#little bit of my fic

[1-marigold-1]

Blindsided by @liloinkoink made me do things so uh hee hee treebark :3

[sheerakk]

[gl1tched-g0th]

"Wow you write this character really well!" Thanks I knew them personally

[aseplant]

From Natural Satellite by @sixpossumsinatrenchcoat! It's probably my favorite ISAT fic. Sif x toilet paper gone wrong compels me...

[soulshellcaseart]

It took a minute but I finally finished my small little comic of ldr moons daydream while hanging with y/n lol

From the fic love death and roller skates by @spadillelicious ^w^

[anna-scribbles]

chapter cards for thirteen: november - april

read on ao3

[ping-ski]

made a proper ref for my DCA AU!! (mainly for myself cause i was tired of digging for doodles and vague scribbles of their design)

will update and post the Y/N and sona design later if im not asleep by then lol

[squipedmew]

so help me god i will learn to draw different body types if it kills me

had to do it

[river-bottom-nightmare]

hmmm okay i’m seeing the “dick grayson is a ray of sunshine” tag increase in popularity and i feel as though i may need to clarify that whenever EYE use it, the “dick grayson is a ray of sunshine” tag is not adorable harmless smiley optimistic ball of sunshine dick. to ME dick grayson is a ray of sunshine (brilliant and brutal and furious in a way that is impossible to dream of being until you meet him) (he is simmering and sharp and too bright to look at head on, raise a hand to shade your eyes) (he burns the skin of your arms and your shoulders and your cheeks until your flesh is blistered and red from prodding, in pain and glad for it, or darker and bronzed, grateful to be touched by him at all)

[otrtbs]

“i don’t like jegulus but…”

my sibling in christ what the fuck are you doing on my jegulus fic/blog???

[dapper-lil-arts]

Darlings. is it gay when the phantom you created as a manifestation of your dreadfull loneliness takes the form of one of your closest friends.

Fanart of this pretty good horror rarijack fanfic, "The haunting of carroussel boutique" personaly i am surprised the writer didnt take the chance to point out how fucking funny this is. Me n kim started laughing about it during stream and i just had to draw this

[gbirrd]

6/9 - Jason Todd tarot card designs for Complete Candor by @vexfulfolly as part of the @batfam-big-bang

Read the fic here!

Other cards:

1-Babs 2-Cass 3-Bruce 4-Tim 5-Damian 6-Jason 7-Duke 8-Steph 9-Dick

Image IDs

Image 1:

A design of "The Devil" tarot card. It has the texture of recycled paper and reads "THE DEVIL". A symbol of a gravestone is visible behind the numeral "XV".

A young Jason Todd in his Robin uniform tugs at a thick chain around his neck that comes down from the top of the frame. Matching shackles are around his wrists and he is buried up to his waist in dirt. His head is tilted up towards the chain. There is blood on his hands, arms, chest, and dripping down the right side of his face as well as from his nose.

Image 2:

A design of "The Devil" tarot card. It has the texture of recycled paper and reads "THE DEVIL" upside-down. A symbol of a flame is visible behind the numeral "XV".

Jason Todd faces forward, filling most of the frame. He is in his Red Hood uniform and has narrowed pupil-less white eyes. He is holding the end of a thick chain in his right fist. Flames fill the background and bathe him in an orange light. The entire card is upside-down.

[sempersirens]

iuvenalis

part one of strangers in the night

a joel miller au

main masterlist

author's note: welcome to part one of strangers in the night! this is going to be a six part anthology of joel x reader meeting throughout different lifetimes. expect a lot of angst, pining, and yearning. i'm so excited for each and every era i have planned. they will all be different kind of stories but will pretty much be heartbreaking across the board. thank you for reading and don't forget to follow my updates blog @sempersirenswrites as i don't have a taglist!

warnings etc (spoilers): [historical fantasy au] no outbreak (yet...), ancient rome, reader is a vestal virgin, implied misogyny/sexism/patriarchal society, angst, punishment for sexual transgression is being buried alive (not graphic), historically accurate, no smut, no use of y/n, this has not been beta read pls forgive any errors!

Rome, 216 BCE

The door creaks as it opens. 

You know this dance by now. You should’ve anticipated the wooden shrill beneath your toes alerting the entire household of your deviltry one final time.

The walls hold their breath as you descend to the floor below, the warmth from the hypocaust crawling up your shins.

Yet, all remains still. Not even the feral cats who roam the cobbled streets stir from their slumber. 

Tomorrow they will march you down this road; praetorian guards brushing your bare shoulders with no fear of corruption.

But dawn is yet to break and your palms yet to dampen with fear.

“Iuvenalis?” The muggy air clamps around your throat as you speak for the first time in days.

You know his footsteps as intimately as you know the beat of his chest. Months moving in darkness, knowing one another only under the veil of the night. You’d recognise the weight of his step if you were robbed of each and every sense.

“Mea columba.” 

You shut your eyes as his sweet, misplaced worry fills your ears.

“Iuvenalis.” You breathe his name, surrendering to his hands desperately finding their way from your waist to your cheeks.

“You are too trusting of these streets, mea columba.” My dove. You hadn’t seen him the first time he saw you. It had been the day of your inauguration; he says he mistook your hair for a dove in flight. Wild, white, and too soft for the wind tangled within it.

“These are streets I played in as a girl. They have treated me well.” 

“But, tomorrow-,”

“Tomorrow is a far-off thought, corculum. Be with me as I am now. That is all I ask.”

He nods. You know he disagrees, but tonight he swallows any indication of contention as he silently takes your hand in his and leads you toward the walls of the city.

You can see the Colosseum from here. You always hated the wretched thing. Slaves and beasts banished to Tartarus simply to divert the eyes of Rome far away from treaties signed in the stands.

You hated how as a daughter of Vesta, your presence was expected at each game. As a girl, your father had once caught you squeezing your eyes shut as two lean slaves delivered their final blows to one another's pink flesh.

“You think me naive to have taken up the post, do you not?”

His brows pierce into his forehead as he considers your question.

“I think your family cruel to sentence you to death from girlhood. I think the Gods merciless for requiring such sacrifice.”

"You are brave to speak of the Gods so recklessly." You scoff. Part of you feels guilty; he was devout when he found you. All soldiers must be; how could you believe in nothing as the enemy charges toward you?

It didn't take long for you to become his temple. You replaced his exaltation; the ripples of your thighs his temple; your stifled moans his prayer.

You had corrupted him just as much as he had you.

"Let them hear me. I would sooner accompany you to Elysium than press my head to the altar of these false prophets."

"You don't know what you speak, Iuvenalis."

His grip finds your arm, turning you to feel his breath against your forehead.

"You are dimidium animae meae, there is no punishment I would not endure to remain by your side in this life and the next."

"What a wretched soul you must have for that to be so."

His fingertips find your cheek before you even notice the tears falling.

"We could still flee. I would grow old in the slums of Carthage if it meant I could watch your hair turn grey."

"Traders would recognise a Vestal Virgin as far as Babylonia."

"Then we will go farther."

His beard scratches beneath your palm.

"I will not lament any longer, corculum. Tomorrow, you will walk beside me, and then I beg you turn and do not look back. I can't bear to think of you watching."

For the first time this night, a smile creeps across his cheeks.

"You forget the man with whom you speak. I will be at your side until they drag me from you."

The crowds in the street do not look at you as you walk.

Your mother wails somewhere behind you, but she is blocked by a procession of praetorian guards. She does not weep in sorrow, but in shame that her only daughter approaches the grave unchaste.

He is there, beside you. The guards that encircle you owed their lives to his leadership in a battle on foreign soil.

Your fingertips brush against one another as you walk. You are already ruined, you think, what more could they punish you with?

You think that if not for his presence, you would fall to your knees in the street. You would claw at your skin and the cobbles beneath you, leave scratches in the road and beg to be forgiven.

But he is there, and you will not leave the world as you came into it.

The priest waits at the end of the procession. Iuvenalis' fingers weave between your own, and he squeezes three times as the water is brought forth. Enough to last you a day; their hands are clean if they keep you alive for a little while.

A final prayer is read, and the crowds turn their backs. His hand squeezes tighter; you fear he will not release you.

"No," you mutter, loud enough for only him to hear.

The guards herd you both forth like cattle, the marble descent to your tomb the only viable path for you now.

But he is still here.

Your palms grow damp as the men flock closer.

"No!" You shake your head, searching the faces of the praetorian for an answer.

"It's okay, mea columba. It's going to be okay."

The realisation sinks into your skin like a tick; he never intended for you to enter your grave alone.

The light grows dim as you both are forced into the chamber, and silence rings out above you. Soon, everything goes dark.

You weep and beat into his chest, engulfed almost entirely by darkness. Slim arrows of light beat across his face, and he is here, smiling down at you.

"Why condemn yourself?" You choke between gulps of grief.

"You think I would wait to walk the fields of Elysium by your side? There is nothing for me on this plain of existence without you. Dimidium animae meae. You are half of my soul, I will follow you anywhere. Even into death."

Under the darkness you began, in the darkness, you would end.

[glowingsand]

mob my son *explodes*

[divorceconnoisseur]

There's a beat of silence where they just stare at each other. Eddie's face wavers for a second before he snorts, running his hand down his face. "What are we even doing here, man?"

Steve falters, the inanity of the situation hitting him. "I, uh, I think we're about to actually fistfight over-- over who a bunch of 14-year-olds think is cooler."

Eddie considers that briefly, tapping his fingers against his mouth before nodding. "Yeah, okay, I've heard of worst causes. Dukes up, Harrington, let's go!" Eddie pushes up his sleeves and waves his fists in the air cartoonishly as he starts to circle Steve.

Steve laughs, following Eddie as he goes like a compass drawn north. "Oh yeah, man? To the death, right?"

"Of course. Is there any other kind of fight?" Eddie says, overly serious, and abruptly tackles Steve.

They wrestle for a moment, and it's playful and stupid, but it still takes Steve an embarrassingly short amount of time to get Eddie in a headlock.

"This is just sad, man," Steve teases as Eddie struggles. "Those guns just for show, then?"

"Oh shit oh shit not the hair please, please have mercy O King Steve," Eddie laughs breathlessly.

Steve considers it-- Eddie seems to take as much care in his hair as Steve does, and real respects real-- and in that moment of hesitation, Eddie hooks his leg around Steve's and pulls.

Steve yelps as Eddie cackles, dragging them both down into the grass.

He hits the ground with a choked gasp, breath knocked out of him, and he squints up at the sky, unsuccessfully trying to hold back a grin.

He turns his head to say something to Eddie but loses his breath a second time for a very different reason.

Eddie's still giggling to himself in little fits, winding down, and there's a lightness to him at this moment that Steve's never seen, only heard described by the kids pre-Vecna. Laughter suits Eddie Munson, much better than terror or guilt or seriousness, and Steve's suddenly aware that he would do anything in this moment to keep that surprised look of happiness on his face a second longer.

Eddie catches his eyes and turns his head toward him. He's got grass stuck in his hair, and Steve doesn't think before he reaches over.

It's soft. Softer than he was expecting. He's careful not to catch any of Eddie's hair as he pulls out the grass and ends up lingering longer than he means to, setting a curl back to rights before realizing that this is, like, maybe a little weird.

He jerks back, and the back of his hand brushes Eddie's cheek, which is-- which is--

Warm. Soft, too, but with the rough start to stubble, and the feeling of it lingers against his hand like a brand.

Eddie's eyes, dark and impossibly wide, watch him, quiet for once. He wets his lips before speaking, and Steve's eyes catch on that, too, before darting back up to Eddie's. Which, god, what even was that? Why-- why is he--?

"A draw, then," Eddie says, turning over onto his stomach and kicking up his feet, and the weird atmosphere vanishes like it never was. "You are a worthier opponent than I realized, Steve Harrington."

"Oh yeah?" Steve says, relieved and disappointed. "Well, you're not so bad yourself."

Eddie clicks his tongue and fans himself. "You're too kind."

Steve looks away, tracking the clouds passing overhead. "No, really. I know I haven't exactly been, y'know, the world's best welcoming committee-"

"Was pretty convinced you hated my guts, yup." Eddie agrees, nodding.

"I don't. I never did. You're just--" Steve wracks his brain, trying to fit a word to the squirming feeling in his chest that Eddie inspires. "You're really good, y'know?"

"I... don't know, actually." Eddie's voice goes flat, and when Steve turns back to look at him, he's looking at Steve like he's a live snake, or something else dangerous and close to his vulnerable bits.

"You're good with the kids. Good for the kids, too. God, Will's really opened up since he joined your dumb nerdfest. You're good with and to the girls, too, and Jonathan, and Argyle, and probably anyone else that crosses your path. You are, patently, a good dude."

Eddie's mouth opens and closes, but Steve barrels on, feeling electric and more than a little crazy. "And, and it's just-- I don't know, I just--"

"Harrington, if you're about to tell me you think I'm a better man than you, I will lose it," Eddie interrupts regardless, voice high and reedy. "I know you're being, like, genuine and honest right now, but I will laugh in your goddamn face-"

"No, it's not that."

"Okay, I know this directly contradicts what I just said, but the speed with which you said that... Ouch."

"No," Steve shakes his head, frustrated. "I didn't mean it like that. It's-- it's not a competition."

Eddie's eyebrows leap up. "It's not? I invite you to remember what we've spent the last few weeks on."

"That was just an excuse," He snaps his mouth closed the second the words leave his mouth.

"Excuse?" Eddie repeats slowly.

"I just. I don't know, man. Maybe," he swallows. "Maybe I just couldn't handle the thought of you being good to me."

"... Why not?" Eddie asks, eyes focused on him, open, not judging, and god, this is exactly what Steve was worried about.

Eddie looks at him, and Steve--

Kisses him. Can't really do anything else but kiss him.

And when Eddie, after the longest moment of Steve's life, starts kissing him back? It's like the answer to a question he hadn't realized he'd been asking.

Turns out it's not the kids' attention he'd wanted-- or not just the kids' attention, anyway.

When Eddie pulls back, lips red and wet, eyes dark and focused just on him, Steve knows he's finally won it.

[theminecraftbee]

Joe isn't looking at them, Cleo realizes. He's not looking at them, and not paying attention, which is concerning, since they're talking about Halloween decorations, and that's one of Joe's favorite things, and also about the bloody aftermath of the social game they'd just played, and that's another one of Joe's favorite things. But no--he's standing just outside of the Clocktower Village, and he's nodding along in the right places, but he's not looking at them.

They frown and tries to figure out where he's looking. His hands, mostly.

They stop talking. They take a breath. "Joe?"

"Yes, Cleo?" Joe says.

"You aren't paying attention," they say.

"I would never not pay attention to your wonderful words," Joe says.

"What were we talking about?"

"Well, blood and mayhem, mostly."

"...that's on me. I made that too easy," Cleo says. "But, Joe, if something's wrong, you can say so."

Joe is quiet.

"Or you can, like, not say anything?" they say. "I won't make you. Just, you also don't have to pretend to pay attention to me."

"Right, my bad. I'll pretend to ignore you instead."

"That's the spirit."

"Did you know I noticed the moon get big on Halloween?"

Cleo doesn't know how to respond, so they don't. They don't mean to look away from Joe, because that's rude, when he's saying something so important, but they do, a little bit, glancing up for a moment at the moon. It's large and nearly full, but there's a sliver waning away. The full moon, if they remember right, was a few days ago. They don't know why they felt like they needed to check.

"I noticed the moon get big on Halloween," Joe says again. "I mean, I didn't really. I just thought it was cool we had such a big full moon for Halloween. It made everything so much spookier, you know? It was only a little bit bigger, then. I didn't realize until later it had been getting bigger for--at least a week? Probably at least two? It grew so slowly then."

"I didn't know that," Cleo says.

"Well, I didn't say anything," Joe says. "I probably should have said something. I don't know. It's just--it's been two years now? It's been two years, and no one talks about it. I mean, sometimes in December, I guess, and at the start of the season we talked about it a little bit, but no one--I have a place in my base I'm already keeping everything important, and you and Cub have museums, and I keep on thinking that the museums are good, because if we were all gone tomorrow, and someone had to come pull something out of the rubble--is it stupid? Did it happen? Cleo, sometimes I feel like I'm crazy. No one talks about it. Maybe we shouldn't talk about it? Maybe it didn't matter? We're all fine now, we're all here, it didn't happen again, it's been two years since I had to miss you. And I love Halloween, and I noticed the moon get big on Halloween then, but it probably won't again, I mean, it was a freak thing, and, I just--does it even--did it matter, was it really bad, was it--"

He stops because Cleo's grabbed his hands, gently. They lower themselves down so they are looking Joe directly in the eyes.

"It was real. It mattered. It was bad," Cleo says.

Joe swallows and stares them in the eyes.

"I will never do that again," Cleo says.

"I won't make you promise that," Joe says. "I don't want to make you promise that."

"Okay. But it was bad. It mattered. It was bad," Cleo says.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

They stare at each other a little longer, and then slowly, Joe removes one of his hands from hers and looks back up at the sky.

"It's a waning gibbous," he says.

"That's what that's called?" Cleo says.

"Yeah," Joe says.

"Huh," Cleo says. "Sort of a boring name for a moon phase to have killed each other under, really."

Joe laughs. "You've got a point there. Not the most dramatic of moons, the waning gibbous."

"No, I can say that's not the most dramatic of moons at all," Cleo agrees, and then they are both silent for some time as they continue walking back towards Hermitcraft proper.