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#was to keep my work on ao3 only
otrtbs · 1 year
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Hello people of tumblr dot com
This is just a reminder that I do not allow any reuploads of Art Heist, Baby! onto any other platform. Art Heist, Baby! lives on ao3 and ao3 exclusively.
Really upset to find out that people who have messaged me privately on here asking to upload Art Heist onto other platforms just went ahead and did it anyway when I politely asked for them to keep my work on ao3. Even after I explained why I wasn't comfortable uploading it to other sites.
I could go into the details of how sites like wattpad are for-profit companies and are naturally inclined to favor whatever makes them the most amount of money even if it's at the expense of writers and I could go into my own issues with those sites capitalising off of writer's creative output/hobby etc. etc. (not to mention the reuploads were not tagged and didn't include chapter warnings at all 🤠) but the point is I shouldn't have to.
You (in a very general but also pejorative sense) should respect my decision to keep Art Heist on ao3. I realize that uploading something to the internet means that I put myself at risk of losing control of my content but come on, y'all. It's in my pinned post and I've told people multiple times to not reupload my fic anywhere else. It's my fic, and my writing, and I don't think it's too much to ask to keep it to ao3.
Anyway, I've already reached out to the people who have posted my fic elsewhere and corrected the issue, but I thought I would go ahead and make it abundantly clear that Art Heist, Baby! is for ao3 and ao3 only in the hopes that this issue doesn't arise again!
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immoralkombat · 8 months
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feeling(s)
Kenshi has been blind for maybe an hour or two.
Johnny looks over at him with sympathy. He's not sure what he could possibly do or say to make things seem any less bleak for him. The man was just trying to get his family's heirloom back and now, after months of training and dedication, one of his five senses is gone permanently through no fault of his own. If Johnny were in Kenshi's position, he's sure he'd be feeling just as desolate, if not more so.
Kung Lao is sitting in the far corner, talking to Baraka. He seems genuinely fascinated by Tarkat as a disease. Were Johnny not in the same situation as them, he would find that particular conversation topic a bit morbid. Right now, it's really all they have to talk about. They've already exhausted all the small talk options you normally go through when first meeting someone. They might as well start talking about the disease that'll eventually kill Baraka.
The salve on the cloth seems to have worked a little, because at least Kenshi isn't moaning in pain every few seconds anymore. Not that it makes things significantly more cheerful, but it does help the atmosphere a bit.
Johnny taps on his knees as he sits, eyes darting between looking at Kung Lao and Kenshi. He's kind of in between where the two have sat themselves, a visual and metaphorical median between the two ways one could possibly react to getting imprisoned by a sorcerer that's almost 100% going to kill you. (To be fair, there isn't much that connects the points of "casually talking about a stranger's terminal illness with them as though you're both standing by the office water cooler talking about whatever hit TV show is airing these days" and "rocking back in forth in the corner about how a different terminally ill stranger took your eyes and you have nothing left in this world." Johnny supposes the best middle point is "looking anxiously between your two co-workers and not saying anything because Jesus Christ, what the fuck are you supposed to say in this situation besides aforementioned terminal illness.")
He really wishes that Kenshi still had his eyes, because every time he looked at Johnny, it always seemed to make everything feel okay.
Johnny thinks for a second and then scoots closer to Kenshi. It's only once he accidentally bumps up against Kenshi's foot and scares the living shit out of everyone in the cell that he realizes he probably should've given an audible cue that he was going to be approaching the newly blind guy.
After Kenshi's done having a mini panic attack over the sudden Hollywood A-lister jumpscare he's gotten, Johnny looks at him and asks, quietly, "Do you want to hold Sento for a bit?"
Kenshi turns to face him and even underneath the newly christened blindfold, Johnny can tell that Kenshi is looking at him with the most surprised and reverent eyes in the universe. The kind of look that you'd get and say "fuck this stupid sword, I'd pay $3 million just to get this guy to look at me like that again."
Kenshi's mouth opens as though he's going to say something, but it shuts again before any words or sounds can come out. He opts to nod in response and Johnny takes the scabbard from off his back, holds it in his hands gently and passes it to Kenshi. Their fingertips graze one another, a way to indicate that the blind man is in the right spot. The touch sends crackles of electricity through Johnny and he wonders if Kenshi feels them too.
It's like the tattoos on Kenshi's hands are swirling around him, colors dancing in front of his eyes. It's more beautiful than any lame fucking Disney movie ever could be.
The yakuza's voice is hoarse as he says "Thanks." It's so small that Johnny can almost see it breaking in the air. He wants to put his hand on Kenshi's and tell him that things will be okay, that he's going to pay for a sight companion, any kind of corrective surgeries he wants, whatever it takes. He wants to tell him that he's still just as strong and fierce and goddamn handsome now as he was before. He wants to kiss him so fucking badly it makes his entire being ache.
He settles for saying "You're welcome," and then sitting next to Kenshi in silence.
He watches the way that he holds Sento in his hands, feels every single nick in the scabbard, every single imperfection. It's the first time in Johnny's life that he's ever wanted to be a sword and, if he keeps hanging out with Kenshi after this, (which he hopes he can), it almost certainly won't be the last.
Johnny wishes that Mileena had taken Kenshi's tear ducts with her after she'd stabbed his eyes out, because the short sad sobs that wrack through his body are almost too much to bear witness to. When he cries, it moves through his entire being. It sends a shockwave from his gut upward, makes him lurch his shoulders forward and hug himself.
"H-Hey, what's wrong?" Johnny asks. He knows it's a stupid fucking question, obviously everyone knows what's wrong, most of all the guy it happened to. But it's all he can think to ask as he watches Kenshi continue to awkwardly jerk alongside his cries.
Kenshi's head turns to face Johnny. From beyond the thin red cloth that covers his eye sockets, Johnny can feel them boring into him.
"Cage, could I touch you? I want to remember what your face looks like."
If Johnny were operating on his full mental capacity, he would probably explode at this question. He would become the fireworks they popped last night at the banquet over their heads as they feasted. He would be attached to one end of a fuse with Li Mei holding the other end, readying herself to spark it and send him to the stratosphere.
"Y-Yeah, of course you can, Ken-doll. Just make sure not to damage the goods - people pay good money for this mug to show up on their big screens."
The smugness in his voice would normally earn him a "tch" or a groan, (or an eye roll), from Kenshi. Hearing him chuckle under his breath makes his heart soar.
He turns his face toward him and waits, but no touch comes. His eyes close, he anticipates the electricity to come back... and instead he hears Kenshi clearing his throat awkwardly.
Johnny opens his eyes and finds that Kenshi's still got his hands on Sento. He tries not to be jealous of the sword again, but as with any other time he's tried not to be jealous of someone or something that has what he wants, he fails miserably.
"Could you get closer, Cage?"
"Not the first time I'm hearing that question, won't be the last. How close you need me, handsome?"
The words come out before he can even process them. Jesus Christ, is he really that much of a disaster that he can just openly call a guy he's been crushing on for at least a month handsome without even thinking about it? He's a fucking mess. His wife left him and now he doesn't know how to act. She was gonna be the only person he'd ever be able to trick into loving him and now she was gone.
"I'm going to turn, and I suggest you do the same. I want to be facing you. You can sit with your legs touching mine if it helps."
Great, now Kenshi has a colorful blindfold that also serves as a perfect swatch for the shade of red Johnny's face turns every time the man says something that's totally fucking normal for two people that are acquainted with one another.
Johnny does as he's told, because if there's one thing he's good at, it's taking directions. (Ignoring literally every single major motion picture he's ever been in, every statement he's ever made to the press after consulting his legal teams and public consultants, and generally living life up until this point.)
His knees knock against Kenshi's and it takes him aback for a second, how giddy and childish the butterflies he feels in his stomach are. Getting to know Kenshi was so simple. He wishes he had just taken a second and been less of a dickwad back when they'd first met, because maybe then it'd be easier for him to grow a pair of cajones and tell Kenshi that he doesn't spend a single night without thinking about how much he wants to trace the tattoos on his hands and arms. Maybe if he had just given Sento over, it'd be easier to admit that the low rumble of Kenshi's voice does something to stir up the pool of heat in his stomach that he thought had been long since gone after getting married to Cristal. Maybe if he hadn't tied Kenshi to one of his kitchen chairs, it'd be easier to ask him if kissing washed-up celebrities was something he'd be interested in doing.
"I'll put my hand out, you lean forward to match it."
Kenshi's palm is extended and it takes every ounce of willpower in Johnny's aching body to not press his lips against it. He leans forward until his cheek is lightly touching the yakuza's hand.
He must be hearing things, because he swears he hears Kenshi's breath hitch when they make contact for the first time. Nah, surely not. Must've been the wind.
If Kenshi's senses are heightened because of the loss of his vision, then Johnny's senses are heightened because of the gain of his touch. He purses his lips together to stop from letting out some sort of obscene sound as he feels Kenshi's hand slowly smooth over his cheek. He thanks whatever fucked up Gods exist other than Liu Kang that he finally got on that moisturizing routine that he learned off of TikTok three months ago.
As Kenshi's hand slowly feels out every angle and curve of Johnny's face, his thoughts rush a mile a minute. He wonders if he should've done a closer shave today - maybe his stubble is gonna be too sharp and it'll hurt Kenshi and leave him with little cuts or rug burn on his pretty perfect wrap-around-my-throat-please hands. He wonders if his nose is too big. He wonders if he maybe should've invested in hair plugs after that one weird SNL dropout made a comment about his weird square hairline back when he guest starred on the Comedy Central roast of Megan Fox. He wonders if his eyes are too small or too large or too close together or too far apart. He wonders if he should smile so Kenshi can feel his dimples.
"Yep, it all feels just like how I remember it. Although the stubble has gotten a little longer."
That is certainly not the answer he was expecting to hear.
His voice is small, barely there, as he chokes out his question. "You remember what I look like?"
Kenshi nods. "I do."
Johnny goes to open his mouth to ask, "Then why did you ask to touch it if you already knew?"
But then Kenshi's fingers are on his lips, tracing them with the reverence he'd have holding Sento, and for a moment, Johnny finally thinks he's better than that stupid fucking sword. His smile has the same curves, the same edges. The only difference is that Kenshi can't accidentally hurt himself this way. (He can, however, accidentally hurt Johnny. But even that would be better than the alternative, he thinks.)
Kenshi's thumb is on his bottom lip, the rest of his hand now holding Johnny's chin. If he tilts it up even one degree, Johnny thinks it'll be over for him, that he'll be kissing Kenshi before he can even think to stop himself. He'd always had poor impulse control - why else would he have spent $3 million on a fucking sword to hang up in his living room?
"These are the same, too. I'm glad you weren't hurt in the fight, Cage."
Johnny feels so fucking overwhelmed. He wants to ask so many things. First of all, what does "these are the same, too" mean? Second, why does he care about the guy who bought his fucking family heirloom and refuses to give it back? Third, why does he insist on calling him Cage like one day he won't end up calling him Johnny and breaking his heart? Fourth, what in the goddamn fuck does he mean about Johnny's fucking lips being the goddamn motherfucking same?!
Johnny decides to play it up like he always does. "Well, 'course. Gotta keep my pretty mouth. It's what makes the big bucks. I wouldn't be the same without it."
Kenshi smirks, and thank Liu Kang's weird god siblings that he's blind right now, because Johnny is beet red, mouth agape, with his eyebrows raised (and he's fairly certain that something else also rises).
"That's true. You would not be the same without that infamous mouth." Kenshi accents the compliment(?) with a playful slap to Johnny's cheek, and then his hand is withdrawn entirely, leaving an empty ghost where he should still be holding Johnny's face in his hands.
He bites back the urge to immediately ask if Kenshi wants to know just how infamous the mouth is, and settles for clearing his throat and moving back to sitting against the wall next to Kenshi.
He looks over at him after he's gotten calmed down. His heart is still jackhammering against his ribs, but as long as Kenshi can't feel his pulse, he doesn't have to know. Kenshi seems to sense Johnny's eyes on him because he turns to face him, red blindfold all that stands between the gaping holes where Kenshi's eyes used to be and Johnny's gaze full of adoration.
The yakuza grabs Sento from his lap and hands it back to Johnny.
"Thank you. I appreciate you letting me hold it. And I appreciate your help in grounding me back to reality."
Johnny nods, taking Sento back and putting it where it so wrongfully deserves to be, strapped against Johnny's sore fucking back.
"No problem. Lemme know whenever you get the urge to feel out what an Adonis looks like, I'm happy to oblige." His comment is a means to an end. He plays up the egoism to ignore the shock that courses through him as Kenshi's fingertips touch his one last time.
He resolves then and there to give Sento back as soon as they escape from here, and they will escape.
This cannot be the last time he feels Kenshi's hands on him.
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Baraka whispers, about as well as he can without lips or an inside voice, "Do they not realize how much they yearn for one another?"
Kung Lao shakes his head, putting a hand on Baraka's shoulder and immediately regretting it once he feels a spike tear into his palm. "They've just gotta be stupid about it for a bit longer. They'll figure it out."
"Surely their pining has to cause some sort of agony for you as well, does it not, Earthrealmer?" Baraka looks genuinely confused, or as close to it as he can get from what Kung Lao can tell.
Kung Lao hangs his head, sighing languidly. "Of course it does. But what else am I gonna do about it? Tell them? They're not gonna believe me. Trust me, they've got to figure it out on their own time, or they never will."
And as he sees Johnny's hand inch closer to Kenshi's, finally overlapping the tattoos and interlocking their fingers, Kung Lao thinks that maybe the agony won't last much longer.
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prettyboyeddiemunson · 6 months
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guys please reblog writers’ works, it’s really discouraging when our stuff doesn’t get shared around for others to see
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xhanisai · 10 months
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hey lads if you’re not gonna comment on a fic you enjoyed, at least leave a kudos man
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skibasyndrome · 4 months
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I have the willpower of a TODDLER
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fuck it friday
I was tagged by @cal-daisies-and-briars (thank youuuu❤️) and I have a quiet house for once and the grading I'm supposed to be doing will definitely keep 😅 and I looked at my "to record" list aaaaaand.... well. Here is a one-take podfic of the midnight hour by hetrez (thank you, @hetrez, for giving blanket permission to record, I hope you like this one 🙏🏻❣️). Trust me to pick a story for fuck it friday where Buddie don't even touch🙃 (link goes to google drive as the file is too big to embed on tumblr)
No pressure tagging @hetrez, @shitouttabuck, @try-set-me-on-fire, @jeeyuns, @housewifebuck, @captain-hen, @athenagranted, @thewolvesof1998, @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels, @mistmarauder, @mayonnaisetoffees, @bucksbignaturals, @wikiangela, @queen-of-berk18, @lover-of-mine and anyone else who'd like to share in the fun ❤️
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theshadowrealmitself · 10 months
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*really late at night/early morning*
Brain: Hey, I know you’re exhausted, but for the first time in forever I’m gonna make you feel inspired to write a story, I’m also gonna give you a really good outline of how the story goes and how it ends, which you usually have trouble with
Me: But-
Brain: Oh I know, you’re not gonna be able to do it tonight, you’re also gonna lose that motivation to do it when you wake up, this is just to fuck with you rn while you try to sleep :3c
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A Walking Heroic History
"Besides,” Harry said, “It seems pretty simple to me. You were a git, and I hated you. Now you’re not a git, and I love you. Easy as that.” For @harryjamespotterweek 2023, Day 3 (Scars, Enemies to Lovers) Rated T, 1.2k words. Read on ao3 here
“What about this one?” Draco’s fingers, tacky with sea salt, caught on Harry’s skin, just above his hip.
“Third year. The Whomping Willow got me, I think, or maybe it was when I fell by the lake with the Dementors after that.”
Draco bent to place a gentle kiss on the scar, then his fingers continued their exploration up Harry’s side.
“This one?” he asked, pressing a small kiss to it preemptively, smirking when Harry twitched away, huffing out a laugh.
“That tickles.”
Draco did it again, just to make him squirm.
“Fell out of a tree when I was eight. I bounced when I hit the ground, but a branch caught me first.”
One last, tickling kiss, and Draco moved on again.
Over Harry’s shoulder - “I genuinely have no clue, I just noticed it one day in fifth year,” - down Harry’s arm - “Wormtail, in the cemetery, fourth year,” - all the way to his hand.
“Umbridge and her evil quill in fifth year.”
Draco linked their fingers and lay back, pulling Harry’s hand up to his mouth for another kiss, gritty with the sand stuck to his skin.
“We all wondered about that, you know,” Draco said, idly tracing the letters. “In Slytherin. We all knew you had cuts on the back of your hands Blaise even set up a betting pool on it.”
“Who won?”
“Daphne Greengrass. She asked a Gryffindor boy who had seen you in the common room and he told her. To hear her tell it, she seduced it out of him, but I suspect he didn’t see any reason not to answer her when she asked.”
Harry gave another small laugh, sun-warm and content, and after a moment, Draco continued.
“I am sorry, about all of that. I don’t think I mentioned that when I said- before. But I am sorry for the Inquisitorial Squad, and what she did to you.”
Harry gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “You don’t have to keep apologizing. I know.” In an even softer voice, he added, “I still remember what you said that first time. Besides,” Harry said, continuing on at his normal volume, “It seems pretty simple to me. You were a git, and I hated you. Now you’re not a git, and I love you. Easy as that.”
Draco squeezed his hand back, and Harry kissed his fingertips.
“Second year,” said Draco, and Harry hummed a question in response. “On my ring finger, on the side, near where you kissed, there’s a scar from second year.”
Harry sought it out, found it between Draco’s second and third knuckles, pointing to the place where Harry suspected he would put a ring someday in the near future. It was still too soon to be proposing, but Harry kissed the shiny silver scar, and then kissed the bottom of Draco’s finger too, as a placeholder for now.
“What happened?” Harry asked, “Did the Basilisk get you too?”
Draco elbowed him hard in the ribs.
“No. You did, actually.”
“What? When did I hurt you in second year?” Harry was sure he would have remembered attacking Draco in second year, not least of all because Draco would have thrown such a fit that everyone in Hogwarts would have surely remembered it.
“During the Dueling Club,” Draco said, his smug smile evident even in his voice.
“I did not!” Harry protested, sitting up so fast he flung sand into Draco’s face.
Draco tossed his head to flick the errant sand away, then opened his eyes looking incredibly pleased with himself.
“You did. You sent me flying back, and I scraped my finger on the ground.”
Harry couldn’t see his own face, but he was sure it looked as unimpressed as he felt.
“That’s hardly anything! How on earth did it scar? Why didn’t you have someone heal you? It can’t have been that bad, or else someone would have noticed the blood.”
“Well, it wasn’t that bad at first, Potter,” Draco drawled, so horribly self-satisfied Harry almost choked on it. “But you see, I hated you then, because you had refused my offer of friendship, and everyone thought you were the Heir of Slytherin, and I just couldn’t let any of that go. So, I didn’t let it heal, and kept making it worse, because you were my sworn enemy, and I wanted the burden of being marked by your cruel villainy for the rest of my life.”
Harry blinked down at him for a second, then said, “You’re insane.”
“I was twelve, everyone’s like that when they’re twelve,” Draco responded placidly, so sure of himself that Harry wanted to contradict him, wanted to tell him no, not everyone is like that when they’re twelve. But then, he remembered that he, Ron, and Hermione had spent the first half of that year brewing Polyjuice Potion because they were convinced Draco was the Heir of Slytherin, and the sheer hypocrisy of saying that made him pause.
Finally, he just kissed Draco’s petty little scar and let their hands fall back to the beach.
“Whatever you say, Draco.”
A few more moments passed in silence, both of them listening to the crash of the waves before Draco spoke again.
“I like them, you know. Your scars.”
Harry had known this for a while; Draco’s hands often sought them out as though they were there to mark the places Harry was meant to be held, pieced back together under a loving and careful touch.
“I don’t like that you had to suffer to get them, of course,” Draco continued, thumb stroking over the back of Harry’s hand as if to read the words carved there through touch alone. “I truly am sorry about that, even about the hurts I didn’t cause. But I like history, I always have, and growing up I liked stories about heroes best of all. And you, you’re a walking heroic history, and I like seeing that. Of course, it also reminds me that you’re a reckless, self-sacrificing moron on occasion too, but I feel that’s just a reminder that you need to keep me around so at least one of us is looking out for you.”
And then, never one to want attention paid to him after being too nice, Draco put his head on Harry’s shoulder and indicated with every fibre of his being that their conversation was now over, and he was going to relax for the rest of the afternoon.
Harry intended to do the same, letting the sound of the waves, the steady rise and fall of Draco’s breath, and the rhythmic carding of his fingers through Draco’s hair soothe him. But, at the same time, he found he couldn’t help but turn over Draco’s words in his mind.
Harry had never really thought much about his body before - it had always done what he had needed it to do, and it hadn’t hindered him, parts/he had never had cause to contemplate himself in the way Draco clearly had. Harry supposed, if pressed, he would say that he liked how much he resembled his parents, the first people ever to love him, and the first people he lost, living on a bit through him. But hearing how Draco thought about him, what he liked about the scar on Harry that had just seemed like collateral damage in a much bigger fight, that made Harry re-evaluate his own blind neutrality.
He pulled Draco’s hand to his mouth to kiss his precious little scar again, and Draco, napping lightly beside him, moved his hand to cover the scar on Harry’s chest, and smiled in his sleep.
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astranne · 2 years
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LOVE IN THE AIR SKY jason todd x peter parker
or, the big bad red hood being whipped for snarky and obvious spider-man in the future, this is just them meeting and jason is whipped, peter is obvious and cursing his parker luck
notes // i wrote this while screaming about this fic, sobbing over pandaman x spiderman and trying to finish a request. not edited since it's past midnight and i just want to have this out of my drafts, before it starts collecting dust in my drafts
tagged // @jasontoddskris , @rarepears
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Jason meeting Peter
Jason saw him the first time outside of his mask. It was another gray day in Gotham, the city recovering from a recent Rogue attack and already preparing for another.
He visited a few street kids, looking after them and helping them where he could. Not everyone took his help, but most didn't turn it down, fully knowing he was a Crime Alley kid too.
And then he saw him. Walking towards him with his head down, sluggish and yawning every other second. Split lip, eye bags and hair tousled, he looked roughened up, tired and just dead at his feet. But then he lifted his eyes from the floor, brown eyes looking at him and Jason simply... stopped breathing.
How could this twig of a man look so goddamn beautiful?
Peter meeting Jason
Peter doesn't remember the first time he saw Jason. Well, that's not entirely true.
He doesn't remember what he thought when he saw Jason for the first time.
Big, tall, muscled? Good looking, hardened, suspicious? Angry, violent, hugable? He doesn't remember at all.
But then his spider senses tingled, blaring in his head and he winced. The man setting his senses off was... odd. He was pretty sure his eyes glowed green. This ugly, acid green. Skin marred with scars, dark hair disrupted by a white streak-
But Peter couldn't think about him any longer, he walked straight into someone and spilled their coffee all over them.
Just his Parker luck.
Red Hood meeting Spider-Man
It was afternoon when he saw Spider-Man. Well, more like he saw a red blur swinging through the Gotham skyline, doing more daring flips and stunts than Nightwing. But that's not the point.
The smooth movements, switching between the arms that supported his whole body, the twisting of his hips- everything Spider-Man did while swinging through the air was simply elegant, filled with confidence and grace. He made it look so easy, effortless and if Jason wouldn't be so busy trying to not smack himself against buildings while watching Spider-Man, he would be actually jealous.
Spider-Man meeting Red Hood
Peter's senses had been tingling the past few minutes. It made him nervous, subtly trying to find out who exactly was watching him while swinging through Gotham, searching for crimes he could stop.
He didn't come that far, not after he finally saw the man following him. A Gotham resident- a bat. The freaking Red Hood. Peter started panicking, almost flailing mid air only to barely catch himself, stumbling and almost faceplanting into a GCPD car.
Parker luck strikes again.
He hasn't only had to flee from the Red Hood, but from the Gotham police too.
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ASTRANNE 2022
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camgoloud · 7 months
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today. i have experienced the HORRORS (opened laptop for morning meeting while seated between boss and coworker; was greeted with ao3 page i forgot to close last night)
#it’s fine it’s fine i THINK it’s fine. both of them were looking at their own computers and i closed that shit SO fast and i have no reason#to believe that either one of them is online enough to know anything about ao3 much less enough about what it looks like to recognize it#from peripheral vision/​during the quick glance they might have had the opportunity to get#fortunately my other coworker who i know IS quite online (the two of us literally had to team up to explain a meme to the other two people#that i was sitting between later during this VERY meeting. which i was so cool and normal during by the way) was sitting over on the#opposite side of the table. and i was cool about it externally. and they had no reaction of any kind. so#nevertheless. HORRORS. it wasn’t even like a story was open which would have been just a wall of text it was like. a search result.#displaying clearly and distinctly the site’s formatting#it doesn’t help that the rest of today has also been extremely stressful and the next few days will be much the same because there are#some Things i have to do that are fairly high-stakes and that i’m extremely stressed about. fun! fantastic!#i was literally only ON ao3 last night in the first place to try to pregame/destress ahead of having to come into work this week 😭#and i already fucked up something important today that’s setting a bunch of things back for multiple people. and i feel like i’m going to#get my period in the next day or two which would make it a week early if it happens. super fun. amazing!#guess i’ll just keep riding the adrenaline-fueled train wreck that never stops all the way through friday!#caseyposting
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lildoodlecat · 8 months
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Immensely disappointed to find there are no wangxian podfics at 20+ hours. What am I supposed to do, record one mysel— *forcefully dragged away*
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pizzee · 1 year
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Fic recommendations
i saw a post ab this on this tumbleweed website and figured I’d slap together a quick list. All of the works I recommend are on my AO3 bookmarks but I know some people don’t use it as a primary fic source. So, i’ll link some here i think everyone should give a gander!! They are primarily Moon Knight (of course) but I also include some personal faves from other fandoms under the cut that I think are just fantastic storytelling. You don’t need to know the fandom to read them, trust me
(PS!! I’m only linking one fic per writer, but deffo check out their other works if you like what you read! These are just my faves :))
MOON KNIGHT FICS:
- The Absence of Fear (And Other Lies We Tell Ourselves) by Pokimoko    
- 10,000 Lightyears Somewhere Out In Space by Tiptapricot  ​
- Of Eggs and Fatherhood by LintillaTheArchaeologist ​
- dance lessons by mmummydust
- your grounding touch (through the turbulence) by mockspector (jude_fell)  ​
- with roses red come lilies white by bartonbones
-------------------------------------------------
OTHER FICS (legit novel quality works):
- flight of the navigator by sagemb (Iron Man/MCU)
- Hearts and Their Consumption by setepenre_set (Howl’s Moving Castle)
- A Feather's Edge by Boomchick (FF7)
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immoralkombat · 7 months
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intricate rituals
Training was supposed to be finished three hours ago, and yet here Johnny is, wrapping his hands up in new bandages, getting ready to kick Kenshi's ass again.
It was Johnny's idea, naturally. After all, he and Kenshi never had a Madam Bo, so they need more training to compensate for Lord Liu Kang not giving either of them the advantage that Raiden and Lao got. Kenshi might've had the yakuza, sure, but Johnny only ever got stunt training. If this extra training session isn't for Kenshi, it's for Johnny this time.
He warms up, jumping in place as he stretches his arms across his chest. Kenshi meanwhile is practicing a couple slashes with a bamboo sword. He claims that Lord Liu Kang made him switch out his actual katana for it so that he wouldn't accidentally kill anybody, but Johnny tries his best to turn that into the belief that Kenshi doesn't want to hurt him.
It's been a month since Kenshi broke into his mansion, a month since Johnny found out that he was chosen by a literal god to defend the entirety of Earth against potential invasion, a month since he had Kenshi tied up in one of his kitchen chairs and grilled him about the history of Sento. And in that month, Johnny thinks that he's at least gone from 'mortal enemy' to 'frenemy' on Kenshi's list. They'd been bunked together at the Wu Shi ever since they got there, something that Lord Liu Kang insisted on as team-building. Johnny was lucky that he woke up at all during those first few days.
It's been three weeks since he first saw Kenshi smile at him, three weeks since he finally told a joke that landed, three weeks since he heard Kenshi call him "Cage" for the first time and it didn't sound like he was seconds away from pulling a sword on him. He thinks that maybe it's just because Kenshi has to spend time with him, or maybe it's genuine forgiveness that Johnny doesn't really deserve. Either way, he remembers it like it was yesterday, and if he weren't a better actor, it'd cause him to get flustered beyond words every time he thought of it again.
It's been two weeks since Kenshi first asked him to watch a movie together, two weeks since they started actually talking to one another, two weeks since Johnny caught him looking at him and smiling for the first time. Every time he thinks about it, it makes his cheeks warm. He has to ball his fists and leave little crescent shapes in his palms to get the blush off of his face. He wishes he could blame it on the lingering resentment he feels for Kenshi breaking into his fucking house and threatening his life, but he knows better. He knows way better.
It's been a week since Lord Liu Kang told them that the tournament was going to be in a few weeks, a week since Kenshi accidentally touched his hand while he was passing some salt at dinner and Johnny hasn't stopped thinking about it since, a week since Johnny finally came to terms with the fact that he had a bit of a crush on this guy.
It's been two hours since they last sparred. Two hours too long.
Johnny looks Kenshi up and down, an act he'll try and justify as sizing up his opponent when asked about it. "Hey, Brown Eyes Red Dragon, you gonna finally stop swinging that shit around and let me start kicking your ass, or...?"
The swordsman looks down at him. Kenshi's an inch taller than him. He shouldn't find that as pleasing as he does. "A good fighter will take as much time to prepare as they can. Something you'd know if you weren't snoring through Lord Liu Kang's lessons."
Johnny snorts. "I'm a fuckin' movie star, Keanu. I don't get time to prep. I just naturally kick this much ass."
He watches Kenshi roll his eyes and he smiles. He thinks that there's more affection behind that than it seems. At least, he hopes so.
Kenshi puts his sword back in its sheath and straightens his shoulders. His tattooed fingers flex and stretch at his sides as he rolls his neck. Thank God there aren't any mind-readers nearby, because every single thing running through Johnny's head is X-rated.
"Alright, Cage. Are you ready?"
Johnny nods, using his hands to help crack his neck. "Better question is, are you?"
Kenshi scoffs at him, his nose sneering upwards. He's even hot when he's pulling an ugly face and that's part of how Johnny knows that he has it bad. "Forget I asked."
He starts by throwing a punch while Johnny is preoccupied with staring at his sneer. It connects with his jaw and makes him draw his head back. He really should've told Kenshi that the face was off-limits, but he guesses that that's on him. He should've clarified beforehand. All's fair in complicated one-sided interest and war.
Johnny counters by going to a split and immediately tapping his nuts. He makes sure to restrain himself from going full strength because he knows that he could easily obliterate him, but he doesn't really want to do that. He thinks that maybe Kenshi deserves to have his balls. At least for now. That's completely subject to change in the future, but right now, he likes him. As expected, his tatted hands immediately go to soothe his jewels.
Johnny takes the time to get up and readjust before he goes for another hit, a kick to the leg that brings Kenshi to his knees. He tries to ignore the dirty thoughts that flood his brain when he sees him at that precise height, in that precise situation. He fails. Pretty miserably.
He looks down at Kenshi, a nice change of pace. "Gotta say, I'm a fan of this view," he says, unable to keep his ego in check.
Kenshi looks up at him with fire in his eyes and Jesus Christ, Johnny is the best actor in the world if he's gonna keep pretending that he's not already willing to do unspeakable things to this man for the foreseeable future. He lets out a long sigh, trying to figure out his next move.
Unfortunately, Kenshi seems to have already figured out what he wants to do to get himself in a better spot, which results in Johnny not even spotting the move before he's suddenly making contact with the cobblestone on the ground. He winces as he feels a particularly tall stone dig into the twinge in his back. He doesn't seem to care that he could easily have a concussion now, because Kenshi is looming over him, the sun haloing behind his head. Were he not responsible for the ache that spans the entire back half of Johnny's body, he could probably be mistaken for an angel.
"This view's more my speed," he retorts. Johnny's too occupied with the pain shooting through him to acknowledge how clever (and hot) that was.
Something he doesn't expect happens afterward; a tattooed hand extends forward and offers to help him up.
He thinks about it for a second, how easy it'd be to take it and accept mercy he doesn't deserve. It feels almost like a cinematic parallel. It's like the kindness Johnny refused to offer him when they first met. It's all of the best qualities of Kenshi, hidden beneath the yakuza ink that covers his hands. It's every reason why he fucking deserves Sento, why Johnny's dismissal is just another reason why he fucking sucks and why Cris left him. It's another reminder that he isn't John Carlton anymore.
He takes the hand and pulls him down to land on top of him.
Kenshi takes the brunt of the fall on his hands as he sticks them out to stop him from cracking his face against Johnny's big head. Johnny winces for him at the thought of how fucked up his palms are gonna be. He makes a mental note to play the hero later and help him bandage them up in their dorm after this.
Their chests are pressed against one another for a moment, too short to savor and too long to go unnoticed. It knocks the wind out of them both, and they seem to draw a breath at the exact same time, both ragged and loud.
There's a leg between Johnny's. He thanks Lord Liu Kang that Kenshi's knee didn't land high enough to bust his balls. He's less grateful for everything else about feeling Kenshi's leg between his.
"Congratulations, Cage. You've given me yet another reason I should just kill you in your sleep." Despite the words he's saying, his voice couldn't sound any more friendly and kind. It makes Johnny's heart beat just a little bit faster.
Johnny chuckles. "Oh, please. You're gonna keep me around. After all, there's no way you'd find a prettier sleep aid than me."
Kenshi rolls his eyes again, but doesn't make a rebuttal. Johnny wishes he would. That way it'd be easier. It'd be way fucking easier if Kenshi just kept bantering with him, that way he could ignore the nagging feeling in his chest.
He can't stop himself from looking down at Kenshi's lips. He knows it's a mistake even as he's doing it. He knows it's a mistake when he looks back up and sees Kenshi's eyes widen.
"You're a hell of a fighter, Last Samurai. You're lucky you caught me on a particularly bad day, y'know that right? My back hurts like a son of a bitch."
Kenshi doesn't respond.
"If I didn't have a movie career to think of, I'd keep kicking your ass."
More silence.
"C'mon, you usually got some sort of comeback by now? Cat got your tongue?"
Nothing.
"...Please, say somethin'."
"What was this really about, Cage?"
This time, Johnny doesn't have a reply.
Before he can even try to say something clever, he feels lips against his own. He lets out a surprised noise that gets muffled by Kenshi's mouth closing over his. His eyes are wide open and staring right at Kenshi, whose eyes are closed tightly as he kisses Johnny with full force. It almost feels like another attack, the force that's behind it. He feels their teeth clack together a bit on impact and he hopes that Kenshi didn't just break his nose with his own.
An inked hand moves to rest against his jaw as his eyes finally begin to flutter closed and his lips move to kiss him back. He moves his hands to rest at Kenshi's waist, every single fiber of his being screaming at him to go for the neck and bring him closer, push him down more. He needs to feel more of him pressing onto him, but he settles for a kiss for now. Kenshi's thumb smooths over his cheek. It's surprisingly tender considering that he's trying his damnedest to stick his tongue in Johnny's mouth right now. It's bold enough that Johnny lets him.
They finally start to get the hang of it after a few seconds, it seems. Kenshi finally tilts his head so that Johnny can breathe through his nose. He feels blood beginning to trickle out of it, but Christ alive, he doesn't fucking care because he's kissing him. He can taste blood in his mouth and he lets it mix into their spit, and he doesn't fucking care because Kenshi's hand is moving to grab him by the neck.
Johnny can't help but let out a hum of approval as he feels the grip on the back of his neck tighten and pull him up to rest on his elbows. He decides to let him manhandle him. He thinks that was the point of the sparring match, but he won't tell Kenshi that until they've sufficiently talked things through. He doesn't want to seem too eager, but he also wants to tell Kenshi that his hands would make for such a pretty fuckin' choker. He wants to play it cool, but he also wants to rut his hips up against Kenshi's thigh.
He settles for continuing the kiss until Kenshi pulls away.
Kenshi's dark eyes scan his face, first looking to Johnny's still-closed eyes, then to his kiss-swollen lips, and then to the blood running out of his nostril and into his mouth.
"Fuck, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that," Kenshi says. It hurts way worse than his nose.
Johnny shakes his head. "No need. Everybody ends up wanting to fuck me sooner or later. Just surprised by how quick the turnaround was for you, Neo. Usually I have to wine and dine my enemies before they start trying to get in my pants."
Kenshi's cheeks are a deep red as he gets up and the pleasant weight that had been resting on Johnny's groin is lifted with him. He turns his face away from Johnny, leaving him to look wistfully at the sharpness of his jawline. "Shut up. This never happened."
"Whatever you say, handsome. You're still not getting Sento back."
This seems to snap Kenshi out of the flustered state he's in, because his cheeks turn to a more normal color and his brow furrows. "You're lucky I left the yakuza, Cage. You'd be long dead by now if I hadn't."
He dusts off his knees, leaving blood from his palms on the cloth that covers him before he walks out. It's just then that Johnny realizes there's gonna be some of Kenshi's blood in his hair and around his neck.
He'll wear it like a scarlet letter for the next few minutes, before he has to go and shower off before dinner.
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obstinatecondolement · 2 months
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The thing about learning A new skill is that I have to like... learn five more skills for it to even be useful half the time.
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xhanisai · 10 months
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I do kind of feel a bit spoilt with how the fandom pre-pandemic would share my work easily (fics getting hundreds and even thousands of notes on tumblr and on AO3 immediately and arts getting thousands of notes too). Back then, my work was so eUGH compared to the work I create now which is so much more polished and well thought out.
And now? It’s such a struggle for my art to reach even a hundred notes on this app alone and my fics take a long time to accumulate some attention on ao3. At first I thought it was because my creations have gotten WORSE lol but then I realised it’s been happening to all my friends too online.
Kinda sad tbh.
#delete later#i know that X amount of likes or notes on work doesn't necessarily mean that it's great quality#but i like seeing and knowing that people out there on the internet are enjoying what i put out#and i want more people to see what i can do if that makes sense?#my mentality is a little fucked right now because in the past i created mainly for me and i enjoyed what i did to an extent#but now i'm at that stupid stage where i hate everything i draw and get bored of my own writing and i don't like that#so validation online sort of helps with that mentality to go away#i can't keep up with internet art trends to get the attention on my work that i want that is not a realistic and healthy way of life#and i refuse to touch any salt or negativity in the ml fandom just to get the hivemind to find my work#my most popular work on ao3 is only popular because of lila karma and that makes me so mad because i write 100000x better than that LMAO#but people just wanna see a 14 yr old italian nightmare girl get expelled from school over and over again and i'm just tired af of it#as for art with twitter it's a bit of a russian roulette#you don't know what will be a banger and what won't unless you pay special attention or have a decent following or are always grinding#i don't think my art is for tumblr#i do appreciate the few people who always love and reblog it but i've always known from the start that my art isn't what would be popular#on this hellsite#oh well it is what it is#also don't worry i'm never gonna stop drawing nor am i ever gonna stop writing those two are literally my only outlets of my life#and the only way i can get emotions and feelings out of my body without exploding#and i am still madly in love with ML and will always be obsessed with it#i just miss how the prepandemic fandom would interact with my work and let me know what they thought and all the asks they sent about the#aus i created#it was a good period on this hellsite for me
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cybotgalactica · 10 months
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tumblr like vs reblog discourse is hell because people will write entire paragraphs about how "well actually likes don't really support artists because it doesn't feed anything into an algorithm" like that's all there is.
like one human being reaching out to another through the framework of a social media site to be like "hey, i saw this thing you made and it meant something to me" means nothing to anyone. like that's less important than feeding your opinion of someone's work into an algorithm designed with the primary function of keeping you on their site so you can make them more money.
i appreciate reblogs and retweets and new follows and comments just like anyone else. but i'm not going to sit here and resent the people that only like. and i'm especially not going to let myself get so poisoned by social media i convince myself the human behind them doesn't matter.
calling art and writing "content", viewing the concept of support through the lens of algorithms and exposure and statistics. there's nothing more human than Making Things but all we do is try to take all the human out of it.
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