#i thought about writing this in fic form

[mokadevs]

you've given me nothing to miss

[mxfrodo]

y'all for fucking real. don't fucking write slave fics or x reader fics of aventurine's slavery??? are you guys out of your goddamn minds???

[mammomlette]

People don’t talk about MC needing to wear a magical ring to not accidentally yk cause NATURAL DISASTERS with their powers??? Not only accidentally but without realising???

Diavolo or smthn is asking too much of MC or being a bit too annoying and their other hand slowly drifts towards the ring and they hold onto it while maintaining dead eye contact. Like continue to piss me off hoe I’ll blink and blow a hole in your castle idk

Obv they never do it (or do they?) but the threat is there and it’s a risk dia (or whoever but I’m using dia) can’t take

[riptidesblog]

When you have a fic idea but not the writing skills

[sassypantsjaxon]

It was a mistake. It had to be. The Cook wouldn’t let himself be killed so easily. It had to have been some kind of trick. Something designed to get under their skin. Break the rest of the crew’s spirits. Zoro had already told him the only way he could die was by his hand. The Cook had promised it wasn’t necessary.

Sanji had asked him to kill him if his Germa genetics ever woke up inside him. Something else awakens first.

[bubacorn]

headcanon: II doing Vessel's hair in the beginning (pre-relationship)

Vessel doesn't ask outright, but his undercut is all over the place, and he always messes up trying to trim the back of his head. he's been avoiding cutting his hair cause it takes a lot of time and he doesn't have the patience to stare at himself in the mirror as he messes up again and ends up with one side shorter than the other. he's clearly frustrated one morning as he drinks his tea and has to repeatedly brush his hair out of his face, so II asks him if he wants him to try and cut it. Vessel is like 'would you?' and II says he could try

they do it in Vessel's bathroom. he takes off his shirt and sits on a chair, slumping a little as he watches II bring a pair of scissors and a handheld mirror. II starts with the undercut. the buzz of the clippers is not unpleasant, but Vessel absolutely hates the little hairs on his skin, so as soon as II finishes with one section, Vessel is quick to get a brush to get rid of them

II makes sure to ask how long to cut each section. there is a warm hand on Vessel's shoulder or the back of his head as II tilts it to get the angle right and get an even cut. Vessel is aware of every touch, and feels stupid for focusing so much on them. II automatically brushes the hairs from Vessel's skin and gives him the mirror to get his opinion. Vessel gives an okay, and II brushes over the undercut with his fingers to check that it's even before moving on to the longer parts. Vessel shivers but blames it on being shirtless

Vessel admits that he usually just eyeballs it and cuts however much it takes for his hair not to bother him. he doesn't have reference images or concrete ideas, he just cuts until he gets tired of it. he knows that it isn't exactly helpful, but II just tells him to say if he's getting close to his ideal length and starts cutting. he's careful and takes his time, gently brushing through his hair to gather it up and snip at the ends. Vessel notes how hard he's concentrating on each cut, eyeing strands of hair, comparing lengths and making corrections

II passes over the front twice, warm fingers brushing against Vessel's forehead repeatedly, as he blinks out of sync at the small hairs falling in his eyes. II apologizes and Vessel just shuts all six eyes, trusting the other. when II asks Vessel to check, he opens one pair of eyes, reaching up to brush off hairs that stuck to his skin, glad to see that his hair is no longer in his eyes and actually seems to have layers like he always tried to cut. he runs his fingers through it to see how it stands and II helps him, reaching over to arrange the strands that stand out in every direction, watching Vessel's small smile as he takes it in

Vessel gives the okay and II moves backwards, still careful, figuring out how to do the crown of his head and the sides above his ears. Vessel watches him with one pair of eyes looking to the side, the other two fixed on the mirror on the wall. he listens to the snips of the scissors and tries not to smile at how the tip of II's tongue peeks out of his mouth sometimes. he finds the touches and the brushing motions in his hair strangely soothing, musing about why getting his hair cut feels so intimate. they don't touch a lot, but he likes II touching him like this

II moves to the back section and Vessel finds that the back of his neck is just a little bit ticklish when II keeps brushing his fingers downwards to see how his hair falls. he looks at II's face in the mirror, but II doesn't see, because he's checking his hair and Vessel's so grateful for that, because he's just thinking that he's grateful his hair grows fast and that he likes it short, because he could get used to II cutting it for him. if he was willing, of course. he might not want to help him again. it's meticulous after all and they've been silent since they started. Vessel wanted to leave II to figure it all out without him bothering him with chatter, and he wasn't sure what he could talk about, so he just follows the other's movements with his eyes and marvels at the fact that the man seems to be a pretty decent amateur hairdresser

Vessel is absolutely not thinking about dying his hair like he had always wanted. but maybe later he drops that piece of information and when II says he should go for it he actually looks up dyes and he asks for II's opinion and gets a little excited cause he wanted to dye his hair for a really long time and II looks like he's looking forward to it, too and assures Vessel that it will look good every time he asks 'what if it'll look bad?' as II applies the bleach and the dye and even during the time the dye sits and Vessel is all fidgety

Vessel thinks II's smile looks adorable after he rinses the dye out and II takes in his still wet hair that is so messy after Vessel just rubbed it with a towel. II reaches up and arranges it the way Vessel usually leaves it to air-dry and pets his arm to prompt him to check it out in the mirror. II adores the smile Vessel tries to suppress as he runs his fingers through his hair and takes it in from every direction. the color is just right and he's so happy and keeps thanking II for his help. II is delighted to see Vessel stop at the mirror in the corridor just to fluff up his hair and smile a little bit to himself

II rocks a buzzcut, but after a while he asks Vessel if he would cut it for him. Vessel agrees instantly and he gets lost in trying not to mess it up (he isn't sure how he could do that, but he's sure he could find a way), focused on getting it even, while II just studies his face, and the way his eyes flick around and how he's chewing on his bottom lip. somewhere around the end, II brushes his hand against his hair and tells Vessel he found a spot that feels a little uneven and takes his hand to show him where it is. it wasn't actually uneven, he just wanted to feel Vessel's hand against his hair again, cause the haircut didn't take a long time and Vessel's hand was so gentle and warm. he takes his time to guide it to the spot and leaves his fingers linger a little as Vessel tries to feel where he should fix the cut

[tinyrobotic]

After Jowd turns himself in for Alma's murder, Cabanela confronts him in the interrogation room. Cabanela wants the truth and Jowd needs him to leave.

The resulting conversation doesn't go the way either of them want it to.

“I’ve seeeen you punch a fella clear across a rooom, Jowd. And now you’re claiming you kiiilled Alma.” Cabanela’s hands were shaking again. “You’re saaayin’ you murdered Alma, my friend and the looove of your life, and after murderin’ your wife you caaan’t even hit me like—” Jowd’s fist connected Cabanela’s jaw.

[supernovasilence]

Speculating Wildly About Liliandil's Parentage

In the VDT movie, Liliandil is a star and comes down from the sky. However, in the books, Liliandil is described as the daughter of Ramandu, a star, and that "the blood of the stars flowed in her veins", but she's never called a star herself. In fact, when she first appears (walking very normally out of a door), she's described as carrying a candle for light; when Ramandu comes out, he's not carrying a candle, because he's glowing himself. All this implies Lili isn't a star, only the daughter of one. Which raises the question: who is Liliandil's mother? Some random theories:

Liliandil's mother is one of the Sea People

Liliandil's mother is a sailor or shipwrecked traveler who found her way to Ramandu's island and fell in love

Liliandil's mother is another star. Lili was born in the skies but chose to accompany her father down to earth when he retired

Liliandil's mother is another star, and assumes human form to visit her husband in the world below sometimes. Lili was conceived and born during one of these visits, and because of this the form most natural to her is human, not whatever a star's normal form is. She has to live with her father until she's older and more skilled at transforming

We shouldn't make assumptions about Ramandu's gender or star biology. Maybe he was pregnant when he retired and didn't realize until he'd already come down to land

Stars don't need a partner to reproduce. Ramandu is Liliandil's only parent

Ramandu is Lili's father in that he gave her life and raised her and loves her but she wasn't "born" per se. He created her magically somehow

Coriakin is Liliandil's mom

[pupyr0arz]

Okay, I just finished reading your kidnapper!Gaz cuddling story and it gave me an idea! In the story Gaz loves to gift the reader perfume. What if the reader tries to stalk up on perfume before drinking it protest or as a suicide attempt?

content warnings: suicidal ideation, attempt at suicide, self harm. Also kidnapping emotional abuse all that good stuff.

Is this super realistic? No. W/e.

At first it’s unthinkable. Sure, your life sucks but it’s not that bad. You’re just a moody person, you’ve never actually really considered killing yourself. You’re not like that. You float through life, unattached to your own melancholy. Other people have mental problems. Other people are reckless, pitiable, saveable—

You’re not sure when it occurs to you, no clock or windows to track the degradation of your thoughts into increasingly desperate plans. You think about breaking the mirror, taking a glass shard and

You think about attacking him. You think about smearing blood and distracting him to get out. You look into his warm brown eyes and wonder what might happen. Would he look concerned then, like he does when you shrink away from his touch? Or would he drop his sweetness, prepare to sweep you away like any other of his victims?

Would he cry?

Would anyone cry when they read the news report? Would you get a book? Would the police find anyone at all to tell the news? Would they ever find your body?

The mirror isn’t glass. Your hand shrinks away, almost ashamed to be caught, to be predicted. You don’t touch it again, like it left some mark on you that would reveal your thoughts to him. He doesn’t change, still talking to you sweetly and waiting for you to crawl towards him like a tame animal.

You don’t think about killing yourself. You think about seeing him cry. The picture is stuck in your minds eye almost obsessively. He’s pretty, you’ve gotten that out of the way. Handsome enough that kidnapping someone is ridiculous if he actually wants a companion, but he’s pretty with soulful brown eyes that almost always look cheerful. He comes to your ‘room’ in glowing moods, smiling and laughing, an endless outpouring of care.

You think about him crying more than killing him and escaping. His proclamations of love burn your skin and dig into your bones and worst of all they addle you more than anything he could put into the food. You don’t understand them. You don’t understand him.

Would it be a few tears, would he let them fall at all?

It’s the source of your suffering and your shame and your destruction. The spawning ground for the corruption that twisted your world into a miserable cycle of the same wall and the same face and stripped reality of its base meanings.

Would he make a sound, let out a gasp or cry out?

You want to take it, the burning ember that set your life ablaze, and crush it. You want to cut his throat and tear out his vocal cords. You want his heart to stop in his chest. You want to get out of the room.

Would he berate himself?

Salvation comes to you in disguise, cupped within your tormentors hand. You eye your collection of shining bottles by day. You only have the one chance. You wait until he’s waited for you to finish your plate.

Would he cry for you?

——————————

It’s warm.

You’re floating.

The water is warm.

Your arm hurts.

When you open your eyes, you’re not dead. You’re in the bathtub, floating in a comfortable bath instead of sitting on the bed sipping from perfume bottles. Your mouth tastes sweet, your throat aches. When you look over at your arm, there’s a needle in it connecting to one of those bags in the hospital they always have on sitcoms.

You’re not dead.

You look back up at the ceiling, not wanting to think about the needle in your flesh. Not wanting to think about him saving you. Not wanting to think about tipping the small sampler bottles back over and over. You don’t want to think. You don’t want to be here. You don’t want to be home.

“Sweetness, baby, I was so goddamn worried. Why would you ever do that to yourself? Love, please, oh don’t cry, don’t cry sweetheart. I got you help, we’ll work through this together.”

He appears at some point, time long discarded by your scrambled brain. He shushes you, wiping away the tears from your cheeks with his thumbs, soothing you with sweet nonsenses like a startled horse.

“I won’t let this ever happen again, okay? We’ll—I’ll fix it. I love you so much. Dove, look at me, look. I love you so goddamn much you don’t know how bad you scared me, sweet.”

His hands are warm, like the bath. You feel sick. He pushes a straw in your face and mindlessly, like before, you sip the artificial juice. He leans in and quickly presses his lips to your cheek. They’re soft.

You dare to look at his face and force your eyes to focus. Because you’re stupid, the kind of stupid to not notice someone follow you home or outsmart one lone man, the kind of stupid to not even manage to die.

Garrick’s eyes are brown and wet and red.

Garrick kisses your cheek again. You wonder if your tears taste sweet like his do.

[skitskatdacat63]

Boy King AU | Vettonso + Martian | 1.3k

There's something about putting the future emperor of the Holy Realm on his knees like this. About how easily he goes, how willingly, how obediently. What would his adoring public think if they could see him now. If they saw their beloved king pressed down like this, in the cramped space between Fernando's legs. When they realized their little boy king took it like he was a little concubine instead. 

Fernando's bitterness is lifted away in moments like these, like taking off a heavy cloak on a winter's day. It was hard to feel humiliated about his own situation when watching Sebastian debase himself like this. 

He always gives himself up so easily. When Fernando threaded his fingers through his thick curls. When he pulled them, and then when he pressed his face down further down into the vee of his legs.  Sebastian rubbed his cheek into the coarse fabric of Fernando's breeches and blinked up at him. Fernando had to smother an embarrassing sound; he was just like a little cat!

Sebastian quirked his lips up into an odd little smile and slightly rose up on his knees, "What's funny?" Fernando swallowed lightly and schooled his face back into being impassive, "Nothing. As you were." Sebastian simply smirked at him and let himself be pushed back down by the fist clenched in his hair. 

Fernando scoffed internally, there was only so much pleasure in putting the other man in his place when he instead acted like this, this degrading action, was his birthright. He took to ruling and indulging in carnal pleasures as if they were of equal gravity. To be privileged to hold such high station and also let himself be taken apart like this…Fernando felt embarrassed for him.

He is dragged away from his musings when Sebastian moved to settle his hands in Fernando's lap, clutching his hips over the fabric and slightly squeezing; Fernando fought against the urge to shiver. Sebastian pushed up the skirt of Fernando's waistcoat and smoothed his hands over the opening flap of his breeches.

His eyes darted up at Fernando again, a daft smile on his face. Fernando scowled at him, "What?" Seb's grin sharpened, "You could stand to be a little more gracious. This is your future emperor, and future husband might I add, kneeling for you on this dirty, depraved, derelict- ah–" Fernando tugged on his hair again and hissed, "Well then, why don't you show me how eager you are to perform your marital duties?" 

Seb licked his lips, completely unconcerned by Fernando's annoyance, and unbuttoned one side of the closure to Fernando's breeches and moved to open the other–

The door to the carriage flew open, arrival announcement dying on a wheezing breath as the servant took in the image the two kings made. One splayed across the seat, exuding power, the other kneeled, debauched, between the former's legs. 

One would be hard pressed to determine which was higher on the totem of power and titles. 

There was something gratifying about this to Fernando, about being caught. He had been humiliated enough throughout the entire courtship, what was one more thing? And, certainly, what was one more thing if he could drag Sebastian down into the dirt with him. 

"Oh Mark, don't act so abashed! It's nothing you haven't seen before, in fact, we have been in this very position not even a fortnight ago!"

Oh. Yes. That. 

It was hard to be completely pleased when he remembered how Sebastian had already spent years prior to their engagement sampling the palace's ample selection of fellow high-born men. And how all those men seemed to be completely and utterly wrapped around his little finger.

Fernando released his hand from Sebastian's hair as if it had burned him. He did not understand why he felt ashamed with Mark looking in on them like this. Fernando was the one marrying Sebastian, not Mark; Mark was just a lowly courtier who had the esteemed duty of spending practically every waking hour with the brat…something he himself was decidedly not looking forward to. 

Sebastian stayed kneeling, staring impassively up at Mark, still fiddling with the clasp on Fernando's breeches. Fernando gritted his teeth and looked up from where he was watching Sebastian's clever little hands; Mark stared back at him placidly. 

Mark's indifference made the entire situation worse. Fernando now felt as if he was not doing anything unique, not doing anything particularly new. How many other men had Mark caught Seb with in this exact position? Fernando felt like he was just another plaything of the boy king, soon to be boy emperor, except his position was forever, permanent. He was the "Kept King", the king who only kept his throne due to the whims of a boy who doesn't even understand what power is.

Mark coughed, "Well," he says, "Your Majesty, I do believe you have a meeting to attend." Seb pouted at him and whined, "We were just getting to the main course," but still braced himself on Fernando's thighs and got up off the carriage floor. 

Seb pranced down the steps Mark had placed next to the carriage, miming tripping sown the stairs, snickering when his action made Mark reflexively reach out to grab him, and then playfully skipped off the final step. 

Fernando couldn't help but stare as Mark made the weirdest grimace in response, and he inexplicably felt all his mortification seep away from him. Huh. Maybe Mark is-

Seb then turned around and frowned at him, seemingly disappointed, but his eyes are deceivingly sharp, "Fernando, I regret to inform you that I have other duties I must attend to, you will simply have to wait." He then grinned up at Mark next to him and giggled as the other man stiffened when Sebastian looped both of his arms through Mark's. 

He leaned all his weight on the other man, Mark not so much as shifting his weight, "Oh Mark, won't you carry me back to the palace? I'm so very tired after all the horse riding," Seb looked up at him imploringly.

Fernando observed as Mark rolled his eyes and shrugged off the man, though notably not pulling his arm from Seb's grasp, and he got the distinct feeling that this exact scene had been played out countless times before. 

Fernando clenched his jaw as he watched Seb turn and saunter off, Mark trotting alongside him like a loyal dog. Fernando was supposed to be the unaffected one in this partnership, the unflustered one, the unconcerned one. And yet here he stood, in broad daylight, in a foreign kingdom, on the steps of a carriage with his breeches half unbuttoned and his cravat in disarray. 

He heard a cough from beside him, jolted and looked to the side. Sebastian's loyal Horse Master stood there, lounging against the side of the carriage. Fernando had forgotten who had even been driving the carriage in the first place. After Seb has let himself be pushed down, his hair still windswept from their ride together, everything else seemed to fade away. His thoughts were reduced only to how he could mess up the younger man's hair further. 

Jenson grinned at him wolfishly, and casually crossed his legs,  "First time?" he inquired. Fernando glared at him. The other man laughed openly at him, "What? He's a busy man with big prospects. You're not his majesty's only conquest, you know. Now your throne on the other hand…"

Fernando seethed, it was one thing to be humiliated by the future emperor, but to be patronized by the king's horse boy? No. It would simply not do. He closed his eyes in annoyance, pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaled, and prepared a speech about how he was not about to be talked down to by a man who didn't even have a throne to speak of! 

But when he opened his eyes again and opened his mouth to begin his tirade, Jenson was already wandering away to tend to the horses. Dios mío, Fernando was not mentally prepared to spend the rest of his life with all of these impertinent morons. 

[curestaarlight]

boxing arc of LCLA goes crazy tbh we've got qiao ling busting the boys' time shenanigans (and her not believing at first until they prove it via HER being involved in said time shenanigans); we've got cheng xiaoshi's parasocial relationship w his idol shuang hai (man is obsessed); he's shaking crying downing drinks w shuang hai cos said boxing CHAKPION has no one to confide in except two twenty something year olds who did some sleuthing for him; cheng xiaoshi's all like "im your BIGGEST fan why are u being such a LOSER right now 🥲" and lu guang is sitting there quietly except for when scolding cxs for drinking too much too fast 😭😭😭 i love this show

[anistarrose]

You know, I'm starting to think that weird freak incident earlier this year where I wrote essentially a full novel in less than four months, barring editing, has left me with some unrealistic standards regarding turnaround times for all other creative writing endeavors

[masterwords]

5x09 | 11x18

[hermitw]

Complaint that the best thing I've ever written might be this fic where Sukuna's milk-dripping tiddies save us from the shibuya incident

[tisajest]

Exciting angsty dynamic I want to add to one or both of my fics:

Sirius had a crush on James, he eventually got over it for the most part once James got with Lily, but it nevertheless never fully went away. Even after James died. Sirius’s feelings towards James are kinda fossilized at what they were when James died.

When he learns that James and Regulus saw each other in Hogwarts, he loses his shit for many reasons, including that he ends up projecting his old crush onto James. He initially thinks that James only dated Regulus because he actually wanted to date Sirius and oh there are so many mixed emotions in that.

Especially since that was one of Regulus’s insecurities about their relationship at the time and it causes him to lash out.

[buggyandthebartoclub]

NSFT Trafalgar Law for @mandiemegatron bc the art that goes w this just isn't ready yet RIP - but I got a Law topper up! look at me go! AND AN AO3 VER NOW?? wow @ me

Content warnings: female reader, oral sex Word count: 457 Rating: E AO3 ver here

male reader Ver here

It would start with a  foot rub after a long day, with you sprawled on Law’s bed in your panties

His nimble fingers digging into the knot on your foot making you throw your head back and close your eyes with a moan

you’d be unable to keep from making noise as he continued to tease the tension from your legs as he worked his way up your calves, blissfully unaware of the effect you’d be having on him, completely lost in the feel of his fingers going from one leg to the other until you feel warm lips pressing against the inside of your thigh, His tongue gliding up your skin, biting just below your panties into your soft flesh and making you writhe and whimper beneath him. 

He’d take his time in unraveling you little by little, running his hands up your thighs, lightly dragging his nails down your hips and relishing in the way you quiver at his touch before he dips down to tease his tongue along the edges of your panties before slowly pulling them off to expose your aching core to the cool air 

Groaning as he takes in your scent, his hands sliding back up your thighs, fingers brushing against your clit making you moan as he dips his slender fingers into your dripping cunt, sliding them rhythmically in an out to the symphony of your noises as his thumb rubs circles over your clit and he watches with hungry eyes

His other hand would grip at your hips, grounding himself as your scent and sounds driving him wild, removing his fingers and diving down to taste you, running his tongue along your slit and moaning into you as you spiral higher and higher under the heat of his tongue

He’d make your back arch and your legs shake as he swirls his tongue over your clit, lapping up your burning arousal as your hands tangle in his hair and pull another groan out of him. 

He’d wrap his hands around your thighs as you clenched around him, pulling you impossibly closer, eating you like a man starved, his breath hot and heavy on your core, you’d cry out his name and you’d feel his fingers dig into your skin as you spiral high and higher until you’re falling over the edge with a shout, Laws tongue not slowing for a second as you orgasm, only stopping when you begin to whimper from overstimulation 

You’d tug him up by his hair, pulling him into a deep kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue as he explores your mouth with a groan, you’d feel his arousal pressing against you and he'd shiver when you whisper 

“Now how about I return the favor?”