#where did this prompt come from?

[purplefeathersandblackleather]

Your hands trembled as he stepped up to the edge of the stage where you stood. His blue eyes changed to a shade of green as they locked onto you and saw how nervous you were as you glanced at him, holding out the money to him. He knelt down, getting on all fours and his body moved with the grace of a large cat as he crawled to the edge of the stage where you were. The cheers and whistles around the room were drowned out as he reached out and took your chin in his hand, guiding you to raise your head so his eyes could meet yours and take in the color.

"Look at me when you tip me, beautiful one," he whispered in a sultry voice, brushing your cheek with his thumb. "Put the money in my collar."

"O-o-okay," you mumbled, your face aflame as you reached up and tucked the money into the brown leather next to the eye shaped medallion on the front of his throat. Your eyes never left his even as he slipped something from his glove and put it behind your ear.

"Call me sometime" the stripper said, winking at you and your knees nearly gave out. "I'll show you why I'm called Doctor Strange."

_

@fanartka @sobeautifullyobsessed

Okay so, I keep seeing this #A Study In Blue and I don't know if it's from these two or someone else, but for some reason, my brain decided to tag a story to that. Basically the idea I have is that the reader broke up with their lover of years and have been reclusive. It was a hard break up but it was good for them, even though they're not taking it well. Finally, some of the Avengers are like "Okay, no more moping around. We're going out"

They take the reader to an establishment called Providence Tower which turns out to be a strip club for trans folk. It's here that the reader meets the most sought after dancer of the establishment: Eldritch Mage. Our lovely dancer also has another alias: Doctor Strange and he's only keen on sharing that with the reader in private it seems.

What do you guys think?

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Danse Macabre

[Commission]

[skyshipper]

@PSCENTRAL​ EVENT 22: 2023 WRAPPED PEDRO PASCAL CHARACTERS AS PRESENTS

[spielzeugkaiser]

[First Part] - [second]

Baby (who still has no name) is warming up to Geralt, who also starts to connect some dots. (Like, I think he suspects that he's Jaskiers son, adopted or otherwise, but he won't even humor the idea that he could be the dad.) That being said - the kid is an angry teenager sometimes. Jaskier tried all he could as a single parent and they have a very loving relationship, but I also think they do argue quite a bit, and there is some tension.

And the more he gets to learn how Geralt truly is the weirder is gets, cause. He's a good guy? And either Jaskier is petty and was too dramatic and kept him from meeting his dad for nothing, or Geralt isn't a good guy AT ALL and has hurt Jaskier really bad, and he doesn't think Geralt has it in him, but some people (and especially alphas) get really weird and archaic around omegas? And he had to witness again and again, with how little respect his unbonded, single father of a bastard child was treated - is Geralt like that too? But Jaskier still only ever talked somewhat kindly about him. And from all he saw... he trusts Geralt. He's a quiet, but witty and honorable man. But is it fair to doubt the parent that was there for him, that raised him, that sacrificed so much for him? The poor kid is so conflicted.

[wisteriagoesvroom]

Charlos au where carlos is a resident of a politically destroyed country and charles is a hitman and carlos needs his help to kill the politicians and restore his country and they pretend as a married couple BUT ALONG THE WAY—

i was like “oh god not more prompts” and was gonna mentally nope out of this. but THEN i had a vision of hitman/huntsman carlos paying a visit to royal charles’s accommodation — in this fantasy-ish AU charles is the heir to the kingdom that follows matrilineal lines and gender presentation is less rigid. and anyway i digress. point is:

carlos is in charles’s room, high in a castle tower. the fireplace is crackling and carlos had to fight off almost a dozen henchmen to even get here, but for now they are indispensed and unlikely to bother carlos or charles for the next several hours at least.

charles has been hiding an important diplomatic fact about his family (a freshly negotiated alliance with the hamiltons, a formidable line on their own, one of the most respected and coolly ruthless) that may alter the balance of power as they know it.

carlos is aware of that charles has this secret, that he is likely bethroed to another, because it’s a political marriage. and maybe he knows that charles knows that he also knows, so really it’s a triple bluff.

so carlos has come to the room to seduce charles and see how far he can push the other man. he leans into his heartbreaker/debonair persona and seduces the socks off charles. backing charles onto a chaise sofa, leaning into his space, eyes flickering over his body, voice all husky: “we both know you’ve wanted this, cabrón.”

“did i?” charles whispers. head tilting in carlos’s hands, jaw moving under carlos’s fingers as he speaks. carlos remembers the last time he felt this sensation. it was an injured deer he had found in the forest, before his men made the mercy kill with a knife.

“when were you going to tell me about king hamilton?” carlos asks.

what does he have that i do not? carlos doesn’t say. his mind echoes with the answers. a treasury. an army. safe harbour, fortified by unfathomable power — so much so that charles would never need to run from anything again.

charles remains very stil in carlos’s hands. he only blinks once, slowly, like a cat trying to prove it is not a threat. carlos knows better. he has travelled far from these lands, you see. he knows that there are large cats, not like here. ones that swish their tails just like kittens, but they are to be feared.

“carlos. this game is so much bigger than you could understand.”

that angers carlos. the reminder that he has been a pawn. so he leans his body over charles, pushing charles’s back into the chaise with a thump. he towers over charles, wills him to feel his hardness, his rage, his fear.

it is a corruption of the way they once laid together, summer day in a field far away, on a previous trip when he was assigned special royal guard. no entourage, just the two of them, a quick disappearance from the city in a politically fraught time. they went west, all disguised, so nobody knew charles’s name. and carlos wishes he could have just a minute of that day back. he wonders what he might do with that minute, now.

carlos leans down, and they kiss. carlos holds back at first, then doesn’t, mouth challenging charles’s, heated, bordering rough, willing him to challenge back.

charles is icy as a surface of a lake.

when they break apart, carlos is breathless. charles keeps his hands on carlos’s shoulders, but it feels mechanical, a rote dance with a nameless suitor. carlos knows charles, knows the mask he puts on when he truly retreats inside himself. for a necessary performance, for self protection. and carlos hates it.

“was any of this even real to you?” carlos spits.

charles’s eyes are open, then. and sad. embers burning through coal before it dims again.

“would it make a difference to you, if it was?”

[spotsupstuff]

here's a neat vid, go watch it if you haven't yet

there's Some things that i don't completely agree with personally, like attributing the Third sin to Materialism rather than Connection (i'd argue that the Ancients had no big issue with being materialistic, considering their golden attires and such- and that going with Connection overall better addresses both the core of Materialism and relationships overall) and then attributing the word Dynasty specifically to asian cultures but that's more history/word definition beef more than anything djgklsjlcgjkd

oh how i'd love to have a debate with this guy about Ancients...

[disaster-catalyst]

another dp x dc prompt that will not leave my brain unless I write it down :

tim drake in a desperate attempt to save/revive a loved one (can be batman, superboy, or whoever else) turns to the ghost king for help

danny, meanwhile, already have been warned by clockwork to not meddle with this particular timeline decides instead to help in some other means

[field-s-of-flowers]

The inclusion of Hermes as a father figure rather than a narrator in Hadestown is the single best thing Anaïs Mitchell could possibly have done for the framing of her story in this essay I will-

[weepylucifer]

15. for the writing prompt?

15. "No worry, you weren't that obvious."

They meant to have a quiet evening in the meeting room today, just Steban and Uli by themselves. Not even a proper reading group meeting, just dinner and some coffee, sitting together and studying, maybe talking over this week's coursework at most. But then there was a knock on the metal grille and a voice hissing the passphrase, and that strange cop who was here once already entered again with his friend in tow.

The gendarme in the disco clothes just wants to talk, brainstorm new thoughts he's internalized. The other one remains inscrutable, hanging back and only occasionally pitching in with some sarcastic comment, not precisely very constructive. Ulixes ponders the man and finds he doesn't trust him. Why did he even come back here with his friend, if he has nothing but disdain for Mazovian thought? Why the orange airman jacket, which seems almost like a mockery? Is he observing them, just waiting for a reason to take them in? For all his bravado, Ulixes isn't sure he actually wants to go to jail for the cause, at least not before he's had the chance to engage in some real action.

So Ulixes watches the airman jacket cop right back, and feels a growing, restless unease in his mind, like something poking at the tender meat of his brain. A tension headache is coming on, like a storm brewing.

Now, the disco cop and Steban are getting into a debate - or rather, the disco cop is trying to debate whether or not a police officer, indirectly employed by the Moralintern, could be a socialist revolutionary. He's citing the origins of the RCM, the way they still rely on the decomptage system. Surely that's something, right? Proof that the RCM can be whipped up into a bona-fide communism-building force? Ulixes leaves the talking to Steban, knowing he's more than capable of handling this topic by himself. Still, it only irritates him more. He begins to bounce his leg, work off the gathering nervous energy, until Steban puts a warm, calm hand on his knee. It soothes him, but only slightly. Storm clouds swirl.

Only a week ago, this cop and his colleagues dragged a communard holdover off one of the little islets in the bay and arrested him for the murder of a fascist mercenary. A grizzled old man, decrepit, delirious, barely alive. Ulixes wasn't there to personally see it, but Steban happened to be dropping off his laundry with the washerwoman in the fishing village when it happened. He told Ulixes all about it. He doesn't know, he said, if that old man was really a murderer, and it doesn't really matter one way or the other. What he does know is that the whole thing was a shameful display.

A communist cop. Sure.

Now the cop in the airman jacket makes another one of his dry little quips. Was he there when they hauled that old man off to die in a cell? It truly does not matter if the old man was a killer, or indeed a communard. He was a vagrant whom no one would miss, and the RCM needed results. Rumor is they extracted a confession on that islet. Is that true? No one can tell.

Ulixes shakes his head and refocuses on the conversation. Some comment has just been thrown Steban's way, some humorous barb (the humor is questionable) about how Steban is inexperienced, young, not worldly like these seasoned cops who've seen it all on Revachol' streets. Who've seen real action. It's patronizing. It's cloying. Worst, it makes Steban flush and quieten, hits him where he lives. Ulixes is seething.

How dare they make fun? Sure, Steban might not have done an awful lot of revolutionary praxis. But he's trying his best! He's not some naive child, he grew up poor in Revachol West too, he knows exactly how the world is, yet still he hopes! It is a hope that is hard-won! It is among the most respect-inducing things Ulixes knows. He's ready to pounce on those men from his perch, go for their jugulars, bite and tear and see a spray of arterial blood speckle the walls, splash all the way over here across Steban's pretty face...

Steban's hand on his knee squeezes once. He glances back at Uli, checking in, but also gently warning. "It's okay," he murmurs and turns back around.

Why is Steban still humoring these men? Why won't he just tell them to leave, go out and never come back? Is he afraid that there'll be consequences, that the nice, jovial officer with the Mazov-like mutton chops will stop being so nice the moment he's not getting what he wants out of them? Or does he really, actually see potential here? Ulixes takes a deep breath through his nose and reminds himself that successful revolutions tend to hinge on getting the military or, yes, police on-side. Maybe Steban is thinking in similar patterns here.

Steban can, in fact, recover. He regains control of the conversation, trades a mild jab back at the expense of the cops (something Uli doesn't quite get about growing up in Villalobos and knowing the RCM only as... something in someone's poppy fields). The disco cop seems a bit taken aback by the lack of enthusiasm for the revolutionary RCM that exists in his mind. His friend, Uli notices, is watching his reactions, eyes intent and hawkish behind those spectacles. A foot taps once, twice, thrice, and then is reined back in. For a second, one gloved hand drifts over to where a gun would be holstered, then is twitched away to ball into a fist at the man's side. He is watching, Uli realizes, for things to defend his partner from.

Self-recognition in the Other does not calm Ulixes down. It only tells him where his enemy is. He is facing a known constellation: a Sensitive Instrument and a self-styled protector thereof, it being known to them both that sensitive men require a line of defense against the harshness of a world they have no innate mental shields against. And Uli's going to defend his one better. He's going to win. He doesn't care that the other one has a gun. This is his primary target, and he's ready to maul.

He keeps his gaze fixed on said target, and almost misses the debate winding down.

"I suppose we've reached an impasse," Steban says not unkindly, folding his hands on his lap, and

"Yeah, well, much to think about," the disco cop relents.

"Detective..." his partner begins, at the same time Ulixes says, "Steban."

Steban tilts his head. The disco cop raises an eyebrow. Some unspoken communication passes between them, and then the disco cop says, "Yeah, me and Kim should probably head back home."

"Kim and I," Ulixes hears as the cops file out of the room, and he is alone with Steban at last.

Relief is slow to come. In the new quiet of the meeting room, Ulixes vibrates, wound so tight he feels near combustion. "I was going to kill that man," he gets out past clenched teeth. "I was going to kill that police officer."

"Yes, I know," Steban says, so casually that Ulixes is certain that indeed, he does know. "No worry, you weren't that obvious. I don't think they noticed."

A kind lie. A politeness.

Uli's breath is still coming quickly, his hands clenching and unclenching in powerless rage. He still trembles. Trying to suppress it is nearly painful, making him feel like he will surely shake apart. His jaw feels fused shut with the force with which he's grit his teeth.

Steban, of course, sees this. His hand settles back on Uli's knee, still just as warm and soothing. "Shh. It's okay, they're gone. Nothing happened. You can calm down."

The touch is nice, but not enough. "Steban... I, I might need..."

"Yes, I know." This isn't new. Steban knows what Uli needs when he gets in his own head like this, when the world is too much, too loud and too hot and too wrong, and he feels like boiling from the inside. Momentarily, he finds himself being eased down from his perch on the backrest and being made to lie down on the sofa proper. Steban unceremoniously sits on his legs and proffers a hand.

Ulixes grabs it in both of his, brings it up to his mouth and bites down.

Steban lets out a muffled little grunt as Uli's teeth sink into his flesh, but barely winces. He knows this feeling well already. He lets his index and middle finger rest on Uli's tongue, depressing it slightly, and keeps them there as Ulixes begins to furiously suck and gnaw upon them. That's good, for a moment, but he still needs something more.

He reaches for Steban and whines, and Steban removes his fingers, slick with saliva. "Yes? What is it?"

"I... can I...?" Ulixes pleads with his eyes, and grasps Steban's hips in both hands, tucking his thumbs into his belt loops.

"Of course, but give me a moment first," Steban says. "Not quite there yet."

'A moment' is taking too long. Ulixes strokes Steban through his pants, helps him along, and Steban tips his head back and sighs, pleasured, as Ulixes feels him firm up. At long last, he's permitted to tug Steban's pants and underwear down, watch his cock spring free, and immediately attach to it, swallow it down as deep as it will go.

The firm weight on his tongue is exactly what he needs. Indulging this need soothes and cools like nothing else, just something about having his mouth full, his one definitive goal to focus on... but not too much. He doesn't want to bring Steban off too quickly. Better yet to draw it out, feel Steban get hard in his mouth, feel him start to leak and finally spill himself over... not yet. Not yet time for that. For now he will be excellently well-used for Steban's pleasure, for now he'll lick and suckle and drool and not think. Lose himself in base fulfillment, hazily aware of the satiated little whimpers he's making as he inches downwards trying to take as much as he can. Above, Steban moans and huffs but he's far away. A surplus of spit runs into Ulixes' beard but that's okay.

His mouth busies. His mind empties. There is only sensation now which Ulixes must seek blindly. He closes his eyes and relaxes his throat and allows bliss to wash over him.

[theragethatisdesire]

I’M ACTUALLY EARLY ENOUGH TO PARTICIPATE IN THIS YAY 😭😭

okay okay okay so i’m thinking 236 with plug!eren. i feel like he’d love to see you wearing his things like wearing his hoodie after six could easily start up a round two.

and then that last chapter got me thinking abt 116 w/ him too, i can’t wait to see a more possessive/protective side to him in the future possibly 👀 that “my girl” had me feeling things lol

and then 8 for jean. i have no specific reason, he’s just sexy and i’m impulsive so i wanna fuck him there, but he’s also tall as hell so it would be a struggle for him LMAO

this was just an excuse to talk to you abt plug!eren and jean, please don’t think i’m expecting drabble from you i just wanna ramble 😭😭🥹

DLFADLFDA hi bestie!!!! you're so full of ideas i literally love it so much i just.....you're so right. ESP about plug!eren he's so possessive on the low and he tries to hold himself back but he can't always help himself. like, he def has you dressed up all in his little hoodies and t-shirts and you're always covered in little bites and bruises and hickeys and going through dozens of bottles of concealer and he absolutely gets you a little necklace with an E charm on it like that's not canon but it's canon <333 i LOVE him!!!!

but your idea with jean....i....i simply couldn't resist....

NSFW below the cut >:)

The first thing you learned about Jean Kirschstein was that his ego knows no bounds. He isn't a selfish person, quite the opposite, actually, but as the starting pitcher for Paradis University's top-ranking baseball team, he has a constant supply of ego-fueling screams from the stands to keep his self-image bloated and well-fed.

Hundreds of girls screaming their name would make any man unreasonably confident, but Jean has the gall to blame his borderline-conceit on you of all people. You expect me not to have a big head when I have a girlfriend this gorgeous? C'mon babe, be serious.

Jean's favorite way to feed his ego, by extension, is by taking you anywhere he wants, any time. Considering that he leaves your legs shaking and your voice raspy, you're not one to complain, but this tendency of his does force you into some rather suspect situations.

Take tonight, for example. The Paradis Devils pulled a 5-3 victory off over the Marley Warriors, their conference rival, and it was, frankly, mostly thanks to Jean's signature curveball pitch. When he eyed you in the stands from the pitch, a toothpick sticking out from his smirk and a dark glint to his smile that only you knew how to interpret, the deafening cheers in the stadium faded to a low hum in comparison to the rush of blood to your face.

"Jean, we're going to get caught-"

"Sh," Jean hushes you, shoving you none-too-gently against the door of his flashy pickup truck, "who cares?"

"Me," you whine pitifully into his mouth, already limp and malleable in his strong hands.

"Not going to help me celebrate my victory? You know you're the reason we won," Jean mouths his way down your neck, pulling a whimper from you, "do it all for you, baby."

"But there's people around Jean, the game just let out."

"Hop in, then," Jean smacks your ass playfully, "windows are tinted, remember?"

As if you don't know the windows are tinted, not after Jean's last game, the baseball banquet, your Honor's Society awards dinner...you acquiesce him with a roll of your eyes, clambering up into the backseat.

Jean follows you, hazel eyes hooded and hungry and hat backwards on his head, never letting his hands drift from you for long. He wrestles his jersey off before climbing in, tossing it carelessly into the passenger seat and laying his long body over yours. He reaches back and fumbles for the door handle, finally finding purchase and swinging it closed, only to accidentally thwack his leg, shooting his body forward and consequently knocking your head into the opposite door.

"Fuck."

"Ow!"

"Car sex always looks so much easier in the movies," Jean winces, shaking his head.

"Then why can't we just wait until we get home? Your apartment's only five minutes away," you giggle, only half-meaning your words when Jean's muscled torso is pressing into your heated skin.

Jean doesn't answer at first, instead dipping his hand down to rub insistently over your clothed, pulsing cunt. He chuckles darkly at your responding moan, the way your hips buck up desperately into his hand, betraying your words.

"If you think you're getting out of this car without my cum dripping down your legs, you've lost your goddamn mind."

[bananacatmeow]

real happiness is when your eyes light up with joy when you see a cute puppy on the sidewalk. real happiness is when youre just being you when you think no one is watching. real happiness is your face when you get your favorite scoop of icecream. real happiness is when a joke catches you by surprise. real happiness is when you grin uncontrollably at a compliment you didnt expect. real happiness is when i hear your laugh and think its the most beautiful sound to ever exist.

[maddy-ferguson]

you can't even say leftist white people need to go fuck themselves without someone mansplaining racist voters to you anymore

[amaranthine-everlasting]

Omg what emotions would Hob experience if...no, WHEN he has the opportunity to see the Earth from space?

That beautiful blue curve in the vastness of the dark. That's the atmosphere, whispy like a fog, phantasmal like the Northern Lights. Continents gone so small he can practically block them from sight with just his thumb. Catastrophic hurricanes and typhoons nothing more than a watercolor detail on the work of art that is the Earth. Out over the planet's horizon, Hob finally understands that the Sun is a *star*, blinding and life-giving, and very much the center of their little corner in the universe. And the Moon, she is moving and rising at eye-level and it's night now, and Hob shivers at the vastness of the dark space, Earth is nothing but a little dot on the map and there is so much to yet discover and Hob's heart beats even faster than before, and he feels tears in his eyes, because he'll be there. He'll get to live on Mars one day. And he knows that humans will continue to push. That they will colonize beyond the solar system, a whole other branch of the Milky Way. And Hob will definitely get to be there for that as well.

He can't wait.

[arianatwycross]

snap

for @jilymicrofics

She was having a nightmare again. The one where her Dad is screaming and her Mum is still alive. It always begins a happy dream, until the shadows arrive. First, they claim her Mum, then they claim her too while her dad weeps and swears, begging god to change his mind. 

But God never changes his mind. Not in the dream and not in real life either. Which is why, when her Hogwarts letter arrives - magic becomes her resolve. 

Her sister snaps and throws her hands in the air. Her sister’s cries turn into bitter words - words that trail behind Lily silently as she walks through the Hogwarts hallways. Her words stop when Lily turns sixteen. Then, the tide finally turns.  

Her sister gone, her father mute, it’s just Lily at home. 

When Lily turns seventeen, she finds something she’s never sought out before. 

She found him. 

The one that keeps her sisters screams and bitter words at bay, snips them from the web dragging behind her, turns her head towards the blue Scottish sky and allows her to forget about her Dad’s disappointing lack of support. She finds friends that carry this spirit that this boy seems to have unravelled. Friends that tilt the corners of her mouth up, friends that make her cry real happy tears, friends that make her live. 

He asks her why it took so long. 

She tells him a lie, its you, she says. 

He knows her well enough now, to tut and give her his charming smile. 

Tell me the truth, he says. 

She pauses, before she takes a deep breath. 

She gave me the strength to move on, she says, speaking of her sister. She pushed me away, but it did us both favours. We were never meant to swim together, we just helped each other drown. 

He grips her hand in his, warm and firm. You have us to stop you from drowning now, too many to count, he grins. 

I wish I saw that sooner, she says. 

[kay-elle-cee]

Jilytober prompt 1: "Smile!"

Thank you for the prompts, @jilytoberfest!

The atmosphere is tense. After such a heavy meeting, everyone's sprits have been eroded by waves and waves of disheartening information, and there is little to no chatter between the members of The Order.

Lily and James are tucked in a corner off to the side, faces stricken pale with the bleak prognosis of their cause. They, like the rest, are silent and stoic, numbly existing in their own minds next to each other, trailing their fingers in invisible patterns on the other's skin where they could, the comforting touch offering an anchor to this reality.

A throat clears somewhere towards the doorway, and Benjy Fenwick gestures weakly to the camera in his hand. "I know we had planned for this, but it seems a little silly now, I'm afraid."

"No, let's do it," another voice says from somewhere across the room. It takes Lily a second to place it as belonging to Dorcas. She hasn't heard that overwhelming exhaustion in the other woman's voice since N.E.W.T.s week, which seems like a lifetime ago. "Hell, if anything it's that much more important to remember the time we have together, right?"

Lily's eyes dart to James in surprise as she feels the firm squeeze of his hand as he tugs her forward, to him and the center of the room. Others slowly shuffle into three rows, the weariness of the night evident on everyone's face.

Benjy positions the camera precariously on a stack of reconnaissance files and shuffles backwards towards the group. The silence has settled among everyone again, and as Lily briefly takes stock, she sees everyone staring blankly ahead. It's jarring.

The camera flashes and everyone looks around uncertainly.

"One more," Benjy declares, his voice resigned. The group readies themselves, squaring their shoulders to camera once more.

"Smile!" one of the Prewetts sarcastically whispers from the left side of the room.

It's a comment that catches her offguard, but Lily sees the shocked, tired faces of her friends subtly give way to a sea of small smiles. Something about the absurdity of Gideon's command gives life to Dorcas' earlier words, and a small shift is felt in the energy of the room. Spirits are not restored, but they're lifted ever so slightly.

And as that lift makes ripples through their ever-shrinking ranks of rebels, she feels the rest of the boys—Sirius, Remus, and Peter—shuffle closer to where she and James stand. Feels James' arm snake around her waist and pull her closer. Feels the soft kiss he places against her head.

Feels the subtle twitch of her own lips turning upwards into a smile.

The camera flashes once more, capturing the importance of these fleeting moments of joy amongst the sorrow of the war.

[definitelynotshouting]