#what the fuck had been the prompt

[rainichito]

when i say i be drawing fanart just to never ever post it

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 265

You know what would be a really fun thing? 

The Ennead, nine beings merged into giant Duck-You dragon, have ended up in a different world. How? Good question! Portal incident? Reality bending? Quirk incident? Wait, what’s a quirk? Hm. Not important surely. 

Because they might have gotten used to the fact that they, despite being a giant hydra that towers over skyscrapers, weren’t exactly noticed in their world. They lived in a city yeah, but Amity was used to their presence, y’know? And it was pretty out of the way of other cities too. 

This world? 

That Weird Thing in the Sky had been making people call heroes and authorities even before a Giant Beast ended up falling through. A giant kaiju-esque creature who flew around several cities before disappearing. 

And then it reappeared! And disappeared- and it’s back again! Someone call the heroes- no not those ones, the ones that you call when you don’t know what’s happening. Someone call the Smart ones! The ones you would get together if it was the End of the World scenario! Yes, those ones! 

People need Answers, people are panicking, what the fuck is this thing, huh? 

….

A dragon. That thing is not a Dragon! They have dragon-themed heroes! That thing is horrifying and could crush a city if it landed! Someone call the even Smarter heroes! Wait, wait not that one- 

[biillys]

BILLY WEEK → DAY ONE

i'm flesh and bone i'm a rolling fucking stone and the experts say i'm delirious

give me therapy i'm a walking travesty

all time low; therapy

[hailsatanacab]

Wip Wednesday babeeyy

eyy I've finally remembered that wip wednesday exists!! here's some proof that i'm working on something, and that something is the follower milestone gift i said i was going to do and i promise i'm doing it! i'm doing it it's happening i promise! so here's a little taster!!!! and here's Part One if you want a refresher!

And then the kid just vanishes.

In the blink of an eye, in the time it takes for him to look down, screw his face up because this is all confusing as fuck, and look back up, he’s just gone. There’s nowhere to hide, there’s nowhere to go, Jason can see everywhere around him—but he can’t see Danny.

“Well… shit."

“What, what happened?” Dickybird hisses in his ear, the unsaid, exasperated “now” very clear in his voice. 

As much as he loathes to admit it, Jason is feeling very much the same way right now. What was meant to be a simple case of “investigate the potential child abuse and put an end to it” has instead become something… less simple. When is it ever simple in his life?

Still. If working with supers, metas, vigilantes, whatever, has taught Jason anything, it’s that just because you can’t see someone doesn’t mean they’re not there.

“Hey, kid… Danny. Listen, I’m not here to hurt you and if you’re still here, if you can still hear me, then, I don’t know, do you want to get a bite to eat or something? I just want to talk. I just want to figure out what’s happening.”

Jason doesn’t hold his breath. 

Okay, no, that’s a lie. Jason holds his breath, but he swears he’s holding it so he can more accurately hear if Danny is still around. That’s all it is, he’s not attached to this kid already. He’s not.

When no answer comes—not even a whisper of a breath or the scuff of a sneaker on the pavement—he suppresses a frustrated growl and opts instead to breathe deeply and pinch the bridge of his nose.

“So…” Tim begins, drawing out the word.

The urge to growl—hell, the urge to pull out his comms and smash them on the floor—grows.

“The kid’s a meta, then. Potential powers including but not limited to: invisibility or teleportation. You think he’s still there?” There’s no reason for the kid to still be around, not at all. If it was Jason, he’d have scattered as soon as he realised the stranger impersonating his dad wasn’t the guy he thought was impersonating his dad, and honestly, wasn’t that extra fucked up? That someone impersonates people in this town often enough that it’s not a surprise? The way Danny spoke about him… What was his name?

Amorpho. Amorphous. Without shape. 

A shapeshifter?

Whatever. It’s a mystery for another time, because there’s still a more pressing mystery in front of him.

Or,. rather, not in front of him.

Yes, there’s no reason for Danny to still be here, but…

Jason sighs. 

“I’m going to Bat—Nasty Burger. Really? Is that the best burger joint here? Nasty Burger? Whatever, I’m going to get some fucking fries.”

Jason feels fucking stupid talking the air like this. He must look fucking stupid, too, but the thing is… There’s a prickling on the back of his neck, a rolling taste of green on his tongue when he glances through his peripheral, the vague weight of an unseen eyes on him. 

Call it wishful thinking, call it a hunch, call it something else, but Danny’s still here.

“There’ll be a burger waiting for you, too, if you want it. My treat.” Jason turns in a full circle, examining everything in his surroundings. Nothing seems out of place, nothing screams wrong to him. “I just want to talk.”

He waits for a full minute with no success, which makes Jason feel even more stupid, before clicking his tongue and making his way to the, hopefully ironically named, Nasty Burger.

[good-beanswrites]

Could you write a drabble for Mikoto and Shidou plus Blood? This request miiight be inspired by the fact that Mikoto mentions his body hurting a lot but doesn't seem to be receiving any medical treatment, either because Mahiru and Fuuta take priority or because there's no obvious cause, and therefore cure, to his pain...

👀👀👀 Thank you, this is such a good combo ough!! It's so interesting how much focus the others get when it comes to physical health, since Mikoto has clearly complained of his condition :( It looks like Milgram is trying to push the idea that he's completely oblivious to his alters, but I spun it where he's aware, just deep in denial. So have some Mikoto angst to get us hyped for Double!

Mikoto should be grateful. He was lucky. That’s what he kept repeating to himself. He had both of his eyes intact. Both his arms. He was strong enough to walk around freely. He wasn’t on the verge of death, or collapse. Thus, he should be grateful no one was offering him any help, because it meant he didn’t need it. He repeated it again. Maybe this time he would believe it.

With a groan, his body rolled out of bed. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d woken up actually feeling rested. Everything ached. His muscles tightened with soreness. His throat felt as raw as his knuckles, though he hadn’t been using either. He had no desire to lift his arms over his head, or twist around too much, so he didn’t change out of yesterday’s uniform. Maybe the belts and buckles had made it difficult to sleep. The theory wasn’t a convincing one, but dwelling on things like that had never gotten him anywhere.

He ran his fingers once through his hair, combing out a bit of the mess. Looking in a mirror was the last thing he needed. He made his way to the dining hall. 

The others trickled in for breakfast. His appetite, at least, hadn’t suffered. He hardly noticed the others giving him wide-eyed stares. What were they expecting? Of course he was looking worse for wear, given the circumstances. He ignored them, glad to focus on the hot meal before him.

A hand weighed heavy on his shoulder.

“Mikoto,” Shidou’s voice may have remained calm, but it was urgent. “Do you need some help?”

“Huh?” He shrugged his hand away, offering a weak smile. “I’m fine! Oh, I think Kazui was saving a seat for you over there, if you --”

“-- How about we go to my cell for a moment? Or yours, if that would be more comfortable.”

What was everyone’s problem this morning? Mikoto did his best to keep his voice pleasant. “Really, man, I’m good.” 

Shidou’s expression remained unmoving. Very carefully, he informed him, “you’re bleeding. Pretty badly by the look of it. You’re coming with me.” 

Mikoto blinked. He looked over his shoulder, following Shidou’s gaze. The back of his uniform was torn across the center. A significant splotch of blood seeped into the material, growing even larger as he shifted to see it. 

“...Oh…” 

Back in Shidou’s cell, sad to have left his breakfast plate behind, he slumped into a chair. Shidou gathered together some supplies. As always, he got right to the point. “What happened?”

“I… I’m not sure. I don’t remember anything from last night. I don’t remember most nights, recently. I know that sounds crazy, but…”

“It’s fine. I have definitely heard crazier.” He smiled, something gentle and reassuring. As usual, there was something hidden behind his eyes. It was as if he already knew what Mikoto was up to late at night that earned him so much soreness the following days. He didn’t offer an explanation, though. Mikoto didn’t press him for one.

He winced as he was helped out of his uniform. Removing his shirt revealed the mysterious gash. Shidou’s eyes widened at the array of scratches and scars. Some were fresh, but most originated long before Milgram. Though he didn’t ask, Mikoto answered.

“I’m pretty clumsy, huh?” Maybe this time he would believe it. 

Shidou was kind enough to pretend to. “Here, allow me…”

Shidou got to work cleaning and dressing the injuries. Mikoto closed his eyes. Even though the disinfectant stung, and sometimes those gloved fingers pressed a little two hard, it felt nice to have things patched up. 

“Is there anything else going on? Are you feeling pain anywhere else?”

Mikoto could have laughed. He didn’t. “I’m just sore. And my head’s been killing me, but I’m used to migraines. Perks of the verdict, I’m sure.”

Shidou hummed in thought. 

“Thanks, by the way. I’ll try to be more careful.” Not that he had much choice in the matter, it seemed. But he’d do his best. 

Shidou kept his face straight, but there were traces of pain in his voice. “I will too. I’m sorry, Mikoto. If I had known… I’ve been distracted lately, but I should have paid closer attention.”

“It’s fine,” he flashed a grin. “I know the others are pretty fucked up. And I’m not dying or anything. I’m lucky, you know?”

“I wouldn’t say so. Doctors don’t only treat the dying.”

Mikoto frowned. 

It didn’t take much longer to finish treatment. Shidou gave him a few instructions about the bandages, then offered him a clean shirt. “You’re good to go. I’ll be checking in more often, now. I’ll see if I can find something for your head.” 

“Thanks. Really.”

He returned Mikoto’s torn uniform. “You should talk to Es about getting a new one. Until then, you’ll want to clean this with --”

Mikoto waved a dismissive hand, heading out of the cell. “Don’t worry, I know how to wash blood out of my clothes. Er, that sounds bad. I’m just a clutz, yeah? The blood’s always been my own.”

Maybe this time he would believe it.

[ballsballsbowls]

In case you think "best job I've ever had" means "good job," I walked through the door tonight and paused thoughtfully before I blurted out, in response to asking how my day was:

"I'm seriously considering running away and digging ditches for a living. Operating a forklift. Joining the circus. Anything to never speak to the people I am providing services for again."

[ninjafuuzz]

Hoffstrahm AU kinda thing idk

CW for mental health issues and su!c!de

OK LISTEN

What if post-glass coffin Hoffstrahm AU where Hoffman spares Strahm bc he pussies out at the end and couldn’t bear seeing Strahm die after his arm was starting to snap. Hoffman fixes him up (does a lowsy job at it ofc), Strahm miraculously survives the injury , he gets kidnapped and thrown in some cabin in the countryside where Hoffman feeds him and stuff, keeping him alive. Peter, still shell-shocked and helplessly incapacitated, stays with him. So Strahm lives but is so PTSD-ridden he can’t even function normally, he gets paranoia and panic attacks and practically depends on Hoffman like a little child.

LIKE okay I know this is kinda another typical “Strahm-survives” kind of premise for a fic but listen. While Hoffman, who is, at the time, still the cold-blooded selfish murderer that he is, initially treats Strahm like a dog and lets him live out of mere pity, he SLOWLY realises, through his actions, that he actually wants to care and protect this utterly broken man who’s a result of his doings, and inevitably falls in love. (cue the florence nightingale effect) Hoffman begins cooking him meals, from imprisoning him inside the home to walking with him everyday when the sky’s clear, washing his hair, showing him his favorite films or music, letting Peter sleep in his arms whenever he has a nightmare.

I suppose we could imagine Strahm being so traumatised and wounded he’s drained of his usual rationality and temper and that’s why he lets Hoffman baby him. But of course Strahm isn’t COMPLETELY broken. His symptoms lessen, he gets better but still has frequent attacks. After some time he regains his usual wit and nature. At one point of course he simply realises what’s been happening and goes batshit angry. Hoffman sympathetically and patiently works it out with him. Strahm resists at first, perhaps by trying to kill Hoffman and escape or even attempting k!ll!ng himself. After trial and error and lots and lots of blood sweat and tears, Strahm starts realising that Hoffman genuinely cares… and not out of pity, but love. His mental instability and wanted status leaves him crawling back to Hoffman whenever he tries to run away.

Eventually Hoffman stops killing and cuts ties with Kramer. All his resentment and vengeance now replaced by his attachment to Peter. As for Strahm, he takes a tad longer to give in, and to accept the fact that he’s actually content and at peace when he’s with Hoffman and break through the moral boundary(aka the fact that Hoffman used to be a reckless bloodthirsty killer). Hoffman pretty much retires and wants to pursue a different way of living with Strahm.

And after everything, they end up becoming two runaways living in a wooded cabin surrounded by forests and mountains, secluded from a tiny town where they work together among the locals, indifferent to the past they’ve left behind. They’d go hiking and fishing, watch all the shitty films Mark would bring home, plant a garden, cut lumber, play-fight and cuddle in grass fields. Mark tending to Peter whenever he gets a panic attack, Peter learns to get used to receiving such solace. Slowly it becomes this usual, domestic thing between them. Perhaps one day one of them would propose to the other. Perhaps they’d grow old together, too.

-

P/S i was listening to The Bug Collector by Haley Heynderickx when I had this thought. i suppose i kind of saw this poetic analogy between “the bug” and Strahm’s chronic issues and inner conflicts that Hoffman wants to get rid of while Hoffman is the “bug collector” so to speak??.. idk interpret it however you will but this song truly inspired the whole mess. kinda fitted the misty earthy mountains vibe i was going for with this prompt too. really suggest you guys give the song a listen its beautiful. i also suggest checking out the genius annotation of the lyrics

[kriz-smthn]

Listen

I love Sun Summoner!Kaz fics just as much as the next guy over, but the fact that canonically Kaz is a language illiterate little shit is just such a funny thing to me that I HAD TO

[fooltofancy]

had the longest, most honest conversation about belief with my dad today and on the one hand god is it exhausting because they've gone to such an insane place christianitywise, but also? the fuckin growth this man has gone through just to be able to have that conversation is so. it's not comforting, but god is it something to be able to have that conversation period without shouting and tears and just. walking away from it so unfulfilled every time.

[quirkle2]

4 with Warriors? :D

what's he excited about !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[expression challenge]

[throttlegainwell]

Milestone Celebration

So, turns out I'm about to have over half a million words posted on ao3 (not counting anything I've got floating around anywhere else on the internet, more recently or from forever ago). I know that's not a huge deal for some people (especially over a whole decade), but it's pretty cool to me.

In honor of that, plus my most prolific writing year on record (no really I've never written this much creative work in one year, this consistently), I'm doing a little prompt/request event. So feel free to send something in (some kind of prompt or an actual specific request), if there's something you think you'd like, and we'll see where it goes!

There's really not much I absolutely won't write, so in the interest of having the loosest, lowest-effort parameters possible, the only request is this: if it's a fandom you see I've written for before (like it's on my ao3 works page), then that fandom is fair game. No preferences other than that. (And I will give anything an honest shot, though it may take me some time and I can't absolutely promise results.)

I've seen other people do stuff like this before, and it looks like fun, so I figured I'd give it a shot. No pressure. (I'm very shy and I very rarely come up with prompts on demand, so I get it.)

[thestarlightsymphony]

I cant choose between 39, 36 and 32 so I'll let you decide! (from the soft prompts)

39. There should be a word for a threat that is also a promise.  Because that is what I want you to hold me down and do. (I love you)

“If I were to leave one of these days, without telling you, what would you do?”

“Mmm... what?”

It wasn’t a fair question, and it doubly wasn’t an appropriate moment to ask it, but Faye didn’t care. This question always haunted her too late in the night, when her eyes should be heavy but she was wide awake, restless in her own head.

She wasn’t trying to test him. She used to want to, given their natures, as if she actually needed some greater proof of his love or loyalty. That was years ago, when they were younger and more foolish. More reckless.

Now? She was just curious. Scared, but willing to accept whatever answer he gave.

Because she thought about it sometimes. When she got tired and restless, itching for some new thing, any new thing, she thought about picking up where she left off and running away. It wasn’t like there was nothing for her here, it’s just here was too comfortable sometimes.

She loved comfort, but she could feel some piece of herself slipping away, sharp edges of her identity jabbing and aching as they left without her.

“If I left, Spike... what would you do?”

There was no good answer. No right way to make her feel better or worse. If he said nothing, he’d be damned. If he opened his mouth, she might cry.

Spike thought quietly in the darkness, his arm wrapped around her comforting and suffocating.

“I would miss you, but I wouldn’t stop you.”

His breath on her forehead felt like home. Her last home was currently a pile of ash and rubble.

“Whatever you need to do for yourself is your choice to make. I’m not going to stop you leaving, if that’s what you need. If I see you again, I can’t promise what kind of person I’ll be, either, but I won’t hate you for it.”

Spike’s arm retreated and he moved back slightly, just enough to take her face in his hands and wipe the tears from her cheeks. “I’m not going to ask if you’re leaving. I won’t ask you to stay, either. I don’t know what this is about, but if you need to go, there’s no stopping you. There’s never been a person in the whole universe who could stop you if you wanted something.”

Faye hiccuped, trying to blink away more tears. “I think about it sometimes,” she confessed. “What if there was? What if I need to be stopped?”

Spike smiled, a warm and firm smile. “I trust you too much to stop you.”

After a moment, he kissed her forehead. “If you asked me to chase you, I would. In a heartbeat, I would. But don’t ask me to stop you.”

Faye buried her face in his chest, allowing herself to be re-enveloped in his arms. “I don’t want to be stopped.“

“I know.”

“Would you really chase me?”

“In a heartbeat. But you would have to ask. I’m not a mind-reader, Faye; if you leave without a word, I won’t follow you. I trust you to do what you need to do. If you want to be followed, you have to give me something to know.”

“... Would you really not follow me if I didn’t say anything?”

“... No. But trust me, you don’t need to know that.”

Faye smiled to herself, the pressure finally easing from her chest.

Trust... it almost feels like like a threat, more than a promise. But this threat has no knives. Only heartbeats that are free.

[dullahandyke]

Man ik I'm preaching a point nobody rlly gives a shit about but like. You guys know that 'dont make fun of people you dislike for their physical characteristics' extends to neckbeards right? Right?

[weaselshaped]

Accidentally discovered some deeply embarrassing Tumblr posts I made/reblogged five or more years ago but I also finished freaking out and did some emails toward finding out what steps I can realistically take toward top surgery because as you may have noticed it turns out I cannot actually keep going like this forever. So I guess something useful got done

[hannibalismos-jaaneman]

i read a hannigram fic last night where op decided it was an okay thing to mention vatsyayana and my brain chemistry is fucked now.

[soulless-bex]

half bloods are gathering in the middle of new york, trying to think of the best way to go about the upcoming battle as they move the unconscious mortals out of the way. the less there are in the middle in the street, the less casualties there’s going to be.

percy and annabeth were making their way toward the hotel the other athena kids had set up their headquarters in when they heard it: a faint twip that would have gone unnoticed in the otherwise loud city, but stood out oddly in the current unnatural silence.

it’s as they looked around for whatever could have possibly made that sound, already on the defensive as they expected it to be an enemy attack, that they saw it. or him would probably be more fitting.

crouched on the ledge of a building, looking wary, was none other than the infamous spider-man.

percy stood in a stunned silence for a moment before he started giggling, which quickly turned into a full belly laugh.

at the same moment, not far from them, the stoll brothers started chanting:

“ONE OF US ONE OF US ONE OF US-”