#open threads

[timeguardians]

Open to male muses: Muse: Mia Thermopolis

His eyes are like glittering jewels, Mia can not help but notice. YET, despite being a guest of honor at the Genovian dinner, he looked moody, bored even. Fingers clumsily brush along his shoulder where she discovers a piece of lint in need of removal. "Is everything alright?"

[timeguardiansarchive]

~Open to All~ Muse: Olivia Benson

"You're just going to sit outside all night, aren't you?" Benson prods. "If White comes after me, I promise, I can handle it."

[deamours]

open to any 18+ muse;; protective ex not fully over y/n

“ Seriously what do you want from me?? I did as you asked. I BACKED the fuck up and now you want say I’ve dropped your significance down when you’re all I think about. You don’t think I gave a shit when that guy put his hands on you?? When he led you out those fucking doors?? “ 

[unyieldingvalxr]

~Open to All~

"If you are going, then I am going with you." Sarah assertively insists.

[fangirl-k8ee-ladyknight]

I need a fanfic where everyday after four am training, Jamie sends a “Roy-cast” to the team chat letting them know Roy’s general mood for the day and what he predicts practice is going to look like for the day.

When Roy takes over as gaffer, he stops the private training with Jamie to avoid accusations of favoritism. Within two weeks the team beg him to start back up again because:

1) him and Jamie are sniping at each other again and while it’s not loan season bad, it’s making everyone anxious and clearly the two of them need that time together to get it out of their system everyday, and more importantly,

2) they need the Roy-cast back because it’s fucking with everyone’s breakfast choices and now Will doesn’t know when to have extra towels ready or to make a larger batch of sport drink.

[leucoratia]

My favourite loser scientist (we are legally married)

Handplates!Gaster by @zarla-s (thank you so much for this AU it has given me life for the past 6 years)

[gomzdrawfr]

Broken strings of fate

PriceGhostWeek Day 7 (last day)

[the-candle-slime]

*two red eyes peer at you from the dark in the woods, their teeth chatter slightly*

W-what are you..?

-@the-lost-hidden

*I yelp a bit and jump back*

I c-could ask the same to you...?

[opbackgrounds]

The present day party with the Straw Hats is taking place within the ruins of Thriller Bark, but I refuse to believe that Moriah owns a baby grand piano exactly like the one that the Rumbar Pirates used. That means someone had to go through the effort of hauling it onto Thriller Bark in the first place, which would be an enormous hassle, but also that Brook is starting his second adventure playing on the same instrument where he ended his first.

Really, you could look at Brook joining the Straw Hats as a sort of rebirth and his time stuck on the Florian Triangle as more of a Limbo state between true life and death.

[24-05txt]

[Excerpt of a journal found in the possession of one Captain John Price, dated 02.03.24]

Zombies.

Nothin' much more to say than that.

As expected, world's gone to shit.

People have died.

Some are still holdin' on.

Shitton of research. Ethics on that went out the door.

Not ashamed to say I think about handing them both over sometimes.

Our domesticated animals.

The academic types would be all over them for certain.

Zombies that don't bite? Trained, walking corpses?

Could bring us leaps and bounds closer to a cure.

On the otherhand... could just turn into a science fair project.

I wouldn't do that to my boys.

Even if I did, I wouldn't live long after. Because Simon isn't dead.

At least, I don't think he is.

No-one has been able to get close enough to confirm... Aside from Soap.

And Soap is definitely dead.

We thought the poor muppet had a stroke, at first; struggling to talk. To move.

Put him on bedrest. Ghost took watch (wouldn't give it up).

Didn't suspect a thing of either of them until I caught Ghost feeding him raw meat.

(Still don't know where it came from.)

They were quarantined for a bit. Ghost hadn't spoken for weeks at that point.

Just stared at us. Sat beside MacTavish.

He tried to break out when Soap started to go hungry.

I could have put them out of their misery.

Should have.

Gaz was on watch when Ghost finally broke out.

(Soap was too weak to walk by then.)

Let him go hunting. He brought back a body.

We didn't bother locking them up again.

No one has noticed yet. Not enough of a system left to report them to anyway. Options are to ignore it or shoot them yourself.

Guess their work makes up for it. Plenty of reason to turn a blind eye.

Soap is as well-behaved as ever. Quick on the uptake for someone who can hardly string a sentence together.

Simon is the worst he's ever been, but competent. Deadly. More ruthless than before.

Still hasn't spoken a word.

Suppose he is dead. Funny that his heart stayed beating once it finally took.

[timeguardians]

Open to all: Muse Brianna Wayne

"What do you suppose this place is?" Wayne questioned with a hint of a shudder.

[novaxanomaly]

Father-Son Day || Nikolai/Lucifer || Open Starter

Lucifer, the fallen angel, had started living here, and pretending to be human. Even going as far as giving himself a human name, Nikolai. He had children from multiple mothers all over the world and it wasn't uncommon for one of them to walk into his life and demand attention.

Nikolai lifted his head up to look at his child, "How about we spend some time together, hmm?" He asked, tilting his head to the side just a bit. "We don't do that much, huh?"

[yet-another-haven-of-dollya]

*Tap mic*

Yes, it is I - your poor little Dollya

As some of you may have known already because of my constant whining and bickering for the past few days, my original blog was flagged and I'm trying to appeal. Things seem to not be on my side, though, so I figured a new blog is a must.

I won't delete the og blog, there are too many things going on over there and I simply can not. All my contributions to the DoL fandom, my AU and asks and stuffs,... have all been hidden away from the tags.

Not gonna lie I was terribly discouraged and couldn't pick up a pen to draw or do anything for several days. Terrible, just simply terrible, to look at the ask box or that stupid default avatar icon... But, well, you know, it is what it is, no point just weeping around so might as well make a new place to post stuffs!

This is a sub-blog with the same email address as the flagged one, I think I would still use the same tags as the original flagged blog: Dollya art, Dollya ask,... and I won't repost my higher interaction posts here either, that's just bitter.

I will post more "community-friendly" kinds of stuff here, so spicier asks or requests oughta go to the original blog' ask box... I don't really know, I guess things will kinda fall into the right places after some time... What do you call it? Settle down?

Anyway, I'll try to be positive. After all, the Pandora box was opened, so if I don't hold onto the tiny hope left behind, I will have nothing.

Let's just hope for the best.

[cherrygrxves]

open to f | about jordan | muses are out to eat.

"babe, please don't trip on this waitress - she's just being friendly."

[deadchannelradio]

my fanfiction abortion morgue is gaining another jayroy victim that is not long enough to clean up for ao3. this was going to be a very long and meandering noodle about in the river that is jason's mental health and trauma and relationships of all types and healing and the asexual/aromantic spectrum (not that that's the verbage jason would use or language hes even aware of) and low sex drives all that beautiful muck and mire but i have not put a single word on it in well over a year now. so i'm letting her go. be free little fish.

-

They’re better now, anyways, better than they ever were before. Jason had a crisis a few months back, stopping himself from reaching reflexively for his phone to give Dick a call about- nothing important. And then he had realized that he had reflexively gone to call Dick about nothing important, and had gone and stared out the window for 15 minutes, trying to work himself into a different, less horrifying conclusion than the one gathering in his brain like an avalanche. Roy had come home in the middle of it, taken one look at his face and dropped his bag on the floor with a thunk.

“Holy shit,” he said. “Who died?”

“I like him,” Jason said, somewhere between incredulous and horrified. “That cunt, that motherfucker- he made me actually like him-,”

“Who?”

“Dick!” Jason had shouted. “That piece of shit, I want to spend time with him, hours out of my actual human life that I can’t get back-,”

Roy had proceeded to laugh in his face for a solid ten minutes, positively gleeful about Jason’s horrible emotional crisis. “He does that to you, man,” he said once they’d settled in, still chuckling as he cracked open a can of soda, posted up on their couch with Ethiopian takeout in his lap. “One minute you’re sitting there thinking oh my god, this guy, he’s so loud and annoying-,”

“And he never fuckin’ stops moving,” Jason groaned from his spot laying on the floor below him. “His body or his mouth. And he chews loud, he’s obnoxious on purpose, and he’s a model and dated Kory but half the time he dresses like something a goodwill dumpster threw up-,”

“Have you seen his new shoes?” Roy asked. “I dress like dogshit, man, but those things-,”

“Wally got them for him,” Jason said, and then immediately slapped his hands over his face, horrified that he knew that. Roy laughed again. “He’s constantly in your fuckin’ business! Constantly! Last time I saw him he knew the social security numbers of the baristas in the coffee shop I’d been going to-,”

“He gets enabled,” Roy muttered, shoveling injera into his mouth.

“He gets enabled!” Jason said. “Everyone enables him! I enable him! And god, his fucking- puns, man, his quips, we’re all guilty of it but this is a fight, not comedy hour, and even if it was you’d get booed off the stage-,”

“He texted me what he said to Mr. Freeze two weeks ago and I wanted to eat my phone,” Roy said. “It’s amazing no villains kill themselves after he hands their asses to them, I would be humiliated.”

“He sucks!” Jason snapped. 

“He sucks,” Roy agreed. “And then you look around one day at your life-,”

“And you go oh shit, I think this motherfucker’s alright!” Jason mimed hitting himself in the face with Roy’s abandoned house slipper. “Fuck! What’s fucking wrong with me?”

Roy laughed at him, again. “Dick Grayson Derangement Syndrome gets us all in the end,” he said. Jason curled a hand around his bare ankle, and Roy looked down to smile at him, the smallest touch making his whole face bloom open like a rose. Jason had to look away from it, wanting to say: stop. No. You know I’m not enough. You know I’m not like you. You know I can’t give you enough.

He’s been wanting to say that a lot, these days. Toss Roy off the sinking ship with a lifeboat before he has to wake up one day, years on, and realize he’s wasted years with Jason, who can’t love that loud.

He wanted to call Dick about it, which was another horrible realization. Hi big bird, I’m having boy problems. Dick would probably tell him that it means more that Jason has to try, that wanting to try for it is selfless, makes it more significant, which is the kind of thinking that lands a motherfucker in bed with Barbara Gordon, who is enough like Jason to warrant a comparison, but not enough to call her and ask what he should do. Babs loves like the Bolton Strid, and sometimes Jason isn’t sure he loves at all. Not like that.

Jason isn’t nearly as selfless as Dick is convinced he is, not deep down. Because he doesn’t want to let Roy go at all.

It’s late, well into the witching hours, and they’re laying in bed in what was formerly Roy’s bedroom but now holds them both, blinds cracked to let the streetlights through. Jason doesn’t like the dark. Roy’s threatening to buy an eyemask. Jason thinks it’s stupid to blind yourself to potential attackers. Neither of them have brought up going back to sleeping separately. Roy’s nose is pressed between Jason’s shoulder blades, breath humid through his shirt. Not asleep yet, but close. Jason’s books are proliferating on Roy’s shelves, his boxers in Roy’s laundry basket, garrotte wires coiled next to bow strings on the desk that has framed photos, past-Jason’s mouth a little white slash in the bar of orange streetlamp.

Something is clawing at the inside of Jason’s chest, scrabbling like a wild little animal. Trying to dig its way through his spine, into Roy. It hurts.

He shifts, turns over, pushes Roy over onto his back and rolls on top of him, propped up on his elbows to look down at him. Roy grunts, half-awake and confused, but takes his weight. He blinks blearily up at Jason, a crease between his eyebrows- Jason must look intense right now. “Jaybird?” he starts, quiet.

Jason knows this feeling- as all-consuming as it is- is fleeting. It’ll be gone in the morning, and he’ll forget it was ever here. He won’t be able to recall its bite until it comes back around again, like Halley’s comet. He should say something now, while he has it. While he feels it. So Roy can know it’s real. He just doesn’t know how to describe it.

“Jase,” Roy says, sounding more concerned, “Jason, what’s-,”

“Something in here,” Jason interrupts, putting a hand on his own chest, a thudding sound of muscle on muscle, “Wants to eat you.” God, he feels dumb. He’s not good at this, he sounds so much better in his head. His words come out of his mouth sour and curdled and stupid, there’s a reason he doesn’t try to talk about this shit-

Roy lights up, slow at first, then all at once, his face creasing up in his smile like old paper, following familiar folds. Jason feels his toes curl next to his calves, his feet pointing and flexing in excitement. Jason wishes he could make himself smile back, anything other than the dead-eyed concentration he knows he’s wearing right now, but the weight in his ribs is too real and too wild for that- if his teeth come out this might get literal. He wants to crack open Roy’s sternum with his bare hands, climb in like a contortionist and slam it shut behind him.

“Really?” Roy asks, small and soft and giddy. Jason nods, serious. Roy’s teeth dig into his bottom lip, smiling so wide his nose is wrinkling up, little inky lines in the artificial twilight. “Cool,” he says. 

Jason’s hands spasm in the sheets next to Roy’s head. “Roy,” he starts, “Can I-,” stops. Doesn’t know what he wants. Maybe just to look at him until the sun comes up, just to watch the light turn his freckles from a smear in the dim to pinprick-sized marigolds. Maybe to go to sleep on him like this, the thunder of his heart under Jason’s cheek. Maybe he wants everything. Maybe he wants to be the greediest son of a bitch in Gotham. 

“You can do anything,” Roy promises, and the sincerity in his voice makes the thing chewing on Jason’s lungs shake. “Anything you want. I’ll let you do everything.”

Jason drops his head against Roy’s chest with a grunt like he’s just been punched, unable to choke it back. He pushes himself up- Roy makes a quiet, sad noise, grabbing for him- and fumbles the bedside lamp on. He wants to see everything. Roy’s pupils are huge, even in the light he’s flinching from, irises that strange half-color, too dark for blue or green and too flat for hazel and too light to be brown. His cowlick’s sending his hair in every direction at the left temple, and he’s still smiling at Jason, like he can’t help it. Jason doesn’t know what to do, now that he’s here. A restaurant with an infinite menu. What he wants is strange, probably. Not how normal people want things, not what they want. Jason is off-putting, sometimes on purpose, frequently not, and he doesn’t know how this will come across. But Roy said he could have anything. Whatever he wanted. Giving up all of himself, for nothing. For free. 

Jason should take it. Roy will stop him, if he needs it. He puts his mouth on the cowlick, not a kiss, tucks his nose into Roy’s hair and breathes in deep. The nothing-smell of hair that’s not clean but not dirty. Roy’s hands are pressing into his lats, his legs spreading and crossing behind Jason’s thighs, holding him there. Jason curls both his hands around Roy’s skull, presses gently, cradling his head- all of Roy is in there, somehow, and he needs to be careful with it. His skull feels too small to hold something so important, too fragile. 

Jason drags his thumbs over his eyebrows, presses a thumbnail into the scar bisecting the left one- string snap, Roy told him, nearly took that eye out. Roy’s looking up at him still, and they’re close enough that Jason could count his eyelashes, if he wanted. He runs his fingers over Roy’s ears, feeling the cartilage, gently pinches the flesh of his earlobe, over the hole where he used to have gauges. He moves down to Roy’s neck, puts his hands around his throat, doesn’t squeeze. He feels it when Roy’s breath hitches. Roy shuts his eyes, swallows, his Adam's apple moving under Jason’s palms. 

Jason bites him where his neck meets his shoulder, hard. He thinks about being normal, trying to make it a hickey- but Roy jerks hard beneath him with a strangled noise and that thing in Jason’s chest makes him hold that position until Roy stops moving, until the bolt of his jaw aches. He lets go, spit shining around the deep purple indents in Roy’s skin. Roy lets out a shaking breath, eyes still shut.

Roy already knows he’s an inscrutable freak, Jason decides. He’s going to do everything he’s ever looked at Roy and thought about doing, everything he thought might be weird that he’s ever refrained from. Roy won’t run.

If he does, well. Jason will chase him. Roy is the one who said he was locking Jason down, said nobody in or out. He can’t get too mad if Jason takes him up on it.

He presses his nose near Roy’s armpit. The sharp, live smell of his sweat in Jason’s lungs, muted by whatever axe deodorant he uses that always makes Jason think of a cold wet morning. He rubs his mouth over Roy’s deltoid, teeth dragging. Jason pushes up and kneels with his thighs on either side of Roy’s torso, picks up an arm, runs his hands over Roy’s bicep, digs his thumbs into his elbow. Puts Roy’s thumb in his mouth, tastes skin and salt, bites the draw calluses on his fingers, gentle. Does the other arm too, to keep it even. Roy’s breathing slow and even, looking at Jason again as he shoves his mouth into Roy’s wrist until he can feel the pulse against his lower lip. Roy’s trying to caress his face with that hand, can’t quite manage more than a brush of his fingertips against Jason’s ear. 

Jason knows what he should say here. What he hasn’t been saying, because he knows it’s not the same as how Roy will say it, thinking that it will somehow be a lie because the meaning’s different. But it’s words, which are only stories. There is nothing in a story that is a lie, and no analysis that is wrong, with supporting evidence. Which Jason has, which Jason has always had. Roy at his right shoulder. Never wanting anyone else at his back. Saying to Dick: if there wasn’t Roy, there wouldn’t be anybody. The way they keep finding each other at the lowest of lows, facedown in bottles or looking down barrels of guns to see if they can spot the bullet. Standing there feeling stupid in the holes they’ve dug, pickaxes in hand, before turning and finding the other, just as deep as they are. Saying: gimme a boost and I’ll give you a hand.

Even if he doesn’t mean it in the same way, he means it. I want you, I want you, I want you. The inflection changes the meaning, but only by the barest degrees. 

“I love you,” Jason says, and he’s not lying, because he means them, even if it’s not always how he thinks he should.

[voidmarkd]

#voidmarkd; an indie, selective and fandomless portrayal of Atlas Fitzgerald, featuring themes as life in a coven, rebirth through death, marked by the void, necromancy, betrayal and abandonment, the blood and the burden, keeper of forgotten graves, [ . . . ] mutuals only. 21+. low activity. eng/ger. ♱ carrd ♱ memes ♱ open starters