#no clue where it’s going

[seajestic]

Another hell take us, heaven can wait sketch dump…. I’m so obsessed with this dang fic ugh…. Demi-Fiend Goro Akechi brainworms are too powerful 😩👌

Akira,,,, you don’t realize it yet, but you are about to be SUCH a monsterfucker in this au

[the-maw-consumes]

glow

[yomeiu]

🌸

[vinylattes]

Aziraphale/Crowley + PRAISE

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 304

SO. Turns out that Danny is apparently a clone. Who knew? Not him! Would have loved to know that earlier, but he doesn’t exactly have time to freak out about that because Ellie is melting. She’s going to die if he doesn’t do something and he already gave so much ecto that they both look ten now, but the only thing he can do is pray to everything and Clockwork that this portal works. 

Because Ellie needs their Original’s dna to stabilize her, not his own slowly destabilizing blood, and that means going to another dimension to where they’re still alive. This has to work- even if they can never go back, it’ll be worth it if he can just make sure Ellie lives. She’s all he has now.

[mayhemspreadingguy]

"If you stare into the abyss,

the abyss stares back at you."

[sunreys]

hm! I do wonder why augustus has decided to read a statement from the 1800s! Could it perhaps possibly perchance have to do with the fact that the third voice trapped in the computer is in fact a body hopping immortal eye avatar from the 1800s whose name rhymes with shmona shmagnus? PERCHANCE.

[audliminal]

It's Just a Game, Right? Pt 4

Masterpost

"Okay, so like. We start with this video." Bernard says, bumping Tim's shoulder lightly. Huddling over a laptop together is a familiar experience; before they actually started dating they both regularly used laptop videos as an excuse to get close. It's a memory that Tim sort of cringes at, because now it seems so silly to be scared of Bernard not liking him back, and yet now he finds himself thinking back to those early days. The thrill of huddling together to solve a mystery is a little different from the thrill of being around your crush, but there's something there, a sort of excitement in questions yet to be answered.

"All right, hit me." And as Tim leans into Bernard a little harder, his boyfriend presses play.

The video is definitely weird. That much is immediately obvious. It seems to be a slideshow of pictures, complete with audio, but the pictures just seem off in a way that Tim can't describe and the audio is - it's a little sticky, but that is definitely Space Oddity, only it sounds kind of wrong like somebody's playing certain notes off key.

"Oh, that is definitely a Caesar cipher, huh?" Tim mutters. There's a line of text written beneath every photo in the little slideshow, but they're all garbled nonsense - it would seem entirely random, but Tim can already see a touch of pattern, some of the letters definitely appearing more common than others.

"Spy phase, huh?" Bernard teases. "I should've known you would already be on this stuff."

Tim grins and does his best to pretend he's not blushing. He's never been more grateful for his tendency to go overboard with his interests. The last thing he needs right now is Bernard asking questions about why he knows so much about code-breaking. Sure, he wants desperately to tell him all about Red Robin, but it's complicated with the rest of the family being implicated in your own identity.

The video continues in the same line for the whole duration of the song, then abruptly cuts off the second the last note of the song plays.

"Well, my first thought is that it seems kind of basic." Tim offers, at Bernard's expectant look.

"Right? Like when I first watched it I was kind of like what's the hype even about? But like, every video follows this general format, but the gradient of apparent code just keeps increasing, and it's like. What if there's more here and nobody ever realized they needed to look for it?"

"Okay well, the text has already been deciphered, right? So what does it say, and how'd they decode it."

"Here," Bernard switches tabs, to a document with screenshots of the various images. The first image was a simple photograph of a man, with the translated text reading Jonathan, January Thirteenth. The next photo, which was of an empty street, dusted with snow, read Hawthorn Way, Johnny's birthday. The rest of the photos followed in the same line. Simple labels describing who or what the photo showed and when they had been taken. None of the information seemed odd or suspicious, just the kind of photos that a family might take.

"Okay, it's a Caesar cipher, but each time the alphabet is being shifted a different amount."

"Yeah. And I already tried writing down the amounts in order to see if that meant anything but like.... No luck." Bernard gestures to his notes, where there is indeed a long number sequence.

"Okay, but how'd you solve it? Did anybody look for a clue to imply the shift or did they just brute force it?"

"I mean, there's literally websites that will run it for you, so I think people just did that." Tim hums, tapping his pen against his ear. The number sequence Bernard had shown him -

"None of the shifts are greater than eleven." Tim says. Bernard blinks, and glances back over his list.

"Huh. You're right, but what does that mean?"

"Means we need to figure out what's eleven." Tim reaches out and switches back the video and starts it again. The music still seems weird to him. He's no expert musician by any means, but he did take piano lessons for a bit when he was little, and more than that, he trusts his instincts. "There's only seven notes in a scale so it's not that..."

"A scale? Do you think there's something in the music? I mean other than it just being creepy?" Tim stares at Bernard.

"Bernard, you literally told me that you think it's all been more intentional than anyone realized. If that's true then the music definitely means something."

"Huh. Yeah, that is. Oh, we definitely needed new eyes on this, huh?" Bernard's huffs, then leans into Tim. "Okay well some the notes in the song are just straight up rank so maybe it's something to do with that?"

Tim hits play on the video again, focusing on the music. Six seconds in, a note hits, sounding very off.

"See?" Bernard says hitting pause. "It does that sometimes. Just plays a wrong note. I thought it was just to fuck with us, make us on edge, but maybe it means something?"

"We need the sheet music on this."

"Yeah? Do you know how to transcribe it?"

"Not reliably enough. But I know how to find someone who can."

"Babe, you're doing it again." Bernard laughs. "That could not have sounded more like Mafia energy if you tried."

"Oh my god, shut up."

[kingkatsuki]

Thinking more Dragon King Bakugou thoughts.

Imagine you’ve been married less than a month, an arrangement which protected your village from attacks from the ruthless king, and any other settlements.

But you still haven’t consummated the marriage, you haven’t even slept in the same bed together. You have the same routine, each morning you meet him for breakfast (when he isn’t away pillaging or scavenging). Barely speaking a word to each other outside basic pleasantaries, asking how you slept or how you’re feeling.

Spending the rest of your time as though you’re a stranger in someone else’s home, even though this is your home now. Your reality.

You spend a lot of your free time in the library, or in the castle grounds. Sometimes sneaking into the kitchen to help Sato bake, finding any excuse to occupy your mind with something other than the four walls that feel more like a prison. Seemingly gravitating to every single person inside the Kingdom that isn’t Bakugou Katsuki.

It’s only one evening that you’re padding down the empty corridors to have a late afternoon bath, wanting to clean the dirt off yourself after weeding the hellebores that grow outside when you hear a soft grunt from inside. Stepping closer to the large wooden door as you push it open to peer inside, and you freeze on the spot.

Dragon King Bakugou is hunched over himself, a forearm against the cold stone wall as he sloppily fists at his cock. Bloody cloth and furs strewn around the floor as you’re surprised to see him— certain he wasn’t due back for at least three more days.

You know you should turn back, pretend you didn’t see anything and find solace in your room— but you can’t move. Eyes focused on the way the veins along his hands clench as he strokes with more vigour, the power behind his movements as the slick sound of his wet cock echos in the bathroom. You unconsciously rub your thighs together at the sight, a swirl of pleasure ebbs in your pelvis as you try to quell the throb. Your heart rattles the bars of your ribcage as you stand transfixed on your husband— you’d never seen him in a more vulnerable position. Hunched over and naked. And you couldn’t deny every inch of him was perfect, every scar that marred his glistening skin told a story as you followed each trail they left. Even down to the backs of his thighs as you felt yourself falling.

“Fuck—” He grunts, and then you have to stop yourself from falling.

The debauched, husky sound of your name called from between clenched teeth has you weak at the knees. You’d never heard anyone utter your name like that, and it had never had such an effect on your body. Your cunt clenching around nothing as you reached to hold onto the doorframe for some semblance of reality. Watching transfixed as the man in front of you; your husband, stroked his cock to the thought of you.

Dragon King Bakugou has always been astute, alerting him to the sensation of someone watching as his crimson eyes snap towards you. Dropping his thick cock in an instant as he moves to stand, pushing himself back from the wall as he bares everything to you. Standing tall, completely unconcerned that he’s completely naked in front of you. His heavy cock drags down towards the ground, the sheer weight of it unable to stand upright as it sits against even heavier balls.

He expects you to turn and leave, faster than the wild foul he hunts in the early morning. But you don’t, you stare back with warm cheeks and an even warmer space between your thighs as your tongue slips out to wet your lips.

“Maybe I can help you with that, my King.”

[pullman-lewis]

[royaltea000]

I love Bai Long Ma he truly don’t gaf

[moeblob]

A lil guy !

[sharksnshakes]

Hi I'm doing this on anon bcs I'm embarassed of how fast i'm asking this lmao butttttttt

...will you write a part two to the tim drake x reader?

PLS I BEG

You have a crush on Tim... and to your surprise, getting his attention won't be nearly as hard as you thought. But he keeps reminding you of Red Robin? That can't be right.

AN; part one can be found here. not sure where i'm going with this yet BUT expect a part three. and maybe something else with kon. in my titans era

Wordcount; 1.1k

TW; some cursing, mentions of drinking, making out (you'll see)

As luck would have it, you're at the same hole-in-the-wall bar the next weekend. Red Robin sighting aside, cheap drinks are cheap drinks, and now you're crowded around a rickety table with the same friends as last time. Plus Tim.

A week's worth of deliberation has lead you to the conclusion that you have honest to God romantic feelings for him. Sure, Red Robin turned your head, but chances are slim to none that you'll ever see the dark haired vigilante again. Even if you did, you know nothing about his personal life! You don't even know his name! How could a relationship possibly work out?

You're doubling down your efforts, which is why you're wedged up against Tim's side, nursing a cool drink in your hands and refusing to feel bashful about the outfit you've got on tonight. Tim never goes out, ergo, he's only ever seen you in the baggy sweats and oversized tees you show up to lecture in. It's the perfect opportunity for you to dress up and flaunt your assets. If it worked on Robin, it'll work on Tim.

Right?

"Havin' fun?" You ask, glancing over at him.

Tim looks out of place, to put it mildly. He is the heir to Wayne Enterprises, after all, and you love him dearly, but his vintage sneakers and expensive-smelling cologne don't exactly fit in with the sweaty crowd of coeds.

"I think so?"

You smother a laugh. "Hey, at least you're not holed up in your apartment cramming for another test."

Tim frowns gently. "Yeah. You're right."

It feels like his comment holds some second meaning that's flying right over your head. You'd ask him about it, but before you get the chance, one of your mutual friends is grabbing you both by the wrists and dragging you into the makeshift dance floor.

After about fifteen minutes of bouncing and singing and laughing, the fragrant smoke and crush of bodies start to get to you. The music's pounding. The air is heavy. You squeeze your eyes shut, willing the uncomfortable, oppressive feeling away.

"Hey." Tim appears at your side. He's got a steadying hand on your shoulder and his lips are practically on your ear. "Y'okay?"

If you weren't short of breath before, you definitely are now.

"Need some air," you shout back, fighting to be heard over the speakers. "I'll be back in a minute."

Tim's hand stays on your shoulder. "Let me come with you."

You want to tell him he doesn't have to. This is his first night out in ages, and the last thing you want to do is throw a wrench in it by dragging him outside; when you look at his face, though, there's genuine concern and care in his eyes. You nod.

"Lead the way," Tim shouts, and you reach for his hand as you push through the crowd. His fingers wrap firmly around yours, steady but not overbearing, and a horde of butterflies descend on your stomach.

Tim doesn't drop your hand until you're outside, sucking in the nighttime air. It's sticky and humid outside, a thunderstorm can be heard in the distance, but it's heavenly compared to inside.

You pace up and down the alleyway for a moment. Just like last week, there's nobody out here but you and the dumpster. And Tim.

Involuntarily, you glance up at the rooftops that loom above.

"I saw Red Robin here last week," you say absentmindedly, turning back to look at Tim.

"Oh really?" He clears his throat, following your gaze. "Was he, like... up there?"

"You don't seem particularly excited."

"Well, I mean... it's just Red Robin?"

You gape at him. "Just Red Robin? Tim, he's cool as fuck."

"He's literally just another Robin. There's been, what, like... five?"

"Three," you correct, walking back over to Tim, "And he's literally a superhero."

"Sidekick."

You laugh out loud. "What, you got beef with him?"

"No," Tim protests, a flush crawling up his cheeks. "He's just no Batman, is all."

"He's not supposed to be Batman. That's his whole thing. He's Robin, and he's cool as fuck," you reply, leaving no room for argument. You lean against the brick wall, gazing up at the clouded sky. "...Think he's out there somewhere?"

"Maybe."

You glance at Tim, but he's already staring at you.

"You look... really pretty tonight," he murmurs.

Your cheeks prickle with heat. "Thanks. You, ah, look good too."

At that moment, it hits you that you're alone with Tim Drake Wayne, the guy you're pining over, and that he's just called you pretty. A smile tugs as your lips. Red Robin hit on you in this very alleyway, and now Tim is hitting on you, too, and your confidence surges.

"Um, actually," you say, looking at Tim, "There's something I've been meaning to tell you--"

BANG!

A gasp dies in your throat as a couple stumbles through the back door. They're attached at the lips and deserving of an NC-17 rating. Your shock is quickly replaced with amusement (and, albeit, a healthy level of disgust) and you laugh in shock, your heart still pounding in your throat. The door rattles on its hinges, freshly scraped up from being slammed against the wall.

"Holy shit," you exhale. Only then do you notice that Tim pushed you behind him: an arm is protectively flung out in front of you, the other hand is pulling something out of his pocket. His thumb and forefinger are pinched around a small, sharp-looking object--it's black, it glints in the light, you don't know what it is. He stuffs it back into his jeans, huffing out a sigh of relief.

"Hey, you okay?" Tim asks, turning back around to face you.

"Fine." You nod. "Startled... but, uh, fine."

"Good," he says, eyes still tracking the couple. "Anyways. You were saying?"

There's a muffled moan from the other end of the alley.

"Another time," you say, grabbing Tim and pulling him inside before either of you see more than you want to.

As you rejoin the group, you wonder distantly what he was holding. A knife, maybe? But Tim's dead last on your list of people who'd walk around Gotham carrying a weapon. Then again, his net worth is staggeringly high, so maybe he does carry something...?

If you didn't know better, you'd say he acted like a vigilante.

You're not sure what to think.

But the bar's loud music leaves no room for thought, and you push your musings to the back of your mind. You're having fun with your friends, Tim called you pretty, and you just had the shit scared out of you by strangers--tonight's been eventful as is, so it looks like your detective work will just have to wait.

[vero-niche]

this was, without a doubt, the wildest and most unexpected opening to an anime i saw as of late

[thatdepressedtwink]

I like Heathers, I like Bugbo, why not merge the two?

I might have made a mistake. I think. Not sure.

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 307

It all started with the class failing to well, fail, despite their best attempts, at a competition. And it all ended with them mayhaps accidentally-on-purpose kidnapping some local cryptids. And a crocodile man. And a polite zombie dude. And- okay so maybe they smuggled a bunch of people out of the city they were staying at for the whole tour thing they didn’t particularly care for. 

But come on, what were they supposed to do? Not take the yellow-eyed liminal bird-people who felt all confused and sick and hurt? Not on their watch! Liminals stick together, and GIW can’t get into Amity anyway, so it’s safest there! And they understand the crocodile dude- Waylon? Lovely name Waylon- not wanting to let random people, teens or not, kidnap his friend Grundy. 

Don’t worry, they’re just gonna get him medical care ‘cause memory stuff isn’t good. Just shh, no one tell any government people, vigilantes or no. They’ve had enough of that with the GIW honestly.