#yeah im gonna write this its so over

[sweeterthanficstion]

chat. dad!leon with a cute lil baby he calls 'bug' because she loves spending time in the garden and always shows him whatever critters she's managed to scavenge...

[choccy-milky]

the place me and my roommate were supposed to move into today was so disgusting and uninhabitable we just took our stuff and left and now we're gonna be staying at airbnbs and hotels until further notice/until we can find a new place hopefully quickly...........im in my homeless drifter era y'all!!!😍😍so if im not as active then thats why LMFAO

1 like = 1 prayer

[luminique]

kissing lighter’s scars while laying in bed together.. thoughts?

yes. the biggest reason i don’t write it is because i literally am in love with wriothesley and it’s like the exact same concept so i don’t know whether to write for lighter or wrio. BUT SINCE THIS IS AN ASK, I SHALL DELIVERRR !!

lighter doesn’t get many scars now compared to his time in those underground fighting rings. he doesn’t even show them off, choosing to be almost fully covered up. so on one particularly warm night in blazewood, he couldn’t handle the heat and took off his top, the scars now on full display.

i don’t think he particularly wants to acknowledge it either as it is a past he seems to want to depart from. however, the way your eyes follow its shapes, it’s clear that you’ve got something more on your mind.

“why’re you staring like that?�� he was one to be rather straight to the point, clearly speaking his thoughts out without filtering them first. his smooth voice cut through your train of thought as he makes his way to you on the bed.

“hm? oh, you’ve got a lot more scars than i imagined,” you say so nonchalantly, a light blush on his face now. you’ve imagined this before? you’ve imagined him and his body before? he can’t help but smirk to himself after knowing that. he gets under the sheets, letting the blanket loosely cover him due to the warmth.

you got a little closer to him. it was becoming difficult for him to tell whether his body was feeling hot from the weather, the blanket or from you. your hands gently traced the edge of his scar on his shoulder, sending light shivers up his spine.

“can i kiss them?” your voice was so soft but it didn’t negate the fact that his eyes were wide from hearing you ask that. he stuttered, trying to give a response but words couldn’t come out and instead just nods to you.

he could feel your breath on his skin, warm and ticklish. it wasn’t before long that you’d begin placing small kisses along the scar. if he wasn’t blushing before this, he was definitely all red in the face now. “relax, i’m not going to bite you.” you tell him with a smirk on your face, knowing that he was getting a little tense. he could barely think of any words to say and even if he did, they’d make no sense at all.

since he has made it clear previously that he doesn’t want to talk much about his past, you decide to not ask him about it. instead, letting your kisses do the talking for you, reminding him that you still love him despite everything he has been through.

[dukeofthomas]

I need people to realize how horrible 'stalking/constant surveillance/breaking into each other's homes is how the Batfamily show love' is. Like i really need someone to just acknowledge how horrific saying this bullshit is.

Like even fics where they're shown as happy and healthy and with good ties, you've always got this thing where none of them have privacy or any boundaries with each other. Which is directly antithetical to actually having good relationships. And this invasion via hacking and stalking and breaking into homes is portrayed as a positive, good thing; it's just how they show love and care to each other, after all. But for some reason I just personally don't find stalking, lack of privacy or boundaries, and emotional manipulation funny, endearing, or healthy, and just end up disgusted at the attempt to sweep it all under the rug.

[gelarshiesprofruitboarder]

why do they do this and can they stop it please

[marblerose-rue]

got asked to draw two of my old wc rp ocs :-) left is cicadahop, right is scallopstar

[shitouttabuck]

Buddie unintentional cuddles can power me through a whole week, so the prompt 3. Person A waking up to Person B curled up and sleeping on top of them really spoke to me <3

hiya thank u frida and @colonoscopys for sendin this one in (and an anon too!!!) very much distracted me from my wisdom tooth woes. i need to add a disclaimer that this is NOT kink it’s just sleepy drunkenness please trust me lol (rated t even!!!! not horny!!!!!!! just unbelievably stupid!!!!)

bed-sharing prompts: person A waking up to person B curled up and sleeping on top of them

put on a slow dumb show for you | 2.2k | read under cut or on ao3

Buck wakes with the same unshiftable heaviness on his chest that he gets mid-panic attack. Except—his body is incredibly confused, because while the physical pressure is bearing down, making breathing a struggle, every other cell in his body is telling him the opposite: no reason to panic, he’s warm and swaddled and safer than he’s ever been.

His brain scrambles to organise this juxtaposition of sensations. The room is dark, and not unfamiliar, even if he’s spent the night in here less than a handful of times. Eddie’s digital alarm clock is blinking at him, and Eddie’s recently mounted décor of three framed photographs on the far wall is facing him, and Eddie’s entire fucking body is draped over Buck’s and crushing the breath out of him.

Oh. Okay. The second half of his cells were right, then—he’s safe. His heart can stop racing now. And it does, a bit.

But his brain keeps reaching for puzzle pieces, laying them out for assessment before him. His mouth tastes like he licked the bottom of a public trash can, and there’s a sharp twinge behind his temple, and he feels more than a little nauseous.

That’ll be the last five tequila shots Ravi pressed into his hands pre-karaoke. Eddie’d just stumbled off stage, arm-in-arm with Karen, fresh off a You’re Still The One duet that had Karen sniffling half-way through and making grabby-hands at an amused but equally-smitten Hen. Buck had only enough time to whoop as Eddie curtsied dramatically before they were calling his name.

Buck’s good at a lot of things, but singing is not one of them. He’d whined and stammered and straight-up crawled under the table before Ravi, sweet, evil Ravi, had ducked down to join him with a tray of shots. After that is—a bit of a blur, to be honest. There was some Carly Rae Jepsen, maybe? He remembers sliding back into their booth next to Eddie and watching the rest of their friends be disgustingly romantic.

That, coupled with the best friend he’s a little unbearably in love with singing the most hopeful love song ever written, is just a recipe for Buck’s heart to get a little messy. And maybe it made him bolder with his affection than usual? Clingier, anyway. He must’ve been pretty needy for Eddie to let him crash in his bed. But Eddie’s always making sure Buck has what he needs, so that isn’t anything new. And Eddie must’ve been pretty wasted too, if this total lack of personal space is any indication.

Buck doesn’t think Eddie’ll mind waking up like this—a perk of having a physically affectionate straight best friend is that he’s mostly oblivious to a classic no homo situation. He breathes deep, weight on top of him grounding instead of suffocating, lets himself tentatively wrap an arm around Eddie to hold him steady as his chest rises with the depth of his inhale, and closes his eyes again.

Except Eddie snuffles and shifts and then jams his knee directly into Buck’s bladder. After the drinks he put away tonight? Buck’s dangerously full bladder.

“Fuck,” he squeaks, desperately trying to shift Eddie to the side. “Oh—fuck.” He clenches—everything, really, because he’s too old to wet the bed and too fond of the life he has to wet Eddie’s bed, as the aftermath of that really only involves fleeing the country.

In the end, fear of that outweighs any qualms he has about waking a peacefully slumbering Eddie, and he all but shoves him off, gasping a breath of relief when Eddie’s weight shifts from his bladder to his thighs.

“Whu—what?” Eddie slurs, scrambling up with a pinched expression. “Buck? What’s wrong?” He sits up clumsily, straddling Buck’s thighs.

“Nothing,” Buck says, voice strained. “Sorry, I’m sorry, just—really need to piss. And…” He gestures uselessly between them, face contorted in apology.

“Oh,” Eddie frowns. “Okay. Cool.”

“Cool,” Buck echoes, feeling hysterical. “Um, I’m gonna…” He tries to tug his legs free from under Eddie and Eddie clambers off obligingly.

Buck swings himself out of bed and hurries down the hall to the bathroom, cursing himself for everything from waking Eddie to ruining what could’ve been the cuddle session of his dreams to going and fucking falling in love with his best friend in the first place.

He lets the door swing shut behind him and absentmindedly lifts the toilet seat, shoving a hand into his boxers and then just about leaping a foot in the air when the door squeaks open again and Eddie shuffles over to stand behind him, resting his chin on Buck’s shoulder.

“Um,” Buck says, feeling dizzy for reasons that are only partly alcohol related. “Uh.”

“D’you need a hand?” Eddie asks sleepily.

Buck laughs nervously, frozen facing the wall with his hand down his boxers. “Uh. What?”

Eddie yawns, muffling the back-half of it into Buck’s shoulder and crowding closer, plastering himself along Buck’s back. Does Buck have alcohol poisoning? Is this the tequila version of an absinthe hallucination?

“D’you need me to hold it?” Eddie clarifies, nuzzling Buck’s shoulder gently.

Buck chokes on his own spit, body buckling as he pulls his hand out his underwear to thump his own chest. No, he skipped straight past the alcohol poisoning, he’s dead, not even a coma could dream this up.

Eddie steps back, frowning in concern when Buck finally spins to face him, eyes wide. His whole body is taut, stark contrast to the sleepy slump of Eddie’s shoulders.

“Do I—what?” he manages.

“Sorry, I wasn’t, like, trying to baby you,” Eddie says, looking unsure. “But after earlier—”

“Earlier,” Buck echoes. Eddie’s gaze has dropped to south of Buck’s navel, where his boxers have rucked up enough to leave a considerable amount of his happy trail on display. He yanks the waistband up quickly, and Eddie’s head snaps up too, cheeks dusted pink. Then his face, his perfect, beautiful face, falls.

“Wait, Buck—do you not remember? After karaoke?” he asks, taking a step back. “Oh, I—I didn’t think you were that drunk.”

“I wasn’t,” Buck insists, racking his brain, and oh.

The tequila-soaked memory swims up, Buck desperate for the toilet and stubborn about being able to get there himself, despite tripping over his stupid Bambi legs not two steps from their table. Eddie laughing and slinging an arm around him, half-carrying him to the men’s room. Buck standing in front of the urinal, frowning and arms flopping helplessly at his sides.

“Eddie,” he’d whined. “My hands aren’t working.”

Eddie’d laughed again, fond and warm, and asked if he wanted to sit in a stall.

“No,” Buck had pouted. “My zip…” He’d turned to Eddie, lopsided grin and beseeching eyes, and Eddie’d shaken his head and come to stand behind him. He’d undone Buck’s zipper and asked, “Alright?” and Buck had pouted some more.

“Can you help?” he’d asked, mortifyingly pathetic. Eddie’d raised an eyebrow and snorted, and then Buck had said, “Eddieee. These are my nice jeans. My hands don’t work. Your hands are perfect.”

Eddie’d muttered, “Might as well happen like this,” and slipped a hand into Buck’s jeans and—ah. Held his dick while he peed.

“Oh,” Buck says now, voice small. “Fuck, Eds, I’m sorry.”

Eddie narrows his eyes, somewhat blearily. “Why? I wouldn’t have if I didn’t want to.”

“Yeah, but I know—I don’t think we’re on the same page. I don’t—” Buck closes his eyes and presses the heels of his palms into them. “I don’t think it meant the same thing for us.”

“Oh,” Eddie’s face is suddenly unreadable. He crosses his arms over his chest and takes another step back. Buck wants to cry. He basically tricked his best friend into touching him—doesn’t matter if Eddie did it platonically, because drunk or not, genuinely needing help to piss or not, Buck’s pretty sure his own intentions were not all that innocent.

“I’m so sorry, Eds,” he says. “I was drunk as hell—that’s not an excuse, but it won’t happen again. I—I’ll be better at keeping it to myself. The last thing I ever want is to make you feel uncomfortable around me.”

Something passes over Eddie’s face. “Wait,” he says slowly, “you asked me to hold your dick as friends?” There’s an uncertain lilt to the question, like he truly doesn’t know what the answer is anymore.

“Uh,” Buck says. He could use the confusion to wrestle the cat back into the bag and then ship said bag one-way to Nicaragua, but Eddie’s looking a little lost, arms crossed in his black vest and boxers and mismatched socks. Buck can’t be the cause of that. “No. I’m sorry. I wasn’t—I swear I wasn’t trying to trick you. I was just really drunk.”

“Okay,” Eddie says, stepping forward again and reaching out to tug Buck in by the hem of his t-shirt. “What’s the problem then?” He slides a warm hand under Buck’s shirt, smoothing it across his skin.

Buck inhales sharply, blood rushing to his brain and cheeks and cock so quickly he reaches for the porcelain toilet tank behind him to steady himself. “W-wait. Were you holding my dick as friends?��

Eddie blinks at him, disbelief slowly overtaking the slack sleepiness of his facial muscles. “You thought—is that generally something your friends do for you?”

“No, but…” Buck falters. “Why—why did you, then? Why else would you…”

“I was holding your dick because I want to kiss it,” Eddie snaps, and then claps a hand over his mouth, eyes wide and horrified. “I want to kiss you,” he amends. “You, not your—I mean, sure, that too, but. Can you say something.”

The many million times Buck has daydreamed and fantasised and wished for this, he’s never anticipated fuzzy patches in his memory of it. But these things are clear: waking up with Eddie plastered to him like he wants to touch Buck at every possible point, Eddie following him in here unprompted and pressing up against him with unchecked affection, because even in his sleepy state Eddie just wants to make sure Buck has what he needs, even if what he needs is help holding his dick in a context that’s soft and sleepy and miles from sexual.

“You came in here to hold my dick,” he says, grin spreading.

Eddie’s cheeks are so rosy, rosier than they’d been with the flush of alcohol, even. “I came in here because I didn’t want your uncoordinated drunk ass pissing all over my bathroom.”

“Aw, Eds, you romantic,” Buck says, stepping closer. Eddie sighs exasperatedly, tilting his face up expectantly anyway. But, oh—

“Did we kiss already?” Buck asks, heart dropping. “Do I not remember?”

Eddie brings up one large palm to rub Buck’s sternum gently. “Nah. Didn’t seem like the right time. I kinda—I wanted to do that not-drunk.”

“Oh,” Buck says, sagging with relief. “Good.” Eddie gives him a sleepy, wonky smile, and Buck says, “I’m not drunk now.”

Eddie huffs a laugh, stepping back and patting Buck’s chest. “Nope, just hungover and harbouring the most toxic tequila-flavoured morning breath anyone’s ever had.”

“Don’t forget desperate to pee,” Buck grins. “You gonna help a guy out?” He flaps his arms limply, batting his lashes at Eddie.

Eddie grumbles unintelligibly, lips twitching with amusement as he bodily rearranges Buck to face the toilet again. Buck melts back into the cradle of his arms, safe and sleepy and sated enough that his dick doesn’t do any more than he needs it to right now, even with Eddie’s warm hand wrapped around it.

They stumble back to bed, Buck belatedly remembering he’s not washed his hands but deciding not to care if Eddie doesn’t, and when Buck flops down, Eddie’s right back on top of him.

Buck wheezes as the breath’s punched out of his lungs, and it becomes a laugh, and this time he wraps both arms firmly around Eddie to hold him tight. Eddie exhales into the crook of his neck, breath hot and a little gross, and then lifts his head to press a close-mouthed kiss to the corner of Buck’s lips.

“This one doesn’t count,” he murmurs against Buck’s cheek. “I just can’t believe you thought I wanted to hold your dick as friends, so. It’s an almost-kiss. An IOU. Tomorrow I’m gonna kiss you till one of us passes out. Not as friends.”

“As enemies,” Buck whispers solemnly and then grunts when Eddie digs an elbow into his ribs. “As anything you want, s’long as I can keep the kissing and the dick-holding and—this.” He tightens his arms around Eddie, feeling his chest reverberate against Buck’s as he laughs.

“Deal,” he agrees, nestling closer, messy hair getting in Buck’s mouth as he shifts. “But just so you know what I want—and I don’t mean to skip ahead—though I guess we’re doing the regular dating bases all out of order anyway—” He sighs, deep and satisfied as he gets comfortable, and says, “I’m ready to have and to dick-hold you every day of the week, you know?”

Buck didn’t know, but now he does, and in eleven months’ time when he and Eddie are saying these words in front of their friends and family, sans penis, not one single person can blame him for lurching forward and kissing the adoring smirk off Eddie’s face miles before poor ordained Bobby gives him the go-ahead. Doing true love in order is overrated, anyway.

[chrollogy]

[plan-3-tmars]

just finished reading dungeon meshi (I will never recover) so take some sleepy thistle panels I collected

[tennessoui]

🍄 and 🌿 for the ask game!

hello thank you so much for this forest fairy themed ask 🥰

[from this ask game]

🍄 ⇢ share a head canon for one of your favourite ships or pairings

but how funny would it be if i shared like a codywan or anidala headcanon here

just kidding there's no pretending im not a one ship bitch lmao here is a headcanon for obikin i have: obi-wan is very bad at giving gifts and anakin is very good at giving gifts - and obi-wan feels bad initially when he gets a gift from anakin because of immediate jedi-flavored guilt and obi-wan flavored neurosis but he loves him enough that the happiness wins out over the shame & anakin loves obi-wan enough that any gift from him is immediately like 10/10 amazing. won't shut up about it for weeks. padmé is tidying up their bedroom and throws away a pile of junk and anakin almost divorces her because that was a gift from his master >:( yeah maybe it was a "hazard" but it was obi-wan's hazard that he made to give to anakin >:(

🌿 ⇢ give some advice on writer's block and low creativity

ok this is fun especially because i feel like im dealing with this rn so let's see if i can figure out a way to take my own advice lmao BUT the number one rule i think is to not force it. if you start forcing it then it just feels bad. and even when my writing is objectively bad, as long as i'm having fun then i don't feel bad, which makes the whole thing fun and a net positive...but if i'm sitting staring at a blank word doc and trying to make myself write then im not gonna like what comes out and i'm not gonna like the process or how i feel after either

so take a walk instead, clean your place, take a shower, go to the gym, do a reading assignment, go to a coffeeshop with a book - anything but write. and for me, after enough time has passed, usually doing other things makes the words come easier when i find myself back in front of the blank page.

this can suck especially because i try to limit my writing times to a block of the day, but i've definitely also learned the importance of being fluid where possible - if the words aren't coming during my hour in the morning i set aside to write, then instead of forcing it i'll go to the gym first and take a shower (afternoon activities) and then i'll write in the afternoon instead. or i'll write while dinner is cooking if that's when the words are there. especially now that i have so much noncreative, academic writing i do as well as creative writing, i feel like i never want to force the creative writing. i'm spending so much time forcing the research writing parts already and the moment i start feeling like my fic writing is just a different flavor of my academic writing, i'll get burned out for sure

[caramelmochacrow]

Day 5: Photography/Makeup

Stained Lips, Stained Cheek (1.9k words)

Lights, visuals and music were all clear, all that was left for Esora to do was her makeup. She liked everything about their pre-show rituals backstage, especially since she and Yuka started dating. Kyoko and Shinobu would squabble, Esora would tease them and Yuka made sure to capture anything embarrassing. Another thing she liked was how much Yuka was able to be affectionate, even if they both get embarrassed.

[sonknuxadow]

stuck in an endless cycle of being annoyed about some of the stuff that was in the trailer and then i see how excited other people are and start thinking "well maybe some of the stuff that upset me could go in a different direction than im expecting. and there was still some cool stuff in there. maybe im overreacting or jumping to conclusions" and then i remember what exactly i was annoyed about and start thinking maybe i was right the first time and then i just kind of feel sad thinking about how excited i was over the first two movies compared to how ive been feeling about the more recent movieverse content and then i get frustrated with how it feels like im not allowed to express these feelings and opinions with how defensive some movie fans get and dismiss all criticism as needless hate regardless of who its coming from or what theyre saying and then i go Okay im normal now . until im reminded of the movie again

[ausrache]

lowkey wanting to give mali a bit of a rebrand in terms of her personality. lowkey wondering what i want to do with her. highkey wanting to be here but the muse is not cooperating ( nor are my energy lvls in this heat. )

[hballegro]

[full of turkey and deviled eggs, half asleep] I don't think this story is sad enough actually I think I have to make it worse

[kidpunkjunk]

.

[baffledapple]

once again i am being subjected to "educational courses on generative AI" (lengthy advertisements that the higher ups want us to watch so they can say that we are trained in AI)