#and then i started to dabble

[daydadahlias]

samesiesss i just wasnt sure bc i *think* i've seen u post about lashton b4 but whatever-

that was years ago, my friend, I've since outgrown my lashton phase ✋

[phantom-0-writer]

prompt 02: tim’s birthday present

Tim sat in his empty house at the empty dining table. The table was actually quite large; it had enough seats to sit at least 15 people. But there was just Tim there. 

His parents had promised and sworn up and down that they would come back in time for his birthday. He had everything planned out. He picked out the birthday cake, put on the candles, decorated, ordered his parents' favorite foods, his parents' favorite movie for movie night, popcorn the likes. But that morning, just when Tim was double checking to make sure everything was ready for the most perfect birthday ever, his parents had called to tell him that something really important had come up, and they wouldn’t be able to make it. Tim figured it was better than last year, at least they called this time. 

Tim stared down at the cake, the candles lit. He had heard online that people would make wishes on their birthday cake and blow it out. Tim thought that was a weird thing to do, but it wouldn’t hurt to try. 

What should he wish for? It would have to be something special that he doesn’t already have. Tim thought for a long moment, the candles bleeding into the frosting of the cake. 

A brother. 

Tim closed his eyes and put his hands together like he’s seen the other children to do in the cartoons. And Tim wished for a big brother. When he finally wished hard enough (whatever that meant) he opened his eyes and blew out what was left of the candles. 

Tim waited. What exactly was he supposed to do now? In the cartoons, everyone would celebrate and cheer and the birthday boy would open his presents. There wasn’t anyone to cheer for Tim, or any presents for him to open. 

Suddenly the house shook, and the loud sound of a crash sound came from the backyard. Quickly, Tim did the sensible thing and go check out what the noise was. That's what the characters always did in horror movies. 

In Tim’s backyard, there was what looked like a weird space ship that had crashed into his backyard. There wasn’t any fire or anything, but the spaceship looked pretty wrecked. Getting closer, Tim could vaguely make out that someone was inside the spaceship. Looking around, he saw what looked like maybe the handle. Tim couldn’t really tell. 

When Tim put his hand on it and tried to open it, something poked out mechanically and pricked his finger. He flinched back instinctively, caressing his finger tip.

“Recognized: Danny Fenton. System Override.” A robotic lady spoke. Who is Danny Fenton? As if to answer him, the space ship opened its hatch, and inside was an unconscious black haired teenager. “System Malfunctioning. Please Assis-” The robotic voice spoke again, before getting cut off as if the power had died. 

Suddenly, Tim remembered his wish. A big brother. 

This was Danny Fenton, and he was supposed to be Tim’s big brother

----

When Danny woke up, he found himself in a very soft plush something. Something that definitely wasn’t the Spector Speeder. Alarmed, he sat up quickly to find that he didn’t recognize where he was at all. He also didn’t recognize the weird kid that was staging at him from two feet away. 

“Hi, I’m Tim. Timothy Drake.” The boy introduced himself almost business like. 

“Uh, hi Tim.” Danny responded awkwardly. “You got any idea where I am?” Danny sat up properly, moving the blanket (?) off of him and turned to face the weird and kinda creepy kid. 

“You’re in Drake Manor. Which is where I live.” He answered again. 

“Ok…ay” Danny nodded thoughtfully. “Any idea how I got here?” Truthfully, Danny hadn’t really been expecting an answer, but he still got one. 

“Because I made a birthday wish to have a big brother.” He answered in the same way he had answered the other question, very matter-of-factly. 

“Ok- Wait. What?” Danny asked, doing a double take at Tim. 

“You’re supposed to be my big brother, right?” Tim was starting to look a little hesitant, and as weirded out as Danny felt he couldn’t help but feel bad about the whole situation. 

“Where are your parents, Tim?” 

“There not home, because they had really important things to do for work.” 

Danny nodded. “Do you know when they’ll be back?” 

Tim shook his head. “They were supposed to come back today, because it’s my birthday. But they said they couldn’t make it.” 

Well, shit. Didn’t that sound awfully like Danny’s birthdays before he had given up on his parents showing up. At least he had Jazz. This kid looked like he was alone. 

Not liking the silence, Tim started fidgeting again. “So, are you gonna be my brother, then?” 

And what was Danny supposed to say, No? Besides, if he was really causing problems being in this random universe, then Clockwork would figure it out. 

Bonus: 

Danny sat at Tim’s dinner table, the kid looking at him radiating in excitement, each with a plate of stupid expensive pasta in front of them. “You said your name was Tim, right?” Danny started thoughtfully. Tim nodded, drinking up everything Danny said. “Well, first course of action as you, big brother. I need to give you a nickname.” 

Tim’s eyes sparkled at the prospect. “Like what?”

Danny tapped his chin exaggeratedly, “Hm… Tim, Tim.” Turing the name around while he absentmindedly twirled his fork between his fingers, Danny wondered what he should come up with. Suddenly, in a misplaced strength, Danny’s fork flew out of his hand. 

Before Danny could even say anything, “I’ll get you a new one!” Tim offered quickly. Getting up from his chair, his foot got tangled behind the leg of the chair and Tim fell quietly on the floor with an oof. 

Danny laughed at him. “You okay, Timbers?” He asked, getting up to check on the boy. 

“Yeah, I like Timbers.” Tim said, a bright smile on his face despite the blossoming bruise on his arm.

------------

table of contents

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Happy Valentine's Day! (and this blog's first post anniversary!)

[justsalpals]

What if you were bones? If there was nothing else left of you?

No lungs filled with sweet laughter. No blood rushing to blushing cheeks. No skin grazing against mine when you twined our fingers together.

What if there was nothing left?

If I cradled your ribs in my palm, haunted by the ghost of your heartbeat? If I caressed the line of your ulna, almost able to feel the light brush of overlarge shirtsleeve dipping past your wrist? If the back of my knuckle skimmed the cheek of your skull, so sure I could still feel golden eyes staring so gently back at me through empty sockets?

(Mother said I'd have to watch everyone I loved pass on, but I was promised more time.)

(I walk out of step with the world, but you joined me with a gait all our own.)

(What is that if not a promise?)

What if there was nothing left but bones, yet I could still see the shape of you in the remains? If I handled every piece with the gentlest care, rebuilding you from the inside out? If I held each phalange tenderly in my palm, as if this were a new way you'd chosen to hold my hand?

(I was promised more time. Not enough, but more than this.)

Healing hurts. Magic weaving through meat and muscle and sinew, knitting together a wound before it's ready to let go. It's beautiful and necessary. The pain. Healing hurts. Living hurts. Loving hurts. Love beats in my heart my throat my hands my staff, bleeding like a gaping wound with every forbidden word spoken and ancient symbol sketched into stone.

If you need skin, blood, lungs, then you will have them. If you need flesh and meat and beating heart, I will build you them with my two bloodied hands. I will sculpt your bones a home from the carcass of a beast, breathe life into your hearth with dragonfire.

Healing hurts.

What if I didn't care who I hurt, if it meant having you again?

I think you can understand the sentiment.

And one day soon, when you look at me in the light above and give that gentle smile, I can't help but imagine hooking my fingers between the slats of your ribs and tugging you close enough to hear your heartbeat.

[bigfatbreak]

I'm watching the sonic movie right now and I'm at the bit where Robotnik sends a bunch of Drones to stop Tom's truck, so I have to ask, did you get your username from the part where Robotnik yells "Give me a big, fat break"?

If not, then you can just ignore this.

yup! this used to be a sonic centric blog.

[murderbeast]

i made my sweetie @werewolf-girlfriend out of clay :-)

[ozlices]

btw if ur wondering yes my adhd ass v much resents him even entertaining the concept of the memory issues that come w adhd being a reason he plagarized. idfc if he was quoting his therapist. he already has MOUNTAINS of harm towards minority communities under his belt. it takes some NERVE to add yet another already stigmatized by the spread of misinfo group to that pile. eat my adhd shit, asshole.

[failyaoi]

Johnshi/Kencageblade/Swordblade kid oc just dropped (read tags for more info)

[daisyofwaterdeep]

Could I request Accidental Confessions Part Two where Femcis Reader got the antidote for Rolan and both of them just sat down & talked properly to each other after he's no longer under influence of the love potion? With apologies & a happy ending!

I had already planned to write a second part but im using your ask as a vessel to post it ╰(￣ω￣)

~~~~~~ Read the first part here!

Accidental Confessions (Part 2)

Rolan/femcis!Reader

~~~~~~~

You stand in front of the portal, close enough that the swirling magical energy draws strands of your hair forward.

You desperately want to step forward. You desperately want to run away. You have no idea which one is the best choice.

It's been two days since the incident. You haven't seen Rolan since then, and he's all that's been on your mind. You keep replaying the last moment with him, pulled together but still deissheveled as you handed the vial of antidote to him. The way he sat on the stairs, hands shaking, head hanging, eyes never raising to meet yours. And the terse words he spoke as he snatched the bottle from you.

"Thanks. Now leave."

The words weren't angry or sorrowful or pained. They were cold, closed off. You had no choice but to obey.

Rolan knew. That was the only explanation. Everything that happened, everything you allowed to happen, that you encouraged to happen...Rolan knew that you had taken advantage of the situation, and now he hates you. As he should.

Gods, what's wrong with you?

You take in a deep, sobering breath and step into the portal. Your vision goes dark for a brief moment before melting away into the familiar scenery of Ramazith's tower. Your eyes immediately land on Rolan, his back towards a shelf but already turning as you step from the pull of the portal. Golden eyes land on you, curious at first but hardening as he realizes who his visitor is.

"I've been expecting you." Rolan blindly shelves the book he had been thumbing through and descends the stairs, straightening his robe before folding his hands behind his back pertly. "It's best we get this over with."

Having him come toward you makes you want to dive back through the portal but you stay your ground, even if your knees shake. You cast your eyes to the floor, fighting the urge to bunch your hands in your dress as the tips of his shoes come into the field of your vision before stopping.

"Go ahead. Say your piece," He says after a moment of silence, voice curt.

The lump in your throat is so large that you're not sure anything will come out when you open your mouth, but it does, even if your words are small and wavering.

"I'm... resigning from my position."

You can hear Rolan exhale softly but with your eyes on the ground, you can't quite decipher why. "Alright. I'll have your final pay ready by the end of the day."

A dark, greedy part of you recoils at that. Even after everything, there was still a delusional hope that he'd push back-- that he'd protest you leaving.

There's another small stretch of silence, and you watch Rolan's feet shift.

"Well, there's obviously more you need to say, so say it already."

There is more you need to say, but you're fighting for your life to keep tears from blurring your eyes and choking your throat. You've rehearsed this in your mind hundreds of times, thought of the best words to show your sincerity, pictured every sort of scenario...and everything is lined up perfectly. It's the absolute ideal set-up for you to apologize. But the enormity of your remorse is swallowing you, and the only thing you can think is 'don't cry, don't cry, don't cry'.

Rolan's feet shift again. You can't stand here forever, and you know it. So you take in a deep breath and manage out two pitiful words.

"I'm...sorry."

Despite your best efforts, your vision instantly swims and hot tears trail down your cheeks. Damnit.

"Wh-" Rolan sputters, goes silent, then starts again. "You're sorry?"

"I'm sorry," you say again, throat tight and voice high and wavering, "I didn't stop you...I could have stopped you, but I didn't." The tears are coming full force now, a hot tirade that makes your eyes feel puffy and swollen. "I'm s-sorry, Rolan." Your words are hiccuping, toeing the line of full sobbing, "I d-don't expect you to forgive me, just p-please--" As much as it hurts, you finally raise your gaze to meet his eyes. "Please d-don't hate me..."

Looking at him face-to-face makes you want to crumple to the floor and bawl. It looks as if he hasn't slept since the last time you saw him-- dark circles crescent under his eyes, his clothes are wrinkled, and his hair is loosely and hapharzardly pulled back. But more than that, he looks dumbfounded, like he's completely shocked that you're standing in front of him crying. It makes you feel even more pathetic, which only makes the tears continue.

"I don't--" Rolan reaches his hands out to you, thinks better of it, then retracts them to his chest, "I'd never hate you."

The earnestness in which he says it should make you feel better, but it does the opposite. By all rights, he should hate you-- who are you to stand here before him, blubbering and grovelling, when you're the one who took advantage of him? Resigning from your post was supposed to be a small penance from you to Rolan, but instead, he's comforting you. You're disgusted with yourself.

Your despair must be written on your face, because Rolan takes a step forward, his voice trembling around the edges as he speaks.

"Y-you know, I had assumed... that you were here to yell at me. To tell me what a horrible man I am." Rolan lets out a short, nervous laugh, "I was fully prepared to take a punch or two."

He thought that you were mad at him? The thought is so absurd that you find your tears stopping as you stare at him, surely mirroring his dumbfounded expression from earlier.

"You'd have every right to, you know." Rolan continues, his jaw tightening as he straightens his arms by his sides, "To think I'm terrible. To hate me, even. Because what I did to you..."

"It wasn't your fault," You cut him off with a croak, wiping at your eyes with your sleeves, "You weren't yourself. But me, th-there was nothing controlling me...It was my responsibility, b-but I--"

"Stop." Rolan's voice raises, anger lighting his eyes, "Stop trying to take the blame for this. You are not the one at fault here!" He stares hard at you for a few moments before his shoulders slump and the tension in his face melts away, leaving him looking tired and small. Vulnerable, even. And his voice falls too, nothing more than a whisper. "There were times of clarity...times where I could have fought against it. If I had tried harder, I could have stopped a dozen times over. But there was a part of me, a part not influenced by the potion, that didn't want to fight it." A thread of anger edges it's way back to his words, but now you understand that it's edge isn't pointed at you. "So yes, it is my fault. I'm a terrible...horrible man."

You don't know what the right thing to do is-- in such an unprecedented situation, you're not sure if there even is a 'right thing'. But seeing Rolan standing before you, askew in both looks and mind, there's only one thing you can fathom doing, damned if it's wrong or right.

Rolan stiffens as you rush forward and throw your arms around him. Your heart hammers fast and loud in your ears and you feel breathless at your own bold action that seemed to come out of nowhere, but there's no way in the nine hells that you're going to let go.

"You're not horrible," You say against his chest, voice tight and runny as your tears begin anew, "N-not in the slightest. So don't s-say such things."

Rolan's body trembles in your embrace and you worry that he might try to push you away. After a few long seconds, though, he wraps his arms around you and returns the hug.

"I'm sorry," Rolan squeezes you tight as he says it, and you wonder if it has to do with how watery his voice sounds, "For putting you through that...f-for hurting you."

The vulnerability of it all makes is terrifying, but it's also liberating. A moment of pain and sorrow shared between the two of you--it's a feeling more intimate than sex.

"I wanted it." The confession falls from your lips without a thought, and you know that you've crossed a boundary that you'll never be able to return from, for better or worse. "I wanted to hear those things from you. To have you touch me...I wanted all of it."

Rolan lets out a choked noise above you and you feel his chest hitch. "D-don't lie to me."

"I'm not." You hold him tighter, as if trying to still your trembling muscles. "Having you need me in such a way, even if it was fake...I was happy."

You can feel every inch of the shiver that runs through Rolan's body. His chin touches the side of your forehead in something close to a cuddle as the hands on your back slide down, nearly cradling your hips.

"If you're being honest...I'd like to say something." You can hear Rolan swallow thickly before continuing, voice hushed and hesitant, "But please, you musn't think any less of me."

You try to pull away, wanting to see his face as he speaks, but the fingers on your waist dig in, as if begging you to stay in place. Curious, nervous, you comply.

"I'd never think less of you."

Rolan heaves in a deep breath and lets it out slowly, the warmth of it tickling the top of your ear. "I..." He starts his sentence, stops, then starts again. "The potion. I took it."

"Took it?" You were determined to stay silent and let him say his piece, but your confusion gets the better of you.

"I drank it." You feel Rolan's body tense as he inhales sharply again, letting the rest of his words fall out on his exhale, "I knew you'd be coming, and I wanted to-- it was only a small sip, I thought it would give me a push, just enough to be honest, confident--to say the things I was too cowardly to say. But it was potent, far more potent than I had realized--"

You can't think, can't breathe. A blanket of surrealness falls over you, making everything around you feel padded and dreamlike. Because this must be a dream, right? Your tired mind has supplied this sweet little scenario for you, has tailored it to your wildest imagination.

But the shaking man in your arms isn't a dream, as much as it seems. The hurried, scared breaths puffing against your hair are real, as are the hands, anxiously holding you tight. If those things are real, then the words Rolan has said...the confession he has laid at your feet must be real as well.

The courage it took for him to admit to such a thing seems to seep into you, and you find yourself pulling your head back, forcing him to finally confront you. His eyes are glassy and drying tear streaks shine against the hollows of his cheeks. He looks devastated, terrified-- and more beautiful than you've ever seen him.

This is Rolan. Not your crush. Not the wizard. Not the older brother. Not the owner of Ramazith's Tower. This is him, stripped bare, beyond titles and prestige and pomp. This is Rolan, raw and true and baring himself to you.

You kiss him. It's a stark contrast to the kiss shared just days before-- it's clumsy, nervous, hesitant. But that's what makes it so grand. The insecurities that Rolan had tried to hide behind a potion are all there, beneath your lips, your fingers. Every brush and breath sings of honesty, of a flourishing love that threatens to build into something momentous-- of the terror such a thing could bring. The enormity of the unknown.

But as Rolan's hands relax on your hips, as his lips part and soften on your own, you know that he's offering you a chance to explore that unknown together.

And you couldn't be happier.

[moeblob]

Lil warm up doodle because I'd been playing some Thropes and then watched some dubbed DunMeshi and am a Damien Haas enjoyer so. Enjoy a Shez.

[ferretrade]

y'all voted overwhelmingly for the codywan bodyguard/fake marriage au in that poll last month so I come bearing a little intro/teaser for it. :)

It's an ordinary Tuesday and Cody should've known it wouldn't stay that way.

When he comes into work, Fox and Wolffe are holed up arguing in their office. Cody diligently ignores them in favor of getting on with his own shit in the relative peace; he's only just gotten their accounts into shape and he's still working on maximizing their profits and cutting down expenses. (They were rather bleeding money when Fox and Wolffe had been taking care of the books themselves.) 

Before long, his closed door is ignored and the brothers stroll in with a feral energy that raises Cody's hackles. Last time they looked like that, they'd roped him into joining their business—and the time before, he'd been convinced to go cliff jumping. Trouble, all the same. 

"Cody," Fox croons dangerously. 

"No thank you."

Fox scoffs. "Told you he wouldn't even hear us out."

Cody narrows his eyes. "You can't taunt me into being interested," he lies. From Fox's smirk, he knows. (And isn't that just the problem with working with family?) 

"Cody, Fox," Wolffe snaps exasperatedly. "Can we get to the point?" 

It's serious, then. Cody frowns. "What is it? You need to fire someone?" 

"It's a job," Fox says, sitting on the edge of Cody's desk. "We need someone undercover and you're it." 

"I'm not a guard," Cody points out. He was very specific when he joined Canidae Personal Protection; he'd gone to school for business management and accounting—he's the numbers guy, the one who could keep his brothers' dream running and growing. Because, look, he supports it one hundred percent. Fox and Wolffe had long wanted to have a one stop shop for protective services and self-defense classes, specifically for underserved communities who were really in danger. But that didn't mean he wanted to be a bodyguard or even a trainer. Cody made sure they could do what they wanted and found ways they could put more money toward the people who mattered. That's where his skills really make a difference. 

"That's why you're ideal for this. It needs to be… discreet."

Cody narrows his eyes at Fox, trying to discern what exactly he's not being told. 

Wolffe sighs. "Cody, you're our best man for the job. We need someone we can trust." 

"Bly," Cody names. 

Wolffe glares at Fox and Cody imagines this was part of the argument he overheard earlier. 

"Not possible," Fox insists, mostly to Wolffe. "To do something undercover on this level, with this time crunch? We need a blank slate. No partner, no bodyguarding history, but capable of guarding." 

Undercover. No partner. Ah. "You want me to be a pretend boyfriend." 

Fox lights up. "Not quite," he says. "But that's the real highlight, this guy is your type. You'll have no trouble selling it."

"My type?" Cody raises an eyebrow. "Which is?"

"Don't act like you don't have one," Fox scoffs. "We know you."

"Look," Wolffe jumps in before it can get messy. "You'll get along with him, is all. And you're not engaged."

Cody hums. Fair, Bly wouldn't be suited to pretend date someone else. Cody still doesn't like it, but he can see the desperation on Wolffe's face and hiding behind Fox's pushing. Whatever the reason, they really do need him. 

"Fine," Cody relents. "But you're telling me every detail and I'm not cheap." 

"Great." Fox grins sharply as he hops off the desk, clapping his hands together. "I already hacked your data. Congrats, you're now Cody Kenobi." 

[2dieavirgin]

hare house and robert rabbit..........

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

The more I see your work and the more I see of poorly drawn scum villain, the more I'm tempted to do a poorly drawn tgcf 🥺 (I've only just started listening to it and I absolutely love it!!)

I just don't think I'm as funny as both of you and don't know if I could commit to uploading as regularly as you both do.

But oh! I am SO very tempted!! 😭

Working on an adaption of an existing media as a long form project is honestly my strongest recommendation for getting your creative brain going! Of course, there is still planning and hard work that goes into it, but the biggest creative pressures are much lower (And when anxiety brain is quiet, art brain thrives!)

That said, projects like this are a huge commitment, and I'm a bit of a freak case when it comes to the grind. PD-Scumvillian and I both put a lot of work behind the scenes to make it seem as effortless as it is. I'm wholeheartedly giving you my support should you go through with it; feel free to reach out and ask for tips and tricks!

[yansurnummu]

TESfest day 3: ghost

"The days waned once more in their length, the green draining from the valley like a river to the sea. Donobhan breathed in the scent of the first frost as the sun rose, an ill-advised sense of relief rising in his chest. Skyrim’s winters were cruel, of course; but, oh, how he longed to see his red-haired spirit."

In my fic Like Winter, Donobhan describes Asha as ghostly, beautiful and lonely in the way that ghosts are bound to a life long gone. Being a vampire, a running theme with them is isolation and loneliness as the world passes them by. They're an oc that's very dear to me for sure.

[whyamiherewhosummonedme]

Oh fuck new monk is gonna be SO GOOD. IT'S GOT AN EVEN MORE UNHINGED ROTATION