#the wips…. never end……..

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

hey sweetheart!

how're you? how're you doing?

just wanted to check in with you!

and also to let you know that i love your works!

your take on suguru is immaculate.

currently in love with your knight!suguru fic and your drunk!suguru fic! <3

hi anon !! wahhhhhh you’re so sweet for checking in…… T_T i’m doing just fine !!!! hoping to get some writing done this week ….. i’m gonna try my best!!

and !!!!! tysm for ur kind words :’3 it means a lot to me!! praise from sugu girlies (gn) always makes me so happy <3333 I’M OVERJOYED THAT U LIKE MY TAKE ON HIM it’s extremely self-indulgent but it is what it is yk ….

and aaaa i’m very fond of both those fics :’3 i feel so warm knowing u like them too anon !!! i’ve been writing sugu a lot lately hhh ….. but i still have lots of wips left !!! i hope they’ll live up to ur sweet praise once they’re out !!! 🌻🌻🌻

[thevoidstaredback]

Enough Caffeine to Kill an Elephant

Listen. It was an accident. He didn't mean to! It just kinda happened.

So maybe he brought a drink with enough caffeine in it to kill an elephant within a few minutes, and maybe he forgot to put the sleeve on his cup so he could tell it apart from the others, but it's not his fault! He didn't think anyone else was going to have the exact same Yeti cup as him! It's not like he'd seen any of the others carry one before. Besides, he worked with superheros. They should be smart enough to check before drinking someone else's drink.

Danny had been summoned by the Justice League Dark a few years back in order to help with a world ending crisis and he just didn't leave. It's not like he could go anywhere anyway. His ghost half hadn't grown past fourteen and his human half had stopped visibly aging at eighteen. He'd had to leave town as Danny Fenton, but he'd stayed in Amity Park as Danny Phantom. When his parents died of old age, thank god, he'd closed down the portal, stuck around for a few more years, before traveling the world as Danny Fenton.

Anyway, he'd taken up residence in the House of Mysteries after the JLD had summoned him. Constantine, at first, had been wary, but he and the rest of the JLD had grown to accept him. He was an honorary member of the team.

At some point, just after Robin had become Red Robin, Danny had been introduced to the Justice League. He liked those guys, too, and worked with them sometimes. Though, he usually only went to bug them.

Red Robin had been very interested in the fact that his was fourteen and working with grown heros, like he was one to talk, but Danny hadn't explained anything other than saying that he had died and come back. The following conversation was an interesting one that lead to Danny knowing that Nightwing was the Batman he'd met and that Batman was lost somewhere. He'd confirmed that the man was not dead, but he hadn't offered to help look for him. He probably should have, in retrospect.

Back on topic! Everyone in the JLD knew not to touch Danny's drink. They'd all seen him make it before and had been horrified on varying degrees. It's not like it could kill him. He's already half dead! So long as he only drank this specific brew as Phantom, he'd be fine.

The Justice League, apparently, didn't get the memo. He blames Constantine because Zatanna and Raven can do no wrong. No, John, he's not biased.

The point is, Red Robin just had a sip of Danny's drink. The horror he now felt was akin to the fear he held when he'd told his parents he was Phantom. (An interaction that had gone very well, thank you very much.)

Danny knew the exact moment that the vigilante realized he grabbed the wrong drink. His eyes widened to an astonishing degree, and, if he'd been able to seen his eyes behind the mask, Danny knew that the man's pupils would've completely overtaken the irises. His hands started shaking, too. Oh, no. The man's already addicted to hellish amounts of coffee. This is only going to make it worse!

Quickly, and without drawing any attention, thank the Ancients, Danny rushed over. "You, um, you okay, man?" Obviously not, but he tends to talk when he's anxious and he was certainly anxious right now. He could've possibly just killed a man via poison!

"What the fuck is in this coffee?" Red Robin asked, going to take another sip.

Danny pulled the Yeti from his hand and gave him the proper one. "Enough caffeine to kill an elephant."

"Obviously not, seeing as I'm still alive."

"Yeah, I can't tell if that's a good thing or not."

"Excuse me?"

"I-I mean-! I didn't-! You know what I mean." Caffeine is poisonous in excess, and his drink was way beyond excess, but it's the only thing that works for him as a ghost! Superpowered metabolism and all that.

"Do I?" The laugh in his voice answered for him. He took a sip from his drink and frowned at it. "I don't think any coffee will ever be enough again."

"And that's my cue to get my drink very far away from you." Danny turned, fully intent on moving to the other side of the room. Besides, the meeting was going to start as soon as the Flash and Kid Flash arrived, which would be soon. Something about one of their Rouges getting out?

"What?" Red Robin asked, "Why?" If he was a little desperate to get another sip of that coffee, he'd rather not acknowledge it.

"Because you don't need anymore lethal coffee," he muttered, "The sip you took will already keep you awake for three days at least, and it probably jump started an addiction. Best to stop it now. Besides, I need to go have my crisis on how the hell you're still alive after even a sip of this stuff."

"Again, rude." The bird themed vigilante crossed his arms as best he could while holding his cup. "If it's so dangerous, why do you drink it?"

Danny took a deliberate sip as he locked eyes with the technically younger man. "I'm dead. I don't need to worry about my heart stopping or having a seizure."

"Excuses."

"No, it's not 'excuses'. I'm saving your life."

"You're a kid. If I can't have that coffee, then you shouldn't be having it."

"First, I'm older than you. Second, I already told you: I'm dead. This isn't going to hurt me. Third, you can't tell me what to do."

"There's no way you're older than me. You're like, ten."

"I'm thirty-eight!" He balked, "I only look fourteen because I died when I was fourteen. We've been over this."

Neither noticed the entire Justice League looking at them. The two they were waiting on had arrived a few minutes ago and everyone was ready to start the meeting, but they'd been distracted by the two's conversation. Was that true? Had Phantom really died so young? They'd all been made aware he was not living, but they didn't think he'd died so young! Though, that was probably the denial speaking.

The Justice League Dark had been fully aware of this and didn't really bat an eye. Though, someone should probably get this meeting started. A potentially world ending threat was the topic, and that was a pretty important thing to discuss.

Captain Marvel was the first to pull himself together, though that was only after Atlas and Zeus had mentally slapped him out of his stupur. "As, ah, riveting as this conversation is," he stepped between the two boys- er, boy and man? "we really need to start this meeting."

Batman did not clear his throat because he'd not lost his voice in the first place. "He's right. Everyone take your seats."

Storyboard Part 2

[queenie-ofthe-void]

Playing with the idea of Steve giving Mike, Lucas, and Dustin a heads up about Eddie before they start their freshman year. About how it's in their best interest to join Eddie's friends, called Hellfire. He hypes Eddie up: how he loves DnD, sounds smart like they are when he gives his super annoying speeches. He's really into music and movies and he's got a van, maybe he'll take them to the arcade.

So now it's Eddie's first day of his third senior year, he's sitting in his normal spot in the caf with the boys, when he's bombarded with three freshman he's never seen before. They're excited to meet him. Can't stop talking about how they've heard he's cool "but in a freak way, like us", how he's so smart and funny, loves DnD. Great at sticking up for the little guy and will be able to protect them

He can't help preening a bit. Normally he's got to save the new needs himself, but apparently his reputation proceeds him. By the time they settle down, he's blushing under the weight of their praises. Definitely something he's not used to, even from his friends, to hear an entire list of reasons why he's apparently so cool.

"So, my young padawans, who spoke so highly of your new Dungeon Master?"

"Steve," Lucas replies, bouncing with excitement.

Confused, Eddie looks between the three of them. "Uhhh, Steve who?"

The curly-headed one scoffs, rolling his eyes. Pretty bitchy for a freshman, Eddie thinks. Kid's got an attitude problem.

"Steve Harrington. What, like you guys don't know him?"

Only the sounds of the cafeteria pierce the tense silence around Hellfire table. Eddie thinks he should check the guys' reactions, but he's honestly so stunned he can't force himself to move.

"Yeah, we do know him," Jeff says. "He's and asshole."

"He's not an asshole, he's awesome," Dustin screeches.

The boys continue to bicker back and forth, but they still make space for the freshies.

Eddie's got a million questions, but one more than the rest.

Does Steve Harrington think I'm cool??

~~~

Wrote a follow up fic!

[satoumafuyuss]

two EXTREMELY clingy mimirs 💤

[gros-chat-fait]

Those late 90s kids

[teacoff]

A piece of shibari Butchlander wip that no one asks. See you in October

[francy-sketches]

This is like 3 years old but I just realized I never posted it and I still kinda like it so

[comatosebunny09]

He dreams about you again.

Of course, it’s rare that he doesn’t.

He wakes up to a sea of endless blue, speckled with cotton-white clouds and something hard and textured at his back.

He’s a little groggy when he fully comes to, groaning against the grit of sand in his throat. Sits up carefully, mindful of the dull ache in his temple.

The earth beneath him rocks something steady, soothing. It takes him no time to realize that he’s on a boat, and his vision blurs and bends to make out discernible shapes and colors.

He isn’t surprised to see your back to him, silhouetted by a sky so endless. And you’re a pretty cutout, clad in flowing ivory with bared shoulders and your hair fashioned into something effortless.

The faux angel wings and halo are a nice touch, he notes with an inkling of a smile, pushing some hair out of his face and blinking away the last vestiges of sleep.

“Took ya long enough,” you say against the steady slosh of the sea below and the croak of the wooden boat.

There’s an oar in your hands. He realizes you’re rowing him to nowhere when your outline blurs, and he ingests the space beyond the dip of your shoulder.

The line between sea and sky smudges like pastel sticks. The water beneath is mirror-clear. Devoid of sea life, but it’s peaceful when he reaches over to dip a hand in, and it’s deceptively warm. He studies the ripples his fingers make a moment longer before you speak again.

“Thought you’d never wake up.”

There’s a taste of amusement lancing through your tone. Of course, you’re always like this. Playfully chiding and always so warm-toned, and he doesn’t think he’s ever heard anything so mellifluous. Makes his heart all pitter-patter-y and his cheeks all hot.

“How long have I been out?”

He’s surprised by the grittiness of his voice. Clears his throat, playing it cool as he shakes the water from his hand. Leans back in an easy slouch against the boat’s stern, watching you easily cut through the waters.

You shrug. “Who knows? Time moves different here, ya know?”

Leon finds himself shrugging behind you, fiddling with the buttons of his linen shirt. Linen pants to match, feet bare and sun-kissed.

There’s a stretch of silence between you. Not awkward, but comforting like the summer breeze kissing his skin and the peaceful rhythm of the boat meandering along the water’s surface.

“Where we off to?” asks Leon, sitting up with fingers laced and his elbows propped on his knees.

He’s genuinely curious today, though he’s not worried. It no longer alarms him when he drifts into uncharted dream worlds. Mostly because he knows you’ll never lead him astray.

“You tell me.”

He scoffs, pitching himself forward to poke the small of your back. You give a little yip, reaching back without looking to swat him away. And he wonders how you manage to keep the boat straight with just one hand.

“Alright, smart ass.”

Your responding laugh is like warm milk and honey, and he doesn’t think he could ever tire of the sound.

“Seriously, it’s your dream.”

He throws himself back against the stern, studying the sky for answers. Tries to hide a chuckle behind his hand and mask the swarm of butterflies stewing in his belly.

“Makin’ me do all the work even on my day off. You slave driver.”

Another shrug. “It pays the bills.”

Leon snorts.

“Whatever you decide to do, you better make it quick. You wanna end up on an island with talking animals again?”

He visibly shudders at the recollection. Zombies and BOWs, he could do all day. Bug hunting? Yeesh.

Never again.

[ironunderstands]

ship so good it makes me interested in omegaverse bc tell me why I now want to write omega Ratio who’s pretending to be a beta but gets found out by alpha Aventurine 😭😭

[dexalyys]

smoke break.

🚬

[halestrom]

I made this gifset in an attempt to try not write the fic. It backfired. And I am really happy with the first scene so I felt like sharing 🤷🏼‍♀️🤷🏼‍♀️

Warnings for: blood, violence, pain, underground fighting. It’s mob boss Jake and fighter Bradley.

The first punch was always the worst. The feeling of knuckles against his skin; the way his head snapped back as pain spread across his synapses; the sudden urge to run filling his bones until he felt jittery with the need; the way thought fled his mind but the training ground into his very being had his arms coming up to defend himself from a second punch. All of it happening in a split second as the crowd roared around them in muted joy at the blood he could feel trickling down his face and then the world rushed back in and Bradley was moving, dodging the next punch and instead throwing one of his own, catching his opponent high on the chin and watching as his head snapped down and he went down in slow motion.

The ref was there, arms as thick as tree trunks pressing against Bradley’s chest to push him back, the tattoos wrapped around his skin telling his story as easily as the scars on Bradley’s body told his. Still, his opponent kept falling until he hit the mat and laid there, bleeding, eyes closed as his team screamed at him to get up, to get moving, to do something as the time wound down in flashes as the crowd screamed along with the coach because they wanted more blood than they already had, spattered around the ring that looked nicer than it should have for the world it belonged in.

But that was the nature of this world. Shiny, pretty things covered in blood, a veneer over the dark underground Bradley had found himself in. It was easy to forget, sometimes, what this world could do, with its brightly lit parties, the men and women dressed to the nines with flashing jewelry and perfectly done hair, outfits that cost as much as a new home. It was all a cover for the darkness, for the jockeying for the front row on the off chance some of the blood would fly over them, a badge of pride to wear for how close to the violence they could get. Bradley had been at more than one afterparty, face bruised and nose broken, again, only to talk to people who had blood splattered over theirs, some of the women with that blood splatter having smudged lipstick which told a tale as easily as the swollen lips of some of the men.

Violence and sex, a tale as old as time.

“Ten!”

The crowd screamed it’s joy as the ref grabbed his arm and raised it over his head, bare knuckles swollen and sore, his shoulder aching from a hit he had taken, the bruises over his ribs mottled and layered in various stages of healing. But all of it faded in satisfaction as he watched the other team pull his opponent out of the way of the rush of people, clamoring to get closer to him as his name was chanted.

“Your winner for the night ladies and gentlemen, Rooster!” the MC screamed into the mike, mouth twisted in a rictus grin, tall and thin and looking like the Grim Reaper himself in his black suit and pale skin.

Bradley knew his job, he knew what he needed to do to keep the favor as he shove his other hand up in the air and dropped his head back, crowing his victory, again, and spitting out the mouth guard, grinning with bloody teeth and split lips, his cheek aching even as the ref dropped his arm and people swarmed, hands clapping him on the back, hitting muscles covered in bruises as he worked his way through the crowd, accepting congratulations and smiling for flashing phones with his arms draped around women who let their hands drop lower than he wished, like he was just something else that was part of the setting and not a real person.

Sometimes, he doubted they thought of him as a real person. It probably made it easier.

He made it back to the corner, hands still clapping him on the back, fingers finding the sore spots and bruising them but he ignored it as he took the towel from his cutman for the night, wiping his face clear, the fabric ripped away from him as soon as he was done and he let it, bracing his arms on the ropes and letting his eyes slide from the cut man who was talking to a man in a fancy suit to a man dressed in a pair of jeans and a white shirt, looking so out of place with the rest of the peacocks but despite that, he looked like he belonged.

And he did. After all, this building belonged to him, the money that changed hands came with a tax that fed back into him, securing his empire with each punch thrown and real time bet made. Jake Seresin was at the top of this world, and like every other thing in this room, Bradley belonged to him.

“Good enough for you?” Bradley asked, forcing himself to smile around aching lips.

Jake smiled back at him, small and sharp and at odds with the coldness in his ice green eyes. “Better than, sweetheart,” Jake said, voice smooth and warm and it was a balm on Bradley’s bruises as he felt some of the tension leave his shoulders.

A good fight meant a good paycheck, something better than could mean a bonus. Something Bradley could use to chip away at the bills and put some money away so when his day finally came, his parents wouldn’t be left with the debt.

“Good,” Bradley said, folding his arms and resting his chin on them.

“Taking the hit at the end was inspired,” Jake said, taking a step closer until he was looking up at Bradley, head tilted back but Bradley knew who held the power here.

Crouching until they were eye to eye, Bradley left his hands on the top rope, keeping himself steady as Jake stepped ever closer, reaching out to brush a thumb over the bruise Bradley could already feel swelling his eye closed. “Half the idiots in the room upped their ante on you getting KO’d. Idiots.”

The derision wasn’t masked, but Jake never needed to mask anything. Not with his power, not with the three bodyguards Bradley could make out, and the loyalty of half the room. Bradley shrugged when it seemed like Jake was waiting for an answer. “Wasn’t thinking,” he said, telling the truth.

Bradley didn’t think when he fought. He had an objective. Win. That was all he needed to do and anything else would get in the way. Once upon a time he had thought more, building up the tension until he struck. But that was a long time ago, a different person. He couldn’t risk being that person anymore, not when he needed to keep standing.

Jake smiled like Bradley had said something funny and leaned in, hand still cupping Bradley’s jaw, thumb pressing down on the edge on the bruise until Bradley hissed at the bloom of pain, ignoring the way his pulse pounded. “Regardless, a fight like that deserves a reward. So what do you want, darlin’?”

Money. A way out. A year without something going wrong. To get rid of the axe hanging over his mother’s neck as each month passed and her cancer stayed in remission. To go back in time and beg God a little bit harder for a miracle so Bradley wasn’t drawn into his life. He wanted a lot of things. Jake Seresin might be god in this world, but Bradley knew better than to pray to the devil.

“A good days sleep,” he said dryly, smiling at Jake who huffed, a ghost of something Bradley might almost classify as a real smile ghosting his lips for a second.

“Oh, I think we can arrange that,” Jake said, moving his hand and rubbing a thumb over Bradley’s bottom lip before dropping his hand, but not before Bradley saw the red smeared on it. He licked his bottom lip and tasted salt and copper where there had only been copper before.

“Oh yeah?” Bradley asked, tilting his head to the side, wondering what Jake meant.

Jake gave him a once over before he nodded. “Finish up and then clean up, Rooster. Meet me in my office. We’ll get you out of here before dawn.”

Bradley knew a dismissal when he heard it and he nodded, standing and ignoring the ache in his muscles as he turned back to the crowd, aware of eyes on him, once again aware of the role he needed to play as he thrust arms up into the air and crowe. It was all the crowd needed before they surged, content with the knowledge Bradley had paid his dues to the man who owned all of them and now he was fair game.

Hands grabbed him and he was pulled into the crowd, the world reduced to flashes and half heard comments and Bradley focused on it, letting himself get drawn into it so he didn’t have to think about an opponent he would never see again, and a meeting in an office that had turned him down this path and taken him from aspiring MMA fighter to Jake Seresin’s prize fighter.

[seancefemme]

ouch 🌌

[anqelbean]

tell me about your wips 👀

thank you thank you thank you nonnie I shall ramble now

One I thought of yesterday I haven't been able to put on paper yet: Shen Yuan is thrust back into the modern world after "waking up from a coma" and just. Cannot move on from Binghe. He doesn't know what would be worse: Binghe having never been real and him imagining all of it, or Binghe having been real and Shen Yuan having lost him. Everything reminds him of Binghe and he feels like he's going insane. His sister's red nail polish. The posters on his wall. Even the goddamn rice in his cupboard.

So he does the unthinkable: He starts dating his sister's gay friend to get over Binghe.

The guy is sweet and caring and funny. Shen Yuan finds himself enjoying his company. His smile looks a little bit sharp, his hair is just the right shade of brown, his eyes are bright and clear. He treats Shen Yuan well.

Time goes on, Shen Yuan thinks to himself "Wow! It worked! I haven't thought about Binghe in so long!" And then.

Well. Then.

He's in the kitchen, arms straining to reach a cup when someone hands it to him, he turns around, smiling, ready to thank—

Thank who?

Thank Binghe.

The cup in his hands shatters as it hits the floor. The boyfriend is in a frenzy, asking Shen Yuan if he's okay. There's blood, Shen Yuan was barefoot and his foot is cut pretty deeply. But Shen Yuan cannot hear anything over the buzzing in his ears.

Binghe, Binghe, Binghe,

Had he ever even stopped thinking about Binghe? How many times had he compared his boyfriend and Binghe in his mind? He looked at his boyfriend's worried expression now, his face overlapping with Binghe's in his mind. Had he ever felt anything for him, even? Had all these months together been just a distraction for Shen Yuan?

Would he ever even be able to love anyone that isn't Luo Binghe?

No, he didn't think he could.

[nart-is-a-monster]

GORGON VARIAN AU 🗣️🗣️🗣️

On this page my brain daydreamed that scene that never happened in the fic and also I fucked up that page with water oopsie 👇

Now this is about a fanfic that changed me and I will never ever ever be able to be the same again

I was planning a whole comic on my little sketchbook but then I wanted to put it on digital.... And I died bahdnsnfndmndnf I tried Lineart and I died sorry will happen again.

I exploded and fucking died (sowy Milo) ksjdjekg BUT I THINK I'll leave this be here

If someone or something or whatever gives me inhumane energy to complete all my wips then that day I'll post this as something so cool and rendered and ohhh wow omg colorrrrssss but no. I'm not completing this any time soon JDHSJFJSKGN I HAVE A JOB AGAIN AND IM IN PAIN AUGHHHH

The creator of the gorgon varian fic is the beloved Milo :3 aka @glitter-lisp

Also other stuff I did for the fic :3

This one of ulf, var and Hugo

And this one of a Hugo and varian

In case the links are upside down don't look at me

[possamble]

I absolutely really need to be writing anything but random ideas while I procrastinate and this is so awful rough bc I literally wrote it on my phone in one sitting while avoiding work but

Do you see my vision. Her Nosy Bitch Syndrome would actually be good for him when they've both chilled out a little in the postcanon.

[mmmairon]

*sound of shattering glass* diluc will adopt diona