#this gives me some fanfic ideas

[laeana]

He looks so good somehow it’s a crime 🫣 he’s really the master of thirst traps

credit: mens health spain

[jade-len]

i think it'd be funny if someone transmigrated as xin mo. the goddamn evil sword. instead of taking it seriously, they just really fucked around with bingge. and, somehow, ended up having the opposite effect of what it's supposedly rumored to do.

picture this: bingge, on the quest for revenge and power, comes across the almighty xin mo. this demonic sword killed everyone that dared to even try wielding it. and, the few who were lucky enough to have it by their side, eventually succumbed to the swords' will.

it is said that the sword is unlike any other, that it etches into your head and eats away your brain, until eventually it consumes you whole. it whispers, speaking in lust, greed, and hatred. it slowly beckons the wielder into giving in to the worst part of themselves and feeds off of pure sin. but to him, it is no matter; luo bingge will surely tame it.

and then he gets to the sword.

demonic qi practically oozes from xin mo. the aura surrounding it makes every part of luo bingge scream, "run; get away, away from that monster." his gut prods at him, begging bingge that this is probably a really bad idea. it's a little terrifying, how even luo bingge, the determined, vengeful demon, is now getting second thoughts about wielding xin mo from just being in its presence alone.

but luo bingge is too, a monster. so he ignores the screams of plea; pushing every thought of doubt in the back of his head, and tightly grips onto the handle. the world around him seems to spin and shake, tumble and crack, from the amount of force bingge needs to use in order to pull the sword of sin out of its place.

when bingge finally has it perfectly fit into the palms of his calloused hands, he hears whispering. he knows that the sword has accepted him as its new host.

the sword's language crawls up to him, as if it were feeling around his body and mind. checking every nook and cranny for it to settle into bingge's form, truly becoming one with the embodiment of sin. the words flow through his brain like a tragically broken guqin, a melody that holds him in a frighteningly familiar trance - all while simultaneously eating away at his brain in the worst ways possible, akin to a child and their favorite snack. it seems to beckon something, but even with luo bingge's impressive hearing, he cannot make out any words from the tone-deaf musical notes xin mo sings.

and then, it is clear. the land around him settles, and everything is still. xin mo itself seems to be.. content. at least, that is what luo bingge believes.

the language of this wretched sword reflects the state around these two monsters.

luo bingge expects it to demand for bloodshed, for the erotic ecstasy of multiple women, for bingge to steal the last of the finest gems of these horrible, vast lands.

instead, he hears this:

"yoooo damn that shit was crazy. did you see what i did there? man, you know, it feels so fucking good to get out of the dirt. hey, do you know if people can like, feed their swords or something? i'm kinda craving something spicy. we never know, in this wack world! wait, don't hold me like that, buddy. it'll make things real awkward."

but luo bingge is determined to get his revenge, so he puts up with the swords' constant rambling about.. whatever the hell it's thinking.

"wait, dude, did you seriously fuck a dying girl? that's wild. yeah, like i know she was dying but it doesn't sound like you wanted it. yo, listen to me, consent is very sexy."

"HAHA hey, dude, sir, man. you wanna play some 'i spy'? we don't have anything else to do. no? too bad, we're playing it. i spy a loser who doesn't wanna play i spy. hint: he's holding me right now."

"okay i know i'm supposed to be this super evil sword and beg to be used - woah that sounded real wrong - but can you at least clean me when you're done killing shit? if you don't, i'm gonna refuse to respond to you and you'll look like a dumbass trying to wield me."

"i can't hear you lalalalalalala you're not being very it girl right now lallalalaalalalla-"

somehow, this is worse than if xin mo was actually eating away at his brain.

weirdly enough though, as luo bingge starts spending more time with this weird ass, seemingly possessed sword, it starts to become more of a.. comfort to have it by his side than pure annoyance. he finds himself responding to it more, like, actually having full on conversations with it. it puts him at ease, wielding xin mo. the hatred doesn't consume him, instead, it seems to soothe the burning rage (and, admittedly, just replace it with small irritation) that holds onto his darkened heart.

xin mo is actually quite kind and caring, for a sword that's supposed represent and be the literal embodiment of sin. sure, it is a hassle to have it cooperate with him sometimes, and it does just ramble on and on about the most random things ever, not giving a single shit if bingge was in the middle of sleeping with maidens and slaying those who get in his way. for the first time, bingge feels so comfortable around something.

it's.. odd. what was supposed to be the turning point in his life, a big step in his plan for revenge, is now something akin to an... acquaintance. not like mobei-jun, or any of the women he's come across, but an actual, dare he say, friend.

sometimes, he finds himself thinking all of this delusional. is this what people were driven mad by? perhaps they simply could not handle dealing with a talking sword. he understands that xin mo was undoubtedly unbearable to be around at the beginning of their alliance, but it has never actually beckoned for blood, power, and sex. if anything, it does the opposite.

maybe he's the delusional one. maybe this is xin mo's way of getting to him.

maybe, xin mo should be considered a thing. the thought feels terribly laughable, as if he were witnessing a person horribly explain themselves. it also makes his teeth grind together in pure agitation.

"hey, you know, you didn't deserve any of the things they did. it wasn't your fault, binghe. the fact that you're half heavenly demon doesn't make you a monster, or any of that wild stuff.. uh, i'm here for you, okay? i know you don't really like talking about all of this or opening up, but i just want you to know that you can.. talk about it. it's not like i can tell anyone else, anyways.

hey- shit i didn't mean to make you cry! wait, wait it's okay to cry! you need to let it out anyways, i promise it doesn't make you weak. there, there. i don't have any hands, so me patting you on the head with my handle will have to do. there, there.. everything will be alright, you'll be okay. i'll be here every step of the way, even if you want to get rid of me."

xin mo, the demonic sword, is more of a person - a good person - than anyone he'd ever come across.

...and then bingge and the xin mo transmigrator become besties or he falls for the damn sword. knowing him, he probably doesn't even know the difference between platonic and romantic attraction anyways. maybe bingge gets a plant body for xin mo using airplane's wack writing. idk i typed all of this down in one sitting.

(plot twist: it's not that the transmigrator xin mo had the opposite effect, it was literally just a placebo effect. luo bingge thought that, and thus it actually did help him lmao)

[breakfastteatime]

When you wanna write fanfiction but you gotta go to work to pay the bills.

[lostreverb]

| SHORT N' SWEET COLLECTION |

info: a collection of stories inspired by sabrina carpenter's album SHORT N' SWEET (will update as i come up w/ concepts & any requests for fics based on a song are welcome!)

• taste - (coming soon) KYLE SPENCER

• please please please (angst) - WARREN LIPKA

• good graces (coming soon) - MAX COOPERMAN

• coincidence (angst) (coming soon) - WARREN LIPKA

• bed chem (smut, pt. 1/3) - COLIN ZABEL

• busy woman (smut, angst pt. 2/3) (coming soon) - COLIN ZABEL

• espresso (fluff, pt. 3/3) (coming soon) - COLIN ZABEL

• dumb and poetic (angst) (coming soon) - KAI ANDERSON

• slim pickins (smut) (coming soon) - TATE LANGDON

• juno (smut) (coming soon)

- | side A | KIT WALKER

- | side B | KAI ANDERSON

• needless to say (angst) - EVAN PETERS

[rainy-day-revelry]

For all my Fairy!Hyrule lovers who also appreciate a bit of angst, may I remind you:

Faefolk hate the color red as it reminds them of iron filled blood, including red berries. Mayhaps they hurt to eat just like iron hurts to touch?

You can break fae magic by turning your clothing inside out. I’ve seen this shown as the fae being unable to see you, or in some cases unable to perceive your presence at all

Several plants are thought to repel fae, such as boxwood or rowan, but you could really use any plant for this purpose. I see daisies used a lot.

Fae can’t lie, only dance around the topic. Can Rulie?

As mentioned, iron hurts fae. You know what most armor contains at least a little of?

Dancing with a fae often leaves you trapped dancing forever until you die of exhaustion or your magical captor frees you. Rulie doesn’t have much experience with his fae powers, or with dancing. Would he know how?

Pretty please, run wild. Give me more full-fae Rulie, and give me consequences for that

[sleepanonymous]

[kuro-ousama]

Kinda funny how the fact that I don't have a lot of favorites boiled down to the fact that I was crushed by Atem's story and vowed to not get attached to other characters.

In other words, this little fictional character broke my heart so hard that I can't move on. That's how much he made an impact to my fandom life even 2 decades later.

[im-not-buying-it-ether]

I need Billy to get Clark Kent-ed in a fic and sent to cover a Wayne gala

Billy and Bruce meet, names are exchanged, and Bruce worries if this kid is doing okay and if there’s a father position open. Billy is there for some Wayne-Sivana partnership with Magnificus, asking a lot of well informed questions and acting like a little cherub.

Them bad guys break in, one has a gun to Billy’s head and Billy, in true street kid fashion and with the experience from his last 57 kidnapping attempts; bites the hand over his mouth, throws the guy whose twice his size over himself and twists his arm, and dismantles the gun before Batman swoops in and saves the rest of the day.

Batman checks on him, asking if he’s okay, and Billy drops the good kid act and straight up tells him to piss off because he’s not getting adopted by a furry man-child who lives a state away from his hometown

Any Robin or sidekick that was there just cheers the kid on from the roof top screaming “DODGED THAT BULLET!” after having spent the whole gala trying to keep them apart before Bruce could bust out the adoption papers

[adhd-merlin]

the time skip between S4 & S5 robbed us of many things but one I would've loved to see is merlin going fully into anxious-event-planner mode for arthur and gwen's wedding

[starlyte-writes]

Okay, I have a theoretical dsmp story idea in my head but idk if it's too far out there/confusing/complicated so I'm curious what do y'all think:

Basic concept (which it's hard to explain but hear me out) is that all of the characters of the dsmp are transported to a massive arena by XD. Each of them wakes up in a separate room, and when they do, they find they're not alone but are accompanied by a stranger who seems to vaguely/strongly recognize them. It's revealed that XD has selected one person from Earth that closest matches the personality of each dsmp member to become a team that will compete in a series of challenges broadcasted to the whole world.

To put it even more simply: each character is paired with a dsmp nerd that matches their energy whether they like it or not and I have an excuse to make a crazy Hunger Games-esque competition while simultaneously analyzing what makes every dsmp character unique.

Does this sound cool or do I sound absolutely insane (pls feel free to ask me questions or throw out suggestions this is a very rough idea as of rn)

[lonelyslutavatar]

Had a dream where I read a fanfic (but it was more like watching a show) where Jon and Martin ended up in a peaceful pocket dimension where they have a choice to live out their lives there or exit through a door that takes them to their final destination which is the main world where all the Fears went. Martin wants to go through the door because he thinks they're obligated to at least soften the blow by keeping the entities at bay while Jon vehemently refuses because for once they're living in peace. Jon wins out and the rest were just them having a domestic life until Martin gets sick with the same sickness his mother had and dies early (the whole scene suspiciously resembles that opening scene from UP) and Jon finding out a little too late that it was The Lonely's absence that caused it and that Martin knew and never told Jon because he knew that would force him to finally enter through the Door just for his sake. So Jon, now an old man, decides it's time for him to fulfill his end of the deal and finish his journey through the dimensions and the last scene was him disappearing behind the door.

There was also B-side of the dream where I moved into a shared flat and there was a face-sucking demon. Otherwise everything was normal.

[velvet-games]

okay I think the positive feedback on my past writing has, counterintuitively, made me terrified of writing something bad and prevented me from posting again lmao.

I'm gonna make a fic on ao3 where I just post stuff from my vault (scrapped stuff, drafts/wips, drabbles, ficlets, etc.) to exposure therapy myself into writing again; I will either realize that a) my shitty writing isn't actually that shitty or b) people online thinking my writing is bad does not, in fact, result in the world imploding <3

[lupins-hehim-pussy]

I wanna know ur Fontaine msq criticisms 👁️👁️👂I’m all ears

I'm not sure if you wanted me to talk about this secretly or publicly but! Here I go!

The TLDR: Fontaine MSQ aestheticised prison, poverty, child abuse, the justice system/court and didn't properly address any of it.

More:

Focalors/Furina has way too much of a sympathetic angle for a dictator who's lets people drown with her inaction.

Neuvillette feels Bad for sentencing some people to death/prison, but that's it. He's one of the most powerful people in Fontaine. If he felt like there are systemic injustices, I.E sending an abused Child to prison, he should be the first person to DO something about it, not just cry and be sad so the audience can be like aw, that's complex character writing isn't it? No it's not! And guilt doesn't absolve you!!!!!!! (These are stuff we deal with in OTCOJ read my fic now /j)

Meropide has children in it, both Sentenced there (Wriothesley) and BORN THERE (Lanoire), and this is just a quirk of the place. Not only that, Meropide accepts prisoners of all genders and crimes. There are abusers and abuse victims in one place. Do you know how bad that is? How much potential for crimes to happen in a place like that— oh wait, Meropide isn't under Fontaine's jurisdiction. If you are assaulted as an inmate it literally means nothing to the court.

Wriothesley had no qualifications when he took over. Depending on how long he lived on the streets, how old he was when he killed his parents, how old he was when he was first taken in by the orphanage, etc, the man might never have more than 4–5 years of formal education. Sigewinne probably had to teach him how to write reports. And do Meropide's spreadsheets. Edit because I forgot to elaborate on this one: This isn't a point brought up anywhere, which is bad, because when poverty and incarceration robs you of a proper education (and the rights to vote in many places too, too, by the way), it reduces your prospects for jobs, reduces many people's ability to get a home etc etc. Wriothesley was just, narratively, Given his position.

Meropide is an industrialized prison, and they portray this as a good thing. Prisoners are paid in coupons for their labour, and this is also portrayed as a good thing.

The One-Meal-A-Day reform was something Paimon gushed about being so great of a perk, that people might want to go to jail for food (could be interesting and reflective of systemic poverty if MHY had brains, but they don't, so I was just Pissed because essentially all Paimon wanted to say was "Prison isn't so bad, but still don't go to prison guys! Prison labour is really hard!"). By the way, in most real-world prisons they are obligated to feed you three meals a day. Because that's how much food a human needs. MHY went with one meal just so they can say "if you want to eat more, you have to work." And then the welfare meal is a goddamn gacha. So imagine you're a starving child who's too weak to work in the fucking robot assembly line, and you wander up for your first meal in 24 hours, only to luck in with a shit one. I'd kill myself.

They wrote Wriothesley, who's a victim of the system, into a guy who's say shit like "I'm the Duke I can do whatever I want" for a cool moment where he choke-slams an inmate (I know he was a bad guy. But also, in copaganda when cops are violent/disregarding protocols, they are always only portrayed to do that against bad guys, so what does our critical thinking tells us about this one?) They wrote Wriothesley, who was an inmate of a prison so bad, so notorious that it is the literal boogeyman of Fontaine, that has a legal (???) fighting pit, with an administrator who abuses his position to be unreasonable, to willingly stay in the place and become an Administrator who would choke-slam an inmate while saying a cool line about how he has the power to do whatever he wants. They wrote him, the guy who had to be fed on the streets by melusines, to think one-meal-a-day was a good enough reform (while he spends god-knows how much on his boat). This wasn't a victim-turns-into-abuser narrative either, they want all this to be seen as positive character growth.

And then, the final kicker is, they gloss over his entire abuse. You can only read about these shit in his profile, which most people don't because they don't Have Him or doesn't care to unlock it/read it online, and they jammed his entire backstory into a flaccid info-dump at the end of his character story quest. This man isn't Allowed to feel abused and neglected and show any reaction to it within the narrative of Fontaine itself, because if they actually Gave Weight to what happened to him, they'd have to confront THE FUCKING JUSTICE SYSTEM they had NO PLANS on criticising. I don't think they ever explicitly said the fucking Crime-Theatre nonsense was Bad either.

I could go on, but this is already so long. But yeah, I hope this gave you an idea.

[shady-swan-jones]

She's Perfect But You're Mine ~ Finale

She's Perfect But You're Mine | captain swan fic | roommate romance | mature | 3/3 | 7.8 k | completed

Killian has a girlfriend. Emma handles it with the utmost maturity and grace. Or not.

Read on Ao3

@caught-in-the-filter @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713 @the-darkdaughter-blog @teamhook @justanother-unluckysoul @karlyfr13s   @snowbellewells @xarandomdreamx @klynn-stormz @omninerdgirl   @facesiousbutton82 @finmnsoh56  @followbatb @killianxswan @booksteaandtoomuchtv @exhaustedpirate @anmylica @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @undercaffinatednightmare @resident-of-storybrooke @tiganasummertree @stahlords @darkshadow7 @fleurdepetite @captainswan-kellie @motherkatereloyshipper @soniccat @jonesfandomfanatic @zaharadessert @bluewildcatfanatic @once-upon-a-happy-end @ultraluckycatnd @theriverwild @thrillofhope @myfavouritelunatic @klynnvakarian

[tereferka]

Ultimate Trigun brainrot doodle bunch (click to see more details c:)

[revelisms]

Don't you want to be—

(what what what, darling?)

—mirror to some piece of this: moon-slash of his wretchedness, recklessness, fawning fingers pleasure-peaked sharp-tongued wickedness—

(why why why, darling?)

—hair slicked back and smile perfect.

His silks feel like death-robes, his pulpit a coffin, his congregation a stew of want and need. His own needs selfishly curtailed and forgotten. Drowned in skin sticky with sweat and voices biting nothingness in his ear: in his brother's cracked-open wines and the slam of his foot on the gas pedal, fueling life into an engine that screams, a vile communion with the hoarse shattering of his own.

At the cliffside, pomade wind-tussled from his hair, layered instead with salt-grime and smeared tears, he smokes.

His mother's own habit, sourly inherited.

The scent is nostalgic the way celluloid film loses its stain: bitter, half torn, stuffed in the pockets of his mind, nonetheless. The same brand of cheap woody tobacco he smells on her when he's close enough to lay his head on her shoulder.

Not that she offers.

Not that he asks.

The sun is dipping on the horizon: a blood-orange half-moon slurped down by a dead sea.

He ticks his thumb over the paper rolled between his knuckles. Watches the ash flutter like polluted snow to his feet. Through his lungs breathes a soldier's quiver, weighing him down like lead: sighs out black magic, white-eye light, the taste of empty pleasure on his tongue, a throat-trip of rusted ambrosia.

He looks not to the heavens—but to the red-soaked sea, below: to the black gate of Olde, the Beneath, the Beyond: wings of skin, not of feathers, beasts gray and fanged, and violet spellwork unspoken in his hands.

In thirteen months' time, the adopted darling will succeed him. The little copper-haired boy he still sees, sometimes, with both eyes that watery ocean-blue. The child his mother wrapped her arms around, without question. The heir his father, in spirit, will learn to accept���after he's carried out his head on a spit.

Him, the doomed Failure from the start.

Him, the one they've all watched and waited to fall.

He hears reason in the memory of Ghoul's—Omega's—his—otherworldly grumbling: that it is one path of countless.

A curse that this eye can see them, at all.

But he feels sureness in his bones, more than any sureness he's known before.

All their days are numbered.

(and yours?)

The stubbed end of a cigarette rolls between his fingers. Against the points of them: a purple spark. The paper folds upon itself, blackened and writhing: burns and burns in hellfire and ash.

A year, if he's lucky.

A smile twitches on his mouth: paintless and crooked.

And, oh—will he give them a show.

terzo, on premonitions / creator, brother, son