#this into my current fic ig

[domjaehyun]

jae [ik you're specifically thinking about him ( ͡°з ͡°)]/hyuck/jaem def fit the slutty rich bitch vibe, don't make me think that bc i'll bite you

i need them in the most feral way possible, y'all need to shackle me

BLINK BLINK BLINK………………………… what if i did something :3 something Silly and Fun and Un Poco Unhinged……. i am thinking abt jaehyun. he’s so fine. i just need one chance. I JUST NEED SLUTTY RICH BOY JAEHYUN TO BE A LIIIIIITTLE SLEAZY FOR ME

hey hey shackle me too matching anklets and bracelets woohooooooooo 😁

YOULL BITE ME??? but if you’re biting me….and i’m biting jaehyun…..then who’s flying the plane??????

[gracebethartacc]

SHAMBLES OUT OF IBIS COVERED IN BLOOD hi guys I did KICB au design timeline refs yay :3

[cryptid-crow13]

underground fighter

I have this idea and I can't get it out of my head so I am throwing it to the dpxdc tumblr wild.

Danny took a deep breath as he wrapped his left hand. He wrinkled his nose at the blood and grime he smelled over the cigarette smoke and alcohol. He ignored how his hand shook as he secured the end around his wrist. He heard the noise outside the room die down a bit and hopped up from the bench.

Danny ran himself through a few warmups before he heard the noise outside pick back up with an announcement.

"Tonight we have everyone's favorite, Wraith!"

People yelled out their bets and cheered when Danny stepped out into the cage. He blew out a slow breath and watched as the people in the seats above shivered. He kept a carefully blank expression even under the gaiter mask.

When Wraith stepped into his end of the cage he rolled his shoulders back and stared down his first opponent for the night.

[lowkeyren]

hi. moze fic methinks. yay or nay.

[butterflysonnets]

all i can imagine right now is teenage theo’s stupid gay ass listening to the 2004 re-release of mr. brightside by the killers (because, yknow, vegas) on repeat while bitching about kotku in his stupider gayer journal and then having an internal crisis wondering why mr. brightside speaks to him so viscerally

[lingy910y]

I saw in my mind fairy lights through the mist / I kept calm and carried the weight of the rift / Pulling him in tighter each time he was drifting away

Can it be enough to just float in your orbit? / Can we watch our phantoms like watching wild horses? / Cooler in theory but not if you forced it to be

The devil that you know / Looks now more like an angel / I'm the life you chose / And all this terrible danger

Who's gonna stop us from waltzing back into rekindled flames if we know the steps anyway? / We embroided the memories of the time I was away, stitching "we were just kids, babe" / I said "I don't mind, it takes time" / I thought I was better safe than starry-eyed / I felt aglow like this / Never before and never since

fragile little fate: the portrait of a marriage x The Tortured Poets Department

↳ for @jademickian

[laundrybiscuits]

(wait for the season to come back to me tag)

Eddie doesn’t want to tell the kids yet. Steve kind of understands, but he also knows Dustin’s never going to forgive him for holding out like this. He cancels his biweekly lunch with Dustin twice before sitting Eddie down and saying, “We gotta tell him something.”

“Fuck off,” says Eddie.

“He’s twenty-five years old. He can handle it.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about.”

“What the hell are you worried about, then?” Steve snaps. “I can’t keep lying to him, man! It’s not fucking fair! Just because you—”

“Steve,” says Robin. “Come on. Cool your jets, hotshot.”

Steve realizes he’s been kind of yelling, then. He also realizes that he’s standing over Eddie, who’s folded into a defensive crouch, and Eddie’s nails are in serious danger of ripping the couch cushions open. Eddie doesn’t look scared, exactly, but his face has gone inhumanly still and blank. It’d probably be worrying if there was any space in Steve for worry.

The anger’s still roaring full-tilt through Steve, though. He gets like this sometimes for no goddamn reason at all, and he knows it’ll pass in a minute, but right now the urge to break something is so, so strong.

“Fuck,” he snarls, and wheels around, storming into the kitchen.

He runs the tap just so there’s some noise as he tries to get his shit under control. Robin comes in after a little while.

“I’m—going to the gym,” Steve says, still gripping the sink hard.

“Okay,” says Robin. “Be safe.”

———

When he comes back, Eddie’s not in the living room.

“I told him he could hang out in my room for a while,” Robin says, before Steve can work himself up into a panic. “I think it would be good for him to have, like…his own private space. Not—I’m not talking about kicking him out, obviously. But maybe we could figure out a partition or something in the living room?”

“Yeah, sounds like a good idea,” says Steve. “God. I’m so sorry. He knows I’m sorry, right?”

Robin flicks him on the forehead. “Yeah, he gets it, dingus. I think he called you an ambulatory fountain of penitence once. Like, a perpetual apology machine.”

“Sure,” says Steve. “Got a lot to apologize for.”

“Nope, we’re not doing that,” says Robin, patting him gingerly on the shoulder. “I’d hug you but you’re all gross and sweaty. Go shower, you’ll feel like a person again.”

He does feel like a person again after a shower, but the Dustin question still hasn’t been figured out. He tries to bring it up again after a few days.

“I wouldn’t even have told you guys I was back if you hadn’t kidnapped me,” says Eddie, picking at his dinner. Vegan stuff is usually okay, weirdly enough, so Steve’s been learning to cook with tofu. He’s not sure if Eddie actually gets anything out of it on a nutritional level; he hasn’t asked.

“Yeah, I know,” says Steve. He’s trying pretty hard not to get mad again. It keeps him up sometimes, thinking about how easily Eddie could’ve wandered into a different bar that night. He hopes that they would’ve crossed paths sometime anyway, being in the same city and all, but maybe not. He just doesn’t know.

“So you get it, right?” says Eddie. “Why I don’t want to put that on the kids. They’ve all, like…processed it and everything. They’ve moved on, just like you did before I came back and fucked up your life again. And you didn’t even really know me.”

It’s not like he’s saying it in a mean way, but it’s deliberate. He’s watching Steve carefully to see how it lands. Steve takes a deep breath; he can do this right, this time.

“Eddie,” he says. “You know I’m glad you’re back, right? You’re not fucking up my life, I’m happy you’re here.”

“You seem a little stressed for a guy who’s supposed to be happy.” Eddie leans back and smiles. It doesn't reach his eyes. “Just seems sometimes like maybe it would’ve been better for you if I’d stayed, like, a story from your past.”

“No,” says Steve. “No. No. Never. It—might’ve been less complicated, maybe. But not better.”

Eddie looks down at his plate, silently fiddling with the golden-brown chunks of fried soy protein, and Steve realizes it might not just be about how the kids will react.

“Hey. You know it’s going to be fine, right? Dustin loves you. He wants you in his life, whatever that means, and you know he’s not gonna do anything to make you uncomfortable. Plus, he lives like one town away and has his own car, so if I keep putting him off like this he’s just gonna show up here one day and then we’ll really be screwed.”

It’s kind of a joke but it’s also really, really true. Eddie laughs, some of the tension finally dropping out of his shoulders, and says: “Okay. You’ve worn me down, Harrington. Alert the brat pack.”

[imgoingtocrash]

The Last - Ron Pope

[0vergrowngraveyard]

y’know when i told myself “i should write as much as i can this november” writing two different options of how a scene could go, each like 1k - 2k words long, and having to decide which i like more is not what i meant

[androgynous-agent69]

Woe, fanfic Leshy backstory be upon ye!

(CW/TW: BLOOD/GENERAL VIOLENCE MENTIONS, CHILD ABUSE/HARM MENTIONS, YOU ARE WARNED!)

Really happy with how this came out after a few tweaks and such, so I'm glad to show my work in the form of a (part of a) nightmare that Leshy has from when he was a kid, also being the time that Narinder betrayed the Order of the Old Faith due to his "ressurection" ritual

("ressurection" in heavy connotations, because while it put the soul back in the body, it still left said body deteriorated and rotten, essentially making zombies and not actually reviving those that have died)

[zentriii]

Most of the time? Atsumu's just a guy who acts before he thinks. Doesn't think before he acts. However that saying goes.

What feels good? What's easiest? What does he want?

Those aren't questions he writes down like life's an exam. They're simple urges that guide his actions during a typical day. He’s not a fan of overthinking the details.

He's been doing well enough for himself, so why fix what's not broken?

Unfortunately for Atsumu, there are times when this goes around to bite him in the ass. Covered in flour and three seconds away from screaming, well, he's shaking his fist at his past self again.

He sets the bag down onto the counter and peers in- great. Just what he was hoping for, there's not enough left.

Atsumu kicks the small pile of flour that was making itself comfortable laying on his feet and puts his thinking cap on. He’d wallow for a bit, but it’s too late at night for him to feel frustrated for long. It’s already half gone, slipping through him like a ghost. What's next?

Staring forlornly at the spilt four, he knows he has to throw it out. Sure the floor looks clean, but he hasn't swept in a week or mopped in. Actually, he's not finishing that thought. In too long's good enough.

He quickly sweeps up and takes a wet cloth for the bits that were left. Atsumu didn’t have the energy to chase the stubborn line the spade leaves behind forever. The recipe called for two cups of flour and he knows from just the look of it, there's not enough left. Fuck.

Alright so he needs flour. That's his solution. Unfortunately, it doesn't come with any steps he's willing to take.

Atsumu can feel the flour under his clothes, there isn't a damn way in hell he's going out in public looking like a hot mess. And honestly, it's the middle of the night. The clock above the stove helpfully supplies the time and puts the final nail in the coffin, 4:23AM. Even if there's a place open, it's nowhere near close enough. Not only would their PR manager have a fit if he got caught, he'd get clowned on by everyone until the day he dies for it. His friends and family don’t need that sort of ammo on him, they’ve already got enough as it is.

Atsumu shakes some of the flour out of his hair, if he's lucky one of the college students across the hall should be awake. It's midterm season, if his brother's grumbling over their last call is reliable. He stares mournfully at his apartment’s door. Hopefully the friendly one answers, because he's not looking forward to explaining himself to the one with the death glare.

The one with the death glare opens the door because of course the gods were laughing at Atsumu, of course they were. The words he had prepared die on his throat but thankfully Tall, Dark, and Brooding doesn't give the silence time to become awkward.

“Can I help you?” Grumpy-san asks, attempting to incinerate Atsumu with his eyes alone. Sadly for the poor guy, Osamu's been trying to do the same since the moment he came out of the womb, Atsumu's immune.

“D’you have any flour by chance?” Atsumu asks sheepishly, playing up the charm. He gestures vaguely to the mess on himself, “I kinda had a bit of an accident in the kitchen.”

“I can see,” The man drawls, not giving Atsumu an inch.

“What do you even need it for at,” he glances at his phone, “four-thirty in the morning.”

The Man with Moles glares at him, like he's a ten year old inconveniencing his teacher by asking to use the washroom.

“I'm baking cookies, would ya like some when they're done?” His voice is saccharine and his smile fake. Atsumu hopes his neighbour doesn't take him up on the offer. Who would want to spend more time with a guy that looks like he could make you shit yourself if he tries? So obviously, the hot stranger agrees.

“Are you going to poison them?” He asks Atsumu, and interrupts before he can answer, “Actually no, I don't care. They just better not taste like shit.”

He slams the door in Atsumu's face, which, rude, but gives Atsumu a chance to process what the fuck just happened. Ah well, a few cookies is a small price to pay, maybe he could even weasel a name out of Eye Bags for Days, it’s getting tough to keep coming up with names for him. A small part of him is offended at the lack of trust in his baking skills, but he’s aware of how he looks right now. Atsumu wouldn’t trust a stranger in sweats, knocking at his door at ass-o-clock, asking for flour cause he got it all over himself.

The door opens as abruptly as it closed, and a container of flour finds it way into Atsumu’s hands, damn, Curly Hair works fast. “Don’t come by again for another 10 hours at least. Good night.”

With that he nods a goodbye and Atsumu still feels stuck reeling. His Ma raised him with manners though, even if he deigns to ignore them most of the time, so he chirps a quick, “Thanks! Ya saved my life.”

His gratitude is sincere, his words, less so. It doesn’t matter much as his fellow insomniac’s eyes are bleary with sleep. Glaring must be exhausting. He grumbles something Atsumu can’t pick up, and closes the door, Atsumu takes that as a courteous you’re welcome or anytime, even if he’s not tired enough to actually believe it. The guy should’ve spoken more clearly if he didn’t want people putting words into his mouth.

Still mostly dusted in flour, Atsumu walks back to his place. A little lighter with the container of flour weighing him down, a little nervous to see the man again, a little annoyed at his curt responses. At least he’s interesting, Atsumu can’t stand boring people. He’ll just overlook the guy’s prickliness as sleep deprivation, he’s a kind guy like that.

updated vers on ao3

[averlym]

"oh my soul, is it here? or is it rotting somewhere with my head?"

[spidey-bie]

Y'all I ain't ever wanted to have a baby a day in my life but imagining being pampered by Hobie because I'm pregnant with his child has me feeling some kinda way.

[kit-screams-into-the-future]

looking at the dialogue i wrote up for the next comic strip and the sheer amount of sketches (sketches. not even the lineart itself) to go along with it........ at this point i may just have to start writing fanfiction. it would be a lot less tedious methinks

[wereh0gz]

Not feeling great abt some of my creative endeavors rn

[sneakyswag]

Little excerpt from the fic. Im tireeed ill probably write more tomorrow. Here’s a little so far.

@bruggle 🥺

X sighs as he pinches the bridge of his nose. He looks over at Brook, unamused as she has a sly smile on her face. “It was funny,” she says. X can’t help but groan. “No. It really wasn’t”, X deadpans as he walks into Hunter HQ, Brook by his side. Brook just puts her arms behind her head. “Aw, come on. It was really funny” X shakes his head and rolls his eyes. “You hang out with Axl way too much. That’s what he would’ve said” Brook grins. X looks at her and rolls his eyes once again, sass taking over even though he doesn’t mean it to.

“Look”, X says as he stops for a moment. Brook mimics him and stops with him. The reploid exhales, “I can’t always be watching you, Brook. And with that stunt you pulled today, I don’t know if I can trust you by yourself” the teen gapes at the other. “Wha- but-!” She says, unable to say a full sentence due to her surprise. X nods and crosses his arms. “I need to find someone to watch you when I can’t. Someone who’s nice, a good example” X scans the base, eyes landing on a certain newcomer. “Beta. That’s who” X says with a smile but is then interrupted by Brook.