#writing that TONIGHT

[aomiiine]

head empty, only higuruma

[vulpinesaint]

quiz enjoyers! i am now inviting you to come create something in my workshop❕

[the-raindeer-king]

The thing with living with a man like Simon, who's been through so much, is that you pick up habits to help the both of you. There is no tiptoeing through the house, no jumping around corners. Not like you could anyway. He's got a habit of keeping you in sight most of the time.

When he's deployed, you leave a note on the fridge saying where you've gone, in case he comes home without telling you. Sometimes you leave more information, like what time you should be home, which of your friends you left with. Sometimes its just the location and a reminder to take care of himself.

You started doing this after the first (and only) time it happened. You had been out with friends, when he'd returned home from deployment. Home to an empty house. Your car sat in the driveway (you'd carpooled with your friends), and Simon assumed the worst.

He'd torn through the house, desperately trying to find some sort of evidence that you were still there. That you hadn't been kidnapped, or left him. His search ended empty handed, and he'd had a panic attack in the bathroom, reliving the events of losing his family.

You came home thirty minutes later, almost giddy when you'd seen his truck in the driveway. That feeling quickly evaporated, when you stepped inside the house. It looked like a tornado had swept through, living room torn apart, all the kitchen cabinets thrown open.

"Simon?" you call, setting your bags down by the front door.

You've never been scared of Simon, never had a reason to be. But when he came out of the bathroom, staring you down, eye black smeared across his face, looking more like Ghost than Simon, you suddenly understood why people gave your boyfriend wide berth.

"Simon?"

He doesn't respond, backing you up against the door. When he reaches out to gently caress your face, you notice his hands are shaking.

"Thought something happened to ya," he whispers, voice hoarse. And then he's dragging you into a hug, crushing you against his chest, arms like a vice around you. It takes you a second to realize he's shaking all over, that there's tears in his eyes.

"No, baby. I was just out with friends," you reply softly, gently running your fingers through hair, nails scratching against his scalp. Guilt eats at you, feeling horrible for causing him this kind of distress. You hadn't expected him today, didn't think to leave a note or something.

"I'll leave a note next time," you promise. And that's stuck since then.

[saltymarshmall0w]

beatdown buddies

(You always read fics where the pit is instantly calmed by Danny’s presence, but what if it didn’t?)

Now, you have to understand, that Jason was long past attacking strangers in a blind fury. The Bats? Sure, all the time--- but he was working on that.

This particular scrawny, possibly-homeless stranger hadn’t done anything more than simply exist in Jason’s proximity. If it was any other Crime Alley resident, Jason would be much more likely feel a surge of protectiveness.

This guy though– he was different.

Locking toxic-green eyes to toxic-green eyes made the pit in his skin violently react. Before he knew it, he was hitting the guy with everything he had, and the guy was hitting back.

The groceries Jason had left his apartment to get spilled all over the ground as the two rolled.

Pulled hair, split knuckles, and bruised bodies, the guy’s fist hit Jason’s jaw for the umpteenth time, cracking his head back and making him look at the gloomy sky.

They only used their fists. Jason could feel the familiar ghost of weapons hidden under the other guy’s hoodie, but neither pulled their hidden weapons.

Despite it all, Jason and the guy shared blood-tinged smiles. Blood boiled under his skin in an exciting trill. He was angry, and it was fantastic.

He’s pretty sure he just made a new best friend.

Someone hit Jason’s back with what could distinctly be identified as a broom. He vaguely heard the sound of yelling around him, but Jason’s only focus was getting his next hit in.

Eventually, they were stopped by a familiar shade of blue and black. Strong arms pulled him off the stranger and pinned his arms down, locking their arms over his chest to prevent Jason from getting free.

“You need to calm down!” Dickwing’s voice lectured in his ear. “You’re going to kill him!”

Surprisingly, Jason settled in Dick’s hold, fight and anger drained out of him in the space of a breath. The fire under his skin didn’t keep flaming and flaming and building it just– stopped.

“Oh, Please.” The stranger was grinning widely, despite the model of developing bruises and cuts across his face. A burly man who Jason vaguely recognized worked at the store they were standing right in front of was both holding up and holding back the guy. “We were just saying ‘Hi’.”

The guy made eye contact with Jason. Blue, no hints of green anywhere. The guy winked. “Danny.”

Frankly, Jason couldn’t quite explain his actions. He felt stupidly chastized by Nightwing’s patented older brother stare of disappointment. Apparently, the guy couldn’t explain his actions either, as he disappeared the instant no one’s eyes were on him.

-

Jason arrived an hour early to Wayne Sunday family dinner. He missed cooking alongside Alfred, and offered his help.

He let Dick wrap an arm around his shoulder for a few seconds as a welcome. He didn’t seethe at Bruce simply being there. He chose to sit between Tim and the Demon brat when it looked like new fratricide plans were being drawn up by the younger.

The pit didn’t scream under his skin to hurt. Little things didn’t set him off, making him have to leave early. He wasn’t tempted to throttle anyone for existing around him.

The pit was just… quiet. Peaceful even. Well, as peaceful as it could get in the Wayne household.

It was a massive improvement compared to six months ago— hell, compared to last month.

He shrugged off inquiries about his black eye, citing it would heal quickly anyway.

-

Jason should have known he wasn’t safe.

Sure, he was on a roof one could only grapple to, across the city from crime alley, and dressed up as Red Hood.

However, Danny always reappeared periodically like a well-timed extremely therapeutic punching bag.

One moment, Jason was looking down over the streets of Gotham the next, he was being flying-kicked by a lithe frame. Something instantly recognized Danny so, rather the putting a bullet in him, Jason picked himself back up into a crouch and lunged at Danny.

“Hood? Hood what’s going on?” Someone called in his ear— Oh, right he had connected comms with his family that night.

Danny stopped suddenly, straddling Jason’s stomach, one hand fisting his collar, the other posed to strike. He blinked. glowing green eyes turned blue. “You’re not like, busy doing vigilante stuff, are you?” He asked.

Every bruise and cut from their last fight was gone, his baby face appeared as though it had never been punched in his life, making him look all the more punchable.

“Nope.” Jason answered, driving an elbow into the kid’s stomach and in the same motion ripped the comm out of his ear to toss it to the side.

Minutes later Danny was pulled off him, and the fire under his skin died down.

He blinked back into his surroundings to find himself on a rooftop with half of Gotham’s vigilantes standing in a circle around him, an unease that he could only read because he was so familiar with them written in all of their body languages. Batman held Danny slightly behind himself, keeping a firm grasp on the guy so he couldn’t escape.

“You claimed the rage was getting better.” Bruce stated in the way that meant he was supposed to answer his unasked questions..

Jason waited for rage and indignance to rise up in him, but rather he just considered that Bruce saw glowing green eyes and a brutal beat down and made a logical leap.

“It has!” Jason argued anyway. He sniffed and ran a hand under his slightly bleeding nose. It didn’t sting enough to be broken. “I haven’t lost my cool in months.”

“That’s what he has me for!” Danny chimed happily. His nose was broken, but Danny didn’t seem to mind the twin streaks of blood running down his face. “We’re friends with Benefits. It’s always healthy to have a little dead-guy on dead-guy action. You guys should really fight with him more often, his ectoplasm is rank.”

[ayatou]

the strawhats & their dreams

[sunsburns]

imagine asking wade if he still likes you when he’s literally inside you LMAOOO I just know he’d be so flabbergasted

i know a normal people fan when i see one (18+, fluff)

but jokes aside, and dicks inside, wade would likely get whiplash; his head turning so fast he can hear a crack in his neck, staring at you like you're crazy because just seconds ago you'd been running your gentle hands over his skin. your fingers brush against the divots of his scarred skin, your cheek pressed to his chest, humming softly, close enough that your lashes tickle whenever you blink.

wade's a little out of breath, sticky with sweat, and miraculously, rendered speechless. to others, a rarity, but with you, while still rare, is more frequent, especially after sex.

sure, he drops a joke or two, but there is a window where wade likes to sit there, holding you, skin against skin, in silence; listening to the sounds of your shaky breaths as you come down from your high, the sounds of the bedsheets ruffling with slow movements from the both of you, even the sounds of the old crackly fan on his ceiling.

and so, in that small window of silence, the two of you lay there in a warm embrace, listening to each other's heartbeats as wade's dick slowly softens inside you.

but then that small window starts to close, the silence breaking with you. you shift, turning to press your chin against wade's chest while looking up at him, "hey," you whisper, a smile growing against your lips.

"hi," he whispers back to you, but he continues to stare at the window, watching the soft light of the rising sun peeking in through the white lace curtains you picked out, a part of you in the dingy apartment he shared with blind al.

"we've officially gone at it all night. fucking like rabbits. and i can't believe i'm saying this but, i'm fucking spent. i might need a few weeks to recover. i asked for a bone and you threw a whole skeleton at me, peanut."

you snort, rolling your eyes, "yeah, right."

"okay, fine, a week is too long." wade hums, he finds your hair and runs his hand over it, twirling a strand around his finger, "i'll be good as new by tonight or at least by the time you scroll to read another fic of me, of course."

you're still staring at him, and wade, ever the observant, notices. he shifts, sits up, holds onto your waist, and brings you up with him. you have to bite your tongue to hold back a moan, sensitive to the way he's touching you, the way his dick keeps you full.

wade raises his brows (or at least, where his brows would be), "what? is there something on my face? i know i'm ugly but i thought we were past that. your staring is making me a little self conscious, sweetbuns."

"wade?"

"yes, cupcake?"

"do you like me?"

"what-?" he stares at you, eyes wide and nearly popping out of his head. "do i- what? what the fuck kind of stupid ass fuck ass question is that? you think i don't like you? we literally fucked all night. literally did every position in the book. i let you peg me! you might be the only person on earth that matches my freak-"

"yeah, i know but-"

"bitch, i'm literally still inside you."

that's when you can't help but laugh, grinning against his neck when he wraps his arms around you and pulls you closer. you love the way his body emits warmth, and you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him even closer like you want to live inside his skin.

wade holds you, his cheek pressing against the top of your head. and he groans loudly when you say, "you never answered my question."

"oh my god," he huffs dramatically, "of course i fucking like you. like no shit."

"okay, great. i was just making sure."

[ofbatsandballads]

have a little Jason drabble inspired by me going to my work bestie’s bachelorette party tonight. yes, yes I did imagine all this while getting ready and what about it? also consider this a part of my jason gets the girl series.

Jason Todd is a worrier. You knew that the very first night you met him when he automatically assumed that you, a woman living alone and wearing fuzzy pajamas, would be a danger to him. You know that now by his incessant questions that he’s been pelting at you for the past hour.

“You’ll keep in contact with me, right?” he asks from the other side of the shower curtain.

“Of course, Jay,” you reply as you twist like a contortionist while shaving your legs.

“I know it’s a bachelorette party, but please don’t drink so much that you don’t know what’s goin’ on around you, baby,” he says, voice raised so you can hear him over your hair dryer.

“I know, Jay. I’ve not forgotten where we live!” you shout back as reassuringly as you can.

“You sure I can’t convince ya to stay here with me?” he asks, only half joking, as you flip through the hangers in your shared closet looking for what to wear.

“You’re making a very convincing argument,” you concede as he kisses down your neck. “But no. Alas, I cannot be a shitty friend.”

“Fine. But at least wear somethin’ that goes with the jacket I got you,” he grumbles.

You laugh under your breath. This man. He’s such a worry wart. But you get it. Jason goes out every night into the belly of the beast, sees the worst of the worst. He knows what happens to vulnerable young women in this city, and you can’t blame him for his overprotective nature. So if wearing the tan leather jacket, a smaller replica of the one he wears as Red Hood, that has a tracker sewn into the interior is what he needs to ease his anxious mind, you’ll do it without complaint.

“It’s a gorgeous jacket, Jaybear. It goes with everything,” you say as you scratch soothingly at his scalp.

“You know where you’ll be tonight?” he asks from the foot of your bed, watching you as you put on your makeup.

“Uh huh. We’re not going to any bars or clubs or anything like that. Maid of honor just rented a penthouse in the Diamond District. We’ll probably spend the night eating pizza and drinking cocktails,” you answer as you try not to stab yourself in the eye with your mascara wand.

Jason makes a little grunt of agreement. You idly think that he sounds just like his dad, but you also don’t say that because you’re not a complete idiot. Also because you once told Jason he looked like Bruce and how miraculous that was since he was adopted, and he spent the next three days mumbling 'don't look anythin’ like the old man’ every time he glanced in a mirror.

You glance behind you in the vanity mirror to see the love of your life. His expression tugs your heartstrings. He looks so…melancholy. Emotions are storming in his sea green eyes and all you want is to ease his worries. You lay down your makeup brush and pad over to him, settling down in his lap. His hands come up automatically to rest on your hips, thumbs stroking over the softness.

“What’s wrong, angel?” you whisper, smoothing out the creases between his furrowed eyebrows with the tips of your fingers.

“I don’t—” he stops abruptly, tries to find the words he needs. “I’m not tryin’ to be overbearing. Don’t wanna be one of those guys that tells their girl what to do.”

He takes a breath and you stay silent. He has to get this out and you’ll wait as long as it takes.

“I just…worry. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I can’t lose you. I can’t,” and his voice breaks like stained glass. “I wouldn’t survive it. I know this is fuckin’ stupid. Me actin’ like this over a bachelorette party but I just…I can’t stop thinkin’ about all the things that could happen.”

Oh. Oh, your sweet, loving, heaven sent boyfriend. You know his past haunts him, that this city haunts him. You wish you could take all his worries away and wrap him in a nice warm blanket. You’d tuck him away from the world, keep him safe and happy and cared for all his days if you could.

“Jason, look at me,” you tilt his head up with your fingers under his jaw. “I promise you I will do everything in my power to be as safe as possible. I won’t drink irresponsibly. I’ll make sure to text you if anything, and I mean anything, starts to get weird. It won’t, but if it did you would be on speed dial. And trust me, angel, I have no intentions of staying the night.”

You don’t. Good friend or not, you can’t sleep well if you’re not wrapped in the strong arms of the man beneath you.

“So I expect you to be waiting on that tricked out bike of yours to pick me up,” you beam at him, run your hand through his hair because you know it makes him melt into your touch.

“I’ll be waitin’ for you,” he says, a solemn promise that extends far beyond tonight.

“Good. Now that being said, I will be bringing home all the dick decorations because I wanna plant them in your brother’s apartment. Just to fuck with him,” you giggle.

Jason lights up for the first time tonight. His green eyes gleam with mischief and adoration.

“Oh, you are my fuckin’ soulmate, baby. I’ll help you break in.”

[sukunasbow]

jinx fucking you with her gun ; mdni

your eyes widen as the blue haired girl waves her gun around you, slowly bringing it down and dragging it in between your plush thighs. you anxiously bite your lip and shiver at the feeling of the cold metal tracing your inner thighs, slowly inching towards your cunt.

“do you trust me, toots?” jinx smirks up at you. you suck in a deep breath and nod your head in response. “use your words.” she huffs.

“i trust you, jinx.” your voice comes out and faint and shaky. she brings the gun back up to your mouth, placing it on your lips and making them part, giving her access to your mouth. you’re about to asking what she’s doing, however you’re quickly cut off when jinx inserts the gun in your mouth. you let out a small gag at the disgusting metal tang of the gun.

“suck it.” jinx commands.

your eyes shift down to look at her in shock. despite your shock, you still listen to her demands and sensually suck the barrel of the gun, coating it with your saliva.

“good girl.” she coos. she takes the gun out of your mouth and you instantly take in a few deep breaths, still taking in what she just happened. “doing so good for me.” jinx continues praising you as she, once again, brings the gun in between your legs. “so wet and ready for me, hm? you’re so fucked up, getting off at the thought of me shoving a gun inside of you.” she mocks you.

you want to feel ashamed and embarrassed at her words, however you just can’t let yourself feel that way as she slowly inserts the gun inside of your wet hole. “oh, fuck..” your eyes flutter at the feeling of the cold metal rubbing against the walls of your pussy. you clench around the barrel of the gun.

“shit, look at her.” jinx feels herself getting wet as she watches the way your pussy devours the weapon. “she’s fucking needy.” she talks at your cunt. she slowly starts to move the gun in and out of you, intensely focusing on the lewd sounds of the barrel exiting your dripping cunt. “yeah, she’s taking it like the slut she is.” her lips part and she practically humps the ground at the sight of the gun thrusting in and out of you.

“jinx, feels so good, fuck.” you moan out in pleasure. your head falls back as the tip of the gun repeatedly gets deeper, hitting your sweet spot while the ridges of the barrel glide along the walls of your cunt. “faster, please, please.” begging for more from the blue haired girl.

jinx lets out a laugh, one that’s almost making fun of your current state. “you sure you can take it? don’t wanna hurt ya.”

“yes, i can take it!” you huff, feeling a knot slowly build in your stomach as she increases the pace. your hole caves in around the gun, clinging onto it with every movement of the barrel from jinx. “need you, please.”

“you have me.” she reassures you. “i want you to cum for me, baby.”

“yes, yes, mm’..gonna cum..” you gasp, desperately reaching your hands out to grip at her blue hair. “so fucking good!” you moan. the knot in your stomach slowly comes undone and you feel yourself reaching a high, blinding white hot pleasure taking over your body.

just as your cum gushes out of your pussy, covering the barrel of the gun in your juices, jinx clicks the trigger of the gun. your eyes widen at the click sound. your heartbeat speeds up and tears fill up the corner of your eyes as you come down from your orgasm and also deal with the shock of what she did. your mind starts racing, wondering if you were even alive.

“fuck!” your nails dig into her scalp, hoping to bring yourself back down to reality. “what happened?!”

“toots, you’re okay.” she smirks up at you, slowly taking the gun out of your cunt and showing it to you. “i told you to trust me. i would never hurt you, it’s empty.”

[transman-badass]

So what if I'm not good enough?

No, seriously. So what if I'm not 'good enough'?

Who am I hurting by not being good enough? No one. Writing is a craft that gives, not takes away. Even the worst stories in the world can give the reader something, whether it was meant to or not.

So what if I gain a reputation for being a 'bad' writer? So what if people avoid my work for all the reasons I fear? So what? No seriously. So what?

I own who I am. I write my own words. They come from my heart alone. I don't use the plagiarism machine. I don't lie about my ethnicity. I don't exploit other people. I don't harass others, or chase them off social media. I don't hurt people to lift myself up, or for my own selfish fun. I'm not an asshole, at least, I try not to be.

So what if I'm not 'good enough'? So what if you're 'not good enough'? There's so much worse things to be than that.

And at the end of the day, I'm pretty sure, the only person who thinks I'm not good enough is myself. I mean, have you ever once looked at another person, nevermind a writer, and gone 'you're not good enough'? I haven't. I bet you haven't either.

Maybe you and I, we should show ourselves a little kindness tonight.

[bamsara]

Scene is slightly different than how I storyboarded it but I can't stop laughing at the thought of if instead of Physical Affection touching-the-neck jumpscare when Lamb asks what their weakness is, Narinder just pulls out a bag of cashews

[the-apocrypha]

"We'll fix it in post" is a phrase from the film industry, but it is inherently funnier when it's spoken by a writer because--tragic--you are also the post-production team.

[khaire-traveler]

I'm a big supporter of "the gods love you, regardless of how much you're able to do to worship them", but at the same time, it's difficult to forge a relationship with any deity (or even other people) if you don't allow yourself to be known by them. If you don't have moments of vulnerability, moments of silliness, moments of small joy even, then it's difficult to forge relationships or take them to a deeper level. Loving gods (or even other people) can be a scary thing for some people (hell, it was for me), but if you don't allow your heart to be exposed, even just a little, then you're not going to get back as much as you're hoping to.

Anything that's worth anything in life is going to require some level of risk, as terrifying as that feels sometimes, and in my opinion, having a deeper connection with a deity is one of those things that's worth the risk.

My point isn't that we aren't loved by the gods if we don't do a ritual everyday or pray every hour; my point here is that we cannot deepen our bonds if we aren't willing to dip more than just our toes into our deity relationships. Love your gods, and know that you are loved, but they can't really help you if you won't let them in, you know?

[phantomrose96]

The Ship of Theseus is a story of a ship which, over time, has part after part replaced. By the end, 100% of the original ship's pieces have been replaced. The paradox begs the question of whether it is still the same ship.

The Ship of Theseus is a story of a ship which has its pieces replaced one after another. By the end, every single piece of the original ship has changed. The paradox asks if this is the same ship.

The Ship of Theseus tells the allegory of a ship whose crew are replaced one at a time. Eventually every single crewmate has been swapped for a new one. No one left knows what the carved initials in the mast mean. The paradox wonders whether the ship is still the same ship.

The Ship of Theseus refers to a company which has experienced complete turnover and rebranding. The query wishes to know if it is still the same company. The debtors are asking.

The Ship of Theseus is about a family. The original constituents are dead now, replaced by younger generations which have dispersed, found love, married and gained new names. No one is Theseus anymore. No one remembers the bones. But the genes never forget. Who is the family now?

The Ship of Theseus is you, shed of all the cells which first made you. They're stardust again. You'll be stardust many times over. Who are you?

The Ship of Theseus is me. All my words have changed. Who do I get to be now?

[oflights]

helpful sites for writers

i have a little collection of websites i tend to use for coming up with ideas, naming people or places, keeping clear visuals or logistics, writing basics about places i've never been to, and so on. i tend to do a lot of research, but sometimes you just need quick references, right? so i thought i'd share some of them!

Behind the Name; good for name meanings but also just random name ideas, regardless of meanings.

Fantasy Name Generator; this link goes to the town name generator, which i use most, but there are lots of silly/fun/good inspo generators on there!

Age Calculator; for remembering how old characters are in Y month in Z year. i use this constantly.

Height Comparison; i love this for the height visuals; does character A come up to character B's shoulder? are they a head taller? what does that look like, height-wise? the chart feature is great!

Child Development Guide; what can a (neurotypical, average) 5-year-old do at that age? this is a super handy quickguide for that, with the obviously huge caveat that children develop at different paces and this is not comprehensive or accurate for every child ever. i like it as a starting point, though!

Weather Spark; good for average temperatures and weather checking!

Green's Dictionary of Slang; good for looking up "would x say this?" or "what does this phrase mean in this context?" i love the timeline because it shows when the phrase was historically in use. this is english only, though; i dig a little harder for resources like this in other languages.

[xxplastic-cubexx]

personal happiness or what the fuck ever

bonus:

[becca-e-barnes]

It might be toxic of me but I really love when men let their jealous, protective side out during sex 🤤

I love the thought of Bucky cradling his girl's face in one hand while he holds himself up with his other, driving his cock in and out of her while whispering the filthiest thing in her ear.

"Shit, you were made for this, weren't you baby? Made to take my load." He's so lost in the way you whine, telling him he's right and he knows it when he feels the way your body clenches and flutters around him.

"Can't believe a pretty little thing like you is all mine. You know you are. You're my girl. Nothing else could even make me feel close to how you do." His dick slides into you, as deep as it can possibly go before he draws back again. His rhythm is manageable but you're pretty aware that your fingernails are digging into the broad expanse of his shoulders and back. It's not like you can be held responsible for that though.

"It's like you were made for me. Sweet and tight and wet and so fucking pretty. You're a dream come true." His self control never lasts too long and you feel the strain on it already. He wants to take you. He wants you squealing and whimpering and screaming his name so all your neighbours know who he is. He wants to make sure you go to work in the morning in a daze, unable to think of anything but the earth shattering orgasms he's dragged from your body. He wants to flood your body with his cum, filling you to the brim, claiming absolutely all of you.

"You're my pretty girl, aren't you?" He asks, using the hand on your face to guide you so your eyes meet his.

"All yours. Don't want anyone else." Your legs tighten around his waist, keeping him close in a way that feels desperately romantic. His skin on yours feels perfect and you find you just don't want to separate, not even for a second. Feeling consumed by him doesn't concern you, instead it's comforting. It's lovely to be his; to be wanted and needed by him and to know he's yours in entirely the same way.