#relax! *writing*

[chloesimaginationthings]

This is basically Michael in FNAF Sister location,,

[backpackingspace]

Athena with odysseus: surprise attacking odysseus and bodily slamming him to palace walls (for awareness training). Randomly kidnapping him from the palace to drop him in the woods (or the ocean or on two memorable occasions on a completely different island) (survival training), using her full strength in sparing matches (odysseus has many broken bones) dragging him up by his wrist so they're face to face. Not being careful with how often she uses quick thought or any of her other powers (what? He seems fine. She's sure odysseus has always been a freak it's definitely not brain damage it's/fine/hes /fine)

Athena with telemachus, after she accidentally knocked him out once: right right odysseus and penelope taught me how to do this when they had me babysit you. Gotta be gentle so so gentle. Gotta support the head gotta craddle humans not yank them up by the wrist (she knew odysseus was a freak why didn't he say anything??) Can't just funnel her full power into the kid gotta be so gentle.

[yayll]

~ a little something about waking up next to Dazai, and he's unbearable as always ~

"I might just eat you alive..." He mumbles to himself, barely audible. His eyes are half-lidded, and he's barely blinked.

He's been watching you sleep next to him curled up like a kitten for the past hour, way past the time you usually wake up. He's the oversleeper, not you, and it makes him hyper aware of your bodily functions and if they're okay. He hasn't eaten properly in days, but you don't need to know that. He's rabid, and he knows he's being a total freak right now, but who will worry for you if not for him? He must rise up to be the voice of reason, the watchful eye that keeps you on track even if he can barely keep himself alive! He wishes you'd stay forever, where he could avoid his problems and take care of your every single need. He should be everything you need... He hopes. Then you'd never leave, and he would make sure to eat more, just for you. How perfect... selfish.

God, he just wants to crawl inside of you and make you his home, it's almost pathetic. You'd find him vile for the things he would do for you and your happiness, despite you already being so accepting of his dark past... You're simply heaven sent. He takes a deep breath, and lightly runs his knuckles down your jawline, as if carving them out of the precious material that you're made of. You begin to stir, and his pupils dilate instantly as he pulls back with anticipation.

"Mmm... Osamu..."

You murmur sleepily as your chest rises up and down ever so slowly. He's freaking out. It's bad for his health to hear the way you say his name as if it were a healing oath, a spell that only works on him.

"Wakey wakey~"

Dazai's propping himself up on one elbow, a calculating smile plastered on his lips as if he were in on something you weren't. You pop open one eye, and groan softly.

"You're up... early"

"Yes!"

"Why..." You yawn like the silly little thing you are. He gasps in mock offense, clutching his chest.

"Can't a fortunate guy like ME just be happy that we both live to see another beautiful day?!"

He winks, and boops the tip of your nose, this gets a muffled snort out of you that causes you to bury your face into the pillow. He's addicted to the rush of causing any joy in your life, it's disgusting. When you don't lift your face back up, he scrunches up his face, and reaches out to stroke a strand of your silky hair, but his intrusive thoughts win and he tugs on it as payback for possibly falling asleep again. He needs your attention, and you're sleeping? Insanity. You swat at him, blindly smacking his arm away.

Oh, how he loves that you're the only person who truly sees him past his myriad of theatrics.

"Oh my... a slap from you feels wonderful!"

He rubs his arm, and grabs the hand that swatted him, bringing it up to kiss the pulse point on your wrist. Feather like kisses, almost undetectable... until you lift your face up from the pillow, finally.

He gazes at you as he rubs his face onto your hand like a cat greeting its owner, purring as if he were starved for affection. For a moment, his gaze becomes more serious, detached, as if he were thrown back into a distant memory. He can't describe the feeling, but the way your hand feels against his cheek is a warmth he hasn't felt in ages. His eyes sting, and he blinks the wetness away before you can notice as he hears your angelic voice again. He's back to his usual self.

"Osamu... You're being annoying"

"You think I'm just annoying?~"

His voice comes out in a tender whisper, his mouth curled up into a mischievous grin. He's insufferable. He could be anything for you if you wanted it. Especially annoying! He almost drools when you roll your eyes affectionately at him, the coldness in his heart disappears as he leans in just a little, invading your personal space as always, eager to hear your reply.

"Amongst other things, yes..."

You flash him a sweet little smile, and it mends all that is wrong in the world. The pink in your cheeks is starting to turn red, and it sends him to the moon. He hums, slowly nuzzling himself into the crook of your neck, it's his turn to curl up. You run your fingers through his messy hair that tickles you, feeling the warmth of Dazai's breaths against the back of your ear.

"Hmm, do I look like a pillow to you?"

He can hear the smile in your murmur, and he pulls back from your neck briefly, peering at you through his messy bangs, those intense hazelnut eyes demanding your attention, and his voice drips with an aching devotion that oozes like honey. he moves his lips to your ear, and whispers.

".. You look like an angel to me."

He watches you self destruct at his painfully smooth delivery of a compliment, and secretly rewards himself for once again giving you another reason to never leave. He's got it all!

Romance, self deprecating humor, an inability to properly process his emotions and grief, but more importantly, an undying commitment to stay alive against all odds so that he may see another day of you in his arms... or you helping him change his bandages... or-

He's cut short by you grabbing the sides of his face and pulling him into the most sinfully delicious kiss known to man, and he could swear that despite all his efforts, this might be what ACTUALLY kills him.

[emacrow]

The Phantom of the Abandoned Opera by emacrow/creator

The bats were investigating an old abandoned rundown opera that seemed to come to life, literally rebuild and booming at night that was luring people in, only for them to come out... different.

Tim was the first to sneak in in disguised as a wanderer citizen, seeing how people were grabbing snacks from a snack bar that looked as if it was in the 1880s with snacks ranging from the early 1990s to late 2010s.

Nobody was unable to enter with technology or weapons of any kind, which was the price Tim had to pay, unable to bring his backup backup spy bots.

He got a sample of the oddly popcorn with specks of green coating and a smoothie, which the Snack bar attendant told him it was Phantom Special tonight.

He follows the group to a mass audience seat. The audience room that was once rundown with barely anything in it beside broken nails and missing chairs in the daytime were filled with thousands of vintage chairs with red plush seating and cup holder, each with names on them.

What scared him was a seat was his real name on it.

Sitting down as stiff as he ever felt, the opera stage that used to be a mass hole in the center with no curtain was at all renewed as red curtain pulled open, the center play that was a very very tall man with a half mask wearing a handsome old fashion style royal costume with long hair that defies gravity in a stage full of moving stars and planets as the background.

The man began to sing, and Tim was completely enchanted.

[benevolenterrancy]

Scholarly peak is catching up on recent literature

[iguessthisisanewobsession]

Jason’s massage therapist deserves a fucking pay raise.

He has no idea how the fuck the dude gives back massages that quiet the goddam pit but you bet your ass Jason is recommending Danny to anyone who looks like they need a massage.

[hamoodmood]

[kizzer55555]

Little Artist

So I saw this

and had an idea for Danny X Damian. Where Danny likes making various stories he publishes online. Everyone said he needed a hobby and he can’t be an astronount (or join a sport since it would be more suspicious if he left in the middle of a game or practice for a ghost attack) and Ghost Writer got him to try writing, saying it’s relaxing. And honestly? It was. Danny enjoyed making stories. Sometimes he would just type what crazy thing happened to him that day while tweaking names and a few details to not give away his identity. Sometimes he made fanfiction of some stories he liked. And sometimes he tested out making original stories, taking and first hand knowledge from various ghosts and cultures to make his writing more authentic. And after much encouragement from Jazz, he posted some of his work online.

Cue Damian coming across one of his brother’s laptops. He didn’t mean to look for long but he thought the file was for a case and wanted to know more about it. ….then he got invested.

There was an author on this sight who wrote amazing stories. The emotions captured were so vivid, and he even fact checked a few historical facts and languages used. Everything from the dialogue, to the accent, and culture. Each new story completely enraptured him.

It made his fingers twitch for a piece of paper. Some paint, perhaps charcoal?

Damian started putting heavy encryption on his computer and search history. And locked his art room up. Then came a story that truly resonated with him. An original work about a boy from a different place, trying to fit into his new reality and the new rules and expectations placed on him…worried if his family would accept him. It sounded so much like when Damian first came to Wayne Manor. And it sparked his inspiration. He spent days working on his newest piece. Trying different angles and lighting, mixing colors. It looked like a collage between charcoal and watercolor, showing someone leaving a world of darkness into the light, yet this new world was unstable and strange compared to the rigid structure of his old one. When it was finally done, Damian felt like he was both looking at himself and a stranger. The character from the story brought to life.

It felt both freeing and settling, like he finally had a name for what he had been feeling. AstroBoi13’s fics always had that affect on him.

And for the first time, Damian did something he thought he’d never do. He snapped a picture of his masterpiece and sent it to the author. Quickly so he didn’t lose his nerve.

It was fine. It’s just one picture. It’s not like this would be a repeat occurrence.

[astrobolical]

Okay.

As much as I love feral Satan, who lets his instincts run wild and growls, bites and everything else… his soft side is so fuckin’ cute.

The Satan that stares at you in confusion as you tend to a small cut on his hand he’d received on one of his rampages, unbothered by the mess around the two of you and concerned solely with him. How he doesn’t quite know why his chest feels so warm and tight as he looks at your gentle, concerned expression.

Satan, who doesn’t understand why he feels so weightless with you, why his heart flutters and why he wants to hold you so gently, as if cradling something precious.

Satan, whose anger fades just from your presence alone, overtaken with feelings he’s never experienced, that baffle him entirely but he can’t get enough.

Satan, who desperately throws himself into research just to understand you a little more, to put a name on how he feels about you— who’s just as afraid of his own feelings as he is elated by them.

Satan, who worries you’ll be frightened of him if his temper rises, but you never are, even when he tells you that you should be.

Satan, who lays beside you, watching your sleeping face and utterly baffled that you trust him so completely to allow him to see you in such a vulnerable state… who knows deep down he’ll protect you forever.

Satan, who fumbles each time he tries to explain any of this to you, whose face becomes adorably reddened with each failed attempt.

Satan, who realizes that you’ve accepted him entirely, his every fault, his everything, before he had even come close to accepting himself. Who loves you more than he could ever put to words, or that he could ever really comprehend.

Just him. You know? Ahh, just helping him come to terms with everything he doesn’t know, to grow and understand. Helping him, in the end, to love.

[mrghostrat]

Though he’d promised Aziraphale his attention, his head was turned towards a screen on his right, and the angle of his camera suggested the phone was tucked at the base of his keyboard and monitor. Aziraphale was actually grateful for it; Crowley’s momentary distractedness gave him the time to recover from the sight of him dressed up so professionally. “I, er— yes. I need your help though.” Crowley turned to him suddenly, leaning in close and grinning like a shared secret. Big Name Feelings • 3. Speeding Up

i am so at peace. 5 hrs totally zenned out on these colours. i'm gonna see his face in my dreams 🥰

[letmetellyouaboutmyfeels]

As if I wasn't already exhausted enough this morning...

It's been brought to my attention that people are taking my fanfics, editing them, and sharing them around. I don't have the words to describe how not okay this is. If you don't like something about my fanfic, then I'm sorry to hear that, but there are a lot of other fics out there you can read instead.

I put time and effort and care into my writing, as does every writer. To take my work without permission and change it feels like someone just punched me in the gut. Frankly it makes me not want to share my work at all and to take down all the writing I do have up, because why should I share anything with people if all they're going to do is decide it's not good enough and they're going to do what they want with it and make it "better"?

And before anyone comes at me, this is not what a transformative work does. This is not the same as fanfiction. I'm fucking exhausted from working two eleven hour shifts over the weekend so my brain is not working so someone smarter and more articulate than I am can explain why. I'm tired.

This genuinely makes me want to take down all my works and not share anything new. It's very simple, kiddos: Don't like it? Don't read it. You will miss out on some fanfics that way, just like you'll miss out on some films, or books, or TV shows. I've missed out on really good fic, novels, films, etc, for the same reason. We all do. It's a part of life. Stuff will sometimes have things in it that you don't like. Skim those parts, fast-forward those scenes, grin and bear it, or just go and read/watch something else.

Normally I would make this post unrebloggable but I worry other writers in this fandom might experience the same thing and not realize it. So people are welcome to reblog this. Anyone who's an ass on it will be blocked, no second chances.

Just. Don't do this guys. Holy shit don't do this. What the actual fuck.

[capquinn]

Quinny thought that popped into my head and now I can’t stop thinking about it!!

Taking a bath with Quinn would be so intimate and relaxing especially after a long day. Back pressed against his chest and he’s lazily running his fingers up and down your arm, your hands resting on his thighs. Just enjoying the quiet and peaceful moment together. Nearing the boundaries of something more with occasional grabs or touches but just loving the feeling of having each other’s touch on them

Oh.....my God. The seeds you have planted in my mind, sweet nonny.....

Taking a bath together absolutely feels like the kind of thing that happens after an especially long or frustrating day — one of those evenings when you both need to just be together without the noise of the outside world. He’d suggest it so casually, like it wasn’t a big deal, but you’d catch the softness in his eyes when he says, “c’mon, let’s just relax for a bit.”

The water is always the perfect temperature, warm and soothing, and he’s thought of everything — candles because the bathroom light is far too bright, a soft playlist in the background, even a towel folded neatly nearby because Quinn’s nothing if not prepared. You’d climb in first, settling into the heat with a small sigh, and then he’d follow, his movements unhurried, deliberate, as he eased himself in behind you. The second his arms come around you, his chest against your back, it’s like the world outside doesn’t exist anymore.

He’d keep it simple at first — his fingers lazily tracing patterns on your arm, the occasional hum of acknowledgment when you talk about your day. He doesn’t say much, not because he’s disinterested, but because he’s just so content to listen, to let you fill the space with your voice. Sometimes he’d press a kiss to your shoulder, soft and lingering, like he’s quietly reminding you he’s there, that he loves you.

“Feel better?” he’d murmur at some point, his lips brushing against your ear as his fingers dip lower, idly skimming across your forearm. And when you nod, sinking further into him, he’d chuckle softly, the vibration of it a low hum against your back.

But then, as the minutes stretch on, the touches would change — still tender, still Quinn, but with an edge of something more. His hand would slide along the curve of your hip, his thumb brushing over your skin in a way that makes you shiver despite the heat. Your fingers would shift too, resting more firmly on his thighs, squeezing lightly every now and then, like you’re both testing the waters without saying a word.

“You’re trouble,” he’d whisper eventually, a teasing lilt in his voice as you lean your head back against his shoulder to meet his gaze. His eyes would crinkle at the corners, that soft, lopsided grin tugging at his lips as his fingers dip just a little lower, skimming across your stomach.

“Me?” you’d tease right back, though your voice would come out softer, breathier, because every touch feels like it’s unraveling you just a little more.

And that’s the beauty of it, isn’t it? The way you can toe the line of something more, letting the intimacy build at its own pace, or just let the moment stay quiet and comforting. Either way, being in his arms, his touch steady and grounding, is all you need.

[leashybebes]

more of this. it's happening, y'all

On Thursdays, Evan works in a queer friendly bar. That mostly means women who want to drink and dance without being bothered by creeps, sheltered college students testing the waters, and people who wander in and only belatedly clock the rainbow decor. The last couple of weeks there's been a guy in his section he's not sure how to categorize. He's about Evan's height but broader - really buff, and classically handsome in a sharp jaw and killer cheekbones way that Buck's a little envious of, honestly. He could clean up in WeHo, could probably have any woman in the bar come running if he'd look up from his string of nasty craft beers that he occasionally chases with a shot of Jack and actually smile at someone. Evan's willing to bet he has a great smile, but he also has a closed off air like a forcefield around him.

"Hey," Evan says when he collects the empty glass from the guy's latest gross beer. He also hands over a napkin with a phone number courtesy of the cute blonde, or possibly her cute brunette friend at the end of the bar. "Couple ladies over there trying to get your attention."

"Oh." The guy looks at the napkin like it might bite him. "Uh. I'm not - I'm not interested."

Evan shrugs. "Your loss, man."

The guy uses one fingertip to nudge the napkin back towards Evan. Swallows sharply enough that Evan can track the motion of it with his eyes.

"I'm gay."

"Yeah? In that case, the dude three seats down is gonna be delighted."

The guy blinks a couple times, sneaks a glance down the bar like he thinks he's gonna get slapped for it.

"Not tonight," he says.

Evan shrugs. "Get you another gross beer?"

The guy looks at him, and it's not the smile Evan was imagining, but it's at least half a smirk, and it makes a line next to his mouth deepen, almost a dimple. "Should you be calling the drinks you sell gross?"

"Call it as I see it, man. I like Bud Light and cocktails, so."

"Jesus Christ."

"Evan, actually," Evan tells him, with a grin.

"I'm Tommy."

"Hey, Tommy. So. Gross beer or fruity cocktail?"

Tommy looks at him, eyebrows drawing together, shoulders going a little tight. "Is that a dig?"

Evan replays his words. "Oh, shit no! Not at all! Fruity like containing fruit, not fruity like fruity. Who even says that anymore? I wouldn't, I mean - I'm an ally!"

Tommy looks, honestly, a little baffled by Evan's whole existence which is unfortunately not a look he's unfamiliar with.

"I think I'm gonna call it a night," he says, and Evan's heart sinks a little. Tommy looks like a guy who desperately needs to cut loose.

"Nah, c'mon, I just accidentally hate crimed you, let me make you piña colada. On me."

Tommy relaxes a tiny bit. "Okay. Sure. Thanks, Evan."

[bluerosefox]

Masks and Moonlit Night

-Crashes through DPxDC window and sticks a new AU sticky note down on everyones foreheads-

ANGER MANAGEMENT MASQUERADE BALL AU!

Jazz is forced by her parents to go to all Masquerade ball at Vlad's, whose using Jazz as both a way to keep Danny in line (as well as Jazz, basically Danny can't fight back or he'll hurt Jazz and Jazz can't fight back because he'll also hurt Danny who he has locked up at the moment) and to 'impress' the elites (As much as Vlad wants to use Danny for the party he knows the boy would do something to embarrass him in front of them, he at least knows Jazz will keep her manners in check) with how intelligent his goddaughter is.

During the ball, Jazz (in a stunning dress and mask, think like manhwa worthy outfit tbh if you want) meets Jason (who lost the Bats/Birds most recent 'Not it' game and was made to go with Tim to Vlad's party) and both hit it off when they meet in the garden, under moonlight, both wanting some fresh air.

Jazz wants to enjoy her time with Jason but worries about Danny and thus tries to leave and figure a way to help him without tipping Vlad off she was trying to save her brother. However she notices she's being watched by some ghosts Vlad employed and no doubt would report her should she even try. So she kinda uses Jason as way to keep them being unaware of her planning... or at least that was the case until she noticed another Team Phantom member sneaking into Vlad's place and knows its only a matter of time before her brother is freed.

Within the hour she gets a text from Danny who tells her, he's out and gonna fight Vlad for locking him up, that Dani is with him too so it'll be double beat down and that he'll come get her soon.

She is pulled away from the text when Jason asks what books she likes to read and now with the weight of her brother needing to be safe, or as safe as he could be, is lifted off her shoulder she answers.

Its magical, its wonderful, and for a moment Jazz is able to actually enjoy this party, ignoring the pained hits Vlad was no doubt receiving from what she can hear with her liminal enchanced hearing, because talking to Jason, or J as he introduced himself as, was very fun and wonderful and wow he was very handsome even with his mask and-

Jazz is startled out of her wondering thoughts when she could hear someone in the party scream, no doubt Danny, Dani, and Vlad's fight probably bleed into the main hall and she could see people starting to run out.

Jazz sits on the bench as Jason goes running in, no doubt curious as to what is happening and going to get his 'brother' Tim who he came to the party with out. Jazz takes off her mask and sits it down the bench and waits before Dani appears and says they should get going, Danny is keeping an angry Vlad busy and that she can take Jazz home.

By the time Jason comes back, with a researching on his phone Tim, all he finds of the charming woman he met at the dumb ball he got dragged to was her mask on the bench.

[zivazivc]

“Your hair…

“Les…

“Leslie.”

“Mmhm?”

Les barely stirred in his sleep and the iridescent golden speckles in his dreads already started to dull and the rest of his hair started to darken. It was as if a large cloud had just passed over them and blocked out the sun during this uneventful, pleasant afternoon nap.

Floyd snapped out of his surprise, but only partially as he fisted the desaturating hair in a thoughtless attempt to hold onto the fleeting moment. But much like sand, the harder he squeezed the quicker the color and shine drained between his fingers as Les roused.

Sensing Floyd’s distress, he quickly lifted his head.

“What’s wrong?”

Floyd felt tongue-tied, still stunned from what he had just witnessed. He was staring at Les—the familiar dark-haired Les that he knew all the quirks and details of better than the back of his own hand—, and who he was now trying to picture with the out-of-nowhere sparkles and saturated brightness. But he hadn’t even noticed the change appearing, and by the time he realized what he was seeing, it was already gone.

“Your dreads…” he finally blurted out, “they were golden.”

The crease of worry between Les’s brows smoothed out into a more relaxed look of confusion.

“It’s just a dirty yellow-green color,” he said while glancing to the right, at his three dreads flopping over the side of his face. “But I guess it sometimes looks a bit like gold in the—”

“No, I mean for real. And your hair was bright,” Floyd cut in, “like, as bright as mine.”

Les hesitated, trying to process Floyd’s steady wide-eyed expression, before pulling a strand of his dark purple hair in front of his face. He inspected it carefully but decided it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary the way Floyd claimed.

“My hair’s always been this shade. Are you feeling okay?”

[after-witch]

Ragdoll [Yandere Mahito x Reader]

Title: Ragdoll [Yandere Mahito x Reader]

Synopsis: Your back hurts and Mahito fixes it for you. inspired by snatches of conversation with @absolute-flaming-trash as so many Mahito things are!

Word count: 500ish

notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, body modification

“Well? How does it feel?” Mahito asks, and whenever Mahito asks, you are bound to consider the answer. Whether or not you actually give it depends on the day and time and how much you’re willing to endure.

You’re… Weightless. That’s what you feel–no, no, no. That’s wrong. Not weightless. There is weight to you. You are not some candy floss being tossed in the wind by a child uncaring of the time spent crafting it, hot metal bowls and spinning sticks and carpal tunnel from too many summers on a carnival job.

You have weight, but it is thick and slimy and moveable, like a glob of remorseless slime built up in a forgotten bathroom sink. Or something heavier, filled with beans or sand or stuffing.

A doll, maybe? Oh, yes.

A doll. A ragdoll. The kind your grandparents gifted you when you were little, because it’s what they grew up with on the dusty old farm, and your parents cooed over her yarn hair and homespun look.

But you shoved her onto the decorative chair in the corner of your bedroom and never played with her because you wanted something chic and fun, a doll with brushable hair and clothes that came off. 

Now you’re stuck in that corner chair, or you would be, except Mahito wants to play with you. Likes to play with you. Likes to hold you, like he’s doing now, humming and holding out one hand so all of your weight slides to one side and the only thing keeping you upright is the grip of his fingers.

Then flopping you to the other side, and doing it again, and again. Then holding you close and down, like he’s dipping you in a dance. 

He could let you go and you’d fall, a heap, onto the floor. Would it hurt? Maybe the rest of you would.

But not your back. Not your spine. He replaced it all with gelatin or goo or slime or whatever he’d decided upon, after you’d begged and begged and begged. Chronic back pain was a bitch. Chronic back pain when you were sleeping on floors and hammocks was bitchier. 

“It hurts so much. I can’t stand it. Please, please, please.”

And he’d tickled his fingers up your back–it hurt, too–and smiled down.

“You really want me to fix you?”

And you did, and he did, and here you are now.

Weighty and weightless all the same, his pretty ragdoll. 

Only he can brush your hair and change your clothes and maybe that will keep him from shoving you into the corner and forgetting about you. 

The thought is too far back to be anything more than a gnat you’ll swat when it comes closer, though. Because your spine is jello, sure, sure, sure. But it doesn’t hurt. And you can’t strain a ligament or herniate a disc when there’s nothing there to hurt, can you? 

It doesn’t hurt, for once, and that’s enough.

Mahito drops you low, again, catching you before your head smacks against the concrete.

He smiles. 

So do you.