#me and my inability to write short replies

[crepezinhos]

Hello! I love your writing by the way and how you interpret Scaramouche/ wanderer is just 🤌🤌🤌

I would like to know your opinion about, what if there was an au where both Scaramouche and reader are in college. Reader takes on medical technology where she studied all about microbiology and all that stuffs and giz. When all of a sudden their professor tasked them that they would need to bring their own sperm cell for this assignment but reader doesn't know where to get some. But then it hit her, she finally knows someone who could help and all she needs is a little persuasion.

You don't have to answer it though or reply to it. It just an idea I had stuck in my brain for awhile huhu. But all in all, your writing is so good and well thought out and I would like to see how this turns out. Anyways love you and hope that you listen to it hihi >🩷🩷

Spurm of the Moment

POV: You need sperm to do a project in your biology class, but you’re a woman, and cannot get it in your own. You could get it in sperm banks, but that would probably cost you money... So why not use your dear friend to get that sperm?

⚠️ WARNINGS:

— This is NSFW work

— Reader is FEMALE and uses SHE/HER pronouns

— Contains: Blindfolding, bondage and overstimulation

— Wanderer x Biomedic Reader

— AU is: Modern

“Are you sure I have to be like this?” Wanderer asked as he tried pulling his arms away from the chair’s arm rests, testing out the ropes’ strength.

“Please, we both know how you are. You barely let me hug you when we’re hanging out already. Do you really think you’d let me do this to you freely? Don’t make me laugh…” You asked while still kneeling down in front of him, tightening the last rope around his left leg.

“What about the blindfold, then? How is that helping you?” But he kept trying to challenge you’d expect from him.

“I don’t want you to… witness.” You cleared your throat as you stood up from your spot.

“Oh? But you can take off my pants and jack my dick off as you wish?” You could still see his eyebrows frowning even if the blindfold covered his purple eyes. “Y’know, why didn’t you just ask me to jack off on my own?” He kept moving his hands in diverse ways as he spoke, enjoying one of the few freedoms he still had.

“I don’t trust you to be cautious with it.” You walked towards your desk, grabbing the other preparatives you needed for this moment such as rubber glover and the pot where you’d keep the semen in.

“You don’t trust me to beat my own meat?” Wanderer wheezed, lowing his head down momentarily.

“I trust you to do that, but not to be cautious and sanitary with the results.” After grabbing the prepartions and dressing the gloves around your hands, you walked back to him, kneeling in front of him ahain. “And, you did consent to this anyway…” You tried teasing him wth the truth, but it didn’t seem to have much effect.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever…” He kept himself broad to pretend he hadn’t lost that little argument.

“Just to make sure you aren’t starting to regret this… What is the safe word we agreed on?” You asked him a bit more seriously, looking up to him despite hs inability to stare back at you.

“Biology.” He answered very bored.

“Yes. Just like the main purpose of this.” You reminded him of that fact before your hands started to move down his chest. “May I?”

He nodded and you soon cupped his crotch with a hand, beginning to gently rub your palms against his organ to get him erect.

“Shit…” Wanderer turned his head to the side while biting his inferior lip to stop himself from making any louder noises compared to the short grunts from the back of his throat. “What kind of lesson is this anyway..?” He fixed his throat, trying to maintain his dignity.

“We have a project to examine sperm cell behavior of different people under certain conditions.” You answered neutrally, focusing more on his slightly-hardened organ rather than his anger.

“Are you the only woman in their class or something?! Why would he not give the cells already?!” Wanderer kept trying to argue with you and distract himself from the pressure you were applying on him.

“Hmmmm… I don’t know.” You shrugged your shoulders, not wanting to think about less awkward alternatives now that you were getting what you needed.

So, trying to get him to stop protesting, you finally put your whole hand under his underwear and pulled out his dick out of it, finally springing it free. When Wanderer felt your gloved fingers enveloping his pink tip is when he started fighting back again.

“Aren’t there any sperm banks in the school?! O-Or maybe in the city?!” His head was looking down at where the motions were going to happen, trying to somehow have a bit of control and awareness of his situation.

“Don’t you think it’s a little too late to protest about it now?” You spoke a bit ironically, circling those same fingers around him to give him a starter.

“You minx…” You could clearly see his fists gripping around the edges pf the seat as you teased him, taking it all out on it.

“You know you like it.” You blinked to him, finally beginning to occupy his mind with more pleasure.

Your fingers were jerking him gently and slowly, going all the way to the tip of his urethra down to base of his cock. It was a tortuous rhythm that was certainly tensing him up for more. His own fingers would slightly scratch the chair to relieve himself and hope it’d make him more silent around you, feet tapping the floor nervously.

“You know… this would be faster if you told me about anything you like during these moments for me to do.” You suddenly decided to open your mouth to give him that suggestion, deciding to use your other hand to gently get a hold of his testicles to test him out.

Wanderer flinched as soon as he felt you touch that region, skin visibly shivering. A bothered grunt also came out of his throat in response, a hint of pink coloring his cheeks.

“J-Just… stroke me faster.” He fixed his throat again as you smirked at the facade he was trying to pose to you.

But you did as he wished and proceeded to stroke him faster, still trying your best to tease his tip the most so he could ejaculate as soon as possible. It was now a bit harder for Wanderer to jail his noises, meaning he had to try even harder to keep his mouth shut, and those efforts were making this whole moment way more awkward for you too.

“You can moan, y’know? I would expect you to.” You turned your face to him, but seeing his face made you too embarrassed to keep looking at it that bravely, so you abruptly turned away and started looking at the floor instead.

“I don’t want you to listen…” He quickly mumbled before another moan took his vocal chords over and forced him to shut his mouth again.

“Alright, then… But it is going to become worse for you.” You said while making the circle between your middle, ring finger and your thumb tighter, trying to squeeze him more.

“For fuck’s sake…” Wanderer’s hips trying to recoil away from you, but that was impossible due to his legs being tied to the chair’s too, so he had no choice but to relieve himself by stretching his legs and arching his back, his feet facing the roof.

If only he wasn’t wearing shoes… You were pretty sure all his fingers would be spread apart too from that heavy pleasure wave you gave him, but you had no choice but to move on from that and keep focusing on pulling out that orgasm from him.

This moment was as awkward for him as it was for you. You’d never expect someone as reserved as him to let you do this to him, and actually doing it felt bizarre. Now you knew how his dick looked like, and you could probably imagine how it fit and looked under his pants. How would look at him normally again? How would he look at you normally again? Maybe you should’ve been more creative with your problem-solving skills instead of insisting on this. But at the same times you couldn’t blame yourself for him accepting to do this so… easily.

“I know it’s very weird, but… It would be really helpful if you could help me do this faster.” Now it was your turn to fix your throat to pretend you didn’t have an awkwardness in the tip of your tongue.

“… Ok.” He accepted your commission very neutrally, arms crossed as if he was bored and not surprised at all.

Maybe he wasn’t exactly taking you seriously and didn’t realize the gravity of what he put himself into.

“I hope I’m successfully stimulating you and not just… doing this for nothing.” You laughed your embarrassment away, trying to cool the mood between you two.

“Y-You’re good.” He mumbled, a bit too embarrassed to confess his satisfaction with all of this.

“Tell me when you’re close, okay?” You looked at the pot sitting at the floor by your side, wondering when would you finally use it.

“Ok…” Wanderer moaned under his throat again, still holding himself back.

Hearing his confirmation, you kept working your hands in his organ, trying your best to recreate the tips you’ve read in the internet about how to make a guy reach his orgasm quickly. Your right hand was basically twisting itself within every pump to provoke his sized cock while sometimes gripping it a bit harder on purpose to cause a bit of pleasurable pain. Meanwhile, your left hand were still massaging his balls and caressing them with thumb, but way more carefully compared to your other hand. You knew that it was a very sensible and fragile part of the male body and you had no idea if Wanderer would like you to mess with it any harder, so you had no choice but to be gentle despite your want to end this as soon as possible.

“I-I think I’m close…” Wanderer suddenly threw his head back, a high-pitched moan escaping his lips after holding himself back so much.

“Are you? Really?” You asked, turning your eyes back to him, seeing his mouth hanging open from the overstimulation.

“Y-Yeah, yeah… Go faster…” He asked, cheeks growing a bit redder from asking you such an embarrassing question.

You nodded and started pumping him faster, dropping all those techniques you were trying to use to focus on man tuning that growing momentum, including his testicles so you could grab the pot. And it seemed to be working because Wanderer started hissing quite frequently to get rid of his need to groan.

“A-Almost there..!” Wanderer’s feet begun dragging themselves against the floor again, trying to contain his pleasure, his hips trying to jerk upwards to feel more friction and allow himself to free that aching knot in his balls.

Unfortunately, despite his warning, Wanderer was still not ejaculating at all, which worried you a bit.

“A-Are you sure?” You asked, almost laughing in pure nervousness.

“Yes… yes, yes, yes…” His eyebrows kept twitching and frowning as closure suffocated him, his feet still trying to stretch on the wooden floor.

You grabbed the pot sitting in front of you and you put it in his tip, readying yourself for his orgasm. Now all that would come out of him would directly go inside there with no chance of escape. But then Wanderer’s orgasm snapped pretty soon after you did that, making the timing of your placing of the pot perfect.

Wanderer bit his inferior lips again, simply hissing all his way through it instead of just letting those caged moans go for once. All his cum was going to the pot as expected, but you had to do some effort to keep it all together due to how strongly he was cumming. His hips were jerking forwards to the most they could, hand fingers all spread and aggressive with the poor chair.

“Shit!” He also kept insulting the nothing around him out of nowhere for no apparent reason rather than just coping with the high amounts of pleasure being release.

Soon enough, his cock stop twitching inside the pot, signaling you that it was over. So you pulled it out and angled it back to its normal position to make the semen stuck on the walls to drip down to the bottom of the pot. Meanwhile, Wanderer was just completely melted in the chair, breathing in and out heavily to refresh himself.

“Aaaaand…” You voiced as you reached for the jar’s cover and begun spinning around the pot, stopping when it wasn’t possible to do so anymore. “Done!” You cheered excitedly while getting up and moving to your table.

You carefully placed the pot in a corner and grabbed a packet of blank stickers, beginning to rip one off of it to use it, but Wanderer finally recovered his logical thinking.

“Are you not going to untie me?! It was supposed to be the first thing to do!” He complained, sitting his body in the chair normally again.

“Wait.” You said, trying to focus on stick the sticker in the pot in anyway it wouldn’t be curved or off the center in the slightest.

“You better hurry up… It is very uncomfortable to be in this chair…” Wanderer used an ironic tone to complain about you, trying his best to annoy you to get what he wanted.

“You didn’t seem to have a problem with it at first.” You decided to pause your pot-labeling to give him attention, speaking very snobbishly too.

“Yeah, but now I’m just barely sitting naked here with no moving rights!” He resisted your argument, trying to move his arms and legs again to show you how tight he was against that chair.

“Fine, fine…” You got up from your chair and quickly moved to him, wanting to get that extra task done as soon as possible.

And soon enough, as soon as you took off his blindfold and freed his hands, Wanderer zipped his zipped back to its upper end as soon as possible, a loud high-pitched noise accompanying it. And when you were done freeing his legs, he kicked the hanging ropes around it away and quickly moved away, stretching his limbs apart to taste that sensation of freedom again.

“Holy fuck.” Wanderer moaned as he looked at his hand and tested their flexibility, seeing its fingers bend, his thumb rolling, and his wrists, still aching from the ropes, rotating as he commanded them to do so.

But you ignored him to focus on the sticker in the pot again, finally managing to stick it in the place you wanted it to be. Then, you proceeded to grab one of your many pens and, specifically the black one, and open it just to quickly write “Semen” on the almost-transparent red, straight, middle line of the sticker, and pop the cover back to its place in the pen.

“Gee, I hope I never meet another Biomedicine freak like you again…” He suddenly insulted you, which surprisingly made you turn your chair to him because you had a little twist that you forgot to tell him about.

“Well… It’s with this Biomedicine freak you’re stuck with for the rest of the month.” You tried to keep yourself calm, but you knew that would make him confused.

“What?” He turned to you, with a confused expression in his face you which you could take a picture of.

“Throughout the month I’m probably gonna need some more loads of semen to do the testing…” You watched his eyes widening very entertained, trying your best to not laugh.

“What do you mean?” He asked, in the brim of having a panic attack.

“I forgot to mention to you that little fact, but… I’ll eventually need more semen to compare it to this original sample.” You brought the pot to your hands and lightly shook it, showing Wanderer his own sperm. “Unless you want to cancel this and force me to redo everything I’ve done yet… You’ll have to be my provider this whole month!” You said excitedly, knowing damn well it would make him snap.

“Why didn’t you tell me about this before?!” He shook his arms around very stressed.

“Oopsies! Forgot!” You turned your chair back to the table. “If you’re that bothered, I’ll just throw this a—”

“NO!” He screamed, slightly surprising you. “I-I mean… I can’t let this whole shit we just did go to waste!” He explained himself, convincing you to turn back to him again.

“Oh? Or maybe you’re jealous with the thought of me doing that same shit with another man?” You decided to keep teasing him with a smirk in your lips.

“O-Of course not! Why would I ever feel jealous for you?!” As soon as he finished talking, Wanderer wheezed and put his hands in his face, trying to control himself. “I-I’m gonna get going…” His calm, cold tone came back as he spoke and walked around your room.

Since he hadn’t brought anything, all he had to do was leave your room. But right before he actually could slam your door shut and run very far from your apartment, he suddenly walking, and froze in his place for a few seconds before turning back to you.

“Don’t you dare think about throwing that away.” He pointed to your pot very aggressively, body visibly hard as he threatened you.

And the door was finally slammed to its closed state.

Taglist: @bigmantiddys @the-stinky-winky @goofy-ego @kindofshyent @sasuri123 @gaboplaydespacito @thegriffinbird @alatusorrow @luminieee @toobytub @wandereryumee @shy-ent

Don’t forget to like and comment if you liked it! <3

[daeniradraconis]

Note: My friend and I were laughing about how William’s girlfriend would deal with him always being half-naked during media appearances. I couldn’t stop thinking about it, so I ended up writing a short, cute text conversation between them. Nothing too serious, just for fun. Warnings: no drama, just full-on fluff and all the cute, heart-melting moments.

you opened the post-game interviews after finishing your shift, exhaustion weighing down your body as you sank into the couch. it had been another long day, and it didn’t help that you hadn’t seen william in over four weeks.

you’d missed his game tonight—something you hated—but work had gotten in the way. still, you weren’t about to go to bed without catching up. pulling up the interviews, you waited for the video to load, and as soon as his face appeared on screen, your chest tightened.

there he was.

blond hair damp and messy, like he’d barely run a towel over it after his shower. those icy blue eyes were impossible to miss, so sharp and striking they made you forget how to breathe for a second. and then there was that damn mustache—a thin, perfectly groomed line that he insisted on keeping, no matter how many jokes you made about him looking like a 70s german porn star.

but it was his smile that really got you. wide, a little crooked, and radiating the kind of warmth that made it impossible to be mad at him, even when he was being his cocky self. it was a golden-retriever smile—boyish and playful, and it made your heart melt, just like it always did.

he was talking, answering questions with his usual mix of charm and ease, leaning back in his chair like he didn’t have a care in the world. of course, he was shirtless. because why wouldn’t he be?

your eyes trailed over him, and you felt your stomach twist in longing. he looked too good, too effortless. the distance between you suddenly felt unbearable.

shaking your head, you set your tea down and grabbed your phone. your thumbs flew over the keyboard as you typed out a message, your heart beating just a little faster than you’d like to admit.

you: please learn how to wear a t-shirt, love. it’s not that hard.

you hit send before you could second-guess it, already bracing yourself for the inevitable reply. your phone buzzed almost immediately, and you bit your lip as his name lit up the screen.

willy: you miss me that much, huh?

you rolled your eyes, smiling despite yourself.

you: i miss you, but this isn’t about that. it’s about your complete inability to keep a shirt on in public.

willy: sounds like it’s exactly about that. you jealous, babe?

you let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. he always knew how to push your buttons, and the worst part was how much you loved it.

you: jealous? please. just trying to save you from catching a cold. i’m thoughtful like that.

willy: so thoughtful. maybe you should come take care of me in person. t-shirt optional.

your cheeks burned as you read the message, and you groaned softly, pressing the phone to your forehead. he was impossible.

you: you’re impossible.

willy: you love it.

your heart fluttered as you stared at the screen, knowing he wasn’t wrong.

you: i do. but seriously, next time, put on a damn shirt. or i might lose my mind before you’re back.

his reply came faster than you expected.

willy: deal. but only if you promise to take it off for me later.

you let out a groan, the butterflies in your stomach refusing to settle as you typed back.

you: better wrap up this road trip fast, nylander. or i’m flying out there myself.

willy: don’t threaten me with a good time, babe.

you set the phone down and leaned back, staring at the ceiling as a wide smile spread across your face. no matter how much he drove you crazy, he was worth every second. the four weeks apart had felt like forever, but moments like this made it just a little easier to bear.

you picked up your phone one more time, hesitating only a second before sending another message.

you: miss you. even when you’re a cocky pain in the ass.

his reply came instantly.

willy: miss you too. i’ll make it up to you soon.

as you read his words, your heart softened. four weeks might feel endless, but knowing he was thinking about you just as much as you were thinking about him made it bearable. and even if he didn’t start wearing a shirt, you supposed you’d survive. probably.

[l0vergirlv0mit]

hey girl, can you write abby or ellie teaching reader (who's never been in a relationship) how to cuddle? I feel like it would be so cute ☹️

a/n: Hey girly!! YESS ofc I love comfort🤭🤭🤭 I wrote for Ellie cause I haven’t yet. Sorry this is short!

warnings/contents: weed, fluff, cuddling.

“Are you gonna come sit down or what?” Ellie giggles and waves you over. She’s propped up on your bed with her rolling tray in her lap. You tentatively go to sit next to her watching as she focuses on rolling the perfect joint.

She looks over at you while licking the edge of paper. “Come closer hon, you know I don’t bite.” She hummed out placing the tray on your night stand, she nudging her head to the side bidding you over. “You wanna take the first hit? I’ll light it for you babe.” You nod and Ellie’s pulling you into her side placing the joint between your lips.

“Ya ready?” She says holding the lighter up. Her lips pulling into a small smile.

“Mhm.” You replied holding the joint between your fingers. Ellie goes to light it and you take a shallow inhale in to keep from coughing. It’s no use as you cough uncontrollably anyway. Ellie chuckles quietly, carefully taking the joint from your fingers raising her brows. “Amateur.” She teases you taking a long drag. Her lips wrapping around the joint with a faint smirk. You hit her shoulder lightly in faux annoyance.

You take the joint again right before it hits her lips for a second hit and move away from her to the other side of the bed. She gasps at you before her face falls into disappointment. Her green eyes wearing a look of concern. “How come you keep sitting so far away from me? You don’t wanna cuddle?”

You blow smoke into the room hoping the weed would soon calm your nerves as you look away nervously. “I-I don’t know.” You shrug. Ellie exhales a quick laugh at your response. “You don’t know? What do you mean you don’t know?” She’s furrowing her brows at you confused but the corners of her mouth perk up with slight amusement. Taking the joint from your hand taking a final puff then ashing it for later.

You start to get nervous feeling a bit stupid at your inability to be affectionate. “I-I don’t know, I mean I’ve never done…that.” You look away again at the last word. Ellie moves closer to you instead just filling the space herself. “You mean you’ve never had someone cuddle you before?” She questioned with an astounded look on her face.

“No…” You were fully embarrassed the weed honestly only heightened your feelings. “Awww you poor thing!” Ellie watches with droopy red eye as you pull you lip between your teeth and can’t help but giggle. Playfully pulling you into her arms. “Your cute, how about I teach you babe hmm?” Her fingers running through your hair.

You nod timidly. Her arms around you felt good she soothed that anxiousness inside of you. Ellie goes to lay down in the bed lifting the covers up. She was staying the night dressed in her boxers and an oversized tshirt. “Come on.” She beckons you to lay beside her and you obliged. “Ok now what?” You felt silly honestly giggling quietly waiting for more instructions.

“Put your head on my chest.” Her command made you confused so you laid only your head on her chest not knowing what to do with the rest of yourself. Ellie let a laugh slip and you shoot her a glare. “I’m sorry I’m sorry! Ok now like put your leg between mine. Kinda lay on top of me.” You listen to her and she grabs your arm herself making you hug her abdomen.

The position immediately has you sinking into her. The feeling of Ellie’s chest raising and falling with her breathes grounding you. Ellie’s hand comes to rest on your back for a moment before scratching lightly up and down. “Comfy?” She asks and you’ve already closed eyes settling into her affection. Your cheek squished up against her. “Mhm…” You reply tiredly the soft sounds of the television nearly lulling you to sleep.

You look up at Ellie and she greets you with a soft caring smiling in return. Your hand finds its way under her tshirt pulling her even closer and closing your eyes. Her soft skin helping you into a dreamlike state. Ellie swears her heart stoped beating for a second. Pouting like how you would when you see a really cute puppy. Ellie’s attention is split between you and the tv as she mindlessly plays with your hair. After a couple minutes she hears soft snoring. She pushes hair out of your face and behind your ear to get a better look at you.

She’s smiling to herself when she realizes you’ve fallen asleep. She turns off the tv and carefully adjust herself so she holding you in her arms. She leaves one final kiss on your forehead. Letting out a deep sigh. She closes her eyes and falls asleep in the comfort of your intangled body’s.

[hwallazia]

OCEAN, BED, TATTOO – 정우영

synopsis . in which wooyoung tattoos your skin with ink... and with his lips.

pairing . jung wooyoung & fem! reader

genre . smut (mdni!), fluff & comfort, established relationship, tattoo artist! wooyoung

taglist . @bro-atz @purplenimsicle @vampzity @iykyunho | comment your username if you wanna be added to my permanent taglist! ♡

word count . 2,1k

DISCLAIMER! dom! wooyoung (he’s a teasing menace here) sub! (and very whiny) reader, fingering, clit play, light scratches, unprotected sex (boooo👎), tattoos involved, overstimulation, dirty talk, praise, pet names (my love, sweetheart, youngie & more). lmk if i missed anything.

NIC’S NOTES hey, i’m back at the game again after a long month full of exams !! i’m soo glad, i missed writing so much ♡ well, enjoy <3

tattoos aren’t as bad as people say. they look cool on your skin and they are aesthetically gorgeous. when you were about nine years old, your older sister, a few months after she came of age, got a tattoo of a beautiful, fine mandala on her right leg, and from that moment on, you were committed to tattooing your skin—probably the forearm, you often thought.

and you finally did it when you turned 20. with your sister’s company, you arrived at the tattoo parlor in search of a certain “wooyoung”, who would be the artist who would draw the permanent (and hopefully pretty) lines on your skin.

“excuse me. um, we’re looking for wooyoung? he’s supposed to be the tattoo artist for my sister.” your sister said to the man behind an old oak desk that seemed to be some kind of reception, her body leaning against the wood, elbows resting on it. 

“guess you’re looking for me then” a voice not participating in the conversation intervened. since you heard it coming from behind you, you turned around. just to meet the most good-looking, jaw-dropping, mouth-watering man you’ve ever seen, his figure leaning against the door’s frame that seemed to lead to his studio with his arms crossed in front of his chest, his notoriously pump chest.

“you must be yn.” he continued as he approached you and your sister’s position. “hi. i’m wooyoung.” he extended his right arm, placing his left hand under it. oh, he looks like a prince, a tattooed prince, but hush. “well, do you want to come in alone or do you want your sister to accompany you?”

fortunately, your sister could read you like a book. so when she saw your momentary inability to formulate coherent sentences —she’d later study the reasons why you suddenly were flabbergasted— and before you could say whatever thought your short-circuited mind processed, she answered for you. “go on. i’ll wait here. sometimes you gotta face situations without your dear older sister’s help, right?” she said as she ruffled your hair playfully, slightly messing up your hairstyle. an annoyed huff escaped from your lips with a small pout in reply. 

a cute, quiet snort came from wooyoung, your embarrassed heart racing a little at the sound of it. “come on, then” he tilted his head sharply indicating you to enter his studio. you walked side by side towards its door and before you both could pass the threshold, he stepped aside the door’s frame and extended his arm, his fingertips pointing to the inside of the room.

“ladies first” he uttered in a honey-dripping tone that made your heart skip a beat. and the warm smile he gave you after you locked gazes? double kill. heat flushed through your cheeks, now turning into a more reddened hue. when wooyoung saw your adorable, bashful face turning into a cute tomato, his eyes closed even more. two beautiful, heartwarming crescent moons decorating his eyes. you bowed your head slightly at the embarrassment and entered the studio. abstract art pieces hanging on the wall; a melting-type clock on the side of one of them; a few framed diplomas embellishing a narrow decorative table located below a large window, which gave the most beautiful view of the busy downtown of seoul and, at the same time, allowed the entry of divine natural light, changing the ambience completely. he also had some plants here and there.

“so, what did you have in mind for today?” he spoke as he reached for his chair, grabbing it by its back and pulling it to him so he could sit on it. his arms finding support on the top of the chair as his upper body vaguely leaned against it. “is it your first time?” he asked and turned around to prepare the tattoo machine by grabbing the black ink he’d possibly need.

“yes, um. it is, actually” you stuttered, trying to sound as clear and understandable as possible. “i thought about tattooing the word ‘resilience’ on my forearm. is that okay?” your eyes wondered between wooyoung’s fingers and the veins that came from them, a bottle of isopropyl alcohol in his right hand. 

“of course it’s okay. you’re the boss in here.” he chuckled a little at your stammering tone. ‘well of course it is, you’re the one getting the tattoo and paying for it anyway, so duh’ a bothering voice in your head replied to you, a soft huff from you was heard. “so, do you have an idea of how you want it to look?” he continued while he stretched the latex glove on his left hand and then replicating the action on his right.

“yeah, let me get my ph-” you started to say as you touched your upper body, and then your hips, and then your pockets, and then your pants... you had totally forgotten your phone, in which you kept the idea you saw on pinterest the other day of the tattoo you wanted to get. a murmured curse coming off your lips when you realized. “i, uh. i don’t have my phone with me right now. i... forgot it at home.”

“oh. well don’t worry! it happens to me more times than i’d like.” he laughed not too exaggeratedly. he wasn’t trying to piss you off by giggling at your disgraceful situation; he was comforting you in the best way he could because, after all, you were strangers. “hm. so do you wanna reschedule or-”

you didn’t think twice before responding by shaking your hands in front of you. “no! i trust you with it! it’s just a word anyway.” the words easily slipped out of your tongue, not a hint of doubt in the spark that glimmered in your orbs.

“but it’s your first tattoo-” wooyoung replied with notorious insecureness in his tone and you, unbothered, interrupted him.

“come on!” you spoke as you lifted your dark purple oversized sweater’s sleeve, revealing your soft skin to his fox-like eyes which doubted for a second before resting his slim, latex-covered fingers on your exposed skin. you were able to see a very close-up of the touch of his fingers against your skin, your hair standing on end as a result. his fingers sent shivers and sparks down your whole anatomy, a weird feeling forming in your belly and chest. you felt how his touch dragging flowers through the meadow of your complexion, creating the most beautiful garden.

who would say that that boy who marked your skin for life with his art would now be the one with whom you wake up every day, the one to whom you trust your most intimate secrets, the one whom you love and kiss every day. the one that makes you see stars.

like now, fucking his fingers sloppily from all the right angles into your wet cunt.

“youngie, wait i- hgh- i don’t wanna cum yet.” you whine as you grip the silk, champagne-colored sheets underneath you. he has spent a generous amount of time prepping you, playing way too much with your sensitive clit. and that has brought you to the brink of abyss. you want to cum when he finally fills you with his rock-hardened cock, but wooyoung seems to have no intention of stopping. he is a hundred-percent committed in making you cum as much as you physically can.

“huh? what’s that, sweetheart? didn’t quite catch that.” he mocks at you, deepening his index and middle fingers inside you and putting his thumb to work on your bud’s stimulation. a desperate cry bubbling out your throat. “but stop crying, baby. so you can respond.” his non-working hand releases its firm grip on your hip and moves up to your cheek to stroke it in the most gently way.

your voice lets you down, your tone drowning in the blubber that erupts from your lips once your body feels the consequences of wooyoung’s incessant thumb swaying over your clit. the palms of your hands sheltering your reddened cheeks.

he chuckles at the sight of you, “covering your face when you’re dripping all over my fingers?” he withdraws his fingers from your warm interior, your walls clenching around nothing due to the nostalgia of being satisfyingly full. he then covers your hands with his and takes them away from your blissed expression and pecks your lips briefly. “shameless.” 

he gets on his knees in between your legs, his hands pushing them apart before he bends over your figure, trapping you between his strong, tattooed arms. you have tried in the past putting your legs on his shoulder; and yes, he does push further than usual, but it was an uncomfortable and painful position for you. so you opted for simpler things, nothing so difficult so that it replaces pleasure with pain. wooyoung always puts your satisfaction over his, doing everything he can to give you the most toe-curling orgasm every time. and he never fails. 

your hands instinctively find comfort on his back, your fingers mindlessly stroking his back tattoo. “i’m putting it in, love.” he murmurs against the crook of your neck as he pushes in further and further, your nails digging onto his bare back. the combination of a masculine grunt and a whimper floats in the air, which is getting heavier and heavier. 

“holy shit- ah, wooyoung. you’re so.. fucking deep.” you blubber as you feel his cockhead faintly rubbing your g-spot. his thrusts are precise and strong, driving you quickly over the edge. his sighs blowing on your face as almost invisible clouds because of the humidity generated by the situation. 

“fuck baby. you feel so soft and warm. and tight” he exhals, some strands of hair sticking to his sweaty forehead. he does some kind of push-up to come down your face and kiss your swollen, red lips frantically. your tongues fighting and his winning over yours. “wanna stay inside you forever. ah.” wooyoung pants out his words, hips still going and knocking a little more roughly against your cunt with every push.

“i know you can give me a little more, though” he pants raspily, totally out of breath. your fucked-out mind can only process something about ‘wanting more’ or something like that, you don’t know, way too gone to even say your name without stumbling with your own words. you can only understand what he says when his very familiar touch lingers strokes on your clit, so swollen and tired of overstimulation. the cute, pleasured sounds coming out of you only encouraged him to speed up his fingers and his hips as well. he practically is wanting to break you completely until you aren’t able to even recognize where you are, your name or how much is two plus two. and wooyoung finds your current state quite amusing, so he starts to imitate you, mocking your broken sobs and pathetic mewls exaggeratedly. 

“if only you could listen to you right now. but you aren’t even listening to me, are you, doll?” he teases, enjoying a bit too much the tears that pitifully stream down your face profusely. your eyebrows furrow together, your thighs shake more than usual and you start feeling lightheaded; you’re about to fall into the abyss of pleasure and wooyoung is more than happy to receive your warm, dripping juices. 

“oh fuck, youngie. ’m gonna cum. you’re gonna make me cum. please let me... fuck... please, i—” you give up on the rambling begging and let yourself just helplessly whine and mewl.

“i know, my love. go on, cum for your youngie. make me proud, angel.” he encourages you, his fingers keeping a steady pace on your bud as well as his thrusts. three or four more are more than enough to melt you under his divine touch as your throat lets out the very last shriek of the night. “ah you’re so good, so fucking tight for your youngie, aren’t you? ugh” he shakes above you as he lets out a moan that sounded more like a cry. he quickly, but carefully pulls out, your body shuddering at the sudden emptiness, releasing hot shots of cum over your belly, painting your navel’s surroundings with pearl-like spurts.

he finally lets his body surrender to the overwhelming tiredness, collapsing above you.

“wooyoung. love. get off of me, i can’t breathe.” you speak, receiving a drowned and unbothered ‘mm’ as a response. you chuckle with the little strength you have left, “at least get off of my arm?” you try to negotiate with him the dumbest thing ever. but he finally does as told and moves a little to the side, releasing your right arm from his weight, “there you go. see? it wasn’t that hard.”

“hush. i’m sleepy. and tired” he mentions separately in a grumpy tone. of course, how could you forget the grumpiness that wraps your boyfriend when he runs out of energy?

“fine, babygirl.”

“don’t call me that!”

| masterlist

[chanelle-lize]

On Thursday, February 20, 2025, I got hit by a freight train.

Let me explain…

When I saw @wizard-loving-wizard post that Aabria was teaching a free masterclass in Hamilton, Ontario, I was crushed.

I live in Montreal, Quebec, which is a seven-hour drive from Hamilton. Round trip tickets would have cost me ~$200, which would have been perfectly affordable if it wasn’t for the dire financial situation I’ve been in for the last several months. I felt like I was missing out on a dream come true because I was just too much of a fuck up to reach out and take it.

I retreated to my Aabria appreciation post on Discord and vented about my inability to attend the event. Fifteen minutes later, a fellow Aabria fan, who I will refer to as “Ruby” replied, “Tell me how much it costs to get there and back- I will sponsor you.”

I almost immediately refused. They explained that they wanted to pay my way as a birthday present for themself, because they really wanted to see me follow my dreams. So, I decided to look up the current ticket prices. I did my research and learned the most efficient route was to take a bus from Montréal to Toronto, then from Toronto to Hamilton. Four tickets, round trip. Then, I registered to get my ticket for the masterclass, just to make sure I didn’t secure bus tickets only to find that the class had sold out.

I asked around some local social media groups to see what options I had and found someone who was looking to trade a bus ticket from Montreal to Toronto on the exact date of the event. They ended up trading me the ticket in exchange for a faux fur blanket that I forgot I had. Ruby congratulated me for snagging one of the tickets, but reminded me that their offer was still available.

I kept looking, in the hopes that I would eventually find a way to get from Toronto to Hamilton, and then back home again without having to accept freely-given financial support (no, I don't have a therapist, why do you ask?), but I had no such luck. I felt like I was on a perpetual roller coaster of hope and disappointment, but every time I got discouraged, I hummed “Impossible” from Rogers and Hammerstein’s Cinderella to myself – the Brandy and Whitney Houston rendition, specifically – and kept going.

On Wednesday, I had to accept that I probably would not be finding any more bus tickets on my own, so I thanked Ruby for reiterating the offer and told them how much I needed for the remaining three tickets. They sent me $200 regardless.

I bought the rest of the tickets and left for Toronto at 6:30 am Thursday morning.

On the way to Toronto, I got a Spill notification (Spill is a Black-owned social media app) reminding me about the weekly “Advanced Audacity” lecture series I had signed up for. It suddenly hit me that, last Thursday, I had said that I simply didn't have the funds to achieve my dreams. Naya, the audacity coach running the lecture series (yes, audacity coach) asked me what dream I didn’t have the funds for, and I said “becoming a performer/storyteller in the TTRPG space.” And there I was on a bus to McMaster University in Hamilton, Ontario to watch Aabria Iyengar teach a D&D storytelling masterclass, exactly seven days later.

Wild.

I got to the venue safely and settled in for the show. It was phenomenal, unsurprisingly. Aabria was joined on stage by four local D&D players, one of whom was a Black woman named Renée. Aabria began by giving a short talk on storytelling within the context of D&D (and the sociocultural implications that come with it), before spending the rest of the show DMing a brilliantly thrilling one-shot. I took notes throughout the entire event and had a lot of fun writing speculative marginalia about the thought-process behind her storytelling choices and jotting down the insights she shared as she paused to explain why she was doing something the way she was doing it.

I was also particularly struck by Bubbles, Renée's unsettlingly over-friendly Tiefling character. At some point, I leaned over to @wizard-loving-wizard (who I met and got to sit next to at the event) and whispered, “Bubbles is the Tabby to my Evan Kelmp.”

After the show, Aabria sat on the edge of the stage to chat with audience members, and my wildest dream of being able to nerd out about storytelling with Aabria Iyengar… was immediately shattered when she looked over at me and I reacted like Troy Barnes meeting LeVar Burton. I broke eye contact and starred at the ground, absolutely furious with myself. Thankfully, I remembered that I wanted to ask Aabria to record a video message for Ruby, so I did end up meeting her.

I told her about the blanket–bus ticket trade and Ruby's generosity, and then I tried to ask for a video message, but I just said "Um," forever until she asked me if I wanted to send Ruby something. I jammed my phone into her hand, and she said, "Oh, I'm doing it?" and I said, "I DUNNO," to which she replied, "No, we're all in this now!" turned into a selfie stick, and recorded a minute long heartfelt message for Ruby with WLW and I just kinda hanging out in the background. Then she asked me if I wanted to take a photo with her. After the photo, she said something that I cannot remember, but I remember saying, "I am not here," in response, to which she replied, "No, don't dissociate!" And then I dissociated, and I don't remember what happened between that and saying goodbye, but I do remember that after I said goodbye, I said, “Flee the scene!” and legged it.

So, I didn’t exactly get to discuss any of the notes I had taken, but I did meet Aabria Iyengar, and that alone is a dream come true, even though I became a version of myself nobody has ever seen before and I hope to God no one ever sees again, because, what the fuck… was that.

Anyways.

WLW couldn’t stay for the after party but kindly dropped me off. I was starting to get pretty tired, and I was disappointed that I didn’t get to properly talk to Aabria, so I didn’t actually want to go anymore, but I also didn’t want to give up on having the opportunity to have a conversation about storytelling with somebody. So, I went inside.

I spent a long time just kind of standing in a corner by myself until I worked up the courage to approach someone else who was also just kind of off to the side, and we ended up striking up a conversation. We chatted about the show, and as we spoke, I slowly came to the realization that most of the people who came out to the masterclass were motivated by an interest in D&D.

Now, this sounds like a dumb realization to make after traveling for seven hours to attend a D&D masterclass, but it was an important one, because I don’t give that big of a fuck about D&D. I’ve never played a single TTRPG in my goddamn life. Would I? Sure. But D&D had nothing to do with how desperately I wanted to go to that masterclass. I was drawn in by something else.

Last Thursday, Naya the audacity coach said that one of the ways we think ourselves out of our dreams is by assuming that everybody would be doing what we want to be doing if it was something that anybody could just up and do. But that assumption is false. Everybody has different dreams. Not everybody wants to be doing what you want to do. And I looked around the room and saw Renée on the other side and realized we were the only Black women there.

I didn’t feel quite up to breaking the ice, but thankfully my conversation partner wanted to go ask Renée what Bubbles’ class was, because she had the other three pretty much figured out. So we walked over and joined the conversation. Bubbles turned out to be a druid, and the reason she was hard to identify was because Renée did not take a single combat action during the entire one-shot and Bubbles was still a fascinating and engaging character nonetheless. I’m not exactly sure where the conversation went from there, but I remember getting really excited because Renée said Bubbles’ whole “unaware that she’s freaking people out by being too friendly” vibe really resonated with her, and I excitedly told her that it really resonated with me too, and then there was this lovely moment where Renée started talking about how much harder it is to be a weirdo when you’re already a visible minority, and she started a phrase that ended with “when all they see is,” and she looked me right in the eyes and paused for the tiniest fraction of a second before saying, “sharp teeth and horns.” I already knew how common it is for a Black person to play as Tieflings, but using a Tiefling as a literal metaphor in order to talk about your experiences as a Black person while physically, not figuratively, but literally standing in a predominantly-white space and simultaneously protecting that expression of self from getting hijacked and repurposed as a teachable moment for the benefit of everybody else in the room but you absolutely blew my mind.

I have strongly identified with the song "In My Own Little Corner" since the first time I heard Brandy sing it as Cinderella, but "Impossible" didn't resonate with me until I watched the first episode of “Burrow’s End” on YouTube and Aabria became my Storytelling Fairy Godmother. Since then, I’ve been hearing “Impossible” playing from some vague, untraceable location in the distance that I had no real hope of finding. But, on Monday, it crystallized to a single point over Hamilton, Ontario, and on Tuesday, it started getting louder, like the horn of an approaching freight train, and it kept getting louder, until Thursday, February 20, 2025, the freight train hit, and I’m different now.

Fuck it, I’m different now.

It was Impossible for me to go to the masterclass, so somebody else sent me. And it was Impossible for me to achieve my dreams because if they were possible, everybody else would be doing it too, but I just sat in a room with 300+ people who don’t want what I want, so…

I’ve never been fired, but I did find out that I’d used up all my student funding last semester in the middle of midterms when I was too stressed to do anything about it, and I haven’t been able to pay rent since September. So, fuck it! I have the audacity. This is my Doechii moment now.

I’m going to go to a bunch of studios and ask if they have any internships open and ask questions, and by that I mean I’m going to connect with the Renées and the Aabrias, and all the other Black women storytellers, and talk to them about creating, and playing, and performing, and critiquing games, and stories, and characters, and worlds.

I’m going to message Renée and tell her I really enjoyed talking with her about her unique approach to gameplay and I’m going to ask if she’s free to chat more about it.

I’m even going to tag @quiddie and not even panic a little bit about it. Sup prof, lecture was sick, do you do… office hours…?

Anyways, that’s the story of how I got hit by a motherfucking freight train.

[isthatbloodonhisshirt]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers! Spread the self-love 💞

Thank you so much! This is such a sweet idea ❤❤❤

Oh God, now I have to not be self-deprecating though lol

I figure to not overwhelm people with my inability to be short, five fics are under the read more :)

It Was a Wednesday

Look, I don't know why, but I just really like this one for some reason. I think because it jives with my whole "I am okay with bad things happening as long as everything is okay in the end" feelings about everything and this one for some reason hits that for me. (I mean, obviously, I wrote it, it was going to end happy, but man did those boys suffer to make it there...)

2. Thanks for Thumper, but I Prefer Cheeseburgers

This one was just fun. No drama, no crazy high stakes, just a dude who happened upon a Werewolf in the forest that he became buddies with (after he stopped freaking out he was going to get eaten). It was just really fun to write and experiment with.

3. Waiting

I feel like this one always oscillates between me loving it and... not hating it, but not loving it, I guess. Idk, I feel like the comfort is nice but sometimes I think about it/re-read it and get lonely thinking about what I put Derek through for all those years. Thank God he has a Stiles. (I also remember the original ending and how different and bad it was and am so thankful I didn't go that route pfft. No I will not elaborate, just trust me, it was bad.)

4. By Any Other Name (I Will Always Feel the Same)

This one was just fun, and writing the pack as immortals was entertaining. Some parts I felt dragged and I wish I could've done them better, but character development, so... Overall I still had fun with it.

5. There's No Escape for the Potato Man

Stiles accidentally turns a wrong number into a bestie and eventually a boyfriend. Though also Derek was lonely and didn't know it, so Stiles saved him without even trying. (Also I love writing dialogue so anything with lots of texting is absolutely my jam lol)

Feel free to tell me I am wrong and these are terrible choices lol ❤

[osakiharu]

23:30PM : ran haitani

content : gender neutral reader, fluff ig??, … , best friend!ran but you have a sneaky crush hehe, y’all are on ft and ran just gets changed, but he knows what he’s doing >:), ran’s job isn’t specified so you can interpret it however you want — i wasn’t aiming towards anything specific either so go crazy 🫶

words : 665

notes : accept this as my apology for not writing for a while, i’ve had a lot of change recently with uni and whatever and i’ve just been enjoying life but unfortunately i left a lot of my hobbies to collect dust so i’m trying to get back into them all, including writing lmao. anyways time to think whore thoughts of our fav man !!

thinking about best friend!ran being so comfortable with you that he just doesn’t care about what he does anymore or the fact that you’re just friends (much to his displeasure and yours). 

“‘m gonna get changed.” you heard ran mumble from the speaker of your phone as you got up to pack up your books for tomorrow’s morning lecture. you gave him a short response from the other side of your room, leaving your phone propped up against the screen of your laptop. 

sometimes you think ran gets a bit too comfortable on facetime with you, hell maybe even face to face considering the fact that you two are just friends. wrapping an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close when it’s cold outside or when you’re watching a movie. when you’re both exhausted from your respective jobs and fall sleep on his bed, disregarding the plans you’d made earlier. though, of course, you can’t do this without him rolling over to spoon you, his warm chest pressed up against your back with his gentle breaths fanning over your neck. the hand he always has draped over your side rubbing sweet little circles, sometimes even hearts, into the skin if your tummy, coming to a stop when he drifts off to sleep. 

but you know ran and he never does anything without a reason, a purpose, a goal in mind, because what ran wants, ran gets. the only thing stopping him from getting it is you. you and your inability to figure out why he does what he does. 

a sigh left you as you got up and returned back to your seat at your desk. “earlier I was talking—”

oh. oh…

what you’d expected to see was his ceiling, or maybe a black screen from where he’d put his phone down, away from him changing. perhaps you’d expected him to be finished already, considering the fact that it doesn’t take long to change into a pair of sweats and a shirt. instead, your eyes were met with the sight of ran, shirtless, angling his hips forwards to tie the strings on his sweatpants that seemed to be hanging dangerously low. you stared at the dark ink covering his torso and arm, somehow looking even better under the warm, dim light of the desk lamp that glowed on his pale skin.

“hm?” ran looked up towards his phone through the purple strands hanging in front of his face. you saw his chest jump slightly with a chuckle he couldn’t contain when he noticed your expression — eyes ever so slightly widened, mouth slightly agape. you weren’t shocked or surprised, this is ran we’re talking about, but you didn’t think he’d be this relaxed in front of you. “uhh, nevermind… i was gonna tell you something rindou told me but i forgot.” clearing your throat you averted your eyes back to your essay. the essay you couldn’t seem to focus on any longer. 

“you get this distracted when you talk to my brother, too?” anyone could’ve heard the smile in his voice as he spoke. he liked when he got under your skin and made you blush, when you weren’t able to reply with something witty or clever. ran paced around ‘looking’ for a sweatshirt waiting for your answer. “there’s a sweatshirt on your bed, moron.” you chuckled and returned back to your notes. ‘fuck, they ignored it,’ he thought as he sucked his teeth and picked up the black item of clothing. you couldn’t help but peek over to your phone screen to see his back, lean and muscular, moving in tandem with the rest of body. a breath left your nose. fuck.

“quit starin’, sweets,” he turned to face you while adjusting his sweatshirt, “it’s rude to stare, y’know?”

“i wasn’t.”

“sure, y/n” you both grinned at each other, knowing the truth. “now, help me with this essay, will you?” he asked, and you could hear papers rustling and shuffling around on his desk.

GUYYYYSS i literally need him so bad ??!!

reblogs appreciated <3

[st4rr-girrl]

Was wondering if you could write about y/n and dally being in a toxic relationship mostly stemming from his part idc how dark it gets tbh and soda has feelings for y/n and y/n comes venting to him about it and it's in his perspective idk if this makes any sense but it does in my brain

Lmao yes honey, I got u. <3

Warnings: Toxic relationship, domestic violence, angst, hurt & comfort.

Summary; When Dallas broke the camels back during your relationship, you found yourself running into Soda’s arms.

(Kinda short? Idk how I feel abt this one, but I hope u enjoy.)

I will never truly understand what she sees in him.

The way she smiles, the way she blushes around him.

It should be me, making her smile and blush.

Not him. Never him.

They looked so happy together, so imagine my surprise when (Y/N) had show up on my doorstep, a bright red slap mark across her left cheek, mascara and tears running down her face as she pleaded for me to let her inside.

My heart broke at the sight of her, my eyes wide and my brows raised. I quickly ushered her inside my home, shutting and locking the door behind her.

“What happened, sweetness?” I asked softly, watching as she sat down on the couch.

“D-Dallas.” She stuttered through her tears, choking on her sobs.

I immediately knew what she meant. My blood ran cold, and my jaw clenched tightly. So tightly I thought my teeth might break.

I crossed my arms, a vicious glint swirling behind my eyes. “I’m gonna go talk to him.” I spoke, my tone cold and signaling nothing good. My tone showing that I would have more than just a friendly conversation with Dallas. I turned to walk away, but she quickly got up and grabbed my forearm.

“Wait!” She squeaked, her beautiful eyes wide and her lower lip trembling. “Please.. stay with me.” She whispered, her eyes scanning my face.

I nodded slowly, heaving a sigh as I turned around. I knew I couldn’t let Dally get away with this. He had hurt, (Y/N). He hurt my sweet girl, and I wanted to break his jaw for it. But for now, she needs me.

She wrapped her arms around my torso, and rested her cheek on my chest. With a slight frown, I wrapped my arms around her neck, pulling her closer to me. We stood in a comforting silence for a moment, before her raspy voice spoke up.

“It was always you, Soda.” She whispered.

Puzzled, and my facial expression showing it, I slowly pulled away from her to look at her face. “What?” I asked slowly, confused as to what she had meant.

“It’s always been you.” She confessed, her brows furrowing as she pulled away from the hug to stare at me. “Not Dallas.” She shook her head. “Never Dallas.”

“What do you mean, (Y/N)?” I replied, trying to confirm what I was hearing.

“I love you, Soda. I always have.” She confessed, a soft blush spreading across her nose.

My heart beat against my ribcage at an ungodly speed, and I couldn’t help the wide grin tugging at the corners of my lips. “You do?”

“Yes, Soda.” She laughed softly, reaching down and interlocking our hands together.

That damn laugh.

The one I once prayed I was the cause for.

I mentally thanked a higher power, for answering my prayers.

In some sick, and twisted way; I also thanked Dallas. His inability to treat her with common decency had caused me to receive my dream girl. I was still angry at Dally, however. No, not angry. Livid.

I would pay him a private visit some other time, though. I had a beautiful girl to comfort.

“I love you too.” I said, leaning down and locking our lips together. Passionately, but softly.

Treat your lady right, otherwise it may just be the last thing you ever have the chance to fuck up. 💕

[quickdeaths]

NAME?: Bryn

PRONOUNS?: she/her

MOST ACTIVE MUSES?: For me, my energy for individual characters is informed by what interest other people are giving and what things I've been writing. Shinobu is probably my highest muse character, but most of that is because I've been writing her consistently with @more-than-a-princess for like over two years. I'm less inspired to write characters who don't get as much interest or who aren't in long-running threads right now, but I'm also almost always happy to write anyone.

EXPERIENCE/HOW MANY YEARS?: I think I got started on tumblr RP in like 2011 maybe, and I know I got started in my current style of it in 2015. As for when I started RPing in general, I started in maybe... 2006-2007 on a forum when I was a little child. It's kinda crazy to think that it'll be a 20 year hobby pretty soon!

FLUFF, ANGST, OR SMUT?: I lean towards angst a little, but fluff's not far behind - I think they complement each other and a good balance is necessary for most things. Smut is something I'm much more restrained on - never say never of course, but it's not something I enjoy writing as much, and I feel like it needs a reason for me to be interested in writing it, rather than just cutting away.

LONG OR SHORT REPLIES?: Long replies. I shoot for 3 paragraphs minimum and I'm truthfully more comfortable with around 5. I like to get a balance of dialogue, internal thoughts/feelings, and physical descriptions, and that often requires longer replies. When I started out, it felt more common for people to treat RP like "reading a book" or "playing a video game" - something you would sit down and do continuously for like two hours, and then stop. In that context, the short replies made sense because you could bounce replies back and forth a dozen times in a couple hours, but with how the culture has changed and the expectation for replies is that it's gonna be a few days/a week/a few weeks/whatever, I feel like it suits me better to write longer replies.

PET PEEVES?: Gosh we'll be here all day if I list them all. Basically what I would say is like "when people cannot manage their blogs." Drafts or inbox counts in the hundreds, 50 OOC posts to every IC one, inability to communicate in DMs or on discord, constantly deleting and remaking blogs, repeatedly dropping all threads and starting over, etc. It's just an energy I have a difficult time dealing with, and puts me off of writing with someone.

ARE YOU LIKE YOUR MUSE?: Not so much. I feel like there is something like me in all my muses - either some conscious inclusion, or something that resonates in some way, something that catches interest or something to hold onto - but I wouldn't say I'm really too much like them. I always say that Rio is probably the muse who I'm most like, but even then I'd say we're more different than similar.

TIME TO WRITE?: Early in the morning or late at night. I honestly can write whenever, but I have an easier time when the world is quiet and I'm not interrupted by other things.

TAGGED BY: @ofaflower

TAGGING: @luvsxcks @swanssongs @musedbyalli @naivds @ultimxte-nurse @mystic-mc @apexapricity @infintasmal @phantasmalnightmare

[fea-resources]

Matching Length vs Matching Effort

Commonly in the RPC you have two sides of what is essentially the same coin.

On one side, you have people who struggle with the anxiety that they're not giving enough in a reply (and some aren't, but we'll get to that in a moment). Typically, these are the same people who will insist you don't have to match length with them, so long as the effort is there.

On another side, you have people who are not only not matching post length, but they're not matching effort. People who just suck all the fun out of interactions because they're not really trying, they're just firing off the most bare-bones, thoughtless mush that took them five seconds to think of.

Generally speaking, it's usually pretty obvious to most experienced roleplayers the difference between someone who is writing short replies that are still effortful and deliberate, and people who just kind of don't care about what content they provide their partners with.

In the vast majority of cases, I've found that most roleplayers fall into the former category. People who are in fact here to give effort.

But anxiety persists that we aren't good enough for our partners, that if we don't match length then we're not trying hard enough, or we aren't as good of a writer, or other people won't like what we have to give.

The fact of the matter is, it really depends.

Length is not the most important thing, and my personal rule of thumb is not "does this post match an arbitrary word count?", but "does this post get across everything that it needs to get across?"

This isn't just about including every little thing I think I need to include and communicate to my partners or my muse. It's also about knowing what and when to omit things towards a narrative purpose.

The fact of the matter is, you can write an entire novel and still give people nothing to work with. You can respond to paragraphs and paragraphs with a single word as a reply, and still be making effort.

That sounds silly, right? But stick with me for a moment, because I'm actually using a real example from an actual roleplay I've done.

I have a writing partner I've known now for almost two decades. We've written basically everything together. We've even contested with each other, just to see what would happen, for who could write the longest single reply while still making sense and allowing easy room for the next person to do something (we both ended up writing replies that were almost 6,000 words each).

I've also given the same partner a single word reply before, after they wrote me several paragraphs.

The post simply read Nothing.

Some people will look at that and immediately nope out. "I would never write a response after that. What am I supposed to do with that? I'd just quit. Clearly the other person doesn't value my effort at all".

But this wasn't laziness or an inability to come up with something more. This was completely deliberate, narrative choice.

Why, you may ask? Because the only thing my scene needed was a single word to move the narration along.

For context, the scene we were playing was a character of mine, who couldn't swim, had fallen overboard on a ship and drowned. My partner's character pulled them out of the water and gave them CPR to try and resuscitate them.

Could I have written paragraphs and paragraphs describing how my character had drowned or was basically functionally dead? Yeah, I could have. But it wouldn't have changed a single thing about what the other person's character did next or moved the plot along any faster. And a whole lot of detailed fluff about my character just lying there, failing to be brought back to life, wouldn't have been as much of a narrative gut-punch as that single word.

Because in that case, the distinct difference in the length of my partner's reply, only to get back a single word, reflected the same feeling in the roleplay scene. All of that effort to save someone's life, and there's just nothing. (The character was saved in the next reply, btw).

Certainly, I don't recommend doing what I did in most roleplay scenarios. This just happened to be one rare case where it was appropriate to break the usual rules.

But that's the thing about Length vs Effort, and even effort itself. Once you understand the rules inside and out, you can also allow yourself to -- by deliberate and appropriate choice -- break them sometimes.

But we're not really here to talk about how to break rules to give the most minimalist replies you can. That example was only there to prove a point that length really doesn't matter, so long as what you've written fits and keeps things moving.

Roleplays are kind of like the tides. Sometimes you have high tide, and sometimes low, but it fluctuates. Some of the best roleplays can dwindle down to single line replies, because the current events of that thread need less detail or more room for input from your partner's character to keep things moving. Sometimes a single line reply can spawn ten paragraphs in reply.

Neither direction means one roleplayer is better or lesser, that one person is putting in more or less effort than the other. There's nothing wrong of course with looking at a reply and asking yourself "Is my reply missing something else that should be there?", and genuinely working on giving the best that you can give, but 10 paragraphs of meaningless fluff just to make your post length bigger is still 10 paragraphs of fluff.

Effort sometimes is about knowing not just when to give more, but when its okay, and even better, to give less.

If the other person gives you ten paragraphs and it makes sense why you'd only give five, that's not a failure on your part, it just means that was exactly the right amount of things that needed to be written, so long as what you wrote is a springboard that carries Meaning.

Once you realize that, really realize it and take it to heart, a lot of the anxiety you have about writing will disappear and writing will become a lot easier and more fun. The other writers who really matter -- and who are probably struggling with the same exact anxiety as you are -- will notice that effort and reciprocate it, no matter whether you're writing one-liners or novella.

[nicklloydnow]

“It was during the four or five years of moving around restlessly, concentrating on the 'distant horizon', that I developed the mental trick of brushing aside the worm's eye view. Van Gooh's affirmation-experiences were never subjected to logical analysis, so that he could never be sure, looking back on them later, whether they were not simply bursts of emotional euphoria, with no objective significance. Once I had got used to the idea that the insight had nothing to do with emotion—that it was always a vision of the same landscape—this kind of doubt ceased to be an important factor.

This 'vision' of my 'wanderjahre' period was not a consummation, like an orgasm; it always produced a strong sense that I was only at the beginning. The next problem was to map the landscape, to explain the mechanisms of consciousness and the way they can lead to affirmation-experiences or to morbid paranoia. This proved to be harder than I had anticipated, because ordinary psychology, of the kind created by Freud and Jung, proved to be quite useless. Existentialism provided a better starting point, but that was equally frustrating because the major figures—Kierkegaard, Heidegger, Sartre, Camus—were as riddled with pessimism and the 'passive fallacy' as Beckett. Sartre's world-negation seemed to me as unperceptive as Graham Greene's, merely a sign of an inability to think clearly. He keeps confusing consciousness as a general concept with personality-consciousness. So that Simone de Beauvoir can write (in Pyrrhus and Cinéas): I look at myself in vain in a mirror, tell myself my own story, I can never grasp myself as an entire object, I experience in myself the emptiness that is myself, I feel that I am not', and imagine that she is describing a general characteristic of all consciousness, instead of ordinary superficial mono-consciousness. As soon as one reads Mile de Beauvoir's volumes of autobiography, or Sartre's Words, one can see exactly why they made this basic error; neither of them possess that capacity for poetic experience—affirmation-consciousness—that came so naturally to Wordsworth.

And the chief characteristic of the opposite of affirmation consciousness—I suppose one might call it depression-consciousness—is that when you are in it, it seems totally convincing; like a very brilliant liar, it can account for everything in its own terms. Aldous Huxley invented the rather useful term 'minimum working hypothesis' about religion—i.e. what can we state definitely about it without going off into 'faith' or speculation. Well, the minimum-working-hypothesis for depression-consciousness is that the world is real and permanent, and we are not very real and not very permanent. (One of the most convincing expressions of it in literature is Wells's Mind at the End of its Tether, that final work in which he thought the universe was falling to pieces.)

At this point, it might seem relevant to ask the question: What about death? Does this fundamentally optimistic philosophy have anything to say about the final problem? If not, then surely it has no right to condemn Sartre, Greene, Beckett and the rest for being short-sighted?

This is not quite so. Although I do not believe the question of death to be ultimately beyond human solution, it is not particularly relevant at this point anyway. Suppose I were a building contractor, and I say: I think it would take me about two years to erect a thirty storey building,' and someone replies: 'Oh no, because you might die at any moment', this would quite clearly be a logical non sequitur. What I am stating here is that the greatest human mistake is the belief that ‘the natural wakeful life of the ego is a perceiving'—in Husserl's phrase. It isn't. At least, the normal understanding of this idea involves a fallacy; that perceiving is a passive occupation, like sleeping. I have tried to show that this mistake arises from the efficiency of our human robot. This robot might be compared to a super tax-accountant, who is so efficient that he gets his hands on all your money before you receive it yourself, and deducts tax for you, so that you never have any tax bills. And when people mention tax, you say with sincerity: I've never paid any in my life.' The flat truth is that you are too stupid to understand your own business affairs. However, your invisible tax-accountant is completely dependent on you. If you stop earning money, he won't be able to support you. The same is true of the robot. The energy that sustains your everyday perception comes from you. So do those bonuses of duo-consciousness, that startle you as pleasantly as a tax rebate. What human beings will slowly develop, as we advance up the evolutionary scale, is a deepening consciousness of these transactions of the robot, so that the chance element disappears from the ups and downs of consciousness. And eventually the problem of death itself will come within the range of our self-knowledge for any doctor will confirm that the body's health depends, in some strange way, upon the mind. And, at the present stage, this is all it is possible to say.

To summarise. All great changes involve a doldrums period, a time of fallowness. When a backward country changes over from agriculture to industry, the immediate result is misery and starvation for farm workers. The human race has been going into a new phase of evolution at a steadily accelerating pace, and the end is now in sight. Man deliberately abandoned the warm richness of animal consciousness for something altogether bleaker and harder. He has not done it deliberately and determinedly, but in brief spurts, with many backslidings. His attempt to conquer nature and improve his position have made life so complicated that the old phrase about the 'gift of life' begins to take on ironic overtones. Laziness and timidity are no longer qualities that can be tolerated by the force behind evolution. Human beings of the 21st century will be born into a forbidding world: a civilisation that is immense, aloof, heartless and highly mechanised. Men of genius will find it a frightening world, for it will look so impersonal and vast that there will seem to be no room for individuality. Roads to the top will be well marked, but they will involve a discouraging amount of specialisation, of adjustment to the demands of mass-organisation. And since men of genius naturally hate to conform, it seems likely that the present tendency to negative revolt will increase, as they fire off blasts of loathing at the clockwork octopus that holds them fast. This will only make things worse, for nothing destroys the will quicker than the conviction that there is no point in willing. It looks like a vicious circle; there seems every reason to assume that human beings have chosen a self-destructive route to dominance, and that things are bound to get worse, until the whole miserable chaos explodes and we plunge back into a relaxing barbarism.

This is why it has become so important that we grasp what is happening. Human consciousness has been on half-rations for a long time now; but in an important sense, this is by our own choice as a man might fast to lose weight, or save money to finance a business. A point has arrived where we can afford to reap the first harvest. Because we have not permanently forsworn the warmth and richness of animal consciousness. We have set out to develop ways in which we can have the enrichment without its dis-advantages: laziness, incompetence, lack of purpose. We chose purpose, and accepted the sudden drop in the pressure of consciousness that went with it. The east always found it easier to achieve ecstasy than the west, because the eastern temperament tends to be less purposive (this may not continue to be true, though), and so far, that has been the equation that governs human existence: purpose and the tightening of the belt, or happiness and drifting. But expressed in this way, we can see that it does not have to be so. We left purpose to the robot, because consciousness had to be economised: we had to use it for immediate problems. And now a time has come when it is not only true that we can afford to relax—and take the horse out of its harness—but when it has become a matter of urgency that we do so. The new complexity of our civilisation demands a more leisurely, enriched type of consciousness. The old obsessive energy must be turned into self-knowledge, the attempt to illuminate the realm of the robot, to gain conscious control of its vast resources of power.

For I must repeat the assertion with which I began: we possess such immense resources of power that pessimism is a laughable absurdity. Yeats's old Chinamen are gay because they know. They have broken through. They no longer suspect—as Faust does—that knowledge may be the death of us, by revealing new vistas of futility, and the ultimate impossibility of knowing anything at all. They have pushed knowledge further still: and what they now know fills them with a tremendous, quiet satis-faction. That is why 'their ancient, glittering eyes are gay'.

Why do I believe that this is the crucial point in human evolution? Why not in the year 2000 or 25000?

There are two reasons, and I have already discussed the first: that we can choose when we shall turn the questing intellect that has built the cyclotron and the moon rocket to the scientific exploration of man's inner being. And now is a good time to choose—now that there is more leisure available to more people than at any time in history.

But I also believe that the inner forces of history are pushing us towards the moment of choice. Man has been having 'mystical' experiences for as far back as written records extend; but they were restricted to a few rare souls. In the 19th century, we suddenly discover what can only be called a mass hunger for mystical experience that is, for rejection of the imperatives of everyday existence and for an intenser form of inner-experience. Romanticism is the expression of a deep instinctive desire for the life of the mind, and we are still in the midst of the romantic period. The stomach of the romantic rejects everyday existence as Bombard's stomach rejected the squashed fish; but he has no clear idea of an alternative to it. Like Wagner, he believes that the world of the mind is based upon 'wahn', illusion, and that to reject "life' is the same thing as choosing death. What he is failing to grasp is that human beings are the only terrestrial creatures for whom the word 'life' has two distinct meanings. For an animal, 'life' is what it sees when it opens its eyes in the morning; that is all. But even a fairly unintellegent human being—let us say, a provincial lad on his way to see the Cup Final in London—can say 'Eh, lad, this is life!', and mean that he suddenly perceives that 'life' means something bigger than his individual life. Human beings are the only creatures with some ability to grasp 'life' in this bigger sense. And this is the aim of our evolution, the purpose for which we rejected animal 'oneness' with nature. We are capable— in theory—of living 'life' in the broader sense.

The trouble is that our habits are against it. Imagine a soldier from Napoleon's army, returning from the Russian campaign to his small village where nothing ever happens. He sees clearly that these people are wasting their lives by living so narrowly; he knows 'life' is bigger. But if he stays in the village for six months or so, he too will forget this broader life, and allow his senses to shrink to the confines of village gossip. The problem is to stretch the mind 'beyond immediacy', and our chief defect is that it takes crisis or misery to make us do it. And yet we possess a power possessed by no other animal-this power called imagination—and its purpose is not—as I have already remarked—to allow people to live in 'a world of imagination', but to enable them to point the mind towards the broadest possible meaning of life'. In the 19th century, the impulse became so powerful in the higher types of human being that it outstripped their interest in the narrower sense of 'life'. In the 20th century, this disgusted rejection of 'life' has become stronger. Wagner and Tennyson represent a rich autumn; Kafka and Beckett a bleak, grey winter. It is impossible for rejection to go further; the turning point has to come.” - Colin Wilson, ‘Poetry and Mysticism’ (1969) [p. 92 - 97]

[lvndrhzd]

🍓 + compliment the three people you have written with the longest

mutuals send me a 🍓 and ill compliment u!

oh boy, oh boy. this … was actually harder than i thought it was gonna be. just because i am bad at math ahaha.

@by-reign , my sweet angel, the loml. i have talked about reign, both to her and behind her back, in literal circles. even my fiance has heard me literally gush about her hours. (but he’s also met her so he knows the general awesomeness that she is!) for the record, i’ve known her for over ten years now. bc i went back to look at my old ruby blog. and i made that bitch in november 2013. and who was the first person to respond to my lame ass open? reign. and it was history ever since. there are not enough words in the english language for me to articulate how impressed i am with her creative ability. her talent when it comes to putting words together, painting a gorgeous picture with her prose and even in the plotting process. i am and will always be in awh. and i am honored to be able to call her one of my best friends. because she is, hands down, the one person i can trust to be 10000% honest with me. esp when it comes to how in my head i can get with life and rp in general. and that shit is so fucking rare. this is long. but when i tell you, reign is my absolute ride or die. and i am just so humbled and thankful that despite my inability to be any shade of consistent, especially in the last few years, she has not given up on me. i love you, bitch. thank you. for everything.

@worthyheir , it’s crazy to think i have ALSO been writing with nadia for over ten years??? again, not consistently bc i am the worst rper in history. but damn. i do not know how she ever put up with me once she found my ruby blog. because… the red charming obsession. it was.. wow. when a girl loves a ship, am i right??? but i am honestly so thankful that she did stick around because some of my favorite times on this fucking hellsite have been publicly fighting with nadia over who has the better hockey team ( spoiler alert : it’s me. but she won’t tell you that. LGR. ~ ) and honestly, there is nobody better to have in your corner when it comes to.. feeling out a new character or even making an oc. because nadia will make sure that you feel the love. and will literally be down for just about anything, as long as it makes sense for her chara too. i’ve been all over the map. i have bounced to half a dozen blogs. and without fail, she supports me. i am in aw of her jace and forever grateful that someone finally gave me the push i needed to watch hotd. because these characters have my heart. i will forever miss the insanity that ouat gave us, but i’m also glad to have moved on and still have the best parts of the fandom. 

this next one was superrrrr fucking tricky because i could not math. at all. but i think, if i am remembering everything right, it has to be @x55055 bc i have been yelling at this bitch since the days of fucking aol instant messanger!!!! and what. a. fucking. rideeeeee. when i tell you, a hundred years ago, you would have thought i genuinely, in my heart of hearts, haaated jinx. y’all. it was so bad. but i have always, always, been obsessed with her fucking writing. there is something so poetic and stunning about the way her brain produces words. it has legit made me curl into a ball and sob bc how the fuck is anyone supposed to reply to that? hahaha but again. i have to say, i must be one lucky bitch because she has never been anything short of the most uplifting and supportive person. even tho about a year or two ago i thought she legit hated me hahah, she has carried me through some of the toughest times in my life. and there just aren’t words to express the gratitude i feel for her. she is exploding with creativity. and even tho she is extremely hard on herself, there is nothing but brilliance to come out of her brain. 

[kaethefangirl]

Instead of thinking of prompts and forgetting them I decided to start writing tiny little fics ab them

Ling stares down at the kid in front of him as he walks directly behind him — maybe he's too close because he accidentally stepped on the back of the kid's shoes more than once but whatever, it's college, he probably won't even see him again.

"And you're sure you know where the robotics class is?" Ling asks for the third time.

The kid nodded shortly and didn't even spare Ling a glance. He hadn't looked at Ling at all, for that matter. The air was awkward and Ling was overly-conscious of every step he took and the way his sneakers squeaked against the newly polished university floors.

He gulped and it seemed as if the noise echoed throughout the entire hall, but theres no way it was audible to anyone except himself. The boy he was following turned his head slightly to shoot Ling a quizzical look.

Well, when in doubt—

Ling took a deep breath before breaking the silence. "I've been skipping for the past few weeks— for a very good reason, mind you— but I hear the professor is cool. I also hear he's hot but that's neither here nor there. Professor Mustang, I think."

Talk. He'd made lots of friends this way, with his inability to stay silent.

The short blonde kid replied with a grunt.

"I didn't really want to take this class to begin with but Lan Fan — my best friend — she forced me to fill my schedule and I thought robotics sounded cool so, you know, here we are."

"Fascinating."

Ling furrowed his brows. Was the kid anti-social or did Ling make a bad impression earlier...?

"I'm Ling."

Another grunt.

"What's your name?" Ling pressed. He was going to make this kid like him.

"Ed."

"Ed. Cool. You must have robotics too?"

"You could say that."

"I didn't know freshmen could take this class," Ling smiled, hoping he'd just insinuated that Ed was smart.

"Not a freshman." Ed grinds out. Ling's jaw snaps shut at the tone of voice. God, the last time Ling has felt this socially awkward was when he first transferred to a public middle school.

He felt a tension between them that he was itching to get rid of. "Today there's a substitute. He's known around campus for being super bitchy. But he's also won a Nobel prize! Hey—" Ling happened to turn his head and he caught a view of one of the trophy cases. Inside of which was a framed picture of a Nobel prize being handed to—

"Why is he handing the award to you...?" Ling visibly deflated as he slowly turned his head back to the short blonde.

"You're the substitute, aren't you?"

"Yep."

"Kill me."

Finally, Ed laughed. It was loud and boyish and Ling loved it. He always loved to make people smile.

"Look, kid—" Ed starts.

"I'm 21! Not a kid."

"I'm 22, and I say you are."

"No way you're older than me! You're so sh—"

"Don't say it!"

"Say what? Shor—"

"Stop!"

[frostbitedoesstuff]

So Koomaxx made another Star Rail Hunger Games video, and there was a moment in it that gave me a random spark of inspiration. I ended up writing a little fanfic of sorts in the comments section, and I figured I’d post it here too!

Spoilers for this video from here on out.

The sun slowly set in the horizon, marking the fifth night of this hellish game. Near the edge of the cliff stood Gepard and Lynx of the Landau siblings. An inseparable trio turned duo in a cruel twist of fate.

“Gepard,” Lynx spoke out, her voice tired yet full of sorrow. “I know things have been hard, I know. But…but…we still have each other. We’ve made it this far, against all odds. We’re Landaus. We can do this. I believe in us, and…I believe in you.”

Gepard scoffed bitterly. “You? You believe in me? Do you have the slightest idea what I’ve done? What I’ve become?”

Lynx opened her mouth to reply, but was cut off as Gepard continued to speak.

“Serval is gone. She’s dead. She died on the first day, Lynx. That…that changed me. Ever since that day, I’ve been feeling less and less like myself. I’ve been having nightmares every night…nightmares of her dying moments, the carnage…the sound of that explosive going off rings in my ears endlessly, haunting me, driving me crazy.”

His voice became strained, more distressed, more ashamed, more frantic.

“Now look what I’ve become! I’m a murderer! I’ve killed people who didn’t deserve it, I’ve killed people who couldn’t even defend themselves! I’m supposed to protect people, and now here I am, slaughtering people like some kind of sadist!”

Lynx’s eyes flitted across Gepard’s body, watching as his trembling hands began to clench and unclench with barely contained emotion. It was so much different from the calm and composed man she knew as her brother. Even in the midst of this mess, when they made their truce, he had seemed fine (as fine as he could have been, anyway). Had he really been hiding this pain and guilt up until now?

“You are so, so much better than me, Lynx,” He continued. “Serval was your sister too, and yet, you’ve been merciful, kind, considerate. Even in your grief, you didn’t allow that loss to change your principles. You’re strong...truly worthy of the Landau name. I’m just a monster, a monster that doesn’t deserve to live by your side.”

“No! No, that’s not true! I won’t let you talk about yourself that way!” Lynx shouted, tears welling up in her eyes as she too got emotional. “This game only has two objectives, to kill, and to survive! You had no choice but to become this way. These people…these people who put us here, they don’t care who deserves to live, they just want to see us die! They did this to you, Gepard, it’s not your fault!”

“Oh, it’s not my fault? This wasn’t my choice…is that what you think?” Gepard inquired, as if challenging her.

“Yes.” Lynx spoke without hesitation.

“Then, who have you killed, Lynx? If we have no choice but to kill, then…who have you killed?”

Lynx went to reply, before she suddenly froze.

She…didn’t have an answer. Nobody had died at her hands thus far. She stared up at Gepard, her expression clearly conveying her inability to provide an answer to his question.

Gepard stares back at her, his voice filling the tense silence. “Numby. Topaz. Misha.”

“What…?”

“I killed Numby, Topaz, and Misha. I almost got Welt too, but…he escaped. Do you understand now? The difference between us? I have ended people’s lives, and you have not. That’s enough proof that my actions were a choice.”

He went silent for a moment, before continuing, his voice quieter, but still firm. “That’s enough proof that you’re better than me.”

Lynx could feel her resolve crumbling as she scrambled to find a way to refute his statement. “B-But…but surely it was in self-defense, right…? Right?”

He stared for a short while longer before shaking his head in the negative. He hadn’t been attacked first. He didn’t even do it out of obligation. He did it because he wanted to, because there was a sick part of him that had emerged that wanted nothing more than to see other people suffer for what was taken from him.

To see people die the same way Serval had.

“You…You really have changed,” Lynx mumbled, before her voice began to increase in volume. “But…I still need you, Gepard. I need you here. Even if you’re not the same, I need you, I love you, you’re all I have left! You’re my brother, Gepard! Nothing you can do will change that!”

“I’m dangerous, Lynx! You should hate me, fear me, something! Something other than thinking I deserve to live after what I’ve done!” He yelled back at her, his patience starting to wear thin. Why couldn’t she get it, damnit?! Why wouldn’t she understand?!

“NO!” Lynx screamed, so loudly that Gepard was stunned into silence. She repeated herself, quieter, but still just as firm. “..No.”

Their eyes gazed into one another’s intensely, before Gepard’s narrowed in an emotion that Lynx couldn’t quite identify.

He took a step forward, his voice lower, more threatening. “Do you need me to prove it to you? Do you need me to prove that I’m dangerous?”

There was a flicker of fear in Lynx’s expression, before it hardened again. “Fine. Prove it. I know you wouldn’t hurt me.”

She thought he was bluffing.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought, too…” He murmured, as he walked closer, and closer, and closer.

“Gepard…you wouldn’t hurt me…right..?”

The silence after that sentence was spoken was ear-piercingly loud.

“…I’m sorry.”

Before Lynx could even think to ask what he meant, she was falling.

Gepard stood at the edge of the cliff, his entire body quaking as he heard Lynx’s scream grow quieter, and quieter, and quieter, before it cut off completely with a loud CRUNCH.

…Then she was gone.

(While you’re here, I also make Star Rail art! To see that, check me out at frostbitedoesfanart!)

[drawnecromancy]

Get To Know Your Moots Writeblr Interview

Tagged by @ceph-the-ghost-writer, questions are from @davycoquette (and like Ceph, i'll link the template riiight here :))

If you see this post and consider yourself part of writeblr, please consider yourself tagged. I don't actually feel like I know enough people who would nod and go "yes, my blog is a writeblr", to tag anyone except @isabellebissonrouthier and @literarynecromancy LOL (also Ceph already tagged Jez so I can't tag him)

On the Tumblr Writing Community

How long have you had your writing Tumblr/Writeblr ?

Well, that's the thing isn't it.

This blog isn't a writeblr. I've defined it in the past as an art blog, because i made it in 2017 primarily to show my drawings to other people. The thing is that said drawings tend to be part of a bit of writing anyway, so of course I'm including that. And it's also a personal blog.

This is just my house man.

What led you to create it ?

Accidentally answered this earlier - I wanted to show my art to other people.

What’s your favorite thing about the Writeblr community ?

My friends ! I, genuinely, do not interact with the writeblr community much beyond my friends/mutuals. I have no idea how I stumbled into having genuine writeblr mutuals in the first place.

What’s one thing you’d like your mutuals to know about you ?

I tend to reblog on @irianeth without further comment because my brain is empty 99% of the time

Is there anything you’d like to see more of on your dash ?

...i don't know ?

What tips/advice do you have for someone who made a Writeblr today ?

Probably go in the writeblr tag and see how people do it ? I have no idea. Have fun I guess.

WIP it Good

Which Works-in-Progress (WIPs) or writing projects are you noodling about, lately ?

I've been a bit frustrated at my inability (largely due to time and energy constraints) to keep poking at my novel, Le prix du sang. [Hélianthe et Atropa tag] Genuinely I would like to be able to write a bit on it soon because i want this story out of my brain and into people's hands.

Other projects I've been Thinking about... Mostly roleplay stuff with @lee-thee-bee [Neseah tag]. There's so many AUs rolling around in my brain you have no idea. I can grab almost literally any character and go "here's an AU where shit goes differently". Sometimes it's better sometimes it's worse. Been rotating a funny one lately including fake kidnapping this time around.

How long have you been working on them ?

Le Prix du Sang ? Oh boy. I think it started before university, so probably in the 2017-2018 ballpark... Man, that's like 6 or 7 years.

Lee and I've been making Neseah since December 2023, I believe. Not even a year old but there's So much.

Do you remember what inspired them/what got you started ?

LPDS : I had a weird fucking dream. I was a woman, armed with a crossbow, running away from an entire village trying to kill me for being a witch. I eventually ended up in the living room of a sexy vampire who was basically offering me a job (helping him massacre the village) in exchange for letting me live. We massacred the village. I woke up like "hold on, if you change some things, it could be a short story". ...and then, the short story got out of hand. The village massacre is essentially just the first chapter.

Neseah : "Hey, do you want to do roleplay sometime ?" "Yeah sure !"

How much time, in your best estimation, do you spend thinking about them ?

24/7 for the Nesean guys as of right now.

Hélianthe and Atropa I mostly think of when I'm writing them, since I've got a Lot of things down for them I don't feel the urge to rotate them every second anymore. That, and it's no longer a hyperfixation.

When someone asks the dreaded, “What do you write about,” question, what do you usually say ?

Is it a dreaded question ? I reply "Fantasy". That's the truth.

Let’s Rotate Blorbos

Name any characters you created.

You mean, this long ass list that should be updated with everyone from Neseah ?

Highlights include : Alan, Hélianthe, Atropa, Anne de Monthaut (I LOVE YOU ANNE), Valiandra (The Emperor - he has his own tags bc I think about him SO much), Benadryl (we love Ben).

Not included yet on the long list, but will be included shortly : Maran of Neseah, Nelvaren of Neseah. Insane wizard son and unhinged ghost father. Also Nadir, who's basically "what if Nelvaren was a 25 year old trans catboy". (if you're wondering, yes, Nelvaren's also trans.)

Who’s the most unhinged ?

I think probably Valiandra. Due to the Horrors.

That and also the fact that sometimes he is his own parent in increasingly fucked up ways.

Who comes the most naturally for you to write ?

Maran and Nelvaren - due to being roleplay characters, mostly ! Spontaneity and being able to Just Get Into It feels important to me to sling stuff back and forth.

Hélianthe goes also fairly smoothly because he's fucking ridiculous.

Do you ever cringe at them ?

(Side-eyeing Hélianthe) You could say I do, yes.

How much control do you feel you have over your characters ?

All and none at all.

Sometimes shit Just Happens and Just Makes Sense (Alan dramatically revealing stuff about his past, him being Margot in Le Prix du Sang). Other times, a character presents me with an idea, and I rotate it, and go, no. Most times I'm between putting them in situations to see what happens, and/or building from things I want to write about.

You gotta be able to reverse stuff you don't actually want in your writing.

Do you enjoy people asking questions about your characters ?

Yes ! It's a lot of fun ! I don't get a lot of them and I'm 100% sure it's because I also don't send enough questions to others ! I want to get bettter at this tbh.

On Writeblr Engagement

What makes you want to follow another Writeblr account ?

If they seem nice !

What makes you decide against following ?

If I feel like I wouldn't vibe with them or their writing !

Do you interact with non-mutuals often ?

No. But that's because I don't go to the writeblr tags. Due to not being a writeblr.

Do your mutuals’ characters occupy space in your noodle ?

@bitchfitch's Arlo lives in my mind rent-free. I need to throttle him so bad but also I want to have a nice day with him and braid his hair or something. I am very normal about this goat. Also Adonis. Every so often I'm just like man, I wonder what Adonis and Ione are up to right now.

@isabellebissonrouthier's Chrysanthemum Clawe - Chrys is so fucking funny. I didn't expect she'd be my favorite but she's a disaster and I love her so much.

@logarithmicpanda's [SPOILERS FOR HEART OF STONE THAT WOULD TAKE A WHOLE PARAGRAPH PROBABLY]. Besides it, there's Ordyr my best friend Ordyr, I want to go hang out with her. And Orion. Funniest little shit I've ever met I need to redraw that slurping the source image.

@jezifster SHADOW. And Veronica to some extent but she scares me, while Shadow just makes me laugh so hard I want to study him like a bug

[whumpster-fire]

25 Exciting Phrases to Spice Up Your Next Business e-Mail

1: "Dear Motherfucker,"

2: "To whom it may concern, as well as the entire company directory who I am cc'ing because none of you care about my time so I don't care about yours,"

3: If you'd like to know why I am sending this e-mail, please consider reading it for fucking once."

4: "If I do not see conclusive evidence of your head being out of your ass in the next 3-5 business days, I will remove it from your shoulders."

5: "Please attach a current headshot and resume: the latter so I can laugh at your alleged qualifications, the former so I can print it out and put it on a dartboard as advised by HR's Anger Management Seminar"

6: "Due to the considerable destructive forces at my command,"

7: "Cc'ing The Pope on this one to keep him in the loop since the magnitude of this clusterfuck is nothing short of Biblical,"

8: "This is the fourth e-mail I have sent asking you to do your goddamn job. The fifth will be attached to a brick hurled through your office window. You do not want to know what the sixth will be, so get your shit together ASAP please."

9: "Please keep in mind that refraining from inappropriate use of the Reply All button is the only thing separating us from descending into complete Lord Of the Flies anarchy."

10: "All, please review the selection of Dilbert cartoons attached below and reflect on how they might be relevant to the current situation and your role in it."

11: "The Carpool Committee has unanimously voted to play exclusively Alvin And the Chipmunks songs in any vehicle you are a passenger in for a month the next time you schedule a mandatory meeting before 8 AM."

12: "The potted Ficus tree by the 4th Floor break room will be taking the lead on this project from this point on since it is more qualified than any of you."

13: "I didn't think I needed to inform everyone that 'accidentally' stapling your balls to get out of Company Spirit Meetings early is against company policy. However,"

14: "Due to recent events, any personal office supplies brought from home, e.g. paperweights, must now be checked with a Geiger counter."

15: "Please be advised that if you reply with a question that indicates you have not read and understood the list of action items below in its entirety, I will kick you in the teeth so hard you will chew with your appendix in the future."

16: "We regret to announce that Sean is now an outlaw and no longer protected by our Workplace Violence Policy. This decision was not made lightly, but the current situation re: the break room microwaves has forced our hand. Cc'ing Sean to keep him in the loop."

17: "Please keep in mind that you are neither the most profitable nor the most important of our clients, and your disproportionate share of billable hours is due primarily to your whininess, entitled attitude, and inability to give a straight answer."

18: "If you feel the need to contact me outside my scheduled hours, please write your issue on a piece of letter sized paper, then roll it up, seal it inside a glass bottle, and cast it into the ocean. This will get a faster response than emailing, calling, or texting me at 1 in the fucking morning."

19: "Team, As a result of employees being bombarded with hundreds of e-mails after inadvertently hitting reply all, we are now instituting the following change to our e-mail communication policy: to help prevent duplicate corrections, when admonishing a coworker who you feel has used Reply All inappropriately, please make sure to use Reply All as well so the other recipients can see that the responsible party has already been notified of their mistake."

20: "Cc'ing you on every e-mail about this issue due to your record of not giving a shit about a problem unless your time is being wasted."

21: "Please do not disturb the protective circle of salt around the 2nd fridge from the left in the break room, and do not under any circumstances open it without appropriate PPE and an escort from an old priest and a young priest."

22: "After consulting with Legal and HR, we have determined that the ficus tree by the 4th floor break room dispersing pollen into the office environment does not constitute a violation of our sexual harassment policy. Also, please be advised that the ficus tree is female and is not the source of your pollen allergies. No disciplinary action will be taken against it. However, your repeated complaints targeted at the ficus tree based on its status as a plant may constitute a hostile work environment. Please meet with HR ASAP to discuss this further."

23: "Team, Placing an 'Elf On the Shelf' in any location on company premises or within your home office where it may be able to see, overhear, or access proprietary information will result in disciplinary action up to and including termination of employment. Company proprietary data may not be divulged to any unauthorized third parties, and that includes Santa Claus."

24: "Cc'ing Santa Claus to keep him in the loop on this one."

25: "Sincerely, The Only Guy Who Does His Goddamn Job Around Here."