#I swear I'm good at writing

[zimtlees]

I just noticed I keep writing "inmoral Orel" instead of Immoral, and it's because in Spanish it's spelled "Inmoral" LMAO.

[disposal-blueeee]

from this thing on twt

[hedwig221b]

I'm smiling so hard at my current (and only) wip, it's so delicious so good I'm obsessed with it 💗 it's everything I want and need from an abo fic, it's unashamedly self-indulgent and just ahhhhh

I think it will beat Predators for me as the best fic I've written. Also it's gonna be the longest one. I know for sure some of you (you know who you are) are gonna be obsessed with this fic just like I am currently bc we share a brain

I'm so excited for you kittens to read it 💗 I'm smiling again agdjdjsllqhskeeieowjsqljswlwl

EDIT:: IT'S HERE!

[littledata]

what are these "best fics youve ever read that barely have any hits" you mentioned? can you give us a top 5 or sonething?

Oh God, you've really shamed me here because I read a LOT of random fics from fandoms I'm not even part of and the stories I was referring to largely come from there.

However, in the interest of practising what I preach, I sat down today and read a bunch of Warrior Nun fics I'd never read before so I could rec you some. To be totally clear, these aren't necessarily going to have "hardly any hits" but are fics that I think could use more love in general.

In no particular order:

I was seeing black and white (and now I'm living in color) by gayestcatra - 1281 words, a beautifully soft fic set in Switzerland with gorgeous description. By the same author I also enjoyed (your life was) my life's best part, an angsty Mary/Shannon exploring Mary's (heartbreaking) grief after Shannon's death.

Cat’s Cradle security checkpoint logs by @jtl07 - 518 words, have I raved enough on tumblr yet about how much I love their writing? No? Oh okay I'll do it again then. JT is one of my favourite writers in the fandom and I love this series of fics they did giving creative looks into the characters - this particular one is the contents of their bags but the whole series is worth checking out (and everything else they write too, obviously).

Lauds by @sisterdivinium - 3152 words, Mother Superion/Jillian Salvius. WE LOVE A RAREPAIR. Gorgeously written fic where you feel the weight of every single action. The author has a TON of fics if you liked this one too.

you're my best friend (in a world we must defend) by @daisychainsandbowties - 3980 words, avatrice and Pokemon. Beatrice's characterisation in this drives me insane. I MUST know more. If you know nothing about pokemon here's your primer: they're funny little guys you catch and make fight, exactly like the Catholic church did to Ava. There, now you've got no excuse not to read it.

Dead People Don't Shiver by waterintheshadows - 2068 words, avatrice soulmate AU set in a morgue FUCK YEAH. This is the kind of shit I live for. Great concept, great execution.

Where The River Bends by @itchyouchyz - 100,750 words, avatrice 1960s midwife AU. Full disclosure - it's 100k - I haven't finished it yet. But I LOVE what I've read so far, tender and lovely. Check the tags for trigger warnings on this one!

keep me in your mirror (but don't take your eyes off the road) by minutetuna - 26,343 words, avatrice season 2 road trip au. It made me feel this precise emotion: hnnnnnnghhhhh. There is a particular style of writing which is just bouncy and pacy and still draws you into every single emotion and this author has it in spades. LOVE.

This was so much fun! If anyone else wants to hit me up with some recs I'd love to hear them - even if (especially if) they're your fics. It's a long weekend, might as well spend it reading fanfiction.

[icouldhyperfixatehim]

happy to have an offgun sunday show back on the docket but i can already tell this series is going to put a bee in my bonnet every week about late stage capitalism foisting its cancer upon all workplace cultures and turning things like internships from learning and exploratory opportunities to build skills and discover interests in a field, to an expectation of free/low paid but inexplicably pre-skilled labour. do you think ye olde blacksmith's apprentice showed up to the first day of the apprenticeship and the blacksmith is like "what do you mean you don't know how to shoe a horse?? that's so basic" no. the expectation of apprenticeship is that a newborn emptyheaded youngin with a vague notion that metal is cool shows up, and is taught how to blacksmith. the expectation is not that the young savant of metalwork turns up with a list of horses already shoed, including One Very Special One in the Royal Stable, and god would you please please please allow me to debase myself for you, o blacksmith? my resumé is just like the journeyman's!! this workplace culture is a modern invention!! they used to teach you things at work!!

[breathing audibly] i just think entry level should mean entry level, and that as much effort goes into gathering experience that makes people competitively hire-able, ability, opportunity, and luck also play a role. it is lucky to know your passion early enough to be able to groom yourself to competitiveness in a sharky field of work, but a person should be able to turn up for entry level positions/interning with an unabashed "i know nothing" as long as it's followed with an "and i'm ready to learn" and it is in neoliberalism's favour to allow work environments to cut their costs by eschewing the responsibility to teach. to train the trainee.

[sass-squat]

Part 6 of the Linked Universe Winged Au! After many requests this time around we've got our Veteran, Legend!

<<< Previous Next >>>

As always we have to start off with a bird fact, so did you know that male White-Winged Crossbills have unpigmented barbules that mask their red color and are what make them appear pink in the fall? However, as these barbules wear off, the bright red is able to show through leaving them a brilliant red in the spring and summer!

Anyways, I found this fact to be very interesting especially considering Legend's adventure throughout Oracle of Seasons. Just the mental image of his plumage slightly shifting with the constant changing of the seasons was very funny to me and I couldn't NOT make it canon. Plus, I enjoy making his life more difficult than it already is because I also headcanon that when he was younger, his wings were constantly stuck in a half molted state because white-winged crossbills usually molt in the fall. In other words, turns out messing around with seasons and time has consequences so he was a very scruffy, fluffy looking kid growing up.

As for how he looks and acts now, he has many similar characteristics and behaviors of a White-Winged Crossbill. For example, he is a very strong flier, and his unique way of flying has given him a very aggressive and abrupt fighting style both on the ground and in the air. His style of fighting is especially effective in forests with a lot of trees because it allows him to dart between foliage and foes alike.

While his flight and fighting styles were influenced by the sheer number of quests he has gone on as well as his young age when he began, other characteristics and behaviors of his were also influenced as well. For example, when he was still just a kid thrown into his first adventure where just about everything in the world was bigger than him, he learned to bristle and fluff his feathers to appear bigger and more threatening to enemies. While somewhat effective at the time, nowadays it means he still has the unconscious habit of doing it whenever he is irritated or embarrassed.

In addition to his tendency to "poof" when upset, he also has a habit of picking at and pulling out his own feathers when especially stressed. He picked up this habit mainly because of his constant molting as a child but then continued it as he was went on more and more adventures. Doing it is second nature to him now, but it's a bad habit he's actively trying to break by fiddling with his rings instead. It's also part of why he's so insistent about preening the others because helping them quite literally stops him from pulling out his own feathers.

Anyways! I could go on, but that's all for now folks! Thank you again for all your support and kind messages! I really treasure them and they are always the highlight of my day! As always, feel free to let me know who or what you would like to see next! Thank you all again!

Bonus Doodle Feat. Wind taking a photo of Wild taking a photo of Legend inspired by this masterpiece:

[kanerallels]

There's absolutely nothing worse than when I get a thousand words into a story and decide that I low key hate it

[a-dumb-sarcastic-bisexual]

I don't think I'll ever run out of Nimona headcanons

So I feel like it’s kind of obvious that both Ambrosius and Bal had to play the part of the perfect obedient little soldier as they were growing up 

And I feel like they both had different ways of dealing with those expectations 

There are still moments when they have to hold their tongues and put on a smile

And Nimona has witnessed most of those moments 

One day she asked them both “How do y’all not bite someone’s head off or like burn a small village to the ground?”

And they decided to show her 

Bal very politely asked her to fly them to the top of the institute 

And he was like okay weird but I’m not gonna question it

His resolve is really tested when he hears Ambrosius ask if the surveillance cameras are turned off

And when Bal gets the slightest hint of a yes does he scream absolute bloody murder 

Sometimes it’s small phrases sometimes it's words but most of the time it’s just screaming 

But he doesn’t stop until he’s blue in the face and his voice is almost gone 

When he’s done Ambrosius ushers them all home 

Nimona doesn’t start asking him questions until Bal is relaxing in the room with a big cup of tea

And all Ambrosius says is “Eh it helps him so I don’t question it” 

And then he asks them to fly him to his families property

And he doesn’t tell them to stop until they get to this tiny dilapidated shack 

Nimona voices that they’re surprised his family would let such an eyesore exist 

To which Ambrosius makes an off comment while looking for something about it being too far out for them to notice 

And she was about to ask what he was looking for and until he pulls out a bat 

And a couple of his failed ceramic projects 

Before he could ask when they got here

Ambrosius was hitting it against one of the walls and then wordlessly offered the bat to Nimona

They didn’t go home until every plate vase and cup was absolutely obliterated 

When they did get home they found Bal sitting in the living room

All Nimona said was “Your man has anger issues and I like it!” 

To which Bal responds with an expression that says “You think I didn’t know?”

While the trio loves watching movies together they can’t finish a single show 

Nimona never waits for the boys and always goes ahead

And half the time when they watch it again all together she spoils it for the boys 

Bal often gets too caught up in the show and starts questioning everything 

And if Ambrosius doesn’t like the show he’ll stop paying attention and then ask a million questions 

All in all they drive each other crazy and decided just to watch the show separately and talk about it when they’re done 

For some reason this doesn’t qualify for trashy reality tv

No one gets bored and there are too many twists and turns for anyone to think about talking over the show

[usercelestial]

The idea of Aziraphale falling the angel version of Crowley but that person is no more and then Aziraphale falling for the demon Crowley is eating my brain...

aziraphale fell for an angel who carved out the stars and when crowley crawled from his burnt up body, aziraphale loved a demon with scales and yellow eyes just as much. crowley fell from heaven and built himself back up from the ashes of who he used to be and aziraphale didn't even blink before loving him with his whole being. crowley has the capacity to be both of these iterations of himself, he changes and sheds his skin and aziraphale just keeps loving him. the angel that crowley used to be doesn't exist anymore but that's just fine because there isn't a crowley that aziraphale wouldn't love.

[figurativepieceoftrash]

Izuku, six years old and the son of the most powerful man in Japan, trusts his his uncle implicitly. Why wouldn't he, when they've always been so close? When Izuku's father trusts him implicitly too? Of course he agrees, enthusiastically, when his uncle offers to take him camping by the lake. When he tells him to ignore the fact that they haven't brought a tent. When he asks Izuku to wade, bit by bit, up to his chin in the water. When he informs him he's going to hold him under. Or: Izuku was six years old, the year his uncle tried to drown him. He's still not certain he's forgiven him for it. But now, fifteen years later and having spent an adolescence in the shadow of his father, he thinks he understands.

Read my fic <3

[crowbird]

I'm so tired of age gap fics please if i can suspend my disbelief about mushroom zombies I can suspend my disbelief about the reader's age not being equivalent to my own, please just give me two 50(+) year old bastards falling in love no more of this 15+ year age gap I swear to god someone is gonna make me start writing last of us fanfiction at this rate.

Anyways, I would like to request some aid from the last of us fandom in terms of fic recs if anyone knows any good reader insert or x reader fics wherein they and joel are around the same age? Pre or post outbreak, au, I don't care I'm starving please if anyone has any let me know.

EDIT: I did not think this was going to get any traction which in hindsight was kinda stupid of me but I really want to clarify something since I originally left it in the tags which I probably shouldn't have. THIS ISNT A HIT PEICE. I've been a fanfic writer for years now even if this blog isn't exactly a great example of my supposed stellar writing consistency. I mean no hate towards the people who like age gap or write it it just isn't my thing personally and I would like to read fics that explore other topics besides that when it comes to this fandom. Yes I understand the easy solution is to write my own and i would be a liar to say I wasn't but I'm new to this fandom and still consuming the actual content and I know my drafts aren't exactly great right now in part because of that. What I wanted to accomplish here wasn't just to complain a little but to reach out and ask if anyone could point me in the direction of non age gap fics in the mean time and they did so thank you very much!! I genuinely appreciate it. Write what you like but understand that I also reserve the right to read what I like and to ask for help in finding it because let's be honest tumblrs search and filter system is non existent and asking for help was my next best bet so uh yeah I'm gonna stop rambling now and refine this maybe when I'm more awake and can word things better probably.

[little-pondhead]

Eyes Of The Past - OLD CH. 2

Part 1

[TW: swearing, mentions of death, sickness, and general spookiness]

The Batfamily was in turmoil. Something was wrong with the city; they could feel it. There was a heaviness in the air, which wasn’t there before. Clouds hung low over the skyline, heavy with rain that refused to fall. Citizens didn’t bother to wander the streets, even during the day. The buildings seemed to curl in on themselves like the city was trying to form a shield between her streets and whatever was to come. Even the criminals were staying quiet! Joker hadn’t made a peep in days.

So, needless to say, tensions were high.

“How’d the raid on the Lounge go last night?” Tim rubbed his face as Bruce entered the Batcave. They’d all been running themselves ragged, trying to find the source of their unease.

Bruce grunted. “Hn.”

“He was busted.” Barbara filled him in from over their loudspeakers. She pulled up footage of the previous night on the Batcomputer, letting Tim examine every pixel of the interactions. “One of the workers spotted him during the stakeout and warned the Penguin. Hood was there, too.”

“Red Hood?” Tim sipped his coffee, clicking through the fuzzy videos. “I wasn’t aware he was up for collaborations right now.”

“He was there for a business deal,” Bruce muttered, obviously sulking.

“Bruce got yelled at for ruining the whole setup.” Barbara snickered. She opened up a short, thirty-second clip of Red Hood chewing Batman out in the middle of some dark alleyway, a grumpy-looking woman in the Lounge uniform standing in cuffs next to them. “The woman is Tamia Brone, the supervisor on shift for the evening. She was seen with the employee who tipped off the Penguin. She’s being held at Gotham PD right now, but will probably be released this afternoon since she’s not affiliated with the underground part of the business.”

“So the bust was useless?” Tim summarized.

“Hnn,” Bruce grunted again. The big bat was still sulking, fiddling with his belt’s equipment. Tim sighed. Bruce always got like this when Jason got angry with him. He was all solemn and sulky and resorted to one-syllable words for communication. He wanted to look something up on the Batcomputer, Tim could tell. He was just waiting for Tim to be done.

“Fine.” Tim spun the chair fully around and popped out of the seat as gracefully as he could. “Take the chair, Bruce. What do you want to find?”

Bruce practically teleported to the chair, fingers flying over the keyboard as he cleared the cam footage except for the stuff that came from his own bodysuit. He zoomed in on the moment the employee spotted him, using a program to clean up the stray pixels for a clear face of the boy’s face.

Tim leaned over Bruce’s shoulder, watching him work. “Oh, shit,” he realized. “That’s a kid! What is the Penguin doing, hiring minors?”

Furious keyboard sounds were heard over their intercom. “There are no minors in his employee database. But there is one recent hire; Danny Nightingale, age 18. No middle name.” Barbara recited. “He fits the description of the kid there, but there’s not much on his file. It’s most likely a fake name.”

“He’s a busboy.” Bruce finally spoke up. “Here’s the conversation with his supervisor.” He typed a few last words into the computer, and the audio started to play.

“-and the boy. Who is he?”

“Boy? What the hell are you talking about, Bats.”

“The one by the dumpster.”

“Danny? Hey, don’t you even think about bringing him into this! He’s a good kid; the best busboy I’ve ever had. If you scare him off imma beat you six ways to Sunday, you hear?? I don’t care what your stabby sidekick says about it!”

“He’s not in trouble, I just-”

“Like fucking hell I’d believe that! He was the one who tipped off the boss, everyone in the building knows that! But that poor boy is just trying to do his job. That kid risked his own health and safety to warn his boss against someone who, in his eyes, threatened his livelihood.”

“Health?”

“What? You didn’t notice the poor kid had gotten sick? Some detective you are.”

“He shouldn’t be working if he’s sick.”

“Like I’d tell him that. Danny’s parents kicked him out as soon as he turned eighteen. He needs money, Bats. Gotham ain’t kind to kids like him, you know this. If he was really sick, I’d’ve sent him home.”

“So he wasn’t sick?”

“Don’t twist my words, bastard. He had gotten sick, not he was sick. Poor kid has some nasty allergies. One of the boss’ associates was wearing something that didn’t agree with him, and he threw up."

“Hn.”

“Don’t grunt at me, mister! It’s a legitimate allergy! Are discriminating against allergens now??”

“No-”

“Oracle! Hey! Don’t glare at me, I know they’re real-Oracle! Make sure to save this clip in case Big Broody over here gets his head stuck up his ass again. Maybe seeing how he’s treating a sick kid will burst his bubble sometime.”

“Will do, Miss Brone.”

“AHA! I knew they were real! You’re a real one, Oracle!”

“I’m taking you down to the station.”

“If I’m not let out before my next shift, I’m letting Poison Ivy know that Robin stores extra weapons in the park!”

As the audio faded out, Barbara giggled and Tim sighed again. “Who on earth is this woman?” He asked, draining the rest of his mug in a single gulp.

“I took some night classes with her, a couple of years ago,” Barbara answered, pulling up Tamia’s personal file. A strong-faced woman stared back at them. “She’s a spitfire, but a good person. Danny probably reminds her of her younger siblings. They died a while back, and ever since, she’s been super protective of young kids who are on their own. Volunteers at the library on the weekends for kid events, helps out at the Mystery Elf Program every year for Christmas, and stuff like that.”

“How did she know about my weapons?”

Tim swore and jumped, turning on his heel. Damian, the little monster, had snuck up behind them again. Bruce just spared him a glance and went back to sifting through their files.

“Kids tell her things.” They couldn’t see her, but they could tell Barbara just shrugged at their inquiries. “Robin has a small cult following among the younger kids in Gotham, so Tamia basically has eyes and ears everywhere.”

“So we should investigate her.” Tim mused.

“No-”

A roar of a motorcycle interrupted them. Jason peeled into the Batcave on his motorcycle, barely coming to a complete stop before he jumped off and sped to the computer. 

“Move, old man.” Jason snarled, practically hauling Bruce out of the seat to take his place.

“How dare you, Todd!”

“Shut up, Demon Brat!” Jason growled again, never looking away from the monitor as his fingers flew across the keyboard. 

Tim flinched. He knew, without having to look, that Jason’s eyes were glowing bright green right now. He was on the verge of a Pit episode. Usually, this meant he’d hole up in his many safe houses and drop off the grid for a while. The only reason he’d be in the Batcave right now was if he needed to find someone. Someone to kill. 

“Oh, good.” Jason leaned back. “You already started researching him.” Everyone looked on in dawning horror as Danny Nightingale’s exhausted and startled face looked at them, the screenshot taken from Batman’s body suit camera. 

“Jason…” Bruce started. 

But Jason wasn’t listening. “No one is allowed to go after him.” He simply announced. “I have questions for this kid, you ain’t getting in the way of that.”

“You can’t kill a civilian, Todd.” Damian challenged.  

Jason stood. Green light leaked from his mask, and his muscles were tensed like he either wanted to run for his life or throw hands. Tim took a step back. “That,” he ground out, pointing at Danny’s picture. “Is not a civilian. That is a threat.”

…

Danny felt like shit. 

It’s been two days since he frantically tipped off the Penguin to the Bat’s presence, and ever since, the Lounge has been shut down for unforeseen reasons. He didn’t know why, he was just a busboy. His boss had taken the news in stride, ordering him to book it out the back with some of the other servers. Tamia was on his heels the entire time, directing them all down a side alley with ease before getting snatched by Batman herself. Danny had screeched to a halt, intending to go back for her, but one of the bartenders had gripped his arm and hadn’t let go, hissing, “She’ll be fine! You’re the one who needs to get out of here!” Reluctantly, Danny complied, no matter how horrible he felt after. 

When everyone had split up, the bartender told him to only return to work when the boss told him to. Then, they all went their separate ways, and Danny woke up the next morning with an extra $3k in his bank account. 

To be honest, he spent that first day anxiously sneaking around the city, checking in on all his coworkers that were present that night. Everyone was okay, for the most part. The bartender who had dragged him was passed out on a shitty couch, beer bottle in hand, and one of the waiters was being yelled at by her boyfriend for having her shift cut short. Danny’s core ached at the sight. So when forgotten cans of coke in the back of their fridge exploded from a random spike of cold and cut the argument short, he hoped she didn’t mind his interference too much. 

Tamia, however, took longer to track down. To his horror, she was sitting like a grumpy cat deep within Gotham’s police station, glaring at any officer that tried to approach her. He was forced to tap into his invisibility, but he eventually snuck past security and over to her holding cell. He waited until she was alone, before letting out a tiny, almost inaudible rumble from his core, slipping through the bars with intangibility. The two shades at Tamia’s neck perked up, instantly zeroing in on him. While the older woman couldn’t see the shades, she must have felt something as well. She stiffened, glancing around subtly. 

“Who’s there?” She hissed. 

Danny shifted. He was…uncomfortable. But Tamia had done so much for him. “It’s me.” He whispered back, stepping closer and leaning close to her ear. Tamia flinched back, eyes darting to his face. He was still invisible, thank the Ancients. 

“Danny??” Tamia regained control of her expression and went back to her brooding look for the cameras. “What the fuck???”

“Sorry, Tam.” He apologized. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I’m fine, Danny. How are you here?”

“Uh…” He didn’t know how to answer that, so he just told her the truth. “I snuck in.”

Tamia gave his general location a side-eye. “You know Batman doesn’t like metas in his city.” 

And that was a tipping point, wasn’t it? Danny’s core buzzed in his ears with anxiety as his voice shook. “Are you going to report me?”

Tamia snorted, covering it up with a cough as a cop passed by. “Hell no. You’re a good kid, Danny. I’d never turn you in, even to the Joker.” 

“Ah,” he said awkwardly. “Thanks. Uh, do you want me to get you out of here?”

Tamia tilted her head. Her hair had come loose from its bun, with strands of curly hair falling into her eyes. “No,” she decided. “The boss has plans in place for things like that. I’m a legal employee and a good one he won’t leave to rot. I’ll be out of here by the end of the day. I’ll be alright.”

He sighed. “If you’re sure…”

“I am. Go home, Casper. Get some sleep.”

Danny’s face twisted at the name, but he nevertheless bade his supervisor and the two shades goodbye and walked back out the front doors of Gotham PD, not bothering to fly. Flying meant he had to go ghost, and that meant he had to deal with…other things. 

He decided to sleep the rest of the day, extremely spent from all the extra energy he had used up. Danny didn’t rise again till noon the next day, at which his stomach finally made itself known, demanding he seek out food. He lay on his bed for an extra hour, trying to desperately ignore the grumbles in his belly, but finally gave in, grabbing some cash to stuff in his pockets and making his way out of the shitty apartment building he lived in. Two kids threw rocks at his face as he passed through the front doors, but he just sidestepped and ignored them, letting the stones shatter the glass doors instead. 

The clouds are low. The Knights are away. Shades whispered and writhed at the edges of his vision. The Lady is sick.

Leave me alone. Danny groaned and rubbed his forehead. These days, the words of the dead seemed to pound at his head like a sledgehammer, relentless. An uncomfortable heat was building in his head. He ignored it. 

Danny rounded a corner and entered a gas station. “Hello!” The cashier greeted him, too cheery for the job they were working. “Let me know if you need anything!” He waved in acknowledgment and shuffled between aisles, staring blankly at the brightly colored packages of cheap food. His eyes couldn’t focus on the labels, so he just grabbed something with a cheetah on it. Danny then shuffled to the next aisle over and snatched a large bottle of something pink and bright. The cashier gave him an impeccable customer service smile, which he tried to return. 

“Personally, I like the smell of the blue flavor.” They scanned his items, and he had to nod and pretend he knew what they were talking about. “Here you go, that’ll be $6.27. Would you like a bag?”

“No,” Danny shook his head. “Thank you.”

“Have a nice day!” The bell rang over the sound of the cashier as Danny left. He was too tired and hungry to give them a proper response. 

Gotham’s skies were still dark and cloudy, which for once, Danny was thankful for. Sunlight would probably make his growing headache worse. He wandered around for a long while, just taking in the sights of the city. He didn’t know why, but less and less people had been on the streets these days, giving him a slight break from the relentless stares and whispers. He just had to avoid certain areas that were clouded with death, and he was good to go! He was free to walk around aimlessly all he wanted. 

Today, it seemed, his wanderings took him to a small, silent park. He pushed open the tiny gate and snuck inside. It was quiet as a cemetery, and looked like one, too. Hell, if Danny was in his right mind, he would have realized it was a cemetery. He’d argue later that there were no spirits around, so how could he have known? There was just a profound sense of emptiness that was suffocating the whole area, but Danny was so fed up with the rest of the city, he barely noticed. 

Instead, he simply made himself at home on a stone bench off to the side and tore open his feast, not tasting anything as he chowed down on the chips. A faint tingle on his tongue told him the chips were spicy, but how was he supposed to taste anything when his tastebuds were dead? Soon, the chips were gone, bag and all. (The only perk of being dead was that he acted as his own personal trashcan. Nothing was littered with him around!) Cracking open his heavy drink, Danny took a sip and stared at the sky. Just thinking about nothing as the day passed and the evening set. 

It’d been a long day. 

…

Jason jerked. Shivers ran up his spine, and the green in his vision got stronger. He was in the depths of a pit episode, some part of his brain told him. No one had been hurt yet. 

But someone was about to be. 

Jason jerked again and lunged for his front door, ripping off the lock Tim had put on it (trying to cage him like an animal) with his bare hands. He had no shoes, no helmet, no mask, nothing. But he bolted out the front door in a blind rage. His world was greengreengreen. 

A snarl ripped itself out of his throat as he jumped the last two stories from the main staircase to the ground level. His landing left a small indent on the tile. (How did he do that?) The front doors were already wide open, he’d left it that way. Jason tore down the street, silently thankful there was no one on the streets. 

Someone was going to die tonight. Someone had walked over his grave. 

Jason’s chest heaved as he bolted through alleyways, taking shortcuts to get to the one place he always refused to visit. There was a Bat following him now. Which one? Probably Nightwing. It didn’t matter. His hands were curled and his footsteps were loud. His heart pounded in his head, egging on the Pit. Phantom fingers ran down his arms, pushing his shoulders so he’d go faster. The city bent in on itself. Streets seemed to straighten out, letting him have a clear shot toward his target. 

He burst from the alleyways in a sudden rush, and Jason skidded to a stop to get his bearings. His feet were bleeding, he could tell. Whatever. His green eyes were glued to the tiny, limp figure of Danny Nightingale resting on a stone bench not five feet away from Jason’s grave. The one he was buried in. The one he crawled out of. The kid had walked on his grave. 

Jason rushed forward with a roar. 

“What the FUCK?!” Danny startled upright at the sound, quickly spotting Jason and scrambling to his feet. He had a half-filled bottle of pink Fabuloso cleaner in his hand but dropped that quickly when Jason lunged for him. 

“Jason!” Someone yelled, trying to grab at his shoulders. But Jason was too far gone in the pit rage, now. He was almost animalistic, growling and clawing at the kid’s retreating figure. Blood was getting smeared over the dead grass, with bits of glass from the alleyway being pushed farther into his skin. 

“Shit, man! I didn’t know this was your Haunt!” Danny’s eyes were filled with fear and worry, but his gaze was fixed solidly on a spot above Jason’s head. 

“This was my grave!” Jason managed to screech. He got a lucky hit in, and the kid tumbled away, clutching his shoulder where a bruise was already forming through his thin clothes. 

“I didn’t know!” Danny yelled again. He made no move to fight back. 

“THIS WAS OUR GRAVE!” 

Something is wrong. A sudden, clear thought entered Jason’s head. It was like cold water had splashed him awake. These were not his words. These were not his actions. Jason was not in control of his body. 

Something else was speaking for him. 

A wail ripped itself out of his throat. Danny rolled to the side, avoiding his lunge. Jason could only watch helplessly as the kid was backed into a corner. For every step Jason took forward, Danny took two steps back. The kid was too used to this. He moved with too much ease, avoiding Jason’s wild swings like he could predict every movement. 

“Dammit, JASON!” Two pairs of hands gripped at his shoulders this time, forcing him to turn. Nightwing and Orphan (when had she gotten here?) tried their best to wrestle him down, heaving with the effort. 

“No! Don’t!” Danny bolted forward, right as Jason lunged for his own family in a haze of green. Time seemed to slow, and logically, Jason knew there was no way in hell Danny would have made it in time to do anything. Jason knew he was about to hurt his family, badly. He was about to break bones and claw at vulnerable skin. He was about to look his sibling in their eyes and see their hearts shatter. Jason was bout to break apart their family. Again. 

Then Danny screamed something, there was a flash of light, and suddenly there was a wall of fucking fire separating Jason from his siblings. From the outside world. 

Jason barely managed to avoid the flames, tucking himself into a sharp roll and popping up with his teeth bared. 

His brain tried to process what had just happened. 

His body screamed in rage.

His prey had disappeared. 

In Danny’s place floated a young boy. His eyes were as green as Jason’s. An iron crown wreathed in flames was set upon his head upside down, the sharp points causing rivers of green blood to run down from his hairline. Iron shackles chained his hands together. Pieces of charred armor clung to his body by thin straps. There was a chill in the air, and despite the fire, ice was starting to grow from the ground in a ring around the boy, curving and sharp, like it was trying to trap him in.

The boy looked at him, and Jason saw that he was crying.

...

[oOoOoO cliffhanger~]

[here2bbtstrash]

so do we...... literally all have horrendous writer's block rn

[becca-e-barnes]

I've been really caught up in the thought of gentler, intimate sex recently and the thought of it almost slipping into body worship. I write a lot about men appreciating a feminine body but there's something so lovely in slowing down and truly taking time to appreciate the man you're being intimate with.

I think it’d so grounding to have slow, passionate sex with dbf!bucky.  The type where even the pleasure of sex and mutual orgasms comes second to the pleasure of just feeling him.

Because I think being on top, almost just cockwarming him while you steal pleasure from the gentlest touches would be so rewarding.  His dick inside you has you feeling pleasantly full but for now, you’ve parked all thoughts of paying it any attention.

Instead, your fingers glide through his hair, parting it with very little resistance.  He’d let it get slightly longer recently but it suits him well, as do the few greys scattered through the roots.  It feels soft and with each little graze of your fingernails against his scalp, he groans quietly, his hips rising slightly off the bed to press himself impossibly deeper inside you.

He thrives off touch and that’s all you want to give him.  You want to touch him and never stop but as you tear your focus away from his hair, you let your hands wander lower.  Your fingertips drift over his cheeks, the light dusting of stubble feels coarse under your touch but it’s certainly not unpleasant.  Meeting his gaze makes your chest ache because you wonder how often the beautiful man under you sees himself the way you do.

He links his hands in yours, slotting your fingers together before bringing one of yours to his lips and kissing across your knuckles.  You didn’t expect this tenderness but God, you need it, almost as much as he does.

“You’re beautiful.”  No matter how many times you tell him, it never feels right. It's not the word you're looking for but saying nothing would feel like more of a crime than being inarticulate.  

He chuckles quietly to himself and doesn’t say much, watching as you grind your hips, seemingly desperate to remind yourself of the fact his length has found a home in your body.

“You feel perfect.”  Your voice is shaky, rational thought consumed by the feeling of pleasure thrumming through your veins once more.  Your soft, wet cunt glides down on his length like you were made to fit together like this.

His strong hands land on your hips, guiding your rhythm, keeping you moving nice and slowly.  In the meantime, your hands drift from his bare shoulders, down to the expanse of his chest.  Your fingertips tease the tiny, soft curls of hair across the breadth of his chest but you’re entirely consumed by the heat of his body.  He’s so warm and it’s a very pleasant reminder that you really are here with him. You have all the time in the world. 

Reaching the centre of his chest, you feel the gentle thumping of his heart under the flat palm of your hand and for a moment, it all just feels so real.  There’s nowhere else you’d rather be than right there in the room you share.

“Baby…” He groans, his voice low, arching his hips off the bed to fuck himself into you because you’ve been so distracted, you let your mind wander.

Fuck, that feels good.  The tip of his dick nudges perfectly against your sweet spot, right where you need it and you feel yourself flutter in response.

“Good girl, just hold still. That's it. Good girl.”  You do as you’re told, letting him thrust into you from below, losing himself in a way that you only want to encourage because it feels incredible for you too.

Your fingertips desperately try to dig into his chest and you notice how his skin dimples under your frantic touch.  Every one of your thoughts are about this man in that moment.  Nothing else crosses your mind and nothing else matters.  You’re consumed by the smell of his aftershave, the heat of his body and the glide of his cock in and out of you.

“Touch yourself.”  He encourages, his teeth gritted, holding back for your sake.  He’d usually take the opportunity to touch you himself but this time he needs you to do it and you’re more than happy to.  “Please, fuck, I’m so close.”

Hearing him broken like that makes you wetter than you thought possible.  He’s always so stoic.  He never loses control.  He’s calm and reserved and admired for his composure but not when he’s inside you.  You’re the only person who gets to hear how he sounds when his self-control slips away and it’s beyond rewarding.

Your fingers circle your own clit, rubbing yourself while Bucky continues to thrust up into you. He's so close to losing it. He's hanging on by a thread, promising to fill you, to stuff you full and make you a mother.

He knows you far too well and you're cumming within a few minutes, mindlessly riding out your orgasm on his dick. His need comes second for just a moment, pleasure making your body tighten and throb around his.

You vaguely register that he's cumming too, shortly after you do. You feel his hips stutter and then the telltale pulses of his cum into your body. He groans, holding your trembling thighs to keep you in place until he's given you everything he can.

[kyouka-supremacy]

Thoughts on akutagawa being drawn with no highlights in his eyes, hair, coat, or on rashomon,,,like everything is drawn pure black? I like when he's drawn a little bit like not-human--contrasts real well with Atsushi's dilemma of being a tiger, personally thinking. Also like when he's drawn like a void. Little bit like the cryptid creachur he is. I think you wrote something about it in the tags on panels in his introduction in the Manga. I like to think other characters also see him the way we see him so his void ass scares the fuck out of others too. Man's skeevin and tweakin even in his design

I'm OBSESSED with Akutagawa's design. Look at him. This is what he looks like on a white background:

And this is what he looks like on a black background:

It's BRILLIANT. He literally disappears in the black. He's the ultimate monster. In his appearance, he embodies what above all is most scary for the human psyche: the darkness, the unknown. The way Harukawa took advantage of the the art rule of never using pure black by breaking it in the most clever way! No light gets reflected on him, because his form absorbs everything– is absolute darkness. Visually, his figure itself is Rashomon eating everything it encounters, and it's genius.

He is so nightmare coded. I love his big, inscrutable eyes that look like two voids, two black holes. I love how oftentimes you can't tell where Rashomon ends and where he starts, I love how sick and unhealthy he looks. I love how he looks scruffy like an abandoned dog. I love how young he looks– way younger than he is. It gives the impression of a ghost, someone who was killed before growing up and is now stuck with his young appearance no matter how many centuries pass.

I adore everything about these chapter 33 pages. The way he initially appears as just a single black shape, hardly resembling a human. His crunched, unnatural stance. The staggering. The way you can feel with your senses the thick and sticky blood. The top picture is the left page of the manga, so just imagine the visual impact of turning the page to be hit with an almost full-black page- it's meant to impress, it's meant to shake. The way he's one with the darkness: no textures on him, only white making out his outlines. The way you can't tell where his coat ends. His left arm hanging numb, limp, lifeless, inhuman. The spurts of blood on his face. His smile, how you won't notice it at first and how that makes it all the more disquieting; its juxtaposition with the violence that surrounds him and that he is the cause of. The way he covers his face, the impressions of hiding and looming. His face being split, which only adds to the horror elements. Akutagawa's character design as a whole is an ode to the gothic and grotesque.

And then this. Hello??????????????? The progression from how Akutagawa used to be to the last time we saw him alive is astonishing. It's upsetting. It really makes me wanna cry from a technical execution standpoint alone (imagine from a plot related standpoint). All the black is now replaced with predominant white, everywhere. His shirt is white and candid and pure, emphasizing contrast with the splash of blood in a way that almost results sickening. The blood on him is his this time. His face looks rounder, and healthier, and he overall looks more mature. His smile is sincere and genuine, it's light, it's affectionate. This scene is the culmination of Akutagawa's character both visually and thematically: the monster, Akutagawa, too, can be good, and arguably had good within him since the very start. Does it really matter if he lives after this? His character already developed to be the best version of himself‚ and this panel here is the proof.

Further readings: (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6)

[sugarhillpark]

pick a song for each letter of your URL, and then tag that many people

thanks for the tags forever ago @part-time-deranged and @elviehun i do notice <3

s - sugar by brockhampton

u - unfucktheworld by angel olsen

g - going to pasalacqua by green day

a - amity gardens by fountains of wayne

r - rose parade by elliott smith

h - hold the light by lp

i - i wanna be adored by the stone roses

l - love my way by the psychedelic furs

l - lua by bright eyes

p - plasticine by placebo

a - awful by hole

r - rhymes of an hour by mazzy star

k - kids in '99 by death cab for cutie

bold assumption that i'd know 13 of my followers who haven't already done it and actually wanna interact with me to tag and i won't do it but tagging @libraryspectre @beanie-twink @dearings from my recents and @gnome-cleric @pyrchance and @100percent-unimpressed my beloveds in case you wanna(/again).