#;;soren writes

[tendermimi]

Søren Kierkegaard, Diaries 1813-1855

[withdenim]

So uh. How about that time skip huh. (Corvus composing and performing the best track in the show was so hot of him btw if you care)

[jerrom]

seeing these two base conversations like 1 chapter apart from each other is so funny

[perfectfeelings]

Life is not a problem to be solved, but a reality to be experienced.

Soren Kierkegaard

[resqectable]

Life is not a problem to be solved, but a reality to be experienced.

Soren Kierkegaard

[thoughtkick]

Life is not a problem to be solved, but a reality to be experienced.

Soren Kierkegaard

[zuppizup]

Love that Gren hesitated with the whole “bull droppings” comment to Viren,

But he’s straight up about interpreting “I will kill you” to Rayla.

Strawberry Uncle gotta be just a lil bit pissed too.

And good for him, I say.

[mechanicalwings]

writeblr intro (OUTDATED - edit coming soon!)

hi!! i have never done one of these but i want to start using this blog more so here we go. i’m soren, my pronouns are they/he/it, and i’m 19. i’m a writer (obviously) but also a biologist, artist, and musician :-) my current wip has been sitting on the backburner for a while and i’m hoping that being more active in the writing community here will help me be more inspired to work on a new draft because i don’t have many writer friends </3 you can expect me to post about the writing process, worldbuilding and character tidbits from my own wip, and whatever else comes to mind along the way.

i mostly read and write sci-fi and fantasy but i’ll read a little bit of everything, especially if it’s queer. i particularly love queer found family, sci-fi stories that are really just fantasy set in space, and just about anything involving robots.

my current wip is uhh still in need of a title but it does have a first draft! it follows the story of spaceship captain scarlet callaghan, who gets dragged into a dangerous mission along with her ragtag crew and, unfortunately, the one person who she hates most in the entire galaxy. i’m planning to work on fleshing out my worldbuilding and characters this summer and then start on a second draft sometime soon!

thanks for reading!! feel free to chat with me about book recs, writing stuff, or literally anything. i’m friendly i promise

(also i follow from my main, stellar-love!)

[museofthepyre]

Reddit AITA: I want to kick my coworker out of the refuge he’s found in MY CABIN… because HE FAILED TO HOLD DOWN HIS OWN TURF, and now he’s MESSING WITH MINE.

I (24M) am a well respected, admired, and well regarded (co)LEADER of the cabin I’m stationed to preside over. However some BRITISH ASSHOLE has weaselled his way into our cabin after his campers staged an insurrection and successfully kicked him out. Middle schoolers. Kicked him out. And now it’s our problem, now we have to deal with him, and he’s upsetting our whole cabin ecosystem!!! There’s a natural order to our cabin, wherein *I* am the much needed strong male role model, and he’s totally trying to commandeer that position with his… his completely unqualified and immature influence. Our kids have been totally out of order since he got here. When I confront him about it, he just says “oi, simmer down ol’ chap! The kids have earned some lollygaging and tomfoolery, innit?” Or some shit. And like— he got kicked out of his cabin by MIDDLE SCHOOLERS!!! He ENABLES THEM by not stepping up to the role of the alpha leader they need!!! If he’s not even capable of handling them, why is he just allowed to wander in and bring that bad influence into MY TERRITORY!!!??? And the kids and *MY* co counsellor who is supposed to be on *MY* side seem to have no problem with this. They say he has nowhere else to go, and it’s petty to kick him out. I say he can sleep on the roof of his cabin if need be, these are the natural consequences of HIS inaction. AITA ?

[themintman]

Finished Jack and made myself a chart of the main spirits to help keep track of everything 😋

(updated!!⬇️⬇️)

Also feel free to suggest what animals to make certain characters! I'm pretty clueless on some of these and it's fun to hear what other people think

[stay-close]

Life is not a problem to be solved, but a reality to be experienced.

Soren Kierkegaard

[perfectquote]

Life is not a problem to be solved, but a reality to be experienced.

Soren Kierkegaard

[just-a-silly-little-whumper]

You mentioned shadow tendrils in the recent piece of writing-- have you written anything with Lord Denholm using those to fuck Altair?

I would use them to pull his cute little pussy open and force him to take those and Lord Denholm's cock at the same time.

Listen we're just going to pretend that you didn't send this like 9 months ago lmao

But anyway I uh. Hope this is what you wanted? idk there ended up being more emotions than I was expecting lmao

Contains: explicit noncon, weird tentacle(ish) sex, vampires, intimate whump, wing whump, captivity, begging

~~~

The shadows coiled around his wings, sliding between feathers in a way that made Altair’s very soul recoil with revulsion. The smoky, inky magic dripped with such malice and envy that Altair was practically choking on it. The harder he struggled, the more securely the tendrils held him, unyielding in their loving, covetous embrace.

Those same shadows held his wrists in place, held his legs spread open, kept him firmly in place on the bed as Lord Denholm knelt over him, eyes ravenously roaming over Altair’s bare form.

“I can hear your heartbeat, my little ruin,” Lord Denholm purred, cold fingers tracing across Altair’s chest. “Tell me, what has you so afraid?”

Hatred roiled through him as fierce as any tidal wave. But with the corrupted magic intertwined with his feathers, he couldn’t stop the words from pouring from his mouth. “You- you’re going to rape me. Again. And it won’t be the last time, either, for me or for Elze’ith, because I can’t figure out how to stop you.”

A wave of delight cascaded over Altair as Lord Denholm smiled. “Oh, it gladdens me to hear that.” Altair choked on a sound halfway between a gasp and a sob as the shadows caressed further into the spaces between his feathers. “It should put your mind at ease, then, to know that you cannot stop me. I am going to do as I please, and you are going to take what I have to give. You do not have to fret about how to escape your fate, because I have already claimed you. All that will change is how you understand and appreciate your role here, my ruinous little angel.”

“You-” Virulent hatred threatened to choke Altair, but he still coughed up the words. “You’re wrong. I’m never going to stop fighting. I’m never going to accept any of this. You’re never going to break me.”

“Oh, my ruinous little angel.” Lord Denholm’s dark eyes glinted with malice. “The cracks in you will are already forming. And I have plenty of time to see how you fall apart.”

Slow and deliberate, a tendril curled up his leg and pressed lightly at his folds. Though insubstantial, like thick smoke or sleet or cold oil, it was solid and probing enough that Altair immediately tensed and tried to pull away. There was nowhere to go, however, not with the magical binds that held him so firmly in place, that spread his legs even wider in response to his struggles. Just as he knew he would be, he was helpless to stop the tendril as it teased and taunted at his entrance.

“No, wait— stop—”

He didn’t want to beg, but he couldn’t manage to stop himself. He wasn’t in control. He wasn’t in control of anything that was happening, not his words or the situation or his fear or the strangled, panicked sound he let out as the tendril pushed its way inside of him.

Nothing had ever felt quite this unnatural. It seemed to slither inside of him, eager to caress every part of him it could access. The sensation made his skin crawl, made him writhe instinctively, made his breath catch in his chest. Cold and oily and slick and wrong. He wanted it out, wanted to burn it away until it could never touch him again, but it just kept feeding into him, slow and methodical and joyous.

An eternity passed just like that, with the perverse, foul tendril sliding its way into his core until it could go no further. Its counterparts in his wings continued to slowly shift and coil, inexorable and inescapable. Any coherent thought was lost beyond the sickening dread in his stomach and the desperation to somehow get this to stop.

So lost he was in the overwhelming, defiling sensation that he almost didn’t notice the second tendril that brushed his entrance. It was impossible to escape the feeling of it slipping inside, though, right alongside the first, twisting and twirling and filling him up even more. Lips parted in a silent gasp, he strained and tensed in his bonds, but every movement only made him more aware of the magic around him, inside him, claiming him.

And then, the tendrils went still. The ones in his wings retracted, not leaving entirely, but withdrawing enough to allow him to breathe. The twin shadows inside him stiffened and pulled apart, making him groan from the stretch, but they too paused in their ministrations. Blinking, Altair tried to take the moment to gather himself, to reclaim some shred of his dignity, though he knew that his violation was far from over.

After all, the tendrils were still inside him. Lord Denholm was still watching. It wasn’t over yet.

As if summoned by his thoughts, Lord Denholm leaned down to press a kiss to his collarbone, eyes gleaming with covetous desire. Altair shivered, forcing his breath to stay even. “My beautiful, ruinous little angel. So open and ready for me,” Lord Denholm purred. His hand drifted lower, to Altair’s hip, tracing the outline of his burn scar before thumbing over Altair’s clit. “Don’t worry; I’ll give you what you need.”

It hit Altair, all at once, why the tendrils were holding him open. “No— wait— don’t—!”

His begging morphed into a scream of terror and pain as Lord Denholm sank into him, between the tendrils already inside. He clenched his eyes shut, tears gathering on his eyelashes, his lungs shaking and unable to capture any air. The stretch was excruciating, inconceivable, unbearable, and yet he was vaguely aware of Lord Denholm bottoming out inside of him as though he was made to take this much. A sob rippled through him, of pain and humiliation and anger, and then another, because

Lips brushed against his eyelids; Altair tensed, but didn’t have the strength to recoil. Though Lord Denholm’s voice washed over him, he couldn’t quite parse the words over the roaring of his heartbeat in his ears. Good, some desperate, fervent part of him thought. He didn’t want to hear what the bastard had to say anyway.

He wasn’t sure if Lord Denholm or his shadows started moving first. There was just sensation, the push and pull, the steady cadence and the unnatural twisting within him. All he could do was close his eyes and try to endure and do whatever he could not to give Lord Denholm any more of what he wanted.

He didn’t think he was very successful. Nothing had ever felt like this, felt this much, felt so familiar and strange and unwanted and tainted and wrong.His entire body thrummed with revulsion with every thrust, shivered and shuddered as perverse magic shifted around and within him. He couldn’t manage to tamp down on those instinctual, involuntary reactions. He knew Lord Denholm, with his magic tangled up in his wings, would be able to feel it even if he did. Altair could certainly feel Lord Denholm’s delight, just as he knew Lord Denholm wanted him to.

Distantly, through his horror, Altair realized that the tendrils were pleasuring Lord Denholm inside of him, coiling around his cock and stroking both of them in tandem. His stomach turned; it was worse than if they were just defiling him.The notion was enough for him to try, futile as he knew it was, to summon his magic so that he might burn the foul things away. It didn’t work, and the attempt only made him more exhausted, made him want to cry even more than he already was. He didn’t know what he was expecting. Lord Denholm was jerking himself off inside of Altair, and he couldn’t stop it.

How much further would this go? How many more ways would Lord Denholm find to violate him, defile him, take him apart and lay claim to the pieces? How long could Altair withstand the assault? He already felt ready to come apart at the seams, and every waking moment seemed to bring a new horror.

What would even be left of him when this was done?

Through his cascade of emotions, through the disgust and despair, a tentative but warm pulse emanated from the back of his mind. A part of him wanted to recoil, sure that this was some trick of Lord Denholm’s, but Lord Denholm could never replicate how Elze’ith made him feel, could never fake this warmth. And even if he never wanted Elze’ith to know him when he was like this… he needed to know he wasn’t alone.

Just as softly, just as tentatively, he reached back through his mind. Brushed up against that small presence, that sliver of connection. It didn’t stop the inexorable stretch or the unbearable thrusting or the sudden intense pressure on his clit. But it was enough to keep him from drowning in it all.

Sharp pain in his neck yanked him out of his mind and slammed him back into his body. The pain was no less horrible for how familiar it was; moreso now, even, because Lord Denholm had gone still, begun to spill inside him, even if the tendrils still danced in the thin space between them. The whimper that broke free from his chest seemed to get swallowed by the shadows that still endlessly coiled around him, as eager as their master to drink in his suffering.

The brief connection with Elze’ith was gone. Even as Altair mourned the loss, he was glad for it. He shouldn’t have even reached out. Elze’ith had suffered enough. He deserved better than to bear witness to what Altair was being forced to endure.

After a short eternity, the tendrils settled, though Altair could still feel them slowly shifting. Lord Denholm pulled away from his neck, smiling down at him with blood-stained fangs and dark, insatiable eyes. Altair tried to muster a glare; in response, Lord Denholm only hummed, and leaned down to kiss him. The taste of his own blood made Altair wince, feeling sick as Lord Denholm smiled against him before pulling away.

“You feel better every time we do this, my little ruin,” Lord Denholm said, licking the last of the blood from his lips. “Just as I knew you would.”

Altair scowled, the only response he could muster. The shadows within him coiled tighter, as did the ones still furled in his wings, making his back arch.

“Please—!” The word slipped from him unbidden, a raspy, desperate cry for relief he knew would not come. As soon as he said it he tensed, eyes clenching shut; he knew what he was asking for, and he knew what Lord Denholm would give him.

“Oh?” Something cold and slick circled his clit as the tendrils within moved more insistently. “Tell me what you want, my little ruin. I think you’ve earned a reward.”

“Please—“ he gasped, feeling the unwanted tension mount. “I can’t— Enough—!”

The shadows inside him pulsed. Orgasm ripped through him, violent and calamitous, and for a moment he didn’t know whether he hated himself or Lord Denholm more.

But it was over. He sagged against the bed, limp and panting, as Lord Denholm finally withdrew. First his cock, making Altair groan as the overwhelming fullness left him. The tendrils within took a last moment to twist and twine before sliding out as well, and though Altair had to bite back a whine, he was finally, blissfully empty.

It was over. He hated how grateful he was that it was over.

Later, when Lord Denholm had returned him to his cell and he was curled against the wall trying not to feel, the soft warmth in his mind reached out once again. Altair couldn’t find the strength in himself to reach back. But neither did he push it away, even though part of him wanted to. He just let Elze’ith radiate what little solace he could, let the echoes of it wrap around him like a blanket, let his partner help hold him together when he felt like he was going to fall apart. He just hoped Elze’ith knew how much it meant.

[surqrised]

Life is not a problem to be solved, but a reality to be experienced.

Soren Kierkegaard

[auduux]

Hello mcsm community

It's been years since i've played this game and I started crying when I figured out you can't play it anymore then started crying again when someone told me where to get s1 and s2 for free so that has sparked determination in me.

So, I have come to tell you I will finally contribute to this fandom. I am writing a season 3, where Romeo is still an admin. It's an au where Romeo made a deal with Jesse after realizing he might actually not win. The deal was that he would give Xara back her admin abilities and not kill anyone (and/)or destroy people's homes and he would get to keep his abilities. Jesse has the golden gauntlet in case he goes rogue.

There will be two versions, one with male Jesse and one with female Jesse, they have very different personalities. I'm using my own versions that I used. Each chapter will be 15k or 20k words, still haven't decided. I want to make them longer than my usual works.

Fem Jesse went with Petra after the Romeo situation was fixed, enough, and put Radar in charge. Male Jesse stayed in charge. You can probably guess why. (Fem Jesse is with Petra, male Jesse is with Lukas)

It is mostly centered around Xara, Romeo, and Radar but everyone else will have their moments too. It goes more in-depth on the other worlds through the portal network too, and Otto and Emily as well as the old builders world will be there a few times. So will the Sky City people and their new cities. The underground might be in there too.

I saw a post on here about shipping Nell and Xara and honestly became obsessed so...Xara is with Nell. Romeo will be with Radar after getting over Fred because Radar is my favorite and who doesn't want to start dating the emotionally constipated god that almost killed you, your friends, your townspeople, the world, locked a bunch of people under bedrock and started anew, killed their husband out of rage and confusion, locked up their best friend also out of rage and confusion, and hated you for about three months? It's fine tho he made challenges for them. Because he feels bad. And helped rebuild. Because he feels bad.

And there's FUCKING SOREN and his DUMBASS BOOKS as a treat. And Isor.

[stuck-in-jelly]

My favorite ongoing background thing with Corvus is the fact he prefers to travel by horse but yet is constantly put in a postion where everyone around him is like “but the giant cats/dragons are much faster!”

And he just has to begrudgingly accept he may never have the luxury of riding a normal horse again