#what I won’t write for

[writtenbyan-aries]

Hey all, this is just a friendly reminder to check out my what I will and won’t write for list. I think it’s important that every writer sets these boundaries with their readers/requesters. Thank you for understanding🖤

What I won’t write for

[comatosebunny09]

Before AO3 goes down for maintenance, and before you flock to Tumblr to complain about how much it pains you to be deprived of your blessed, mood-enhancing, pillow-gnawing fics, make sure the writers of said fics know how much you enjoy them. It’s as easy as saying, “I like this. ☺️”

[sesamestreep]

it’s wild to me that like every modern adaptation of Sherlock Holmes (and by modern I mean “made recently” not “set in modern times”) is like Hell Bent on coming up with a Reason™️ that Watson stays with Holmes and trots around with him on adventures all the time despite the inconvenience and the danger and all, and so it’s like “oh, Watson’s a gambling addict, he loves uncertainty and mystery” or “oh, Watson’s an adrenaline junkie, he gets off on being constantly in danger from criminals” or even like “Watson’s atoning for sins of the past of BEING IN THE WAR by solving crimes with Holmes now” or WHATEVER. And it’s like, girl, maybe he’s just in love! Did you think of that?? Maybe he’s got a crush and it’s making him do stupid things. Maybe he’s just got bad taste and his type is guys who don’t know how to refold newspapers properly but can identify different types of cigar ash by sight, smell, and taste. And wrote a monograph on the subject. Maybe he’s down bad is all. I mean, Keep is simple, stupid!!!

[sandeewithtwoe]

More of the buddies!!

Wiki belongs to paintedhen

Transcript:

Wiki: For what’s worth, you’d be a great royal guard

Blue: Really? You’re not just saying that?

Wiki: I don’t “just say” things. I choose my words with maximum precision and accuracy.

Blue: Thank you, friend

[xiaq]

Sometimes when my anxiety is particularly bad, I’m unable to sleep. At all. Sometimes this goes on for days at a time. Sometimes, this deprivation gives rise to Very Vivid and Very Silly story ideas when I’m staring at the ceiling at 3am trying to convince my body that I am reclined on a pillowtop mattress and not, in fact, being chased by tigers. Sometimes, instead of finishing the novel I’m supposed to complete next month, or even working on the fanfic I’m not meant to be working on because I should be finishing the novel I’m supposed to complete next month, I start writing an entirely new book about a disabled reluctant monarch falling for his (equally reluctant) would-be assassin.

This is fine.

[flixiastar]

Happy twf again but the

[inthehouseoffinwe]

Finarfin Fades.

No one expects it, no one’s faded in Valinor since Miriel. The War of Wrath is won and he comes back, waving off the courtiers, well wishers, and congratulators with his usual grace, and walks into the palace of Tirion. To rooms abandoned since their owners left so long ago. Winding deeper and deeper his feet take him to what was once Finwë’s favourite garden.

He’s so tired.

He’s fulfilled his promise to Fëanaro and Nolofinwë, to avenge them. To make the agony of their final moments - agony Finarfin felt, falling to the floor screaming as fire and darkness consumed his spirit - count for something. Now Morgoth is finally gone, but he’s not the only one.

His brothers, larger than life, larger than death, are gone. With them his sons. Niece. Nephews. Grandchildren. His daughter is never to return. He Saw little Nelyo’s death in his dreams and is sure hopes for the child’s own sake that Makalaurë will be close behind.

Little remains. Even less on these golden shores.

So Finarfin sits on a bench long overgrown with vines and weeds, and watches the sun filter through the thicket, wishing the ghosts he sees in his father’s garden would flesh out.

He sits. He waits.

And by the time anyone finds him, it’s too late.

…at least he’s smiling again.

[ofbatsandballads]

girl is a gun

jason todd x fem!reader

word count: 3.7k

warnings: canon typical crime including references to drugs and organ trafficking, nonexplicit sexual harassment from Oswald against reader, Jason’s murderous tendencies pop up a couple times.

a/n: soooo, I am making this a series. I just loved the first fic too much to not continue it, so have part 2! thank you to all the lovely readers that expressed interest in the first part, I humbly offer the continuation.

divider credit: saradika-graphics

Jason’s back at the Iceberg Lounge. He has a good reason to be. That fateful night two weeks ago when you gave him the bracelet stolen from the boutique robbery in the Diamond District provided Bruce with all the evidence he needed to prove that Oswald was back to his old ways. Jason got full authorization to investigate the Penguin’s operations in whatever manner he sees fit. But Oz doesn’t like him—a fact he’s well aware of. So his best (only) shot is you. And, well, he’s not too sure that you like him very much either. But you helped him once and that’s enough to have him coming back for more.

He’s camped out on the roof by the skylight entry. He’s not sure how Oswald hasn’t realized that it’s the entry point for all the vigilantes coming in and out of his club, but then again Jason never took him as the sharpest blade in the armory. He’s watching and waiting patiently for you to arrive. He could’ve just come once the club was open and he knew you were here. He would’ve if he trusted you. Jason doesn't trust anyone. So if he wants to scope out what direction you’re coming from, if he wants to see what you’re like before Cobblepot’s got you under his command, if he wants to see you—not the pretty little doll from the club, but you as you are? Well, he feels entitled to that. It’s all just part of a thorough investigation.

He gets his wish fairly quickly. You appear from nowhere, streetlights glimmering off the glittery black faux fur coat you’re wrapped up in. Jason crouches down, unlatches the window and prepares to drop into the club as he sees you near the entrance. He’s got one leg through the skylight when you stop dead in your tracks, one stiletto clad foot on the first step of the concrete stairway leading to the lounge’s entrance. You stay there for a second fiddling with the fur of your coat before you smile softly and spin on your heel, taking off at a brisk pace down a side alley. Jason scrambles to pull himself back up and shuts the skylight with enough force that the hinges creak in defiance.

He scales the iceberg facade of the lounge to keep his eyes on you and nearly slides off the steep architecture repeatedly. If he gets his hands on Oswald anytime soon, he’s going to wring his goddamn neck. What idiot builds an actual iceberg over a historical building? Nevertheless, Jason manages it. He crests the tip of the iceberg in time to see the flash of black fur dip around another corner. Where on earth are you going? He knows your shift starts when the club opens at eleven, and it’s now a quarter to eleven. He grapples to the roof of the building you disappeared around to get higher ground.

He can’t see you in any of the adjacent alleys or main streets and that coat of yours gleams like a beacon in the streetlamps. He turns back in the direction of the Iceberg and you’re standing right back where you started. And to make matters worse, you’re staring right at him with an arrogant smirk on your face. Jason’s getting really peeved at how you keep spotting him. He trained with the League of Assassins for Christ’s sake. You should not be aware of his presence at any given moment that he doesn’t want you to be. Yet there you are, smugly waving at him before your head tips back in laughter and you disappear into the club. Back to the skylight he goes. He drops down into Oz’s trophy room and sets out to find you.

“For a vigilante, you’re not that hard of a tail to lose.”

Jason doesn’t jump, doesn’t flinch, but his fingers do twitch to the gun holstered at his thigh and that alone irks him. It means he was surprised.

“Or maybe I just like the chase,” Red Hood taunts.

He doesn’t. Jason likes what happens when he catches the bastards he hunts, but the chase is just tedium that he can’t stand.

“No,” you say defiantly, rolling your eyes at him. “You’re the only bat that ever ends the chase. You just couldn’t catch me.”

You’re right and you’re perceptive and he hates it. Your confidence just adds insult to injury, crawls under his skin in a way that has him wanting to shut you up. He crowds you against the glass case you’re leaning against and cocks his head to the side.

“You seem pretty caught to me. Surprised Oz hasn’t locked you up in one of these trophy cases yet.”

If you can get under his skin, he can get under yours. Your eyes flare with anger, made all the more vicious by the sharp cat eye that lines them. You look him up and down in a wicked glare. It’s only his training that has Jason noticing when your eyes land on his guns and your hands twitch toward them. He takes a sudden step back out of your reach. He sees a flash of relief in the way your body untenses, then it’s gone when you straighten up and toss your hair behind your shoulder. That ironclad confidence slides back over your face like a mask and he knows he’s lost the advantage he’d gained when he pressed you into the trophy case.

“Whatever, you can deal with your wounded pride some other time. What do you want?” you sigh in boredom.

“You gave me evidence that Cobblepot was involved in the Diamond District robberies. Why?” he interrogates.

“Did I?” you ask in faux ditziness, tapping your acrylic nails against your cherry colored lips. “Thought I just gave you a gift. All of Ozzie’s guests of honor get gifts.”

Opportunity number one. Jason was raised by the best; he knows a lead when he sees one.

“Guests of honor, huh? Tell me about them,” Hood demands.

You hum thoughtfully and rest against the trophy case with the machine gun umbrella in it. For the first time, Jason gets to take a good look at you. The moonlight shining through the skylight shimmers off the red satin of the dress that falls to your ankles. Just like the last thing he saw you in, this doesn’t really function as it should. Twin slits extend high on both thighs and the deep V of the neck ends just below your sternum. Jason idly thinks that all it would take is one good tug for the dress to come to pieces.

“Oh no, I’m not giving you everything all at once, honey. You need to work for it a bit harder,” you coo at him, a vivid contrast from the mocking way you roll your eyes.

You’re all attitude and it’s really starting to piss him off. His jaw ticks and he steps into your space again. This time you don’t cower. You just straighten your spine and close the little distance he left between you. And, fuck, Jason’s had full blown interrogations go better than this. He waits one beat–two, three, and neither of you back down.

“C’mon, vengeance. Don’t act like you don’t like a good fight,” you whisper in the charged air between you.

He’s had it with your shit. He grabs you by the back of your neck, gentle enough not to hurt but firm enough to keep you in place.

“You lead me astray, and I swear that I’ll make sure you go down right alongside your boss. You understand me?” he growls, the muzzle’s modulator making his voice sound twice as intimidating.

You just smile at him. Your teeth glimmer white behind your blood red lips and under the moonlight the sight is almost entrancing.

“Don't worry, baby. I want Oz to go down just as much as you do,” you say.

It’s the first time he’s heard your voice lose the edges of seduction or venom. It’s the first time he sees your eyes shine with genuine emotion. There she is, there’s the human hiding behind the mask of the perfect doll. He knows he’s got you. Unfortunately for Jason, he also knows that you’ve got him. He knows it when you push him off of you and sidestep him gracefully. He knows it when you turn back to look at him over your shoulder as you pause at the door. He knows it when you grin victoriously at him like you’re well aware that he’s got very little to go on without you.

“Well, you coming, Red?”

So he does the only thing he can. He follows you through the door.

Your little rendezvous consumed more time than he thought. The club is in full operation, neon blue and pink lights shining vibrant against the marble floors. The music blares and the bass booms through the walls. You’re talking to him but he can’t hear you over the speakers. You point up to the same ledge of marble he had been camped out on last time and then to yourself. The message is clear: watch you. Not a hard task. You turn to make your way down the steps when Jason grabs your arm and pulls you back. He wordlessly places a silver ear cuff on your right ear. It looks like an innocuous piece of jewelry, but it’s linked to his comms so he’ll be able to hear every conversation you have. It’s his favorite piece of tech–looks good and functions even better. He tilts your head with his thumb and forefinger to make sure it’s properly in place and he hears your sharp intake of breath through the mic.

“So we can hear each other,” Hood explains.

“And so you can hear everyone else,” you say.

Jason grunts in agreement and releases you. He hops on the marble bannister to climb to the vantage point. He turns to take one last look at you.

“Remember: you fuck with me, I’ll make sure you suffer just as much as Penguin.”

Your eyebrow twitches and Jason can almost see your defenses going back up. Shit.

“Oh, honey, I’m sure I could take whatever you’ve got in mind. But don’t worry, I don’t like Oz enough to find out.”

You turn without another word to him and bounce down the steps to the dance floor. Jason feels deja vu wash over him as you make your rounds. Everyone reacts to you the same way they did before, but at least half of this crowd is different from the previous time. Yet they still part for you, they still take care not to crush you in the dancing bodies or spill their drinks on you. Jason watches as you find the other server he surveilled when he initially came here. His eyes light up when he sees you, the bright blue a contrast with his tan skin and jet black hair. Jason feels a vicious twist of something when he realizes that this guy looks remarkably like Dick. They’ve got the same build, same features, same haircut even. The server’s just an inch or so shorter than his brother.

“Well, if it ain’t the Princess of the Iceberg Lounge,” he chuckles in a faint Gotham accent.

“In the flesh, darling. How’s my favorite boy doing tonight?” you ask as you slide up next to him behind the bar.

“Fuckin’ fantastic. Don’t ever show up late again. Thought Oz was gonna have a heart attack with the way he was screaming,” he mutters, pouring out a shot of vodka.

“Screaming about what? He better not have been screaming at you, El. I swear to God, I’ll tell him to pay you double for tonight if he did,” you say protectively.

“It was me he was screaming at, all right,” he shakes his head, then adopts an accurately raspy English accent. “‘Where the fuck is she at, Elliot? I’ll send out my men to find her if she doesn’t show soon.’”

You cringe hard and it’s now the second time tonight that Jason has seen the person behind the facade. You must be comfortable with this Elliot guy if you’re willing to let it slip. You must be very comfortable with him, Jason thinks with just the slightest bitterness, when he strokes your hair and pulls you under his arm.

“Don’t worry, princess. I told him you were gettin’ yourself all dolled up when I called you last,” Elliot reassures you.

“Thank you. Fuck, I can’t go running from his guys again, El. That shit took me 30 minutes and three subway rides before I lost them last time,” you laugh humorlessly.

Jason's alarm bells ring loud. Penguin’s been having you followed? He suddenly understands how you so easily lost him earlier tonight. You’ve had practice. A pit opens in his stomach when he thinks of just how much practice you’ve probably had running from men following you.

“Anyways, let me get to work. I’ve got regulars to charm,” you say as you untangle yourself from Elliot.

“Oz wants you with the VIPs first. Made it very fuckin’ clear that no one else is allowed within a mile radius of them,” Elliot tells you as you leave the bar.

“Of course not. I’m the very best he’s got, why settle for less?” you tease.

“Fuck off!” Elliot shouts at you over the booming music.

You laugh and weave through the crowded dance floor, heading for the marble grotto spaces where the VIPs sit behind red velvet ropes. So far he’s gotten nothing that he could use while abiding by Bruce’s rules. It infuriates him, because what he’s heard would be enough for a bullet to the head if he were playing by his own. He feels his patience for Bruce’s one rule waning by the minute.

“Well if it isn’t my favorite lawyer,” your voice rings sickly sweet in his ears.

“I didn’t know someone could have a favorite lawyer,” a man responds.

Jason analyzes the audio as a sample and all Bruce’s files on the current DA of Gotham, Marcus Ericsson, pop up in his domino lenses.

“I’m sure the devil does. And he’s in his office if you want to see him,” you say flippantly.

The DA laughs boisterously and you giggle faintly as though you weren’t dead serious.

“I need to ask that devil about my campaign contributions,” Ericsson jokes, voice slurring on the last two words like he can’t wrap his tongue around them.

“You know how Oz works,” you whisper to him. “You keep lining his pockets and he’ll line yours.”

Hook, line, sinker.

“Been waiting for that second part, sweetheart. You know how much evidence I hid in that shipping yard raid three weeks ago? I can tell you it doesn’t match the contributions he’s given,” Ericsson complains.

The shipping yard raid in question found two massive shipments of cocaine and ecstasy and one frozen shipment of black market organs. This is as good as gold to Jason.

“He told me all about it,” you coo. “You know I’ve got Oz’s ears all to myself. I’ll make sure you get those contributions, honey. Ozzie’s just cautious. He wants to make sure everything is really gone before he pays up.”

“It’s gone!” the DA shouts.

He must remember he’s in public, because he laughs awkwardly and lowers his voice.

“I deleted the shipping and payment records myself,” he says through gritted teeth.

And there’s the evidence. If the DA deleted it himself, then it’ll be on his hard drives either at home or at work. Jason makes a mental note to ask Tim to break in and steal both when he’s on patrol tonight.

“I know, I know,” you soothe. “And I promise I’ll get Oswald to pay you. You deserve it.”

“How old Oz got an angel like you working for him, I can’t imagine,” the DA says in a poor attempt at flattery.

“Oh, I don’t think you’d want to know how I came to work here. A girl’s gotta have her secrets after all,” you whisper, an edge in your voice that escapes the drunk lawyer.

The rest of the night continues that way. You get either confessions, evidence locations, or both out of Oz’s VIPs in the course of casual conversation. These VIPs included none other than the DA, Gotham’s Chief Justice, two high ranking GCPD detectives, and the nephew of Carmine Falcone. It’s verging on 4AM when Elliot comes to find you as you sit with the nephew.

“Princess, Oz wants to see you,” he says jovially.

Jason hears you rise and the click of your heels as you follow your friend. Then he hears a soft gasp.

“Whatever you do, don’t panic. Keep your cool, keep your head on straight. Don’t. Break,” Elliot says lowly.

“What?” you ask with genuine confusion.

“He’s paranoid about why you were late. And he’s been watching you with Angelo Falcone for the past fifteen minutes. You remember how his relationship with the Falcones started, right? Just…deny whatever he accuses you of. Charm him like you always do,” he instructs you quickly as you both head upstairs to Oswald’s office.

Jason tenses, ready to jump into action and get you out of there if need be. He knows well what Oz does to the people he thinks have betrayed him.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be just fine. You don’t do anything stupid, okay?” you say forcefully, a message meant for the man in your ear rather than the one in front of you.

“If he hurts you, if you even think he might, scream. I’ll be there,” Hood promises.

You nod in acknowledgment and push open the ornate double doors of Oswald’s office.

“Well, there’s my pretty girl. You enjoy Angelo’s company?” Oswald’s gruff voice reverberates in the empty office.

“Hardly. But he’s got a shipment of heroin that he says he can get us, so I’ve been real sweet on him,” you say coolly.

“Does he? What’s he want for it?” Cobblepot questions.

The insinuation is obvious. Jason can’t see what’s happening, but he remembers how Oz looked at you the last time. Like a prize, a toy, an object. Objects can be bought and sold at will by their owners. Jason’s skin crawls and his trigger finger itches.

“Money. It’s always money, Oz, you know that,” you murmur submissively.

“And where were you tonight? You showed up thirty minutes late. That’s an awful long time.”

“I was getting myself ready, Ozzie. I slept in a little late. El had me doing shots last night and my headache was killer,” you lie flawlessly.

“I’m sure it was. Did you make any stops on the way here?” Penguin prods.

“No. Where would I go?” you ask with faux innocence.

“GCPD. Falcone Residence. Any-fucking-where a pretty whore like yourself would be welcome for the information she has about this club,” Oz spews viciously.

“Ozzie, no. I would never. You know that. This place is my home,” you say emotionally.

The emotion is real. It’s just you’re pretending like it’s sadness and not fear.

“Mind provin’ it, love?” he asks, a cruel humor in his tone.

“What?” you ask flatly.

“How’m I to know you aren’t recording this? You could be wearing a wire. Those coppers always make their pawns wear wires.”

Jason hears your breathing go shallow and frenetic.

“The only person recording right now is you,” you bite, forgetting the submission that you were exhibiting minutes ago.

“Then show me, doll.”

Jason’s one second away from breaking down those doors and shooting the Penguin between his eyes when your voice echoes under his hood.

“Fine. I’ll do it. Whatever it takes for you to trust me. That’s all I need Oswald, is you to trust me,” you say with complete sincerity.

There’s silence in the room for a few seconds, followed by the clattering of your heels being kicked off.

“Happy? I’m not wearing any wire or recording you in any way. All I have on is my very nice dress which is now crumpled on this dirty floor and my jewelry,” you sigh exasperatedly, but there’s a barely discernible shake to your voice that makes bile rise in Jason’s throat.

“Good. I just needed to make sure, doll. You never know these days,” Oswald says, his voice much closer to you now.

The sound of a kiss reverberates just below the ear that the cuff is on and you finally snap.

“Can I please go back to work now? I’m sure El’s getting slammed at the bar,” you ask shakily.

“Sure, sweetheart. Go make the night worth everyone’s time like you always do.”

As soon as the double doors close behind you, you’re walking quickly down the steps and towards the basement exit. Elliot spots you and goes to talk to you, but you just flash him a concerningly convincing smile and he lets you go.

Jason follows you out to the alleyway where the door lets out into the cool early morning air.

“Did you get what you wanted?” you ask him with a strained voice as you hold your arms tightly against yourself.

Jason’s demeanor softens when he sees the way your eyes shine in the moonlight. He won’t acknowledge your tears. He knows you wouldn’t want him to.

“You did great,” Hood says gently. “Got me more than I ever coulda asked for. I won’t bother you again.”

“Don’t you dare,” you growl as you spin around to face him.

Jason can’t explain the disappointment he feels at how you order him to be gone. He doesn’t even know you all that well, but he knows that you worked well together.

“I won’t, I promi–”

“Don’t you dare fucking leave me with him. Don’t you dare let me not see this through. I gave you what you wanted and I’ll continue to help you, but I want something from you too,” you demand with so much conviction that it short circuits Jason’s mind.

He nods his assent without thinking.

“When you take him down, when all this culminates to whatever conclusion you have planned, I want to be there. I want to watch Oswald crumble. I want him to know it was me that did it. Can you give me that?”

Jason has never admired someone as much as he does in this moment.

“Of course I can give you that.”

And he will. Whatever it takes, he’ll have you by his side when The Penguin’s empire finally topples.

[diamondzart]

I know Toy Story 4 is not really loved by the masses, but I can’t help admitting that I’m that person who loves it just as much as the trilogy. I was really excited about it back in 2019 and even had a little bit of hyperfixation on it. I really adore the concept of lost toys who live on their own. As much as Woody’s choice in the end was unexpected, I think it opened big possibilities for post-canon ideas. Like this one! I decided to design his possible appearance after a couple of years of living outside with Bo. Description under the cut!

I noticed what was missing from those few fanarts on events after the end of Toy Story 4 that I found on the internet. Bo Peep is all so cool and fancy with her hook, raincoat and all sorts of useful thingies that she carries with her, and Woody is just clean and unscathed, as if he just yesterday got out of a dry and warm room. Naaah he wouldn’t stay like this for long 😆

Because what is lost toy’s life? Dirt, unforeseen damage and the need to periodically fight off stray animals. Moreover, we already know that Woody has a tendency to get into troubles. Moreover, he is a rag doll — that is, more than Bo is vulnerable to problems like unstable humidity, getting stuck somewhere with his limbs and getting attacked by cats / dogs / raccoons / whatever else they can encounter. He should become as hardcore as Bo after a couple of years, because otherwise there is no way to survive in this world.

The “raincoat” is of nylon, most likely cut out parts of an umbrella that someone conveniently lost in the park during stormy weather. The trick is that it’s waterproof, since when you are made out of natural fabric, it's important not to get wet as much as possible. Moreover, Woody is quite old, and he should be concerned about the condition of his fabric if he does not want to literally fall apart after a couple of years of such adventures.

The holster is used as a pocket for small things, here it’s used for matches and paper clips, which can be useful in different situations. For matches, a striking surface from a matchbox is attached to the outer side of the right boot. This will allow to quickly light a match by yanking a foot down while holding match to it and thus minimize extra full-body movements, which can be useful in an emergency situation. I think that this can be effective not only for lighting up spaces, but also for scaring away animals, especially small ones like rats.

The hook is a pencil and a fishhook with a broken tip, strapped with duct tape. Basically an analogue of Bo’s hook but made from improvised materials. As we have already seen in her example, it is an excellent utility for crossing various obstacles and, if necessary, for self-defense.

Stitches and scuffs. Both Bo Peep's arms were broken off and are taped back. That means, free living involves the regular risk of losing limbs. Even in an antique store, Woody got his foot stuck somewhere several times, which suggests that either himself or with the help of some stray animal he lost one or another limb and had to sew it back on his own or with Bo’s assistance. He will have to overcome his fear of being broken and accept this as a new part of his existence.

These were general notes on this sketch! Perhaps I will continue to develop this idea in order to find some new interesting solutions.

[betyouthinkabtme]

now that i’m clean, i’m never gonna risk it

[jiveyuncle]

Random stuff from a Vampire!Keith canonverse fic I’ve had sitting half-finished in my drafts for the last year and a half. Sharing the art bc idk if it’ll ever see the light of day

[sleepgarden]

Hello, I may be needing to close my shop (again lol) in April, so I’m having another small sale. Until April 1st, you can use the code FREESHIP for free shipping on orders over $60cad ($42usd), or you can use 10OFF for 10% off of any order! (they can’t be stacked, sorry ^^) I have mini prints for $5cad ($3.50usd) that can be sent by letter mail. There are also discount “misfit” prints, which are a random print with some small flaws. There’s also still two chokers available ^^ Thank you for the attention on my work recently, and hello to new followers! I’m sorry for the advertisement post. My shop has really taken a hit with the loss of Twitter and I’m honestly not sure how to peddle my stuff around anymore lmao.

💐 here’s a link to my shop! 💐

[tojicide]

thinking about sylus again

[seiwas]

Of course I forgot to send in the cute birthday celebration challenge forgive meee 😭 (but omg no pressure to answer if the birthday girl isn’t feeling up for it!!)

But let’s try…

Sun + Moon for our blasty boy Bakugo 👀

you catch katsuki in the in-betweens.

he’s grown suspicious of it—you know he out of all people would notice; but you neither confirm nor deny that it’s intentional.

there’s something about katsuki in that sliver of space and time right before sunrise and sunset—right before the shift into something new.

“someone’s excited,” you sneak up behind him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders as you kiss his cheek.

he grumbles before giving you a side-eye, cheeks turning a shade darker under the twilight. his lips part slightly as if he’s about to say something, but he tuts instead, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth—no sharpness, no bite.

you look at him curiously, hanging on to the stillness of the hour.

today is supposed to be a busy day—the start of a long trip for you and katsuki; the start of his first ever long trip, actually.

“somethin’ on my face or some shit?”

you snap out of staring, gaze falling straight into his��vermillion red softened into a deep mauve amidst the blue light.

this is why you do it—

the perpetual frown on his face is gone, the tightness of his jaw loosened. there’s a look in his eyes that tells you there’s been something on his mind for a long, long while.

—this is why you catch katsuki in the in-betweens.

you give him a small smile, a little mischievous as you lean in and peck him on the nose.

“now you do,” you giggle as you inch closer on the wooden step.

he rubs his nose immediately, checking for smudges of lipstick, “fuckin—“

“just all my lovin’,” you tease.

you’re half expecting him to get back at you for it—to tickle you or smother you in kisses of his own; katsuki can be aggressive in love, a fact you’ve come to know well over the years.

but he doesn’t.

instead, he stares. a few paused seconds that feel slowed down to eternity. there’s the look again, like something’s been on his mind, combined with the look people say he only has for you.

suddenly, you feel nervous—for what, you don’t know, but your hand searches for his out of instinct. it’s damp when your palm sticks against his, his fingers intertwining with yours like a habit of his own.

he turns your clasped hands over, catching view of the back of yours.

it stays quiet for a few moments—a side of him you only see in times like this. you know there’s a war waging on in his head, a decision he’s been mulling over just waiting to be spilled out.

you know because katsuki only ever sits out before sunrise when he has a lot on his mind.

“you okay?” you whisper.

he hums, rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb, “just thinkin’.”

“you can tell me…” you nudge, “…if you want,” the butterflies in your stomach flapping harder.

you hold your breath.

he chuckles, that damn attractive half-sigh, “don’t know how yet.”

and you think you know what it is—a conversation you have every now and then, always with open-ended conclusions. katsuki has his issues, and so do you—

“just say it how it is,”

you never pressed him for answers, fully content to live at the pace he wanted because you loved him and that was enough.

—but when katsuki looks at you like this, like you’re everything gone right in his life, it’s hard not to think about the possibilities of more.

tears begin to collect along your waterline as he leads your hand into his pocket, your fingertips grazing a small velvet box.

you choke up, tears falling as you pout.

“woke up in the middle of the night with a fuckin’ god awful migraine,” he starts, wiping your tears with his thumb, “so i thought i’d go for a run, y’know, sweat it out and shit.”

you nod, listening.

“but when i got out of bed, you started mumblin’ my name,” he takes a deep breath, “thought you were awake, honestly, but you didn’t say anythin’ when i asked what you needed.”

“looked like you had a nightmare, so i went back to bed, and—” he pauses, collecting his words as he breathes out, “—you hugged me n’—”

his eyes gloss over as he tucks you into his side.

“—you told me you loved me.”

it’s not anything new—you both know that; you tell him you love him all the time. but—

“fuck, i’m ramblin’,” he half chuckles again.

“i love that about you too,” you sniffle, half-giggling as you nudge his chin with your nose.

you intentionally catch katsuki in the in-between’s because you love the side of him that comes out when he’s a little loose-lipped; a little less tense from all the day’s worries. you love the way he rambles, how he goes off on a tangent when he’s especially passionate about something.

he gives you a look so soft, your heart swells.

a small smile makes its way to katsuki’s face as he grips your hand tighter.

“couldn’t go back to sleep ‘cause all i was thinkin’ about was how to keep it this way forever.”

you’ve pictured this moment a few times before, all in different scenarios, situations, locations—always with the note that even if it didn’t happen, you’d be okay.

but now you have this: you and katsuki, on the wooden steps right by your garden bathed in twilight.

“decided on it for a while, just didn’t know when would be right,” he fishes the box out of his pocket, fiddling with it as he takes your hand in his other one.

“i know you said that lovin’ me was enough, but forever’s a fuckin’ long time,” he half-chuckles again, a little choked up, “you didn’t think i’d let you waste that on some loser who won’t even ask you to marry him, did you?”

you don’t think you’re coherent when you respond, a mess of tears and all the love you can pour out. katsuki doesn’t even get to show you the ring before you tackle him, nodding into his chest.

it doesn’t matter, anyway—

it was more than enough that he even asked.

n/a: thank u for sending this prompt erika!!! i am so rusty but i am writing this with all the katsuki feelings in me, my heart could burst!!!! sun & moon = twilight just because of the presence of both during that hour; i also just think it’s such a delicate balance to have—which i think also describes their relationship! katsuki has commitment issues 🥲 sorry, i love writing him in the process of healing ajkdndkd also !!! i also think katsuki can be romantic in his own way like wdym he reads all those shoujo mangas … there is stored romance in that boy . maybe not the smooooothest but yk. it works. and also, he wasn't rlly planning on proposing at this moment (more during the trip) but !! just felt right yk?

[jojo-schmo]

Estas son las mañanitas

Que cantaba el rey David

Hoy, por ser tu cumpleaños

Te las cantamos aquí

Despierta, Jossie, despierta

Mira que ya amaneció

Ya los pajaritos cantan

La luna ya se metió~

🎶🎶🎶

[myokk]

✨Book Club Discord✨

Hi everyone!! A comment by @kay9leo made me think…would anyone be interested to join if I made a discord server where we post about what we’re reading/discuss the same books??

I read A LOT & always have so many thoughts on these books😆 & my summer reading list is LONG‼️ including Jane Austen, Dostoyevsky, Larry McMurtry, short stories, Úrsula K LeGuin, and I might want to reread Ulysses. It could be fun to talk about the chapters with people (I took a Ulysses class in university and had SO much fun picking it apart!!). Among many other books♥️

Anyone could join, people can just lurk (im a serial lurker bahahahahhaahhaah so I get it), maybe we choose books to read at similar times or if we’ve read a book before join the discussions about them! I would let people make threads for books they’re reading as well, chances are likely I’ve read it before🥹

If there’s something I love in this world, it’s talking about books and writing♥️ and since I live in a village now I miss having a book club🥲