#okay anyway back to work lol

[mobius-m-mobius]

Mobius + being the only one to notice

[theghostofashton]

.

[super-nova5045]

sylvia plath, todd anderson and virginia woolf (aka ACTUAL tortured poets) watching taylor “im breaking up with my boyfriend for his intense depression and blaming it on him, im dating a racist who enjoys watching woc being brutalized and harasses young woc artists, i sent my fans out on a hate train to attack a young woc actress for a line she had to say as part of her job to show how mentally ill her character was, im dating a maga supporter, i refuse to say anything about a current genocide despite being the most influential person in the world right now, i am a billionaire, i fly 13 minute flights and have the highest carbon emission of any celebrity, i am a known white feminist who only speaks about issues when it affects me and has constantly let my fans get away with extreme racism and even encouraged it by associating myself with known racists” swift call herself a tortured poet (her writing sounds like a bunch of thesaurus words slapped over gabba hanna and rupi kaur-esque poetry that was created purely as a trinket for an edgy pinterest board)

[daeyumi]

💫🌟 From the Heavens (Eclipse the Moon) 🌙✨

[Cycle of the Stars]

[cosmicdreamgrl]

maknae line x bst performances pt.2 for @jkvjimin

[skitskatdacat63]

I've decided to do myself what the cowards at Aston won't. Behold.

[cyberendlessdragon]

old mizakai armor designs.

[annt-i]

I start school up in TWO DAYS ,, but anyways; hit this request when you can or when you want, anyway.

We need more Alex Rider in School, he’s always in school which end up in bad situations in the series.

I NEED HIM WHIPPING UP THE MOST JUICY PAINTING OF ONE OF HIS MISSIONS, ASAP !!!!

I hope this is what you meant dawg, I've got Alex painting that scene from Point Blanc where Greif was telling him he is going to be dissected. I also hope school's been alright for you so far.

[myreia]

— vi. the last

They stay. They go. Ebbs and flows, as certain as the tide that will take his ship to sea. Their responsibilities take them in different directions. This is the way it has always been, and in truth, they prefer it. Independent to a fault, wanderers in answer to different calls. But the time apart makes the time together all the more sweeter. Goodbye for now does not mean goodbye forever.   Till next we meet.

[bonchobrick]

(angst alert !! death + slight blood tw !!)

Tim is stuck in a sticky situation and has to call a certain 'spooky' friend for help.

Jason would probably call him a dumbass for trying to do something so stupid. Well, atleast thats what Tim thinks Jason would do, he isn't for sure though, he isn't certain.

Because Jason's laying on the ground with a flat pulse and he wont be giving him any answers anytime soon.

---

“Don' look so weird replacement, its just anoth’r day in gotham.” His brother slurs with the slight quirk of his lips

"Jason don't fucking do this to me!" Tim hisses tears cursing his eyes

And Jason, oh that bastard—bleeding out on the pavement and in Tim’s arms sends him his classic beaming Robin Smile. 

"Love ya' little bro take care of yo'rself, kay?" he says eyes fluttering

"Jay," Tim cries, "You dick."

For all the joy and hope and belief his smile conveyed for the first time in a long time—his red blood muddled what should’ve been such a nice sight. Tim held him on the pavement with someone yelling on the comm mic on the floor that he just can’t bother trying to pay attention to. 

The pavement is cold. The air is cold. His brother is cold. It’s all so cold tonight. 

All the younger boy does close his eyes and slowly, In. Out. In. Out.

He lets himself breathe for a minute. Lets the horror wash over him. Lets himself absorb what just happened,

Then he gets back to work. 

Like a switch his brain is back online running at a hundred miles an hour–what is the best scenario, what should I do when my brother's wrist is limp and his eyes are shut, what do I do if he’s dead again, what can i do, how can I Fix. This.

Thoughts cloud his mind, whirring around his head like layers and layers of messy documents has just been dumped on his desk and he’s shuffling through them panicked trying to find the right file because its somewhere here, there is something and he just needs to sort. it. out. And–

Then it all becomes clear. 

His desk is back to clean and stationary. All of the papers are gone back into neat piles in neat manila folders, stored away in tidy filing shelves–

Everything is gone aside from one little yellow sticky note in the center of the desk.

“Well, Jay?” Tim chuckles with a cracked voice, “Second times the charm right?”

In his mind, at the center of it all, on a yellow sticky note lies the words in green ink: ‘Contact The Ghost King.’

Slowly he shifts and with a loud grunt he lifts up Jason, “Up we go!”

“--im? Why do you have Red Hood’s Comm–Tim what happened! Tim!” the comm speaker plays faintly in the background of his head, “Tim! Whatever you’re thinking off doing, don’t!” someone Tim can’t think about hisses

Tim hums absentmindedly towards the mic, almost automatically, “Don’t worry Babs, I’ve got it covered.”

Walking away from the roof he thinks to himself, I wonder where Jason would wanna wake up? Perhaps his apartment? Yea, i think that would go well by him–let’s head to the apartment.  

And just like that Tim leaves a crime scene—shuffling away with a dead body over his shoulder and a plan.

“Jay,” Tim murmurs to the corpse on his shoulder, “You’re really gonna hate this, but i’m doing this for you anyways cause I love you. So dont be too hard on me when you wake up okay asshole?”

Tim stumbles off into the stairwell making his descent and sometime as he walks away Barbara faintly catches him on the comm saying

“-Your gonna love Danny and making your lame 'im a dead guy' jokes with him man .”

[gifti3]

the au revives for a moment....more arranged marriage au stuff with asmo and reader! Last thing I posted was this. This new scenario def happens once Asmo starts to actual warm up to MC, hence why MC is acting the way they are.

but yea this ones pretty short but i think its worth sharing since i wrote most of it already!

------------------ ------------------

"Asmodeus can you please get out of my closet?"

He currently eyes one of your casual wears in his hand. "I'm almost done! I just wanted to see what you usually wear..."

Several maids also stood in your room, holding up different outfits you would wear on a day to day basis. Asmodeus kept handing them off to them as he kept going in and out of your closet.

You sigh at the unnecessary work he was giving the staff but they surprisingly seemed to be having fun talking among themselves and with him. Actually it shouldn't really be surprising at all. This was most definitely the norm for them.

You hold back an annoyed groan. "Okay well when you're done make sure everything is put back. I'm leaving."

"Ah! Wait come here. I need you actually! I want to see how these outfits actually look on you."

You stare at him and he stares right back. "......I'm not changing in and out of all these clothes. Asmodeus why exactly are you looking through my stuff anyways?"

"I'm obviously going to revitalize your whole wardrobe. You're welcome."

"You really don't need to do that." You immediately start worrying about the type of clothes Asmodeus would pick out. You had these clothes specifically cause they were comfortable for you appearance and physical wise.

You walk up to him a take your outfit out of his hands. "I like my clothes as they are thank you." You turn towards the maids, "Everyone please put everything back."

"Everyone stay."

The maids stand in place unsure of what to do with conflicting commands. However, they were technically were Asmodeus's maids first and yours second.

"MC I'm trying to do something nice for you?"

"I understand that but I like these clothes..."

You did not understand and didn't really consider it nice.

"I'm not going to get rid of what you have silly! I'm adding to it."

Oh. Well that didn't sound as bad...

"Still that's not really necessary. I'll probably just stick to what I already have."

Asmodeus lets out an over the top sigh. "It's bad to reject a gift dear. Trust me on this, ill pick things that fit you well. Now can you try on the outfit in your hand? It shouldn't be too hard to put on your own."

...Dear?

[crybaby-bkg]

Dabi is surprisingly a lightweight. You honestly would’ve never figured by looking at him, but as you think back on it, you’ve never really seen him drink a lot. Not when there were celebratory parties, or when things didn’t go right for him. It’s why you’re so shocked when you convince two shots into his system, why he suddenly looks so loose, why his grin splits so wide.

He’s a clinger, you’ve also learned as you’ve started observing the blue eyed man where he shoves his face into the crook of your neck. His body bends over almost uncomfortably to fit into the position, and you can’t help but flinch a little when his damp breath blows a quiet little raspberry on your flesh.

omg wait my favorite thought is of you not even necessarily being a heavyweight, you can just handle your liquor a little better than anyone expects. you love to knock back drink after drink, convince Dabi into some stupid competition that he falls for because he’s such a little nerd and secretly wants to impress you. he does it thinking you’ll be the drunk one first, the one hanging off of his arm and hopefully his dick by the end of the night.

it belatedly shocks him when it’s the exact opposite. when he’s slurring a little and smiling at you, when you watch him through low eyes with a wide grin, when he wraps himself around you like a python, when you shake his face gently as you squish his cheeks together in hand. he’s just so utterly obsessed with you in these moments, and maybe it’s the liquor in him, but he knows his lowered inhibitions are only bringing forth the feelings he’s always suppressed.

drunk sex with Dabi where he’s the one too loose limbed and limp and weak. he flops onto bed like some rag doll with his arms and legs spread wide, but he musters up enough strength to release the heavy weight of his cock from its confinements. doesn’t do much besides lift his head from the pillows with a point to his crotch and a lazy grin, an announcement of, go ahead and hop on already before he’s flopping back down again, ready to lay back and get fucked like how he knows he deserves.

[cheesecake-beech]

if you've been wondering where i've been

it's not important really-

[moonshine-nightlight]

Snapped - Part 1

Mech’s not sure why the aftermath of this mission is hitting him so hard, but he’s doing his best to calm down when Gwen’s presence shatters his control. Now it’s a count down to see if he can figure out how to put a stop to the instincts and hormones that are running wild inside him—before he does something they’ll both regret.

Science fiction, alien romance, male alien x female human

Story Status: COMPLETE

AO3: Snapped Chapter 1

Part 1 [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4 - NSFW]

Mech’s working on one of the control panels in the main cavity of the ship where he can hear the sounds that reassure him he’s back home—that they all are.

The distant voices of the others getting ready to go out, the whoosh of air through the vents, the clang of distant machinery are usually comforting, but tonight even they can’t fully sooth him, not after such a close call.

He keeps having to take deep breaths, keeps having to stop the black spines which line his back from flaring sharply in agitation. He’s even having trouble stopping the venom from gathering in his mouth and at the glans at the base of his claws, which keep wanting to extend. His body is too convinced there’s still a threat he needs to be ready to fight off to relax.

The distant voices of the others getting ready to go out, the whoosh of air through the vents, the clang of distant machinery are usually comforting, but tonight even they can’t fully sooth him, not after such a close call.

He keeps having to take deep breaths, keeps having to stop the black spines which line his back from flaring sharply in agitation. He’s even having trouble stopping the venom from gathering in his mouth and at the glans at the base of his claws, which keep wanting to extend. His body is too convinced there’s still a threat he needs to be ready to fight off to relax.

Graviels’ have a contradictory reputation of being both emotionless and berserkers, fueled by their planet’s history of controlling its citizens chemically. Having only dismantled that system of tight control a generation and a half ago, the teachings and beliefs are still prominent, just without the chemical suppressants and with a slightly laxer rule set. However, all have found their emotions and instincts too difficult to control at times after so long with something else doing that for them. Some graviels, especially those who went off world on their own, simply gave themselves over to such impulses.

Mech is usually pretty good at keeping himself under control, having found a good balance for himself of letting him feel those emotions without surrendering to them—or letting others see how they affect him. Still, usually a round of meditation and deliberately calmer tasks—necessary, low stress, rather boring ones—are enough to get him feeling back to normal.

This time though…

This time, nearly a full day later, he continues to be actively trying to push from the forefront of his mind how Gwen felt in his arms, limp and still. He’d been captured first and the way they had thrown her in however much longer later, unresponsive and unmoving, plagues his every other thought. She already worries him with that strange human mix of fragility and resilience. Able to withstand so much, but just as liable to be broken by something inconsequential like the rest of her vexing, paradoxical species.

Mech had scooped her up as soon as he’d been sure the guards were gone and dragged her to the corner of the room where the speaker couldn’t pick up sound. Tried to do what he could to make her comfortable and bandaged anything he could, as best he could. Hoping his warmth and knowing a friend was there would stop any panic when she awoke.

The sight of her light brown eyes blinking up at him had sent the strongest jolt of relief and dread down his spine. It’d been so long since he cared about someone enough for such a simple gesture to mean so much. His reaction, his relief, terrified him because he could no longer pretend or ignore what she was to him. And yet he hadn’t been able to resist the smile he’d given her in return when he saw something similar, some relief close to his own reflected back in her eyes.

She’d smiled despite her injuries and it had taken all he had to calmly relate what had happened to him since he’d been separated from the group. Limiting himself to light strokes of her hair, her arms, needing that physical reassurance even after checking her for injuries. She had reciprocated, passing the time listening to him by playing connect the dots with his black speckles, until she filled him in on what had happened with her and the others.

They’d formulated the next part of their plan quietly, practically talking into each other’s ears as they lay curled up in the corner together. They’d had to make escapes before or plans on the fly or fight their way back to the others—but it had been rare they were in such a tight spot and injured as they were.

But they made it fine, in the end. He tries to replace the sense memory of her limp body with the feeling of her hand in his, of her body braced behind her smuggled shield protecting them both from that missile after they escaped the cell. Of their reunion with the rest of the crew, of the ship still whole.

It's difficult though, when the ghost of her injured form still haunts him so persistently. 

He blinks and the image is gone, replaced with the wires he’s working on instead. His right hand is clenched around the edge of the panel, nearly denting it—his red skin made paler from his tight grip, the black splotch on the back of his hand standing out darker than usual in contrast. He lets go immediately, running his fingers more gently over the metal to check for damage.

After assessing it’s unbent, he drops his hand and runs the other through his black hair. He attempts to distract himself by wondering if it's time to cut his hair from just above his shoulders to closer to his eyeline, but settles for just tying part of it back so it’s out of his face.

Maybe he should go down, further into the bowels of the ship. Usually the main deck is more soothing because of the others around, but he thinks that some isolation might do him so good—especially if he’s going to be getting lost in his thoughts so obviously. 

Sure enough, only a moment later, he hears the others begin to gather behind him in the main area by the door. 

He knows they’ve stopped at this port for a reason. Finest taverns and dancehalls for miles around. They each deal with their leftover adrenaline from such a narrow escape differently. He’s channeling his into patch jobs for the ship. He knows Lara’s off training with some sparring program, Jace is running laps, and Tee is in deep meditation somewhere precarious. The rest of the crew, excluding himself of course, is going out—for drinks and dancing and companionship. 

Everyone trying to remind themselves that they’re alive in their own way.

It's practically a routine at this point, he reminds himself. They’ve been on dozens of missions just as close. Closer even. 

So why is something about this time so different? So unshakeable?

He can always sense when Gwen’s near—can’t even begin to remember when that started—but it’s so strong this time. He knows with complete certainty when she steps over the threshold into the room. It’s like they’re reaching out to each other despite the distance, despite the spanner in his hand and the favorite silver clutch that must be in hers. 

Slowly, like a condemned man, he braces himself on his hands before pulling back from the wall and the panel he’d been futilely trying to work on. With unerring accuracy, he turns his head smoothly.

His eyes met hers in an instant and he feels it.

Snap.

Her eyes widen slightly, like there was a physical sound to accompany the sensation. He’s almost sure there wasn’t—certainly no one else is saying anything. The rushing he hears is surely the blood pumping through his veins and not auditory to any one but him. Same for how his heart pounds, tension tightening its way through his every nerve. None of them seem to notice the way the atmosphere is heavier, thicker. Sounds seem louder. They grate on him. Everything around him suddenly chafes against his very being—everything except her.

“Gwen,” he says without even realizing he was going to speak as he straightens up. His clear voice rings across the space, cuts through the other’s chatter. His eyes drag down her form. Instead of her usual baggy uniform of cargo pants and a long-sleeved top—as suited to their traveling, casual lifestyle as his own black tank top and dark gray pants are—she’s in a dress. 

It’s light blue, with a pattern of swirls of dark blue and silver all over it. The flowy skirt looks like it’ll flare as she spins in a dance. The top part of the dress looks like thick sashes tied around her chest and behind her neck. He doubts she’s got much on under it—the lines would show. There’s a strip of her midriff bared, showing off the delicate ring she has there. The whole dress looks like one tug would leave her bare. 

The idea of someone else’s hands on her, even in a friendly dance, makes bloodlust fog his vision, makes the spines on his back flare. He ruthlessly smoothes them back down.

His voice manages surprisingly well to not betray any of his sudden turmoil when he continues, “You can’t go out tonight.”

Her brow furrows, the others stop talking immediately—they must finally sense something’s wrong too. They normally never shut up that easily. “Why not?” she asks, but there’s no outrage to it, not the way there had been when he used to order her about. He’s long broken himself of the habit—she never listened anyway and most of the time was right not to, no matter the experience he’s got on her. She can tell when he’s messing about or too far up his own ass–and when he’s dead serious long before the others can. 

“Need you to stay here,” is all he says. His fingers clench around the metal tool in his hand and it bends. It’s taking everything in him not to pull her in his arms this second, not to finally taste her. 

He drops the wrench with a muted clang.

“There a problem?” Gwen asks, frowning in concern. And does her voice sound a little breathier than usual? Must be his fevered thinking.

“Yeah,” he admits because he can’t deny it, not to her. He’ll say whatever he needs to in order to get her to stay. “Need your help.” His tail is holding the panel shut, while he re-secures the panel he’d been working on with one hand without looking. Wild veruden raiders couldn’t pull his focus away from Gwen.

“What’s wrong?” Captain Staci looks between them, alarm growing on her face and he remembers the others once again.

“None of your business,” he replies sharply before he presses his lips together. Shouldn’t have said that. 

“Want to try that again?” He can’t look away from Gwen, but he knows Staci’s got her frills up if her voice is any indication, reminding him that talking to her like that is a very thin line to tread.

“Sorry, Captain,” he says, trying hard to think through the pounding of his blood, the hormones dumping into his system. He needs Staci to head out, but he also needs her to let Gwen stay back, so she can’t be too angry or worried. “Personal problem,” he manages, sticking to short sentences as he tries to find the right combination of words. “Ships fine. We’re fine. Need Gwen though.”

“Alright,” Gwen says, a little slowly, but she knows he wouldn’t ask for her help without reason. Knows he would never admit to a ‘personal problem’ without it being a big one. She’s aware of exactly how private he is. Respects it. 

Part of why she’s his favorite.

“Gw—” Harry speaks up that time, but Gwen cuts him off before Mech has to. He’s never liked Harry, too flirtatious and cavalier by far, with a liking for Gwen that makes Mech jealous even on a good day, no matter how illogical.

“It’s fine,” she looks away from Mech to give Harry a reassuring smile. He knows she’s doing it because she’s agreeing to stay back with him, but he hates that she’s even looking at someone else. 

This is worse than I realized, he thinks as he drops his remaining tools back into their box a little too roughly.

He methodically packs everything up, trying to pull himself under control, while she reassures and jokes with the others. By the time he’s walking over to her, she’s waving them out.

She looks up at him with a wry smirk. “Gonna tell me what’s wrong now that the peanut gallery is gone?” 

Under her posturing, he can tell she’s worried for him. Makes everything inside burn brighter for her. He appreciates the attempt at levity for all it’s not actually doing much good. He opens his mouth and all the things he keeps locked up tight the rest of the time, all the things that he wants to say to her, about her and what she means to him and how she makes him feel, threaten to pour out. He closes his mouth again before grunting, “Medbay.”

She blinks up at him and he sees true concern blossom on her face. “Mech…”

Gwen reaches out and he can’t let her touch him right now. He’d never let go. Mech stalks out of her reach, wondering if she’ll follow. Praying she won’t. Praying she will.

She’s always had too much faith in him. 

She follows.

[Part 2]

[b4kuch1n]

I lied I think it’s fun to draw animals sometimes

[verflares]

always feel a lil guilty when i get kudos or comments on my fics because i appreciate them sooo much and looking back on my own work makes me feel so proud.. but at the same time the truth is that writing is so hard always and forever 💔