noticed a lot of things actually.”

Benjamin tilts his head to show his curiosity. Theodor, “You work hard, and you seem to enjoy what you do to some extent. Otherwise, you’re just willing yourself to continue down your career path. You’ve probably held out a helping hand to the majority of the heroes’ managers when things got hectic for them.” He smiles softly, “You deserve every break you earn, and all the rest you can get.”

“Th-thank you,” the shorter mused softly, “I um… oh!” he lightly punches the taller’s firm arm, “We’re supposed to be talking about the Mocker of Heroes, not me! … but,” he averts his gaze while moving his hand back to his lap, closing his orbs while setting his drink on the coffee table in front of his shins.

“Since you told me what you actually are… I think it’s fair that I share with you what happened about five years ago; the reason why I’m so tired all the time. It relates to Doc, so I was going to bring it up anyway.”

This caught Theodor/Wraith’s full attention, his expression relaxing as he turns head and body a bit to sit facing Benjamin. Ben, “About five years ago, there was a villain with powers we’d never went up against before. Heroes and vigilantes teamed with the hopes of takin him down, but… nothing they did was enough. Our city would’ve been done for if Nightengalen hadn’t used his full power… Nightengalen: Overdrive.”

“Is that what he, himself, calls it?” the larger man asked with a curious eyebrow cocked. The smaller shakes his head, “Nah; he never came up with an official name for the form himself, and different people call it different things. Using his full power was more than enough to take that villain down, but… it came at a price.”

Theo, “Exhaution?”

“And limitation. The amount of energy he needs to replenish is… far beyond anything I could calculate off the top of my head. Being a hero who always needed gets in the way of that, and Sun Beam thinks we’ll need Doc’s full power soon.”

“Does she think that the False Hero’s going to make a move?”

“Yes… and if he knows about what happened to Doc then, that might confirm her suspicions.”

Theodor hums as he leans back into the cushion of his couch, “I think she’s worrying over the wrong villain.”

Benjamin tilts his head curiously, “What makes you say that?”

“I caught a glimpse of those notes before I left,” he stands up, “follow me.”

Ben stands up and then follows Theo out of the living room and down a long hallway, walking until they reach a specific door. The taller man opens it then allows the shorter to enter the room first before doing the same, closing the door behind him. Theodor approaches the table at the center of the room then taps something underneath the edge of it to turn it on, “Plug your phone into this please; there’s a cord that connected to the side you’re standing at.”

Benjamin pulls up the picture he took of Sun Beam’s corkboard before connecting his phone to the projector table, blinking twice when a holographic version of a picture appears before his eyes. Theodor moves to stand (close) behind Ben the lifts one of his hands to unstack the holographic sticky notes to make it look neater, fully aware of the blush that’s taking over the smaller male’s features. It’s starting to creep down Benjamin’s neck.

“This note,” the larger says while enlarging it, “this note is the reason why I said what I did in the living room. The Mocker of Heroes likes to do as he pleases, and it looks like it mostly involves sparring against people who pique his interest.”

Ben shifts timidly, “Ni-Nightengalen has um… super strength and super speed, along with his powerful healing abilities, s-so I guess I have a better understanding of why he’s being targeted. I-if true.”

Theodor hums with his eyebrows raised in amusement, his gaze moving to the pen across the table. He doesn’t need it, but he could pretend that he could to make Benjamin bend over in front of him. With how close he is to the shorter, his crotch will be pressed firmly against Ben’s clothed ass.

“Excuse me,” the taller chimes before leaning forward to grab the pen with his other hand gently gripping the shorter’s waist to keep him in place. Blush takes over Benjamin’s entire body as his frame quivers underneath Theodor, his hand gripping the edge of the table for support.

“Fuck,” Theo/Wraith cursed mentally with his hungry gaze on the back of Ben’s neck. He the desire to leave a mark there is tempting, and the villain subconsciously sharpens his canine teeth into fangs the longer he stares. It didn’t help that the smaller’s plump rump rubbed against his rising erection with each little shift and tiny sway of the hips he does, sweat beginning to show on his reddened skin.

“Ah… are you going to um… grab it?”

“Hm?” Theo hummed as he snapped back to reality.

“The pen.” Benjamin timidly turns his head to look over his shoulder, “You could’ve let me move out of the way for you, or you could’ve just gone to the other side of the table to get it.”

“Ah… the pen….” Theodor moves off of the smaller with his hands raised and an innocent smile on his face, “I completely forgot what I needed it for!” his smile softens as his hands lower to the pockets of his sweatpants, “Why don’t we call it here for the day, and come back tomorrow to make a plan? The table’s already memorized the photo, so you don’t have to worry about reconnecting your phone.”

Ben shyly averts his gaze after turning to face Theo, “N-not tomorrow… the next time I’m free, I’ll let you know.”

The two blink twice when the shorter man’s phone began to ring, both knowing where the call’s coming from.

“Until next time then,” the taller sighs, “be sure to text me when you get home.”

[uraniumnm333]

and here it is !!! the polysho oneshot fic !!! i already have two chapters up, but i'm planning more soon !!!

[wilteddreamsofbaldursgate]

Overindulgent father Astarion who tells his children they’re allergic to any kind of jewellery that isn’t made of the highest grade Dwarven crafted gold. 

It’s not even because Astarion might have a certain aversion to silver, no, he just raises his children to have standards, thank you very much. 

And it doesn’t end with shiny things, oh no… 

The Ancunín brood is known to be dressed in perfectly woven cotton, silk and soft leather clothes, no matter the occasion.

They’re seen playing with expensive toys, reading artfully illustrated books that certainly belong behind thick glass, not in children’s sticky hands. 

There’s even talk that one of the children is not as naturally inclined to music as his parents claim him to be, surely his lyre must be enchanted—the instrument certainly looks extravagant enough! 

And then there’s always this air of effortless haughtiness surrounding the Ancunín children whenever their nannies and servants are parading them through town as if they were perfect little dolls; objects to show off the wealth their parents acquired in quite the mysterious ways. 

So, it’s no secret that Astarion and Tav are pampering their children—some might say they’re even spoiling them rotten. 

And maybe they are, especially Astarion.

But he doesn’t see why he should raise them any other way, nor does he want to.  

When it comes to his children, Astarion has his own standards, and as long as Tav agrees with him nothing really matters. 

Because, these people, they don’t know anything about the Ancuníns. 

They don’t know that it’s not unusual for Astarion to wash out dirt and mud and strawberry stains from comically small finery, leaving behind only the memories of a day spent playing in the garden, chasing after ducks, picking flowers, lazing in the sun…

That any holes and tears the children’s clothes might suffer are quickly mended, making them look as good as new in no time. 

Nor do they know that Astarion doesn’t mind fashioning a brand new dress to match that of a favourite doll, either. Or to embroider a pretty vest with the likeness of that stray cat the children seem to adore, although their father would rather they don’t touch the mangy animal. 

No, those people know nothing at all...

“Not tired!” Astarion’s youngest cries; the vehement denial of her father’s earlier accusation is cut short by a telltale yawn.

The room still smells of fragrant lavender oil and peaches even when the bath water has already grown tepid, just one or two degrees above what Astarion would consider too cold to be enjoyable. 

Amused, he raises an eyebrow at the protesting toddler before he lifts her out of the copper bathtub with little effort. 

By now, he knows every step of this game.

“Tut-tut, my dear child, what did mama and I say?” Astarion kneels, quickly wrapping a soft towel around the child to keep her warm. “We only tell lies outside of this house.”

Unfazed by her father’s gentle scolding, the girl crosses her arms that haven’t yet lost their puppy fat across her chest, reminding Astarion a little too much of a very displeased Tav. 

Suppressing a sigh, he leans back to consider the pouting child, wondering what could possibly be upsetting her this time—the list is growing longer by the day, after all. 

“What’s the matter, dear?” Astarion asks gently, hoping it’s something easily fixable as it’s growing rather late. 

“Want apple!”

Decades ago, Astarion might’ve rolled his eyes—he knows exactly which stupid apple the child wants, it’s been haunting him all day—but once he started to treat his children’s problems as if they were his own, his life has grown somewhat easier. 

“Why, let’s get an apple on our way to bed, then. Would that be alright, Your Highness?” 

The girl promptly nods her head, allowing Astarion to pat her hair dry before dressing her in a clean night dress. 

She rests her cheek against her father’s shoulder as he carries her first to the kitchen to grab a fragrant apple and a knife, then to her bedroom where they settle on the cosy window seat, just like they do every night.

Soft moonlight is pouring through the windows; the child giggles at the way the knife’s blade is catching the silver light as Astarion peels and cuts the apple into even pieces.

“Here you go,” he finally says, giving the slice of apple one last examining look before surrendering it to the impatient little hands reaching for it. “A sweet treat for my little sweet. Doesn’t it taste so much better when we don’t eat it off the floor, darling?” And when it’s not crawling with ants…

The appeased toddler nibbles at the juicy fruit as Astarion carefully combs through her still-damp curls. 

Her hair’s getting long, he notices, knowing that taking care of it will become more time-consuming each day. 

Once, Astarion would’ve thought this task tedious, brushing out hair that’s not his own, oiling and braiding it for no other reason than knowing his children enjoy him doing it. 

But that’s why he loves doing it in the first place, he supposes.

Astarion can tell by his toddler’s heartbeat that sleep is about to claim her. 

The half-eaten slice of apple is still clutched in her little fist as he cradles the child to his chest, slowly rising from the window seat to put her to bed. 

He’s just about to lay the child down that the fruit drops to the floor, his daughter’s tiny hand clutching at his shirt instead.

“Thank you, papa,” she mumbles, more asleep than awake.

Astarion pauses.

He breathes in the clean, yet unique scent of the little girl that is forever engraved in his brain, the same way he knows under which exact constellation she was born. When she took her first steps, what her first word was. Soon, he will have to memorise her favourite colour, and what she likes to eat when dirty apples won’t be that appealing anymore. 

By now, Astarion knows this game by heart, knows that with every year that passes, he has something new to learn about his children.

And sometimes he wonders what it’s like to grow up with clean bed sheets and full bellies. Sleep filled with naught but warmth and happy memories. Ever open doors and tears that are dried by tender kisses. Living in a house where mistakes and anger are welcomed, safe. 

He wonders what it’s like for his children to know that their father’s love comes without conditions. Not now and not ever. 

Sitting down on the bed, Astarion holds his youngest a little closer to his chest, unwilling to let go of her, yet. 

He’s often accused of spoiling his children when most people can only just grasp the very surface of his love for them, the bare minimum of what he feels for his one and only, precious family. 

These baseless accusations are as unimportant to Astarion as the people voicing them.

He’s raising his children to have standards, wants them to take their father’s love for granted, to accept nothing less but pure devotion.

It’s the only way Astarion knows how to love them, the only way that comes most naturally to him. 

Astarion looks down at his little girl, now fast asleep, a gentle smile tugging at her lips. 

After all these years—all these children—he’s still in awe watching them sleep in his arms as if no harm in the world could ever befall them.

And it won’t—not if Astarion can help it. 

“No, thank you, my heart,” he whispers, pressing a kiss against the crown of the toddler’s head. 

When it comes to his children, Astarion holds himself to the highest standard.

[theprissythumbelina]

I can't tell if my dragon worldbuilding has gone too far when I start reading scientific papers on bat wig morphology and comparing them to bird morphology.

[psychologicalwarclaire]

Wu trained Morro at the same time that Garmadon was training with Chen which MEANS that Misako was around to see what the pressure of wanting and training to be the Green Ninja could lead to.

So later when she had Lloyd and KNEW that he would be the legendary Green Ninja, do you think she thought of the child Wu had once trained? The kid who became so obsessed with proving himself that he put himself in danger time and time again? The little boy who ran off into the night and never came back?

After seeing that, is it any wonder why she didn't want to leave her son-- the actual Green Ninja-- to be trained by Wu at such a young age?

Maybe a boarding school for bad boys would never make him want to be a hero. Maybe it would keep him safe from the destructive power of destiny. Maybe Darkley's was the only way to save her beloved son, Lloyd Garmadon, from himself.

Maybe Misako remembered Morro. And maybe, just maybe, she knew it would be best if her son never turned into someone like that.

[laswells-ashtray]

Ghost doesn't mind attention. He's used to eyes on him. He wears a mask and has a reputation for being a proficiently merciless man. The sound of his footsteps paired with a man of his stature tends to incite fear in people, his own or those he's yet to plant in the ground.

Simon is also used to the attention. He knows he's attractive, and he's dealt with his fair share of people flirting with him. He has big shoulders, the type of nose that's just on the right side of crooked so that people fawn over it and thighs like tree trunks. It attracts interest.

Simon likes the attention, he likes being flirted with and he enjoys the varying compliments he receives from different kinds of people. The older men who call him a pretty boy despite him towering over them, and the women tell him they'd like to climb him like a tree and find out exactly how good his wood is. His favourite is the bartenders who slip him a free drink alongside their number.

He likes the attention, appreciates being showered with lustful gazes after years worth of getting the shit beaten out of him and collecting scars like they're vintage stamps.

He doesn't like the action. Sickened by the feeling of men grabbing his jaw and yanking him into sloppy kisses as their scruff grazes his cheek. The sticky feeling of lip gloss and the taste of vodka from some blonde who'd parked herself in his lap and tried to stick her tongue in his mouth almost triggers his gag reflex.

He likes feeling wanted, he doesn't like being pushed.

So, when he ends up entangled with Nikolai and John, he's hesitant to tell the two other men.

John is tactile, he enjoys his little Price pats. He likes standing close enough that he can feel the warmth from someone else's shoulder. And he likes sitting with his legs spread out far enough that his knees knock into the knee of the person beside him.

Nikolai is openly affectionate. He's quick to draw someone in for a hug, encompassing them with his arms and trapping them with his smile. He likes to stand with an arm around someone's waist, finger hooking in their belt loop. He brushes his thumb across any available skin, tracing scars and stretchmarks like they're a divine beauty he's been blessed to touch.

But the two men don't seem to mind.

If they sit on the couch together, Nikolai will end up with John half sitting on his lap within twenty minutes of whatever movie they're watching together as he trails his thumb over one of the more prominent scars on John's forearm. John will slump against him and grumble whenever Nikolai moves.

Sometimes Simon will sit with his leg up on the couch, toes digging into John's thigh without hearing a complaint from his captain. Sometimes he won't.

Sex is a lot more talkative than he's used to. They both ask him if he's okay, and they check in while in the middle of things just to make sure that everyone is comfortable. If Simon seems unsure then they stop and work out a better arrangement between the three of them, taking into consideration everyone's wants and needs.

Some nights he's three fingers deep in John's arse and tormenting his prostate with a sniper's accuracy rate as the other man sucks Nik off and tries not to cum while doing so.

Other nights he's sat in Nikolai's lap as the Russian gropes at his tits while John presses his nose into the wiry blonde curls at the base of his cock and swallows around him just to hear the wanton moan that escapes Simon's mouth and surely earns them a noise complaint.

They never complain about his avoidance when it comes to kissing, it's never a point of contention or friction. Sometimes John nuzzles his face into Simon's shoulder sleepily after they make him cum three times and he'll run a hand through John's hair. Sometimes Nikolai will lean over him to get something from the fridge whilst Simon is grabbing himself a drink, he'll let their hands touch and smile at Nikolai's pleased huff.

He'll watch the two of them kiss throughout the day. Nikolai pressing a kiss on John's cheek whenever he walks by him. John kissing Nikolai's knuckles when the pilot accidentally hits a cabinet and splits his knuckle.

He knows when he's comfortable enough with the both of them and he contemplates saving it for a nice, romantic moment. He doesn't because if there's anything he likes to do it's tease the two men.

So, he waits until they're having sex. Until John tries desperately to arch up, Nikolai pinning the captain's hips in his lap and keeping him firmly planted on his cock as John cums in Simon's mouth.

Then he pulls off of the other man's spent cock, crawls his way onto the bed and pulls John up into a kiss.

John is so caught off guard by the sudden action that it takes him a second to realise that Simon is using the kiss to feed his own cum into his mouth. When he does realise, he's grabbing at his lieutenant's shoulders and moaning into his mouth.

Only when John swallows does he pull back and lean over him to kiss Nikolai, with John's spend on his lips. The Russian nips at his bottom lip before licking it clean.

He considers it worth the wait.

[gotham-daydreams]

Are you alive? Is 2025 your date of death? We miss you mate

HI!!! OKAY SINCE A LOT OF PEOPLE ARE CONCERNED AND I GENUINELY DON'T WANT ANYONE TO WORRY (especially with how the year is kicking off) I'll say it-

I AM ALIVE!!!

I know it's been a long while, and I apologize for that!! I didn't want to start off the year this way, and actually wanted to start it off with a one shot (and the one that was supposed to come out on Christmas, along with the remaining chapters of the red dawn and so on) but I'll be honest and say that I got distracted, caught up in one too many things, and fell out of DC for a hot minute before crawling back like a man starved.

I've missed you all so much, and for the past few days have been trying to get those things I mentioned together so that I can finally have something up again! Even if I've royally failed the challenge back in October, those last chapters will and are still uneditied and basically made on a time crunch. The oneshots are getting done as we speak, and Chapter 4 is in the works :]

If it sounds like a lot and absolutely insane, that's because it is!! I'll be honest and say that I'm more excited for other projects then what I'm currently working on, but am focusing more on getting things done because you all deserve that and especially for all of your patience and kindness! I know I've said it before, but the Not Series really isn't my best work, and I don't think it will be, but even then I still want to produce a Chapter that you'll enjoy - but if anyone sees a decline in quality (despite the first and 2nd chapter essentially being written in one sitting and posted on the same day), that's probably why!

I do have some updates regarding some of the fics I said I was planning on writing, with the biggest update being in regards to "Ghost" as I've essentially almost rewritten the entire plot at this point, but I'll get there when I get there.

Nevertheless, yes, I am still alive! Even if you probably won't hear too much from me until those couple of things get done, I'll try to multitask and such as much as I can! The way of how I post things may be a little odd, but it'll mostly be with when I get them done, and with all the time I have at the moment - well, I might actually be able to meet my own deadline this time around... even if that new years oneshot is already 13 days late, and I'm not going to talk about the rest of the stuff I have to work on.

Regardless, rest assured! I'm not dead yet, and progress is being made! ... And what better way to show that then being late once again! LOL

[naffeclipse]

What if Eclipse from AP was a naga? And this took place in the deep jungle of the amazon, where photographer y/n is trying to take pictures of the wildlife?

I'm vibrating at the speed of sound over this ask while also nudging my naga au

Naga Eclipse from AP would have the tail of a Green Anaconda, with an olive green scaly color dotted with black, framed by burning-like flares of orange along the length of his slithery body. He's also decorated with orange-yellow striping on either side of his long, slipper form. His upper half is scaley with a lithe deadliness to his musculature and decorated by frills surrounding his head with brighter orange-yellow colors, almost hypnotic in their gradient hues. One eye is deep emerald green, and one is midnight blue.

Lucky you—you're out on a once-in-a-lifetime expedition to explore a jungle closed off to the public, funded by Fazco, and occupied by two researchers who will be your bunkmates for the next few weeks. You're itching to take photos of the large river, including swamps, marshes and streams, and whatever wildlife is out there.

The few locals you did meet before you left to hike the rest of the way to what would be your new, isolated home warned you of a dangerous snake—a large, mythical beast. You take note of the local folklore. You understand the truth is hidden in there somewhere, and you are well aware of the dangers and diseases you could be met with in such a harsh environment, but you're determined.

It doesn't take long for you to feel eyes watching you when you first venture out by yourself. You take beautiful pictures of freshwater fish, big and beautiful, unlike any you have ever seen. Of course, you have hundreds of snapshots of the local flora, the trees, the floating meadows, the thick vines that drape each branch and hang thickly about the ground. You almost forget that you eerily don't feel alone.

But you swear something moves in the water—the ripples stop as soon as you look. The stillness is suddenly stiff, lifeless. Even the birds have stopped chirping.

You lower your camera and carefully put it away. A trickle of fear slips into your heart. You turn away from the river's edge only to be met by a low hiss and a creature, unlike anything you witnessed in your travels, spooling itself neatly out of the water, blocking your path to the base. An incredible creature with long arms and a great, serpentine tail that seems to stretch for yards and yards. You can hardly breathe in his presence—he's otherworldly with his frills and scales and fangs.

His eyes contain a mesmerizing shine as if staring into a fire as it burns or watching the ocean as it laps up against the beach, drawing your attention, demanding you don't look away. You couldn't anyway. Half-frozen, you struggle to keep from collapsing. He beckons with a sharp talon. He hisses softly for you to come closer, mouse. He wants to see you. You try to beg no without revealing how terribly you tremble. He doesn't let you go. He insists. His eyes flash with an allure. You almost step close when he murmurs that you need to be good.

But then your sense of survival kicks adrenaline into your heart, and you turn to run—

He strikes faster than your eyes can follow. Two loops of his green and orange tail surrounded you in an instant. You're dragged to the ground, your arms pinned under his mass, and the back of your head cradled by his large palm as powerful muscles squeeze you in the slightest—a gentle rebuke for thinking you could get away. You're hyper-aware of the terrifying bulk of muscles as you lie trapped in his coils. One strong twist and your eyes could pop out of your skull, and every bone protecting your heart and lungs would crumble to shards. You gasp. An urge to kick your legs and struggle erupts in your panic; a sinking feeling tells you it would only make things worse.

He coos over you, hissing and humming in an ancient song of the jungle you have no name for. When you whimper, he shushes you and strokes your cheek. He tells you how lovely you'll be. When you talk back to him, somehow finding your tongue amid your horror, you find out his name. Eclipse. He moves you more upright, resting you on his tail so you're not petrified by how vulnerable you feel lying down, but he never loosens his scaly bindings. He hovers over you. You gaze into his stunning frills of yellow-orange and wonder how a being like him came to exist. He studies you as you study him. He grins at how you shiver when he traces your collarbone with a sharp fingertip.

You remind yourself that you can still breathe. He hasn't crushed you—yet—but you don't like how wide his smile is. Sometimes, his jaw stretches a little too long as if dislocating from his skull, ready to devour you. His eyes gleam with a ravenousness as scales twist around you, holding you close enough to smell the slick green water he had been in and deep musk.

He tells you that he'll see you again very soon—away from other humans, lest you bring him a fine gift for a meal. You can only flex your fingers, silently pleading in your heart that he won't unhook his jaw and eat you alive.

Then, he unravels himself from your limbs. But before he lets you go entirely, he leans in close, his serpentine tongue flickering close to your neck and by your hair, tasting the air around you as you muster all your strength to not scream. He inhales deeply, pleased, before he murmurs, "Sweet mouse. You are mine. Say it."

You don't understand, but you echo his command, and when he taps your chin once in what might have been a loving gesture, you force your jelly legs to solidify before you run and run, all the way back to base. You slam the door to your room behind you. You touch your ribs, your arms, still caught in the heavy sensation of his loops as if he were upon you right now.

The stories are true—there is a giant snake in this jungle, and he wants you. You're afraid to discover if Eclipse's intrigue with you is only an exotic way to satisfy his hunger.

[ilkkawhat]

[bixels]

if she’s a trans woman, why did you “get a go-ahead” from a transmasc person? feel like i’m not really following the logic here. not to rail on you but you’re the one looking for permission and accuracy. plenty of gnc transfems on tbis site would love to chat about their personal experiences…

They're one of my closest IRL friends and a queer artist who focuses on depictions of queer bodies. I didn't specifically reach out for permission, I brought it up during last year's Pride Month, we spoke about Noora, and they helped me design her jacket. This wasn't a formal thing, just a conversation with a genderqueer friend that helped me shape Noora's character.

[paimonial-rage]

your obedient servant - kamisato ayato 1.2k words | writing practice | sequel to symbiosis

“Why… why are you doing this to me!?” Demanded a voice from the inside of the Minister of Finance’s office. His voice was rough and ragged, as if having shouted endlessly prior. When silence was his only reply, then came a sound of his hands slamming against his desk. 

“Answer me!”

A chuckle could be heard then, one sounding much like the assistant Ayato was so fond of. 

“You don’t remember?” Came your voice, calm and pleasant. Ayato could imagine your posture no doubt elegant and relaxed. “Doesn’t this whole fiasco sound a bit… I don’t know, familiar? Stolen funds. Off-shore accounts. Bogus goods. Only this time, you don’t have a convenient scapegoat to throw it all upon. How very unfortunate for you.”

“What are you– No, you can’t be!” Cried the man. “I made sure I silenced his family. So how–”

Ayato couldn’t help but chuckle when the sound came of you tutting your tongue.

“Unfortunately you didn’t catch everyone. And before you start, let me just say that there’s nothing you can offer me to change my mind. You see, I’ve been waiting a long time for this.”

Then came the sound of crying.

“Please, you can’t do this. I have a family. I was only–”

“Ah, ah. Shh. So did my father. But that didn’t stop you from framing him, hm? But don’t worry, I will show a bit of pity on you. I’ve only turned in the evidence of your dealings just before coming here. If you leave now, I suppose you’ll have… I don’t know. A few hours before the Tenryou Commission comes for your head? So you’d best hop to it, hm?”

Not a moment later, the shoji door opened with a slam with the Minister of Finance sent scrambling down the hall, nearly tripping over one of his bodyguards you took out before entering. Ayato couldn’t help but feel if not a bit of pity for the man, however. If he simply escaped with the skin of his back, he would most likely be able to leave Inazuma scot-free. But knowing him, no doubt he would head to his home first to gather as much Mora as he could before leaving. And there he would meet the soldiers you called. 

As you walked out of the room, your eyes did not widen nor betray any hint of surprise when they fell upon Ayato. Not that it caught him off guard. He knew at some point you caught upon his knowledge of you and your past. Though perhaps it wasn’t too surprising seeing all the breadcrumbs he left along the way. 

“My lord,” you greeted, “I don’t suppose you came looking for me, have you?”

“It had been a few hours since my retainer departed and they did not return by the time they announced. It worried me that perhaps they may have gotten caught up in something they could not handle, so I came.”

The neutral expression that was ever present upon your face quickly turned to irritation before masking itself over once more. 

“I assure you, my lord, that I can handle anything I set my mind to. How else would you suppose I put up with such a troublesome master?”

That got a laugh out of him.

“Then I apologize for insulting you, my hardworking retainer. How can I ever make it up to you?” He asked as he turned to leave. And ever the dutiful retainer, you were quick to follow him in step.

“For all the work I did for you, a week off would be kind. Perhaps a stay in Fontaine paid for in full by the Kamisato estate?”

And you weren’t wrong. You certainly did do a lot of work for him. In your quest for revenge, you removed many troublesome figures within Tenshukaku along the way. Never did Ayato dream such filth within Inazuma would be purged so efficiently. But still, you were asking for a bit much.

“For me? How thoughtful,” he replied before tilting his head in thought. “Here I was under the impression you did it all for yourself. That’s the only reason why you approached me to become my retainer in the first place, if I recall correctly.”

The way your spine stiffened didn’t escape his notice. 

“Perhaps, my lord, but inviting me into your employ certainly did not come without its benefits, did it not? Here I was under the impression we had a mutually beneficial relationship.”

He hummed. 

“I suppose. Although I can’t say I can make much use of such an… independent retainer going forward.”

That stopped you in your place. Turning in surprise, he couldn’t help but be caught in the depth of your gaze. With a glare upon your face, there you stood poised and proper, as if daring him to challenge you.

“Did I already not tell you once, my lord? When my mission is complete, I will devote my all to you. That vow has not changed. Nor has it ever.”

He held your gaze.

“And if this vow leads you down paths you can’t agree with?”

“Then so be it. I will be your ever humble servant for as long as you will have me. There is no greater honor than serving you.”

He nodded.

“Then I will hold you to that, and I will not betray the loyalty in which you have entrusted me. That is my vow to you, First.”

You bowed before him.

“I am ever grateful, my lord.”

With that out of the way, Ayato had to admit that the atmosphere was becoming a bit too stuffy for him. Turning away, he once again began his walk down the hall. If he had to be honest, he already knew how you would respond. Hopefully you would forgive him for putting you to the test once more. 

“Ah, speaking of Fontaine, I’ve had orders from the Shogun to strengthen our cultural ties with them and to start on a few collaborations. I suppose it couldn’t hurt to take off a few days for vacation as well,” he began with a hum.

Once again, your reaction did not escape his notice. The lovely way your expression froze was highlighted quite evidently upon your face.

“Um, with all due respect, my lord, perhaps you may not know this seeing the posh way in which you were raised, but vacations are often spent separately from one’s employer. You certainly would not bother your dear retainer on their vacation after all the effort they went through for you?”

“Ah yes, that is true. What a pity. Then I suppose I will enjoy all the finer things Fontaine has to offer on my own.”

It took a lot not to laugh about the myriad of thoughts probably running through your mind right then. Clearing your throat, you then looked up at him.

“What I mean to say is that it would be an honor to enjoy my vacation as your companion, my lord. With a wallet like yours, I’m sure we can enjoy the delights of Fontaine together.”

Not expecting such honesty, a laugh escaped him before he could help it.

“Shouldn’t a loyal retainer be ready and willing to sacrifice for their master?”

You gasped.

“Now wait just a moment, my lord…”

[eikichi-supremacy]

If nothing else Koenma is a Kuwabara stan and I'm right there with him o7 (I need to write the kuwameshi fic that goes with this fr)

[necrotic-nephilim]

this is not a ship post, but something that frustrates me a lot in fanon concerning Jason Todd that attempts to soften Jason's return to Gotham for the sake of found family domesticity or easy hurt/comfort or just sliding him into the Batfam sooner, is they all seem to fundamentally misunderstand Jason.

because there seem to be a lot of fandom popular concepts of Jason coming home much sooner and just not having his whole Under The Red Hood arc. which in theory is fine and i can see the want to simplify canon to make room for your lighthearted more fluff-leaning concepts. but in everyone without fail, the way they address the clown-shaped elephant in the room is by having some throwaway line that "oh Jason quietly kills the Joker and moves on".

when the Joker being dead or alive is not the *point*. if by some chance accident, the Joker had died prior to Jason's return, whether by ridiculous freak accident, getting whacked by a fellow villain, hell even someone actually doing so to avenge Jason, it *would not* satiate Jason's anger. because Jason's end goal in UtRH is not to simply kill the Joker: it is to make *Bruce* kill the Joker. Jason's anger is directed to the idea that to Jason, if Bruce truly loved Jason, he would've killed the Joker. that is love, for Jason. compromising your personal values for love and not letting someone go unavenged. when Jason was Robin, almost every angry or misguided thing he did was born of love. he wanted to kill/hurt Two-Face because he believed Dent killed his father. he was so angry at Felipe because an innocent woman was dead due to that man's actions. he wanted to save his mother in a situation he knew he shouldn't be in because he loved her. his anger, his violence, it is driven by love and feelings of righting wrongs. that is how he thinks wrongs *should* be righted. that is how you avenge and *love* someone.

because so long as Jason's return to Gotham doesn't end in Bruce killing the Joker (which, it never will bc Bruce is Bruce), Jason will never forgive Bruce. you cannot wave away the layers of hurt and complicated trauma by killing Joker offscreen. because Jason will still be angry that Bruce didn't avenge him. in his eyes, that means Bruce did not love him enough. he was not truly loved by Bruce the way he loved Bruce. bc Bruce was Jason's whole *world*. prior to being taken in, Dick and Tim, they had support systems. they had loved ones. they knew what stability and healthy family love looked like. Jason *didn't*. and that's not to say that Catherine Todd did not love him with her whole heart and thus he loved her, but it certainly wasn't a stable and safe support system for Jason to grow up in. Bruce was Jason's first real sense of a stable, healthy life. and so of course Jason poured everything into Bruce and loved Bruce so devoutly. Bruce was his world. like he says, if it had been Bruce, Jason would've stopped at nothing.

so his betrayal is rooted in that he was not avenged, not that Joker is alive. so long as the Joker does not die by Bruce's hands, it will never be enough for Jason. (in this era, at least.) notably, this is also why i don't think it would change a thing if Jason knew the whole "oh Bruce wanted to kill the Joker but Superman stopped him" tidbit that fanon has really latched onto as a way to pacify Jason's anger toward Bruce. Jason knowing that wouldn't change a thing, in my opinion. because Jason knows Bruce. and a tenant of Bruce's character is that he grapples with murder *every day*. the whole point is how *easy* it would be for him. he is a human weapon, trained by killers, trained to be deadly. he is the greatest strategist to exist. he knows he could kill someone and get away with it. *no* trace, no proof, nothing. and he knows he *wants* to. wants to kill the Joker, Joe Chill, anyone who's hurt him that viscerally.

but he *doesn't*. that's the point. Bruce wakes up every day with that question on his mind, and every day the answer is the same. Bruce's morality is not a decision he made in an alleyway when his parents died, it's a decision he continues to make every day and he *must* continue to make in order to remain who he is. Jason is quite familiar with the fact that Bruce grapples with this daily. i do not think it surprised nor fazed Jason to know that Bruce did *consider* killing the Joker. that he wanted to. maybe even planned to. but a consideration, a want, a plan, is just a thought. it's nothing substantial, and substance is everything to Jason. at the end of the day, Bruce didn't. he was talked down by *Clark* of all people with an excuse of diplomatic immunity, as if Jason and Bruce don't both know that Bruce could've *easily* found a way to make it look like an accident or some other loophole. because he's Batman. there's always a loophole. he always finds a way when he actually intends to. but he never actually intended to kill the Joker. so he didn't. and Jason would know that there was never an intent. it's an interesting piece of fodder to add to the nuance of Jason and Bruce, but honestly, i think it'd make Jason angrier to have that excuse thrown in his face. as if Bruce hasn't beaten Clark half a dozen times by now. it's a flimsy nonsense excuse that Jason would rip to shreds.

so while yes, i understand the wish for easy lighthearted fanfic that doesn't have to deal with the nuances of canon, i think that Jason's character will always be so deeply robbed and altered if you try to fix his thirst for vengeance with an off-page killing of Joker at Jason's hands. it was never the point. the point was that -in his own eyes- he wasn't loved enough for Bruce to make an acception. he realized that not even his *death* would come before Bruce's Mission. Jason truly believed that Bruce loved him and held him as the most important thing in the world, and now he has proof that Bruce didn't. because the Mission mattered more.

i'm not saying i have a solution to this conundrum if you're attempting to solve it for fanfic/fanon, nor am i even saying it's a bad thing it exists. i just think it becoming overwhelmingly common has led to misunderstandings surrounding Jason's motivations and feelings about this arc and it's an unsatisfying solution that only seeks to pacify Jason's rage and his trauma responses for the sake of found family-ification.

[yandere-yearnings]

I feel very ashamed to ask this, but f*ck it I’m anonymous anyway and I need to know:

Would Dice take it like a good boy?

dice says fuck around and find out🫵 (also you've got nothing to be ashamed of here nonnie❗❗ it's a no judgment zone🥰)

slightly suggestive content under the cut!

It was always raining when you were with Dice, to the point where you could convince yourself the heavy clouds followed him. That his misty greys were just reflections of a suspended downpour sprawling out on the skyline in wait. You'd come to accept it as just another constant in your life. Learned to like it. One more thing to look forward to, one more thing to keep you grounded when you felt you were slipping away.

Oh, but it was cold.

One of the walls in the penthouse kitchen was entirely end-to-end glass. No draft came in, yet everything still felt too open. Goosebumps rose on your arms watching the droplets drum down rhythmically. Quickly before you, they became a screen of water that made the world outside seem like it was melting. Streaking green and terracotta from the potted plants on the terrace where the soil was surely being washed out, and the fairy lights you'd strung up once on a dreary morning haloing into sharp, blinding yellow. You felt a little numb the more you stared, so you turned to the room to bathe in more human attentions.

The sleeve of the hand wrapped around his decanter was the only one rolled up. You'd daresay Dice did it on purpose, because he knew well your eyes always lingered on every sliver of skin he showed you. Burnt umber into a marquise-cut glass, fire in refracted fragments, to his lips — and now you wanted nothing more than to take the warmth that they had surely gained.

"It's Scotch," he said when you walked over, when your hands found their place at his hips and you pressed his body right into the counter with yours, "want some?"

"I want you." Your breath came out heavy, forehead to the broad plane of his back. Heat from flesh you couldn't feel properly through chiffon barriers taunted you. A carrot hung for the starved animal that you were.

On this quiet night his laugh was velvet and red wine served chambré, something rich enough to send you into a haze — a fever — if you were to let it suffocate you as deliciously as the desire held its depth. Your fingers took his wrist like a lifeline, pressure realised enough to leave your thumbprint right there against his beauty marks; your mouth desperate on his neck.

"Then take me."

Dice made no move to stop you, not even when your nails lined crescents into him. You were burning out on everything he was, and he bore your ashes like they were what he was made for.

[misteria247]

It Started with Coffee

Stanley Pines wasn't the type to believe in love. For him love had happened once, and that had ended up with him nearly losing his car to a woman he thought had felt the same. So for a very long time, he carried on. Focusing on what was important to him, rebuilding the portal to get Ford back and taking care of Mabel and Dipper as well as Soos and Wendy. And he was content. Until one day, he wasn't. And it was because of one man in particular who threw a wrench into everything.

Fiddleford H. Mcgucket.

Fiddleford for the longest time, to Stan was nothing more than old man Mcgucket. The town crazy hick who lived with the raccoons and who tried to talk to him on occasion in his half sane ramblings. Then Weirdmageddon happened and suddenly Fiddleford was around more often than not. And with that, came the recovering inventor's attempts to talk to him. At first Stan didn't try to respond back, not wanting to entertain the hillbilly because he was missing his twin. It worked for awhile until one day when the stubborn old coot crossed the line. It was morning and Stanley along with the kids and his brother had decided to go to Greasy's to get breakfast. Along the way they'd run into Fiddleford and Ford of course invited him along as well as the kids. Stanley didn't protest, not wanting to ruin their excitement. It was when they'd been seated and were getting ready to order that it happened.

Ford had begun to list off their orders, and accidentally messed up Stan's. The younger twin was going to leave it be. Not wanting to bother his brother with something so trivial when the skinny bean pole from beside Stanford spoke up.

"Ah wait! Stanferd you messed up Stanley's order, he takes his coffee with 3 sugars. He likes sweet things."

Fiddleford was met with a wide eyed stare from his best friend. Mabel and Dipper were also staring, jaws open in awe. Stanley meanwhile just looked at the genius, dumbfounded.

'How in the hell did he notice that? It's not like I broadcast it to the whole world.'

The con man thought, puzzled and annoyed that he couldn't put said puzzle together. Once the shock wore off, the group of five slowly again resumed conversation. But all the while Stan's gaze continued to flicker towards Fiddleford. Confused and wanting answers. It was when their meals and coffee were finished and Dipper awkwardly and shyly said goodbye to the waitress. (Pacifica he believed her name was). That he finally got the chance to somewhat corner the other man. He walked slower to match Fiddleford's pace, letting the kids and Ford walk further ahead of the two of them. And once far enough Stanley finally looked at him.

"How did you know?"

Stanley's question seemed to catch Fiddleford off guard. Hazel green eyes behind glasses snapping to meet dark brown. Fiddleford opened his mouth to respond before closing it again, looking suddenly sheepish and embarrassed.

"Ah well, I uh developed a habit of sorts. Whenever I have a right old time trying to remember people who are important to me. I'll start watching em and making mental notes about em...."

The country hick rambled, looking nervous and uneasy. Stanley just stared, stunned. Fiddleford had thought he was important enough to remember details about him. And not just details anyone would know, but details miniscule enough to be overlooked.

"Yer implying I'm important enough to remember?"

The con man asked, unable to stop the disbelief. The other man looked at him again, eyes wide with his own disbelief.

"Yes?? I reckon so?? Why wouldn't I?? You're important just as much as everyone else."

Fiddleford said suddenly firm in the statement. Stanley just stared, expression unreadable for a beat before seeming to come to a conclusion.

"Heh, whatever you say Mcgucket. If you're gonna be doing that, then I'm gonna have to start doing it too. Can't have just me being important."

Fiddleford's eyes flashed with something in that moment before a grin came on his face.

"Alrighty then."

Stanley didn't believe in love. Didn't believe in the word nor what people said about it. But......maybe he can learn. Especially if this man was willing to stick around. Perhaps, there was such a thing. If Fiddleford continued to throw that wrench, then maybe Stanley could come around to believing it.