#this will be unspeakably long

[kekkuda]

this project is gonna be the death of me it is never ending but I’m locking in we ball

[dollsome-does-tumblr]

Maybe the poison drips through. (2.07 / 4.07)

[ilovemesomevincentprice]

Vincent Price as Maximilian The Great

The Long Night (1947) dir. Anatole Litvak

[tommygotwrittenoff]

i just think if roles were reversed and buck was the one saying those gay ass lines to eddie, eddie wouldve proposed like four seasons ago

[laylakeating]

IT'S ALL OVER NOW, ALL OUT TO SEA. @thetroubletones, i love you!

[tofuingho]

What if Danny and Jason met in the infinite realms when Jason was dead and started a relationship?

Jason gets brought back to life, with or without memories of what happened while he was dead, and Danny has no idea where he's gone.

Jason is going through his whole training for vengeance thing. Danny is searching high and low, calling on all of the ancients and all of his rouges, doing whatever it takes to get his boyfriend back.

Jason meets up with the Bats. Does his whole 'kill Joker if you actually care about me' thing. Heads in a duffle bag and what have you. Danny still can't find Jason, but is starting to figure out that Jason was Robin. Like, actually Robin and just a concept spirit like Clockwork.

Jason starts making amends with the Batfam, but his "pit madness" is still a massive issue. Tucker and Sam help Danny figure out that Robin was Jason Todd and he lived in Gotham.

Jason wakes up one morning and feels like crap. He keeps having random sharp pains in his chest. He goes to the Batcave to get Alfred to check him out. Danny gets to Gotham and starts searching for Jason when he senses something odd. It's like someone is calling out to him, so he follows the feeling.

Danny arrives just in time to see Jason "giving birth" to their child.

[the-judicial-assistants-notebook]

enthralled by the implications of what we could have had

[separatist-apologist]

MOB GWYNRIEL??? 🙋🏻‍♀️

Yeah, once I finish mob nessian. Gwyn with her shotgun, Azriel just experiencing L after humiliating L.

[intosnarkness]

”come over here and make me” kanej

(1 2 or make up your own) (ask)

Sankt Emerens is not someone Inej was really familiar with before she was brought to Kerch.

As part of a traveling circus, living in a wagon, her family hadn't had a lot of need for harvest festivals. They'd usually taken advantage of them to set up a tent and earn coin in one of the smaller Ravkan villages they passed through. But they never stopped at the shrines or left offerings to him. Why would they, when they didn't grow anything?

Her first autumn in the Barrel, Inej was surprised by the revelry on Emeren's feast day - the sheer number of drunk people in the streets, the fireworks, the raucous laughter and the stream of men whose inhibitions were low enough to stumble into the Menagerie and spend their kruge on girls who couldn't say no.

She thought she might hate Sankt Emerens. She had never hated a saint before, but she was willing to bend a little for someone who inspired such chaos.

Which is why, in her second year in Ketterdam, Inej climbs up to the roof of the Slat with a bottle of whiskey and resolves to not think about anything even remotely religious instead of participating in the celebrations. She decides to pretend that it's a normal night, and that no one on the West Stave is being sold in the name of someone who died in a grain silo.

It doesn't go great.

She's only a drink or so into the whiskey, the amber liquid just kissing the top of the label as she lowers it from her lips, when she feels his presence on the roof with her.

"Hello, Kaz," she offers, giving him a little toast with the bottle. It's about time she got to greet him without looking.

"What business?" he asks, which just makes her snort through her nose. He's come to see her. On the roof. During a festival. Why would she be bringing him business? Sometimes Kaz is just the absolute worst.

"Getting drunk," she replies, though she doesn't think she will. She's had enough whiskey. She doesn't even like the stuff, it's just what Kaz had in his stash that she could take. Plus, if she's going to get drunk, she should do it with her feet on the ground. Nothing good has ever come of trying to get shitfaced on a roof.

Probably her father has a saying about that. Something profound, and wise. She misses him in a way that aches.

Kaz comes to sit next to her, close but carefully avoiding any contact between their bodies, and holds his hand out for the bottle. She takes another sip before she hands it to him.

"This is mine," he says, but he wipes the rim of it with his sleeve before taking a swallow. He winces a little, and Inej can't help but smile. He doesn't shoot whiskey well. It's something no one else seems to ever notice. He sips it, drinks it for status instead of enjoyment. She files it away in her mind, a secret she can sell when he's rich and powerful.

"I borrowed it," she replies, watching him out of the corner of her eye. "You weren't around to ask."

"Someone had to arrange for the fireworks," he shrugs. "There's always profit in this city, if you know where to look."

Somehow, Inej thinks her father would disapprove of that as a proverb. But it does sound like the kind of thing you would say while shaking the hand of your pewmate at a Ghezenite service. Good morning, there's profit to be made. Heathens.

"Of course," she shakes her head and reaches for the bottle again.

Kaz doesn't hand it over, instead making a show of taking another deep drink. This time he coughs, and Inej feels vindicated by it. What an asshole he is.

"Why aren't you out there?" he asks, gesturing with his chin towards the revelers below. "You could get drunk on another man's alcohol."

"Other men want payment for free drinks," she says, before she can consider it. It's true, of course. If you let a man buy you a whiskey he asks for your company. And Inej can't be bought anymore. Not like that. With Kaz, there may still be a price for things, but it's a price she knows up front. A price she can say no to, and know that he'll let her.

That seems to put him on his heels, and she uses his moment of distraction to take the bottle back, swallowing deep. She should stop. She should get down. She doesn't want to.

The alcohol is warm in her stomach, and Kaz is warm at her side, despite the barrier of air and clothing that will always keep them apart.

"Give that back," he demands, his brow furrowed. "Go buy your own whiskey, Wraith."

"Why don't you come over here and make me?" she replies, and when their eyes meet in the darkness, she can feel something coming from him that she's never felt before. Something like want or need. It scares her. It scares her to think that she's on a roof, far away from anyone who can help her, with this boy who she trusts. Who has earned her trust. Who lies and cheats and murders and probably doesn't deserve that trust.

He opens his mouth to reply, but she doesn't hear what he says, because something explodes over the harbor.

It's a firework, a shower of gold and red sparks like a small sun that blazes into existence for a moment. It's breathtaking, and she turns to look at Kaz, watching as the next one goes off, the reflection of green and blue in his dark eyes. He's beautiful, and the way he's looking at her makes her think that maybe- maybe- he thinks she's beautiful, too.

Probably not. Probably Kaz Brekker doesn't have feelings about beauty, unless it's something he can get money from. And he promised her she would never have to do that. So what use would her beauty be to him, anyway?

"Here," Inej hands him the bottle and gets to her feet. "I'm done. Good night, Kaz."

"Stay," he says, his voice warm in the chill of the air. Or maybe it's the alcohol. "Just - just until the fireworks are done. They're good fireworks. I would know."

Inej pauses, looking away from him to where a series of three explosions is going off, one after the other, a high whistling sound giving way to the bursts of color. It is pretty. It reminds her a little of the ones her aunt and uncle used to set off at the solstice, meant to scare back the night and show the way for the sun to return to them.

"Okay," Inej breathes, and returns to sitting an inch away from Kaz, their bodies never touching. If it's payment for the whiskey, well. She's willing to pay it. For now.

Neither of them speaks again as the explosions around them start to pick up, colors and sparks dancing down the firmament. She leans back on her palms, the rough shingles of the roof biting into them. Something soft and firm brushes over her fingers, a split second of contact that feels for all the world like leather.

She doesn't react, schooling herself to stillness. If Kaz touched her hand, she knows, it was an accident. It's not something he would do on purpose. Not to her, and not to anyone. So she won't make a big deal of it.

Kaz doesn't say anything either, just takes another gasping drink from the bottle and sits with her as the sky turns to light.

[fumifooms]

Thinking about Mithrun angst unfailingly gets me like

[ilovemesomevincentprice]

Vincent Price as

The Last Man On Earth (1964) dir. Sydney Salkow

[passionpluto]

other people's theories on why illusen and jhudora became enemies: angsty, well thought-out, full of lore

my theories: maybe one of them stole the other one's favorite lipstick and it was a limited edition holiday exclusive that was never sold again???

(presenting exhibit a! which is...the only exhibit i've got, really!)

[lamortwrites]

Hit a nice round scary big number of kudos on ao3 so I'm gonna be sappy for a min. I fucking loved writing as a kid -- I wanted to be an author, bc ofc I did -- and I wrote ceaselessly, hundreds of thousands of words, both fanfic and original stuff. I would cram folded bits of plain paper in my pockets and write in tiny tiny handwriting on each side (bc you can fit so much more on the available space that way!) and I'd type in the shitty notes app of my cheap shitty smartphone once I got one and I went through countless notebooks and refill pads and what have you. Sixth form was very bad for me mental health wise and I burnt out really hard, and for a very very long time after I thought that was it. I couldn't get more than a handful of paragraphs done on something, at best, and I wasn't really happy with anything I was doing.

And then I played through a video game as a murderous demigod overflowing with religious guilt and, well, here we are. According to ao3 I have published 37.2k words in the past eight months -- not a whole lot, esp by other people's standards, but for me that is a staggering amount, esp for someone who has struggled a lot w writing anything at all for the past eight years.

I've never really been active in a fandom before (not that I really am now, I stay in my lil corner and you cannot make me leave) but I have made so many incredible friends over the past few months and I am so, so grateful to know you all.

To everyone who has liked my fics, thank you. To everyone who has commented, thank you. To everyone who has talked to me about my writing, about Labrys, about anything...I really cannot thank you enough. Things are still not great for me, honestly. But knowing that there people out there who enjoy my writing is wild, and I am so, so grateful to all of you. <3

[cluelesspigeons]

This is written for the song “how you get the girl” by Taylor Swift from @drarrymicrofic

Word count: 243

Drarry microfic: welcome home

The knock on the door was quiet, yet Draco still heard it. He looked up from the book he was reading, a steaming cup of Earl Grey tea in his hand. Who could possibly still need him at this ungodly hour of the night?

Slowly, he made his way over to the door, a warm blanket wrapped securely around his shoulders. Even after a long day of work, people couldn’t leave him alone, could they?

He pulled open the door. The words that were ready on his tongue, disappeared as quickly as they came when he saw just who was standing on his doorstep with an umbrella in his hands and a sheepish smile on his face.

“Hi.”

Before he could think twice about it, Draco slammed the door shut. He stood frozen in the hallway, pulling the blanket closer around his shoulder. Surely, it couldn’t be?

After a few seconds, Draco carefully opened the door again, peeking outside to see if he was still there. To his surprise, he was.

“Draco?”

His voice was so familiar. It hurt to hear it again after so so long. But still…

An unexpected warmth spread through his veins. He was back. He was finally back. After months of silence. After months of Draco trying—and failing—not to worry, Harry was finally back home.

A tentative smile lifted the corners of his mouth. He stepped aside to let Harry back in the house. “Welcome home, my love.”

Prompt from May 5th

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[icannotgetoverbirds]

ahem. Aspecs are FUCKING VALID. and they're RIGHT, goddammit.

About what specifically are they right, you may ask?

Listen. Asexuals will side-eye you whenever you describe sexual attraction, and I presume the same happens for aromantics and romantic attraction.

While I can't personally speak on romantic attraction as I've never been fully aromantic, I can definitely say this with confidence.

Sexual attraction is fucking WEIRD, y'all.

You look at someone, or spend time with them, and suddenly you want to bed them? Look, it's a "normal" experience and it's definitely valid but I refuse to pretend that's not fucking bonkers yonkers.

Do any of y'all know what it's like to spend nearly two decades completely unbothered by all the bullshit that comes with having crushes, and then suddenly your entire world comes crashing down and OH GOD OH FUCK EVERYBODY IS HOT SO THIS IS WHAT THEY WERE TALKING ABOUT.

Do you?????

Demisexuals and other forms of gray-asexuals may know a similar experience, and it... like. How do I even describe it.

Going from 0% sexual attraction to 100% sexual attraction TO EVERY GENDER over the course of A FEW DAYS was... an experience, to say the least.

Anyways. Respect aspecs (and that includes the asexual spectrum, the aromantic spectrum, the aplatonic spectrum, and loveless folks) or die by my fucking sword.

I don't actually have a sword. Can someone get me a sword?

[userautumn]

Some of you are so comfortable in the leftist utopia that exists only on the internet in leftist circles and I've got to be honest, that world does not exist. That world will never exist.