#I don't know what this is I'm sorry

[shivanixrao]

status: closed for @yasemins location: sculpting the shore contest at the springtide bash

Being at the beach was one of Shivani's favourite things, and honestly while building sandcastles or sand figures of any kind wasn't her specialty, she still liked being here amongst all the festivities. She spotted a familiar face and plopped down in the sand next to her, "while you help sell homes for a living, I didn't think you built them too," she grinned as she nodded towards the sandcastle's around the entire beach. Yasemin had been the agent that Shivani had used to acquire her current home in midtown and their friendship had begun from there which was the reason for the playful teasing. "Or wait, don't tell me--are you not building anything and just going to help convince the judges of which ones are the worthy winners?"

[anitalianfrie]

"valentino rossi is a delusional little bitch" I say into the mic.

the crowd boos. Italian men throw their vr46 memorabilia at me in the hope of giving me a concussion. I begin to walk off in shame, when a voice speaks and commands silence from the room.

"she's right" they say. I look for the owner of the voice. There, in the last row stands: not valentino rossi himself, because he doesn't have the emotional intelligence to admit he's indeed a delusional little bitch, but marc marquez.

that's enough for me.

[abyssal-ali]

Pixie Reviews: Nightwing vs Red Hood

Pairing: Jasonette

Rating: T? Idk

WC: ~0.5k

prompted/inspired by/for @boldlyanxious

enjoy, I wrote this in half an hour and it's not beta'd

Red Hood followed the young woman down the street, running across the roofs to keep her in his sights. She was talking animatedly into her phone, waving her free hand in the air at times to illustrate her points.

The man stalking her, steadily getting closer, seemed to have picked her as his victim since she was distracted. When the moonlight glinted off the man's blade, Red Hood decided enough was enough and swung down to intercept the assailant.

A swift blow was enough to knock him out, and Hood set about tying him up and patting him down. He found two wallets in the man's pockets and went through them to find identifying clues.

The woman still hadn't turned around at the muffled thump when the man went down, and with the street quiet now, Hood couldn't help but eavesdrop.

Okay he could maybe have not tuned into her conversation and used his helmet's superior tech to get a clearer audio, but sue him, he was curious why she was so animated and distracted.

“Yes, I conceded to your assessment of Nightwing's ass but I still maintain that Red Hood has a nice everything, Adri-” she finally turned around when Jason choked and started coughing.

“Oh merde, I've got to go. I'll call you back later, chaton.” She hung up and walked back to Hood.

“Are you okay? Should I call Batman...?” she asked hesitantly, as he continued to cough.

He held up his hand. “I'm okay, just breathed funny,” he managed. “But I could call Nightwing if you wanted to do a comparison,” he grinned, though she couldn't see it.

She squeaked and covered her face in embarrassment. “You heard that?”

“Yep, I was right behind you taking care of a would-be mugger. You might want to work on your situational awareness.”

Her gaze drifted to the tied up and knocked out man leaned against a building. “Ah. Thanks.”

“Soooo,” he dragged out the word and she glanced back at him. “You often debate Gotham vigilantes with your acquaintances?”

“Unfortunately. Several friends got quite into other cities' heroes after Paris.”

“Thank you for being on my side then...?” he paused, waiting for an introduction.

“Marinette. Dupain-Cheng. Ehm, it was my pleasure-no, I mean-” she broke off her rambling attempts to explain what she meant as he laughed over her.

“I'm glad to have someone on my side. May I walk my admirer to her destination?” he gallantly held out his arm for her to take.

“If it's not a problem,” she placed her arm through his and motioned in the direction she wanted to go. “Do you not have to patrol?”

“I was almost done, just checking for any pixies like you in distress. I can walk you home.”

“Pixies?” She glanced up at him in question.

“Small, mischievous, fairylike creatures.”

“I know what pixies are. You think I'm one?”

“I don't know, you seem to fit the bill pretty well: small, mischievous, and you looks rather fairy-like to me.”

“Just for that, I'm moving to Spoiler's side.”

“Nooo, how could you betray me like this?” Hood dramatically wailed. “Definitely a pixie, you're spiteful and fickle too.”

Marinette huffed and kept quiet.

Taglist: (sorry @questioning-blob-of-fog you're my first permanent taglist member so I keep forgetting to tag you🙈)

[strawberryamanita]

Markiplier Miku binder

🤝

Jerma Miku padded bra

[telestoapologist]

savathûn’s worm when we pull up to a wellspring mcdonalds but order a single black coffee and leave

[lilyxxcvans]

@xemmeline-vancex​

Lily sat staring intently at the Defense Against the Dark Arts book in front of her, trying and failing to concentrate on the pages. Defense could be so difficult in theory, it was much easier to study it practically, but she had just finished tutoring some of the first years, and she didn’t see anyone around who would be able to keep up with her in practice. 

That was, of course, until she spied Emmeline Vance. “Emmeline!” she called, genuinely excited to see the other girl. They’d always gotten on well, both girls having a similar love of learning, and since they were both in Dueling Club, she couldn’t think of a better person to ask for assistance. “How are you?” She always tried to catch up with Emmeline genuinely before asking for a favor, not wanting the other girl to think she was using her for her smarts. “Have you looked at the Defense Against the Dark Arts assignment yet? It’s bloody brutal.”

[austrohungarianwriteblr]

color ask: copper

The penny was a dark, shining copper, its surface still glossy--clearly, it had not previously been in the hands of sticky-fingered children. When he held it up to the lamp, light bounced off it until the coin resembled a miniature sun.

It was lucky that this penny was so attractive, as it was the last one he had in the world.

[decayman-a]

@stonecoated liked.

     “Is there something you want?” Tomura barely looks up from his phone as he asks this. He’s in the middle of playing a Gacha game. “We have the resources to buy stuff now, so you might as well make use of them.” The others are, that’s for sure.

[maladaptive-dreamer]

lmaOOOO I forgot that my brain does that funky thing where it daydreams too much hahaha

[supernovasimplicity]

sad abt martin hours

you’ve been in love with your boss for years. he treats you like shit and your workplace is kind of weird but there’s something magnetic about him that draws you in.  you go through so much together, the worms attack, you lose friends, you’re living in fear and then you try to stop something evil from happening. you stick up for yourself, truly, against something that terrifies you. 

he doesn’t find out, because he nearly dies. 

you sacrifice so much trying to help, because you think he’ll never wake up. you’ve always been lonely, and without that anchor keeping you from drifting, why not use it to your advantage? you’re still scared, but you stuck up for yourself once and you cling to that with everything you have. you’re strong now, capable, you can help. you can be useful. 

he wakes up. 

suddenly it’s not so easy to be lonely.

but you have sacrificed and you have worked and you have put yourself in harms way to make this plan, your plan, work out. you tell him to stay away. you’re glad you’re strong enough to do that, but worried about how easy it is becoming. to drift away. 

he bursts into your office one day with a half-formed plan about mutilating himself and running away. but he doesn’t say he’ll run away. he says “we”. he says “us”. he says “you and me”. he says it’s worth the risk. 

before, you would have thrown yourself into his arms and not asked questions. now... now you still want to do that, but you are stronger. he doesn’t realise that the casual respect, apologies, affection are all you wanted. all you wanted before, that is. 

you are blunt and you are mean and something about it is easy. there’s a degree of separation that dulls the feeling, although his presence burns away at it like wildfire. you have to be stronger, meaner, more distant because he could drag you back. he is all that could drag you back.  but you have a plan. and you are strong. and you will see it through. 

“i’ll be here, if you ever do need me” 

it is bitter, but it is there. he still believes you can come back, as long as there is something of you left to return. 

“i hope so” 

you believe it too. you will fight to keep that part of yourself alive, and return it to him once your mission is complete. 

[maybeishouldwritesomething]

The first time Crowley visits Aziraphale’s home - after the dust of the whole end of the world business settles, of course - he has a vague idea in mind of what to expect. Doilies. One of these signs that reads ‘Bless this mess’. An exact replica of a furniture catalogue spread from 1942. Something along those lines.

The last thing he expects is what can only be described as a well-organised hoarder’s nest. He can tell it’s organised not only by how Aziraphale navigates it all with such ease, but by how everything is categorised by item. 

Stacks of newspaper, neatly tied with string, line one wall of what was once a living room, with a pair of paper scissors and a scrapbook sitting open on a little table next to them. Vases and ornaments of all shapes and sizes litter one corner, while books, hardback and paper, occupy another. An entire wall is adorned with paintings. Crowley has never heard of any of the artists.

“Have a seat wherever you like,” Aziraphale calls cheerily from the kitchen.

“Where?” Crowley asks before he can stop himself.

The sofa’s been lost to scrolls of paper of varying ages, and the one armchair is drowning in embroidery hoops.

Aziraphale peeps out from the doorway, somewhat chagrined.

“I know what it looks like,” he starts.

“Oh, good, I thought I was the only one,” Crowley replies. “What is all this?”

“History, dear boy.”

Aziraphale disappears for a moment before reappearing with two mugs - one tea, one coffee. He hands the mug of coffee to Crowley.

Crowley just looks at him. “You do know what the Internet is, right?”

Aziraphale makes a face. “Yes, and how long do we expect that to last, really?” he replies with a sniff.

He perches on the edge of the armchair. Crowley stays standing, still at a loss for words.

“Look, I-” Aziraphale takes a breath before he continues. “I can’t stand the idea of all of these- all of these perfectly good things that someone has put so much time into being forgotten and thrown away. It doesn’t seem right.”

And then it hits Crowley. All the years they’ve been on this Earth, and how quietly Aziraphale’s had to go about living. His work comes first, it wouldn’t do to get close to any human, only to lose them a few decades later. There are no parades for his miracles, no matter the size. He doesn’t want anyone to be forgotten, like he would be.

Crowley takes a sip of his coffee, trying to gather his words.

“You look like you could use a hand,” he says after a while.

Aziraphale smiles at him shyly. “I suppose I could.”

[ofmaeve-blog]

OPEN  STARTER    ↷    OPEN  TO  ALL ,   GROUP  A  PREFERRED 

MAEVE  WASN’T  THE  SAVE  THE  WORLD  TYPE .   while  she  didn’t  care  for  this  new  disease  permeating  throughout  new  york ,   she  didn’t  exactly  ask  to  be  roped  into  it  all .   it  was  too  much  responsibility .   failure  wasn’t  an  option .   thinking  it  through  left  maeve  sitting  in  silence ,   a  cigarette  resting  between  two  fingers ,   dreading  every  single  part  of  the  whole  mission .   there’s  annoyance  spread  on  her  visage ,   her  furrowed  brow  showing  that  inside  she’s  fighting  herself .   while  she  wants  to  be  good  enough  to  head  out   &   save  some  people ,   she’s  not sure  she  can .   although  that  almost  too  big  bleeding  heart  prevents  her  from  backing  out .   now  she  just  sighs ,   taking  notice  that  there  was  someone  near  her .   instead  of  letting  out  every  ounce  of  frustration ,   she  turns  to  look  up  at  them ,   blowing  smoke  from  her  lips .   ‘   do  you  understand  how  hard  it  is  to  find  a  monkey ?   they  can  easily  outsmart  us .   ’

[bridget-fagan]

Scream; Maeve & Bridget

@maevescreams

Bridget had never met another like her, and if she was honest there was a comfort in it. Sometimes she thought of her like an older sister, but Bridget didn’t particarly remember how that felt like. Her memories were blurry, and if she was honest  full of holes. She remembered most of her time with Finn, but before then felt like a dream. 

Still she looked up to Maeve, knowing that she at least understood. Bridget didn’t know the circumstances of her change, but she knew that she must have done the same ritual. There was a soothing aspect knowing that another sinner was much like yourself. 

Carefully Bridget opened the door to the home, hearing the pattering of little feet and laughter. She didn’t understand how Maeve could be around the children, knowing that she would outlive them. She supposed it came with the territory, and that she’d get used to it now that she was out of the cave, but it wasn’t a lesson she was excited for. 

“Maeve?” She called out, carefully not screaming still fearing that she’d accidentally hurt others. Still she moved to the kitchen, putting the bags down gently she started to riffle through them. Bridget didn’t need to eat, but she decided that it would be a good thing to appear like she was at least as normal as she could. Still, she didn’t want the food to go to waste, so she normally just gave it to the house keeping only enough to make something for her friends if they came over. She’d eat with others, but it didn’t really make her happy so she really didn’t bother when she was alone. 

 “I don’t know if I got the right milk. I still can’t read the bloody tag, but it was near the one I got last time, so I figured it would be close. I know you said something about a blue cap, but there were at least two of them with a blue cap.” 

[ungrammaticalwritings-blog]

Seabird; soaring over the pier and high above the white cliffs -- he looks down at the disappearing coastline, crumbling at the edges like the town and its’ people. The world is nothing to the lonely gliding seabird, the creaking pier, the grey pavements and stony beach and bleached sky. The waves crash as he flies above all their heads, all those people with hopes and dreams as deep as the salty sea and as shallow as the pools left by the ever waxing and waning tide, steely grey as their hearts.

She ignores the people, the little girl: eyes the colour of the ocean are not watching the old ice-cream seller, or the looming teenagers smoking cigarettes by the entrance to the wooden pier, resplendent in its own decay. She is watching the seabird and the gunmetal sea and the chalky cliffs with a castle perched on top like a bird on his nest. Maybe, she thinks, he’s going south to France, or maybe east to Belgium. If she could fly like the seabird, she would only go for a visit to those faraway places. For where you are born, there is your heart, and there shall you sing your seabird song.

[recklessbehcvior]

‘do not trespass’ read to tate as ‘welcome in,’ it always had. and tonight, with seemingly no one around, he took the opportunity to slip onto the grounds of some abandoned, spooky building. his adrenaline was building as he eyed the eroding, dusty brick in the hazy moonlight. it was calling him to scale it, or at least it felt like it, come closer, come closer, come closer, it said. he obeyed its seduction, moving close to the wall, looking up at a balcony that had a broken open window. it was perfect, he would climb up, go through the window, and then he’d be able to wreck whatever havoc he wanted to inside. he touched the first brick, that was halfway out of its spot on the wall. he made sure it was sturdy enough for him to grip before he used it to propel himself up. it felt good enough, and he was certain he could make it to the window.

it was only two stories, but tate realized how unstable the wall was after he was halfway up. wanting nothing more than to reach the window, he got sloppy in his grip and fell on his ass. “SHIT! FUCK! OUCH!” he cried, laying on his back on the brick walkway. he was sure he’d have some bruises and cuts to clean once he got home. “ow, ow, ow, ow,” he moaned, rolling over onto his side trying to push himself to get up. “please, anybody, help,” he was mostly joking, but it wouldn’t hurt to try calling out. he didn’t care if he got caught at this point, as long as someone could check to make sure no body parts had been displaced.

[stark-tony]

why panic! at the disco when you can relax. in the bed