#should I do it?

[gargy1975]

💯🇺🇲🏳️‍🌈🍷

My co-worker got his hands on a labeler.

[nope444nope]

Should I start writing fics again? Currently obsessed with Sevika from Arcane and I lowkey have been thinking about writing some wholesome (or maybe some NSFW) stuff about her and posting it here.

[he-who-needs-to-be-silenced]

[a-wirty-opponent]

Actual photos of me telling my spouse that I’m getting the itch to write Fiddlestan when I get more free time

[choccybiccy]

it's hard to find a fic you've written when you title documents with things like "he is genuinely quite effed up" and "I am mentally ill" like yes we both know that but which one is the dog ear headband stobotnik fic?

[your-fucking-little-hermes]

The great desire to create a specific rp account for JJ (junior joker) is becoming huge this day

[stillnotyourmusebitch]

Part of me is tempted to do a short dribble based on this late night thought I had about Silco

But I feel like it has been done already

[luxcuriousao3]

Could post a really angsty fic based off that Alpha!Ghost/Omega!Reader blurb I did. I could do it. I wrote the first chapter and it's pure pain.

[akystaracer22]

Gonna be honest, I’m still rolling Sinner!Adam around in my head like an entertaining ball of yarn but now I have a conundrum.

If I did hypothetically write a ficlet about wing care (because I’m a sucker for wing fics) featuring Lucifer taking pity on Adam’s fucked up wing and showing him basic fucking wing care while tearing into him about it because how the fuck does he not know this shit and it’s snowballing from there and fuck Adam’s dropping trauma without realising it and oh fuck.

Okay I’m starting to get the appeal of Adamsapple/Guitarduck but in the way only an Asexual Panromantic person can.

But like- would anyone actually like to read that is the thing?

Edit: it has come to my attention that maybe I should link the actual finished product here so:

[satansforbiddenpleasures]

mmmm I really wanna try messing myself. maybe it'll start with some terrible gas, but then it starts to get wetter and wetter until I feel that pressure in my butt. I'm too lazy to get up now so I just let loose, feeling that warm load against my ass as I play with my pretty cunt 🥵🤭

[khepiari]

LuSan: Young Rookie Firefighter Luffy x Older Seasoned Chef Sanji

Should I write a small fic? Should I? Should I?

[morgans-hat]

Gang,should I post bits of my male reader story that I have on Wattpad onto tumblr?

[fizzamess]

Have this aceness urge to just post something of aceweek on my instagram and see how everyone reacts. Only thing is, my followers on instagram and *almost* everyone (not everyone I have good friends who are allies) I know irl are really not that lgbtqia+ friendly. Should I do it anyways? 😈

Edit: every note is a “hell yeah do it”.

Edit 2: please I wanna be out and proud but I’m scared or at least doubtful as if to do it.

[theprongspotter]

Method - Jegulus - @stag-microfic - Day 23 - 1,370 words

It’s three in the morning and James wakes up to loud bangs and what sounds like glass shattering. The random sounds used to alarm him, but now he’s annoyed. You see, the first few times this happened, he thought someone broke in, but as it continued, he realized that it had to be deeper than that. Nothing was ever stolen, just broken. In a desperate attempt to figure it out, he even hired a medium, who informed him that there was an entity playing tricks on him.

So, he tries putting earmuffs on, a sad method to put himself back to sleep, and rolls over. But the noises are too loud. Grumbling, James heads down to the kitchen, ready to tell off whatever entity is ruining his sleep schedule. However, when he steps onto the cool tiles and into the room, he seems to lose his voice. Yes, he sees a glowing figure tossing bowls and mugs onto the ground. But the figure looks like a man around his own age, with a sharp jawline, sharp cheekbones, black curls that fall a little past his ears, and stormy eyes.

James clears his throat, finding his voice. The man freezes. “So you’re the one keeping me up at night.”

The man turns around to face him, his expression blank. "It’s not my fault you lie down at odd times.”

James blinks. “What are you even doing?”

The man shrugs, now looking bored. “Ridding you of the most hideous china pieces ever. I refuse to be in a house with such items.”

James looks at what the man is holding. It’s a brown mug with black eyes, a nose, and antlers sprouting out of it. He frowns, yanking the mug from the other’s hand. Their fingers touch and James shivers. After collecting himself, he sets the mug on the counter. “That one’s a gift, don’t destroy that one.”

The man must take this as a sign that James is okay with his destruction, because he turns back to the cupboard and reaches for another mug. “Don’t,” James interrupts. The man slowly looks over at James and raises a brow, his arm falling back to his side. “What… are you?” James asks.

“Dead.” The man snorts.

James stares at the ghost, trying to process the situation. He’s been dealing with this haunting for weeks, but this is the first time he’s actually seen the entity responsible for all the chaos. And now that he’s face-to-face with him, he’s not sure what to say.

“Well, yeah, I figured that much,” James says, trying to sound more confident than he feels. “But why are you haunting me?”

The ghost tilts his head, considering the question. “It’s not personal,” he says after a moment, as if that should be obvious. “This just happens to be where I ended up.”

James frowns, not satisfied with the answer. “But why me? And why the mugs? What do you have against my stuff?”

The ghost narrows his eyes slightly, as if irritated by James’ persistence. “Your ‘stuff’ is an assault on the senses,” he says flatly. “I have standards, even in death.”

James can’t help but feel a little insulted. “You’re trashing my place because you don’t like my taste?”

“Precisely,” the ghost replies, sounding almost smug. “You could at least take some pride in your home.”

James runs a hand through his hair, exasperated. “Look, I don’t know what your deal is, but you can’t keep destroying my things. Some of it has sentimental value.”

The ghost’s expression softens for the briefest moment, something flickering in his stormy eyes, but it’s gone before James can make sense of it. “Sentimentality,” the ghost mutters, almost to himself. “It’s always about that, isn’t it?”

James opens his mouth to respond, but the ghost abruptly turns away, drifting toward the window. “Fine,” he says, voice softer now. “I’ll stop breaking your precious trinkets. But don’t expect me to be quiet.”

"What’s your name?” James asks, curious about this ghost.

The ghost hesitates, his lips pressed together before he opens his mouth to say, “Regulus,” his voice soft.

James’s curiosity deepens as he stares at the ghost—at Regulus. The name feels like it belongs to another time, fitting for someone who looks like he stepped out of an old photograph, all sharp edges and elegance.

“Regulus,” James repeats, testing the name on his tongue. It’s strange, speaking so casually to a ghost, but there’s something almost… normal about the way Regulus stands there, as if he belongs in this kitchen despite the chaos he’s caused.

Regulus watches him with those stormy eyes, a flicker of something unreadable passing through them before his expression smooths into one of bored detachment. “Yes, that’s my name. Don’t wear it out.”

James opens his mouth to introduce himself, more out of habit than anything, but Regulus cuts him off with a roll of his eyes and a slight smirk. “I know who you are, James.” His voice is soft, almost teasing, as though this is all a game to him.

James feels a flicker of something at that—surprise, maybe? A ghost knowing his name is unnerving enough, but the familiarity with which Regulus says it sends a shiver down his spine. “How…?”

“I’ve been around,” Regulus says dismissively, waving a hand as though the details are irrelevant. “It’s hard not to overhear when you’re stuck in a house with someone who talks to themselves as much as you do.”

James flushes, a little embarrassed. “I don’t talk to myself that much.”

Regulus raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, but he doesn’t press the point. Instead, he moves to pick up another mug from the cupboard, inspecting it with a critical eye. “Honestly, where do you even find these things?” he mutters, more to himself than to James. “Who in their right mind thinks this is aesthetically pleasing?”

James steps closer, watching as Regulus turns the mug in his hands. “I like them,” he says, a little defensively. “They’ve got character.”

Regulus scoffs, setting the mug back down with exaggerated care. “If by character, you mean a complete lack of taste, then yes.”

James can’t help but grin at the dry sarcasm in Regulus’s tone, even if it’s at the expense of his kitchenware. There’s something almost endearing about how seriously this ghost seems to take his self-imposed mission to rid the house of “hideous” items.

“Why do you care so much, anyway?” James asks, genuinely curious. “It’s not like you have to look at them.”

Regulus’s expression flickers again, just for a moment, before he shrugs. “Maybe I just prefer things to be… orderly,” he says, though there’s something deeper in his voice that James can’t quite place.

“Orderly,” James echoes, filing that little detail away for later. There’s more to Regulus than meets the eye, and for the first time since the hauntings began, James feels like he’s starting to understand a little of what’s been going on.

But there’s still so much he doesn’t know, so many questions swirling in his mind. And as he watches Regulus, he realizes that he’s more intrigued than ever. What kind of life—or death—has led to this ghost standing in his kitchen, critiquing his mugs in the dead of night?

Before James can reply, the ghost vanishes, leaving the kitchen eerily silent. James stands there for a moment, the weight of what just happened sinking in. He’s not sure if he’s just made peace with the ghost or if he’s simply in for more trouble, but at least the mugs are safe. For now.

He picks up the mug with the antlers, running his fingers over the familiar shape. “Sentimentality,” he murmurs, echoing the ghost’s words. It makes him wonder who this ghost was, and why he’s so stuck on a place he seems to despise.

As James turns to leave the kitchen, he hears a faint whisper, almost like a sigh, coming from nowhere in particular. It sends a shiver down his spine, but it’s not fear he feels. It’s something else—something that makes him think he hasn’t seen the last of this ghost, and that there’s more to this haunting than a simple dislike of ugly china.

[kideartzz]

Night sketches (Read desc!)

Decided to draw some cars from one of my fav Disney Pixar sequels (u can judge me😛)

me when nightsketches ^

✨And btw if this post gets over 20 likes, I will do digital art some of these sketches✨

Thanks for reading these textes and I hope you a wonderful day/night/morning/evening💖