#Writing Consistency

[sirakitz]

a superrrrr self indulgent post frontiers comic

haven't made a comic in about 5 years so I'm super rusty. but this was good practice!

[syntonylife]

The Art of Writing Every Day: Challenges and Balances

Behind writing there is living. I embarked on this challenge because the idea of ​​publishing an article every day seemed enticing to me, a form of exercise to improve my writing skills and build an online presence. However, behind this ambitious goal lie significant challenges that require delicate balancing. Writing daily is a discipline that demands dedication and consistency. Every day, one…

[lnk-and-lnspiration]

Building a Writing Routine: How to Make Time for Your Craft

Writing is a craft that requires time, dedication, and discipline. However, in the midst of our busy lives, it can be challenging to find the time to nurture our creative pursuits. Establishing a consistent writing routine is essential for making progress on your projects, improving your skills, and achieving your writing goals. In this article, we will explore the importance of a writing routine…

[shouyuus]

psst.. you didn't hear this from me, but competitive 69 with vi

ok bye!!

ride

violet; smutty smut smut, continuation of this drabble; carmech!vi au

vi thinks this might be on her list of top ten things she's ever done in her life -- licking a thick strip up your cunt as you grind down into her mouth, your lips wrapped around her throbbing clit as she works her hips up into you -- it's rough and it's messy and she can't quite breathe for the way you're riding her face in the back seat of her car, your skirt hem hitting just above the bend of your ass, the windows slowly glazing over with condensation.

"f-fuck, sweet girl --" her voice comes out muffled and there's slick washing down her chin, but she doesn't care, her fingers inking themselves into the plump flesh of your cheeks as she works you down over her.

your own pitched moans thrum from your mouth right into her cunt, and vi can't help the way her whole body clenches when she feels you reach forward to hook your middle finger into her pussy.

"g-g'na come f-first? h-hah -- ah --!" your hips jerk almost violently as vi leans up to shove her tongue into your hole, working a thumb along your clit. she moans loud and long, a palm soothing against your thigh as they shake above her.

"mm -- not -- not a chance -- fuck -- shit, ah... that's --" vi's head tips back as she feels you fuck another finger into her, the tip of your tongue working circles around her clit just the way she likes. you pull off with a tiny pop before turning your head and nipping at her inner thigh, making her stomach twist.

"that -- that's not -- fair --" she chokes out as you start to pummel into her cunt with your fingers, laving your tongue along the tender skin of her thigh. she feels you grin half a second before her head drops back at the feeling of your lips back on her, sucking and licking in alternate, making her back arch beneath you.

she yanks your ass back down, if only to sate her own hunger, slake her own thirst -- there's a savage greediness in her, one that can only be satisfied by the taste of you, the sweet, salty tang, mixed with the smell of your skin, something like coconut or vanilla.

she thinks she could get drunk on this taste alone, to the feeling of your body over hers, eating you out, harsh and needy, rucking up into you as you do her -- all the while pulled into a rest stop by the side of the highway, where, if anyone got curious enough about the pristine vintage pontiac double-parked along the far side of the lot, they could come over and see.

"oh -- oh -- please vi -- f-fuck --!" she feels you twitch against her mouth, but the next second, her vision blurs as she feels your teeth skim along her clit.

"holy fuck --!"

her orgasm punches through her with no warning, her whole body going rigid beneath you as she cums against your mouth and you lick her through it, slow languid licks till she's jerking, hissing out, patting your ass --

"fuck fuck -- fuck wait -- stop -- it's t-too -- too much --"

she feels you giggle more so than she hears it, feels the vibration against her chest as you wiggle your butt in her face before pulling away. a second later, you're grinning down at her, your face an absolute mess, your lips and chin smeared in her cum, the round of your cheeks dark with color.

vi lets out a helpless laugh, reaching up to brush away a few errant strands of hair, her eyes going soft as she tugs you down for a long kiss. she groans at the taste of herself on your tongue, smiling at the way you whine, sinking into her embrace.

"yeah? like the way we taste in each other's mouths, princess?"

you bury your face in her neck, mumbling something, fingers curling in the front of her shirt. vi chuckles, shaking her head.

"how's that the thing that gets you, but you're perfectly okay to competatively sixty-nine on the side of the road?"

"i-i don't know! it's just -- it's different," you say, your face still tucked into her shoulder. she runs a hand along your spine, soothing down our back till you finally pull back to look at her.

"well..." vi sighs, cupping your cheek, "you did win fair and square..."

you smile is summer-sun-bright.

"yep! so... i get to be passenger princess for the rest of the trip!" you chirrup, only to yelp as vi yanks you back down.

"yeah, yeah... but --" vi digs her fingers into the back of your neck, revels in the way your lashes flutter at the pressure, "you didn't get to cum yet."

the change is immediate, your eyes going wide, going dark, another delicious wash of color kissing into your cheeks, your teeth biting down on your bottom lip.

"b-but the competition --" you stutter.

vi leans up to kiss you, groaning into your mouth.

"right... i came first but... we never said the loser couldn't cum too, right? now get up here --" she lays back, inching down till she's flat on the back seat again, "and take a seat."

she smirks, gesturing to her face.

you crinkle your nose and stare at her for a second before scrambling up. vi puffs out a laugh against your thigh, giving you a sweet kiss before tugging you to sit down proper. you gasp, a hand coming up to steady yourself against the fogged up window-pane.

as you keen above her, vi thinks that yeah, even if this isn't one of the top ten best things she's ever done in her life, at the very least, it'll be one of the best long-haul rides she's ever taken.

[blueberrybeomgyu]

୨⎯ "attention" ⎯୧ (kdh)

+*:🌟:*﹤smut w plot, sub!leehan, edging, riding, exhib+voy themes, reader fem anat, piv sex, flawed characteristics, bit of a scent thing going on / wc: 4.7k / masterlist

✧･ﾟ: *

leehan wants your eyes on him, but you've been so focused on work, leaving early and coming home late. he knows it's important, that you have to finish your project by the deadline, but he can't help but feel a little selfish about your time when you've rarely spoken to him in the past two weeks. he's barely even seen you, always falling asleep despite trying to stay up when you come home, and he's getting antsy missing your company.

you're sliding out of bed after only being home for five hours. he’d startled awake when you came in, but you were too tired to talk, too tired to change before collapsing on the bed.

he’d changed you himself, gently wiping your makeup off and massaging lotion into your skin, then held you close to him as you caught up on much-needed rest. he wakes up when he feels your body heat leave his side, and groans as he watches with foggy eyes as you disappear into the bathroom. 

“don’t go to work. stay here with me,” he begs sweetly when you come back out. you consider it, he can see it on your face, but you ultimately shake your head.

“i can’t, baby. gotta get this project done, then i’ll be all yours, m’kay?”  he pouts, but it doesn’t last long because you kiss it away and ruffle his already messed up hair. within minutes, you’re out the door.

leehan sulks in bed for a little longer, wishing he could make you pay attention to him. it feels like the only time you’re actually looking at him, thinking about him, is when the two of you are intimate with each other. it’s hard to find time in two busy schedules, but during those rare moments, it’s just you and him; the world around the two of you doesn’t exist anymore.

he’s so warm and safe in bed and the only thing that would make it better is if you were here with him, tangled up in the sheets and wasting the day away. he thinks about your soft skin and how sweet it smells, how warm your touch is when he’s lucky enough to be blessed with it, blessed by your gentle eyes and kind words when they’re focused only on him and spoken just for him to hear.

his hand is traveling under his waistband without hesitation, and thoughts of you clutter his mind as he wraps his palm around his length. he tries to mimic the way you squeeze his base and flick your thumb over his slit, tries to imagine it’s your pretty hands touching him this way. it's not long before stars are dancing behind his eyelids and he’s grunting out into the silent room. 

you never want him to cum the first time around, and almost always pull away when he’s on the edge. he’s so used to the denial, to the feeling of his orgasm slipping out of his grasp that it just feels natural when he pulls his hand away from his cock. he sucks in a breath at the way it twitches and sees you, hears you in his imagination, saying, “good boy, aren’t you so well-trained?”

he chews on the inside of his cheek to distract himself from the burning hot need coursing through his veins, and an idea forms in his head. he knows he shouldn’t, but it should be fine, right? just a voice message showing you how much he misses you. you wouldn’t get upset with him for that, surely.

he reaches for his phone on the nightstand and opens you guys’ text messages. he spends another four seconds convincing himself this is a good idea. then he’s grabbing his cock again, pulling all the tricks to put him on the verge of tipping over. when he feels close, he presses the “record a message” button beside the text bar.

at first, it’s just shy little moans as he complains about how much he misses you, how much better it would feel if you were here. then, they turn into desperate, raspy gasps as he pushes himself over the edge. the audio recording sends the second he releases the button, and he can’t unsend it, so he accepts his choices and waits to hear what you have to say.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

the answer is absolutely nothing. you don’t respond to or address the audio recording at all, aside from a smirk and a “did you have fun today?” that you throw his way when you walk through the front door. 

he continues doing it, messages ranging from more audio recordings to photos of his stomach painted white, and usually you’ll kiss him, ruffle up his hand, call his “little treats” cute, make more promises to help him out when you’ve met your deadline.

he knows your work is important, but although guilt claws at him for it, leehan still feels a bit hurt that you didn’t take his complaints to heart, just assumed it was another one of his trivial games. 

leehan can play games, and when you hole yourself up in the bedroom to type away at your laptop, he realizes that he will. he’ll do whatever it takes to get your attention.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

you finally have a day off, and have decided you’d like to spend part of it at the mall looking through new arrivals. leehan’s not big on shopping, so he just follows you around and occasionally gets distracted by fish merch. 

you’ve stepped away at least four times to take phone calls from your coworkers, and you guys have only been at the mall for an hour and a half. when lunchtime rolls around, you excuse yourself again to answer a call from your boss, leaving leehan alone to pick at his food in disinterest. 

“um, hi. are you busy?” a feminine voice says. the girl has to stand directly in leehan’s line of sight for him to realize she’s talking to him. when he looks up at her, she smiles shyly and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. 

“can i help you?” 

“no! well, yes. i…was just wondering if i could have your phone number. i saw you standing alone earlier…” the girl’s voice fades out as leehan peeps your approaching figure in the distance, and the gears in his head turn with another (probably bad) idea.

“...alone again here in the food court, so i thought i should take the chance.”

leehan didn’t hear most of what she said, but he can tell when someone’s interested in him, and he can play along.

he flashes the girl a charming smile, dimples and all, and nods along to whatever she’s rambling about. she’s cute enough, and seems like a nice girl, but leehan’s real focus is entirely on you as you watch the scene. he watches you as best as he can from his peripheral, but never takes his eyes off the girl in front of him. 

“is that…alright?” she says, looking at leehan with wide, hopeful eyes. he pretends to consider whatever she asked, and holds a palm out for her to rest her hand in. her face gets even redder, and he kind of feels bad that he’s using her to get to you.

he’s about to tell her that he’s sorry to disappoint, and that he appreciates it, he really does, but he has a girlfriend. he doesn’t get a chance to say any of that when you come up behind him seemingly out of nowhere and tap him on the shoulder. the girl pulls her hand away from leehan’s and stands around awkwardly.

“what do you think you’re doing?” you ask. your arms are crossed and your eyes are locked on his, but not with the love and admiration he’s been longing for. his composure falters when he sees your expression, one that says he’s fucked up more than he knows.

“this girl came up to me and…” he trails off and gestures in the girl’s general direction.

“and?” you ask impatiently, but leehan doesn’t know how he was going to conclude that sentence. this girl came up to me and i pretended to be interested to get a rise out of you? he has a feeling that’s not going to support his case well. you turn away from him and to the girl behind him, causing him to turn around as well.

“you’ll have to excuse my idiot boyfriend. i’m sorry he wasted your time instead of just telling you he was taken.” the girl nods in understanding and tries to hide her disappointed pout. she accepts your handshake when you offer it and hurries off. 

you shoot leehan another pissed glare, then dump your remaining food in the trash and walk out of the mall. he considers apologizing to the girl as well, but she’s already out of sight, so he trashes his own food and trails after you with a ball of shame sitting in his throat. 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

to be honest, you scare leehan just a little, especially when he knows you’re angry with him but you’re not talking about it. he’d rather you just chew his head off and get it over with, just tell him how much of an inconsiderate dumbass he is. you don’t, so the guilt manifests and manifests until he feels like he might puke it up.

you lock the front door and hang up your coat, and the first thing you say to him in the last twenty minutes is “sit.”

leehan parks his ass on the couch immediately, and waits to hear whatever other command you might give him. he expects you to sit next to him, or on the armchair by the couch or even on his lap. he doesn’t expect you to sit right across from him on the coffee table. at least a minute passes full of you just staring at him, and the silence is killing him. 

“baby–”

“shut up,” you say, and his mouth clamps shut. you stare at him for a few more seconds, poking your inner cheek with your tongue in thought. then, you shake your head and laugh in disbelief. leehan watches as you cross your arms over your chest, and tries not to flick his eyes down to the way your boobs are being pushed up. he may be sick with horniness and loneliness, but it’s really not the time.

“why are you acting like this, leehan?” it takes leehan a few seconds and a quirk of your eyebrow to realize you’re actually waiting for an answer, that you want him to speak now.

“what do you mean?” that’s his intelligent response. you scoff and roll your eyes.

“don’t act dense with me. you were flirting with that girl just so i’d see. i know when you’re acting out for attention, and that’s exactly what you’ve been doing this entire week.” leehan’s embarrassed at being caught so he shakes his head in denial, but it’s nowhere near convincing even to himself.

“no? you didn’t touch yourself and record it for me? didn’t send me photos of you covered in your own cum? didn’t flirt with a girl right in my face in a desperate attempt to get my attention?” leehan’s cheeks burn at the direct confrontation. hearing his actions out loud brings a fresh wave of shame over him, and he’s so ready to get down on his knees and beg for forgiveness.

“show me.”

leehan’s eyes fly wide open and he lets out a nervous chuckle. “w-what?”

“you wanted my attention so bad. now you have it,” you say with a bored expression. your eyes leave a trail of fire wherever they land on his skin. he has your attention, and has to think of a way to keep it. 

“go ahead,” you command with a jerk of your head. your lips are turned down into a frown, and it’s so condescending, like you don’t even want to be here. leehan needs you to want to be here, and he’s nothing if not a performer. he lifts his hips and tugs his pants down to his thighs. 

you make a noise, something between a hum and a coo, when he pulls his boxers down and his dick springs against his stomach.

“your little cock is hard, hannie.” he knows he’s not small, but your words are still humiliating, and still burn the need to impress you across his skin. “gonna show me how you fucked yourself when you were moaning into your phone?”

leehan’s hips buck against nothing, causing his member to slap against his stomach again, and his mouth falls open with a groan.

he does as you tell him, wrapping his hand around his cock like he’s been doing every morning for the past week, squeezing his base, flicking his tip, imagining it’s you, wishing it was you, but he doesn’t dare ask. instead he watches your facial expressions, how your lips curl up into a smirk when he’s close.

“stop,” you tell him, and he pulls his hand away without question. he would’ve been foolish to not expect the sensation of his orgasm floating farther and farther away from him. he tries to slow his breathing, tries not to lose his mind so early into this session.

“keep going.” 

he continues his previous pace immediately, and his hips tremble when he tries to stop them from bucking up. his tip is a bit more sensitive when he brushes his thumb across it, and it takes less time for him to get close. 

he strokes a bit faster, moans a bit louder. he has no idea how long you plan to keep him here, but he still anticipates the relief of falling off the edge.

“let go.”

leehan pulls his hand away from his cock and clutches the couch instead while willing his legs to stop shaking. he’s helpless to disobey you, but he groans as his orgasm escapes him a second time.

“hm…i dunno. something’s not right.” you tap a manicured nail against your chin in thought. he can never understand how you’re so composed in moments like this, like it’s a normal evening. if you’re turned on, you don’t show it, and it makes leehan flush with shame. “what do you think, baby boy?�� 

he huffs out a laugh at the question. how is he supposed to know? but you’re looking at him expectantly, so he scrambles to come up with something. “i mean– usually i’m, like, in bed, i guess. thinking about you, imagining you, smelling you…” god, don’t get him started on smelling you. 

you hum thoughtfully and lift off of the table. in seconds, you’re hovering over him, flashing him a devious grin. your hips are so close to straddling his, and you slap his hand away when it reaches up to touch your waist. you hold yourself up by the back cushions with your arms on either side of his head. he’s trapped, and suddenly, everything else in the room is overshadowed by you.

 “is that right? you think about all the dirty things you wanna do to me while getting off to the smell of my perfume?”

of course you’d know his weak spot. you’re so close to him and he thinks he’s going to lose his mind if he doesn’t get to touch you. your perfume is invading his senses, and flaming hot desire coils in his abdomen. he squeezes his eyes shut to prevent them from rolling into his skull as his hips twitch into the air.

“touch yourself, hannie,” you say sweetly.

he takes a deep breath and grabs his cock again. he’s known to leak like a faucet, especially after meeting you, and his hand is covered in sticky white within the first few seconds of stroking himself.

he knows there’s raspy noises falling from his open mouth, but he can barely hear them over his heart pounding. the way you take over his brain is overwhelming and he can hardly think. your lips graze his neck, and the skin litters with goosebumps despite the hot air between the two of you. 

if he opens his eyes, he’s got a face full of titties, and he doesn’t know if he can handle that despite every cell in his body telling him to look. he wants to be good for you and hold out until you give him permission to stop, but it feels so good that he’s speeding his hand up.

“ha– ah, fuck–” slick, sloppy sounds fill the room as he works himself to the edge for you.

“let go,” you whisper in his ear. his hand rips away from his cock and grips onto his thigh instead, getting it wet and gross with precum. it takes what feels like an eternity for him to back away from the precipice this time. fear runs his blood cold when he realizes he almost didn’t last. 

he’s always good for you, can edge himself for as long as you'd like. he doesn’t know why he’s sensitive today, especially after spending a week beating it.

you pull your face out of his neck, and he slumps against the couch. you smile at the sight and caress his cheek. he melts into the touch, but you pull away to card through his tangled hair instead. you used the grip on his strands to tilt his head back so that he’s looking up at you. 

“i do think you were louder that time. moaned just like you did in those recordings.” he opens his mouth to say something, but loses his train of thought when you plop down on his lap. 

“fffuck–” he moans, voice all pathetic and high-pitched. 

“stay still,” you warn when his hips buck into yours, and he tries so hard, but even the soft fabric of your skirt is too rough on his sensitive dick. he struggles to keep his eyes open, but he’d rather die than take them off of you, so he blinks through the tears pooling in his waterline. the action causes the tears to trickle down, and the air is cold against his wet cheeks.

you stay like that until his breaths are more even and he’s somewhat calmed down. he lets out a displeased noise when you lift off of him and sit back on the coffee table.

“c’mon, hannie. i’m not done with you yet. let me see.” you push his legs apart with your knee. he looks down with you, and the sight makes him burn with embarrassment. he’s leaking so much it’s soaking into the couch, and it’s another sight he has to squeeze his eyes shut to get away from.

“w-what, are you j-just gonna–” he swallows thickly, clears his throat, and tries again. “how long are you gonna make me do this?”

you tilt your head and smile at him like you aren’t melting his brain into goo. “however long it takes for you to learn your lesson.” leehan whines a little in protest.

“just wanted you to look at me, missed you so much.”

the look in your eyes softens and you lean forward to place a heartfelt kiss on his lips. “i missed you too, hannie. so. much,” you say, cupping his cheeks and pressing more gentle kissing around his face. “it was so hard to focus at work when you kept sending me those treats. but bad boys still have to take their punishments, yeah?” leehan sighs longingly and nods, resting his head against the back cushions, and reaching for his cock when you instruct him to start over.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

by the fifth denial, he’s a shaking mess, falling apart at the seams and only holding himself together by your command. he’s done for the second you flip your skirt up, slide your panties off, circle your clit right in front of him. you’re so close but so far, and he’s definitely losing his mind. 

“please– n/n, let me…could fuck you so good,” he begs helplessly, deep voice strained and words stringing together. it’s the first time tonight you actually look interested in what’s happening, and he can’t figure out where to look–at your pretty face as you make yourself feel good, at the wetness leaking out of your pulsing heat, at the way your tits shake when you tug at your nipples. you’re biting your lip to keep quiet, keeping your pretty noises to yourself. leehan thinks that’s the cruelest part of this punishment. 

his hips are fucking up into his hand in a sloppily, a stark contrast to his usually controlled thrusts. he’s not easy to turn into a mess, but you know him better than he knows himself. you know his limits, know that he won’t cum unless you tell him to, know how badly he needs your forgiveness. 

“i’m sorry, i’m sorry, just fuck me, please?” but you’re not looking at him. your eyes are focused on his cock drooling all over his legs, at the way it twitches when he’s close. your hips twitch, and your cunt drools on the table, and his mouth runs dry. he’s too delirious to figure out if your reactions are because of him, if he’s doing good for you. 

“stop, pretty boy.”

his hand trembles as he pulls it away from his dick and flops it against the couch. he gasps harshly, heaves loudly, and more tears stream down his face as his hips chase friction that’s already gone.

his head is leaning against the back cushions and lolled to the side, but he’s still watching you touch yourself. his mouth hangs open from all of his pathetic begging, and there’s a thin trail of saliva pooling in his mouth and dribbling onto his t-shirt. 

his eyelids are so heavy, but he watches brainlessly as you tease your opening, dip a finger into the heat. it comes back out drenched in creamy white, and he has to dig his nails into the cushion to stop himself from grabbing his dick without permission.

you pull your hands away from your body and straddle him again. he nearly goes cross-eyed when your bare cores touch. it’s so wet, and his entire body shivers with need.

“aw, hannie. look at me. tell me what you want.”

“mm, want– wanna taste you, wanna fuck you so bad.” you giggle, and he loses himself somewhere between your sparkly eyes and shiny lips.

“wanna taste me?” you reaffirm, and he nods dumbly. you straighten his head up and cup his cheeks between your fingers and thumb. you make him watch as you use your free hand to repeat the motions, gathering your wetness on your finger, pushing it through your opening and pulling it out. 

you whimper out freely this time, and the sound is so pretty and sinful leehan wishes he could tattoo it on his brain, wishes he had recorded it so he can hear it again later. your hand forces his lips to pucker and his mouth to open, and you press your wet fingers onto his tongue. 

leehan’s eyes roll again, and his eyebrows crease as the taste of you, the smell of you invades his senses. you always taste so good, so sweet to him.

his eyes focus on you again, but his vision clouds and his hips buck up against you. you slide against him so deliciously, but it’s over too soon when you slide your fingers out of his mouth and pry your hips away from his.

you wipe your wet fingers on his shirt and remind him to look at you, but he is already looking at you, has barely torn his eyes away from you in the last thirty minutes.

he’s completely awestruck, and maybe a little delirious when he swears he can see the faint halo hovering above your head. he tries to tell you how perfect, how much of an angel you are, but his words come out jumbled and unintelligible. 

“do you have a color for me, baby?”

“mhm, fuck– green, n-need you so bad. ’m so sorry, p-please, you look so beautiful, t–”

you interrupt him by pressing your lips against his, and leehan’s convinced he would’ve been talking for the rest of his life if you hadn’t. he’s pretty sure he melts into a puddle of goo when your lips collide, yours so perfect and plush against his. any function his brain is still performing shuts down immediately, and you have to handle the kiss by yourself, because his lips are slack and useless against yours. there’s a string of saliva connecting the two of you when you pull away from him.

“i think my pretty boy’s at his limit, hm?” you ask, and he doesn’t really know what you’re saying, but anything sounds good coming from you, so he nods and watches with his jaw on the floor as you stand up and pull your skirt off. you pull his shirt off as well, and you’re both bare and vulnerable but safe in your own world, just as leehan longed for.

you cup his cheeks again and hold his face so he can look up at you as you sink down on his cock, and the noise he makes when you bottom out is broken and pitiful even to his own ears. he knows he must look so fucked out and stupid, but you’re looking at him with so much love in your eyes that he’s sure he looks beautiful anyway. 

you wrap around him so well, your cunt is so tight. it feels like he’d forgotten how it feels to be buried inside you, and to be experiencing it for the first time again has to be parallel to some sort of spiritual ascension. leehan doesn’t know what he did to deserve it, but he does know he’d spend an eternity here if you allowed it.

your hands move to grip his shoulders, and you make the most heavenly face of ecstasy leehan has ever seen. you lift your hips to slide him out, and bottom out again. your cunt’s sucking him in so greedily, and he doesn’t know how much longer he can keep this up. 

“i’ll let you cum if you fuck me, pretty boy,” you say like you read his mind. you grab his lifeless hands and place them on your waist, then grip the back of the couch again. he gets the message clearly, holding you in place as he jerks into you. his thrusts aren’t coordinated at all, and it’s out of pure habit when he angles his hips to fuck right into your sweet spot. 

“fuck yeah, hannie. that’s so good, you’re so good,” you moan out, and he uses strength he barely has to aim for that spot, to hear those words from you again. on a particularly hard thrust, your eyes flutter closed.

“look at me, n/n. please– look at me,” he begs, voice cracking, and when you do, your eyes are glossy, tears pulling in your waterline. it’s so hot, and finally, your attention is his, and he’s making you feel good, but he’s not gonna last like this.

“you fill me up so good, hannie. make me feel so good,” you say breathlessly, eyes locked on his. “gonna cum for me? gonna fill me up nicely?” and he’s nodding, pitiful whimpers falling from his lips, whatever you say. 

you trail a hand up his abdomen, to his chest, and tug at his nipple. the rush of pleasure he feels is so intense that the knot in his stomach is fraying and snapping so quickly he can’t even warn you, but he tries through strangled gasps: “cumming, ‘m, fu–”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

it takes leehan a while to come back to earth. he’s so tired he can barely move, but you kiss him until his mind returns home. after asking if he’s okay five times and getting five verbal “yes’s,” you clean the two of you up and lead him to bed.

it’s still when he speaks again, eyes searching for yours in the dark room, “i really am sorry, y/n. i should’ve been more considerate. i respect your work so much, i just got so lonely…” you smile at him softly and reach a hand up to rub circles into his back.

“i’m sorry you were so lonely, hannie. i should’ve managed my time better, should’ve taken your feelings more seriously. from now on, i’ll keep work at work, and after my project, we can both take time off and go on a vacation. how’s that?”

“that’s perfect,” he says, and means it wholeheartedly, falling asleep with a smile of his own.

✧･ﾟ: *

a/n : FUCK THIS TOOK FOREVER TO WRITE LOL i reread it three times pls lmk if there r still typos <3

[keferon]

Still in the hospital but bored af so here's Part Two of fish dad

PART 2 of A Family can be A Fish and his Foster Kids

—-

Trailbreaker watched the mer approach their dock of concrete and broken cars, long tan body cutting through the water like butter. Soundwave held his hand tightly, Ravage curled around his shoulders. The twins and Windcharger were pressed against Trailbreaker’s back, the twins holding onto an arm each, Wrap on his left and TC on his right. Buster, TC’s service dog for his seizures, stood in front of his boy. Damus held Soundwave’s other hand in a vice grip, the cloths around his mangled hands dripping slightly, Skids behind him holding onto his shoulders.

The mer seemed to take them all in, large inhuman blue eyes tracking over one child to the next. It didn't make any more movement, except to lift it's torso out of the water.

Trailbreaker tensed as the mer revealed its true height, torso alone bigger than any human man. He took a half-step back, placing himself a little more firmly in front of the twins.

“He's so cool.” TC whispered softly, voice shattering the tense silence. Soundwave flinched back at the sound, his hat nearly falling off as the red glasses he used for his migraines fell a little off his nose.

“Dude!” Windcharger snapped, glaring at the other boy.

“It's true!” Warp said, voice raising in defense of his brother, his need to defend his twin overriding his fear.

And, in Trailbreaker’s opinion, his Goddamn Common Sense.

“Do…” Skids spoke up, running his hands over Damus’s wet hair nervously. "Do ye think th’ bloke’s friendly?” He asked, looking at Soundwave. “Th’ mers at th’ ‘quarium didn’ seem so bad, y’know. Not ta us kids.”

“Those were orcas.” Soundwave said slowly, squinting at the mer in front of them, still quietly watching the group of boys. "And trained to perform. We have no idea how this one will act.”

There was a moment of silence, before Thundercracker let go of Trailbreaker's arm and took a step forward, Buster by his side.

“I'm gonna go say hi.”

Trailbreaker made a move to grab TC’s shirt, fingers falling short as his brothers who were still holding onto him pulled him back.

“Wait, TC, no-” He called, only to be cut off by Ravage’s fur in his face, the cat having jumped off of Soundwave’s shoulders to follow the boy and dog.

Soundwave made a noise Trailbreaker never wanted to hear again but didn't move, all of them watching as TC walked up to the mer, dog and cat right next to him. Trailbreaker felt like he was going to pass out, heart pounding in his head.

“Hi!” Thundercracker said brightly, one hand on Buster’s head, the other held out as if the goddamn fish was going to SHAKE IT. Ravage wound herself around TC’s legs, sitting down on his feet like she could prevent the boy from moving any further.

Warp was trembling in Trailbreaker’s arms, barely held back from going to tackle his twin and bring him back to the group. Trailbreaker felt like Soundwave’s hand and Windcharger’s grip on his OWN shirt were the only things preventing him from grabbing the kid. (And maybe strangling him a little. He'd deserve it. Warp would have to understand)

A huge hand lifted out of the water, clawed and tan and big enough to crush TC like a fucking twig. The middle schooler didn't even flinch, keeping his own hand held out steady.

Trailbreaker practically felt Soundwave deflate as the mer gently shook Thundercracker’s tiny hand in its own much MUCH larger one.

“Guys, see?" Thundercracker said with a grin, wiping his hand off on his shirt, though that didn't help much. “He's nice!”

The mer looked back at their group, dipping lower into the water and smiling up at them.

“That's great, kid.” Trailbreaker said softly, trying to mentally teleport Thundercracker back to his side. “Can um- can you come back now?” He asked, trying to ignore how his voice cracked.

Ravage meowed loudly and jumped onto the mers head, provoking something that sounded suspiciously like a chirp from the fish itself. Soundwave’s cat, notorious for hating anybody and everybody except for Soundwave himself, settled into a loaf.

Soundwave let go of Trailbreaker’s hand to adjust his hat and glasses, sniffed once, and took a step forward, beginning to walk towards the fish with Skids and Damus in town.

“Ravage likes him.” He said simply in response to Trailbreaker's utter look of fear.

Trailbreaker took a breath, acknowledged that level of logic, and pulled Skywarp and Windcharger forward.

If nothing else, he could make sure the fish ate him FIRST, if it turned out they were wrong.

—----

HELP. Shockwave got cat-approved ahajakdmdmdbKFKDBDH OH THIS IS AMAZING

Just the. The mental image of this giant fish guy with tiny ass cat-loaf on his head??? I had to doodle it hehejej

[oooocleo]

Do you have basic info abour your characters?

this was hard !! narrowing down the 50.000 character/worldbuilding notes i have floating around into little blurbs... but i wanted to make it digestible for Those Not In The Know (=everyone bc im a bit shit at talking abt my characters lol..... still, it feels very special when ppl seem curious about them or even just recognize them at all!)

also i do have other characters besides these four but theyre... the ones i draw/write for the most 🫡

patreon

[ihatebrainstorm]

Batch 2 of commissions finished! They were all really fun to do :D Thank you again to those who comm'd me! o)-(

(Technically there were 3, but the third isn't a mech thingy so I'd rather just post the mech ones here)

[hatsbuckets]

Another Price x wife/fem!reader ficlet because I'm addicted to him. might do a nikprice thing soon though.

cw: eventual smut (designated at the ellipses), so 18+ but i wanted it to be cozy. It's a soft fic tbh, I cried. nothing too descriptive but oral! fem receiving, p in v unprotected, idk if anything else.

The door clicks shut behind him with the gentlest sound, but even that feels like too much. He moves on autopilot. Boots off. Coat hung. Bag dropped. Keys placed. Hands still dirty, fingers aching from the cold, from the tension that never left his knuckles even once.

He hasn’t spoken in hours, and now the silence stretches around him, too big and too loud all at once, but then he sees you.

You're curled up in the corner of the couch, legs tucked, head tilted, some book half-forgotten in your lap. Light catches on your face like it was meant to land there, like it knew that’s where it should rest and so does he.

He crosses the room without thinking. His knees hit the floor, slow and creaking, and his hands reach for you like they always do--like they must. He doesn’t know what to say, wouldn’t trust his voice even if he did. All he knows is this: he needs you. Just you and your warmth and weight and breath.

He leans in and lays his head to your chest, where your heartbeat taps steady against his cheek, strong and soft and very alive. He exhales slow and steady, the breath shaking out of him.

And fuck, your smell. That quiet warmth he only ever finds here. The fabric of your shirt soft against his skin. Your fingers brush in his hair without needing to be asked. He presses his face in further, breathes deeper, lets his arms slide around your waist and up your ribs and stay there, holding the rise and fall of your lungs in his palms. His thumb brushes the smallest motion along the proof that you’re still here. That he’s still here. Your heartbeat’s in his ear, and he counts the beats like a lifeline.

He tangles his legs with yours, big frame curling in like he wants to crawl into the space where you exist and never leave where there’s no mission, no gunfire, no blood he couldn’t stop. Just stay in the place where your chest rises and falls and rises again, and the way your body always makes room for him.

He doesn’t cry, but he thinks maybe if you said his name right now--soft, like you mean it--he just might.

So instead, he whispers yours, quiet, like a prayer. And when you breathe deep, slow and steady, he lets himself match it. He lets your rhythm become his anchor. He lets your hands in his hair bring him home.

... smut below ...

He doesn’t plan on asking for anything, doesn’t plan on taking, or moving, or talking. He just needed to feel your chest rise and fall beneath him. He needed your warmth to bleed into his skin and remind him he’s alive, that he came home, again and again, to you.

But then your fingers slip under his shirt, brushing the bare skin of his back, tracing an old scar at his hip--warm and gentle and familiar--and his whole body shudders with pure relief.

Your touch travels slow, up from the scar to the top of his shoulder blade. It moves featherlight down the line of his spine, then up again, smoothing over the tension in his shoulders. He breathes out hard--chest trembling against yours--and presses his mouth to your sternum, open and reverent, just a kiss, just him saying thank you without needing to speak.

Your hand moves from his hair to cradle his cheek. You tip his chin up, give that one, soft smile, and he’s unmade.

He shifts, pushes up on his arms to hover above you, his big hands bracing either side of your waist. For a moment he just looks, studies the way your lips part, the way your skin glows in the low light, the way your eyes hold him like you want all of him... like he’s not too much.

His hands move slow. He undoes the buttons of your shirt one by one, like unwrapping something precious. His fingers are light, shaking, moving not to get it off fast, but to savor it. Every inch of skin revealed is met with his mouth, soft kisses to your collarbone, your ribs, the inside curve of your waist. You feel his beard drag, the scratch of it rough, every brush a reminder that he's here.

“Let me,” he murmurs, voice low and hoarse.

You nod, and that’s all he needs.

He kisses down your stomach like he could live in the space between his lips and your skin. His hands massage your thighs, slow circles with his thumbs, and when he parts your legs, it’s with reverence.

He's still for a long moment, just looks at you, eyes meeting yours through his lashes. He breathes against your skin, rests his head on your thigh, lets you feel how much he wants this, how much he needs to give. Then his mouth lowers, and he starts slow. Long, languid movements of his tongue, gentle kisses to the inside of your thigh in between, murmured nothings and praises half-swallowed by the way he holds you open for him.

He stays there, mouth devoted, until you’re trembling with it, until your fingers are in his hair, tugging, until you whisper his name like it’s a secret only he deserves. And even then, he takes his time.

When he finally comes back up, he's meeting your soft, blissed smile with his own. He kisses you slow, like he’s savoring your taste on his tongue, like he wants you to know what you do to him and what you mean to him.

You help him out of the rest of his clothes, soft touches and kisses exchanged in the quiet between breaths. When he finally slides into you, it’s deep and deliberate--one long press that has both of you gasping into the space between your mouths.

“Fuck,” he whispers, lips against your cheek.

"Romantic, John," you whisper, all tease in your voice.

He hums, happily pressed as close as he can be, warm skin against warm skin. Your hands slide up his chest, fingers brushing through the course hairs there until they lock behind his back.

He finally moves, barely any space between where your hips meet before he's back again. He just rocks into you, slow and steady, his whole body wrapped around yours like he could shield you from the world and could hide here, in you, forever.

He murmurs your name, over and over. He tells you you’re perfect, tells you you’re his.

You come apart beneath him, soft, and gasping, and so beautiful--you know because he tells you so--he follows with a low moan and a stuttering breath, clutching you to him like a drowning man finding shore. He stays inside you for a while, presses his forehead to yours and breathes with you. He only moves away when you're both ready, sighing longingly at the seperation.

His hands settle once again at your waist, just as they did when he walked through the door, feeling your breath rise and fall beneath his palms. His head rests over your heart. And after a few moments he sleeps. Despite the sweat and spend--and grime still on him--you don't dare move because he's yours and he’s safe and he’s home.

thanks for reading

[brunchcorpse]

I think its absolutely hilarious that Dean and Castiel go through inhuman amounts of trauma over the course of a decade plus, and somehow they still arent the human x angel ship on the show that has gone through the most detrimental mind bending shit. Michael and Adam were literally trapped in hell together alone for over 1000 years and they walked out the other side healthier than Dean and Cas could ever possibly be. Iconic really

[pretend-theres-a-name-here]

Little thing I wrote while procrastinating writing part 5 of Hide Your Heart.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Steve Harrington who knows his kid brother is obsessed with some niche, up and coming metal band. Steve Harrington who groans and grumbles and carries on about having to drive him around to shows and listen to him nerding out but does it anyway. Steve Harrington who doesn’t really pay attention because the lights on the stage are too bright and drown out whoever’s playing. Steve Harrington who is currently wading through a crowd making their way to the door, going against the current and stumbling as he searches for the mop of hair he promised to get home.

“Henderson!” He cups his hands around his mouth, “Where is that kid?” 

He finds himself pushed to the outskirts of the mass of bodies, plastered to a wall but he still pitches forward when a particularly rowdy young woman rams into him. He thinks he’s going to go all the way to the floor when a hand snags his elbow, holding him up. He turns to rush out an apology, a few thanks for the save, but stops before he can get the words out because holy shit the guy is gorgeous.

And Steve—well Steve has been doing some thinking about himself. About how most guys don’t have to mentally prepare themselves to go into the locker room after pe class. About how most guys don’t let their friends paint their nails pretty colors. Robin told him that there was this thing called being bisexual and he thought some things were clicking into place. So he’s gotten used to going out and noticing more than just girls, it’s not uncommon, but this guy is hot, like really hot. 

He’s dressed in leather pants and a cut off tank top that hangs around his sides. Tattoos, more doodles than actual designs, on full display for the world to see, running up his arms and peeking out from his ribs. His hair is in curly tangles, sweat sticking it to his forehead but he’s grinning. He has a jacket, leather, in his other hand. 

He’s also still holding on to Steve’s arm. Warm rings press into the inside of his elbow as he rights himself.

“First time?” The man asks.

“Y-yeah.” Steve gets out, “I’m supposed to be here with my brother, he’s a huge fan of some band playing here. Molded Coffin or something.”

The guy’s face breaks out into a full on smile, humor sparking in his eyes but Steve doesn’t know if what he said was that funny.

“Yeah? Where’s he at?” The guy still hasn’t let go, leading Steve away from the crowd and further into the room where there were less people.

“I’m actually looking for him now. Left him alone for five minutes to get a drink and he disappears.”

“You need help? These things can get a little crazy.” The man offers.

“You do this a lot?” Steve asks, immediately mentally face palming. He practically asked the guy if he came here often, he was going to think he was flirting. Was he?

The man just smiled, “You could say that. Eddie.” He finally released Steve’s arm in favor of holding out his hand. They shook hands and Steve told the man—Eddie—his name.

They talked for a while, Eddie got them drinks and Steve told himself that Dustin was old enough to behave himself for 15 minutes. Eddie kept an arm around his shoulders the whole time, shielding him from the chaos of the dwindling crowd was his excuse. Steve would have told him he didn’t need an excuse if that didn’t seem too forward.

 Eddie was just asking for his number when someone behind them called, “Ed! Quite flirting and get your ass over here! You’re helping us tear down this time!”

Eddie sighed, “Duty calls.” He scribbled something on to a napkin, patting it against Steve’s chest and backing away, “I’ll be waiting for yours, sweetheart.”

And Steve was either drunk or insane because he actually laughed at that. Laughed again when he looked at the napkin and saw numbers almost unreadable, a winking face below them.

“Steve! There you are! I’ve been looking all over for you—What’s that?” Dustin’s tone went from annoyed to prying as soon as he saw the napkin.

“None of your business.” He stuffed the napkin in his pocket, “Are you ready to go or what, kid, I’ve been waiting forever.” He poked Dustin’s shoulder until he got moving and then he poked it again when Dustin scowled at him.

In the car he was once again subjected to Dustin’s after show rant about how cool it was. The guitarist apparently broke two strings and flipped the crowd off with his bloody fingers—which they went wild for, which Dustin screeched along with them for. They played a new song, but it all sounded the same to Steve. That was as much as he heard, though, his mind kept wandering back to the man after the show. To the number in his pocket. He debated putting it to use, was the next day too soon? How long was too long until Eddie forgot about him? A guy like that probably had a mountain of napkins with numbers thrown at him every day. He decided to get over himself and call late the next day. 

“Hi, this is Steve.” He suddenly felt very silly for calling but it was too late now.

“Steve, pretty boy from the show last night Steve?” And just like that he forgot why he hesitated to call.

“That would be me.” He cringed, “No, wait, that sounds so self centered.”

“Not self centered if it’s a compliment.” Eddie argued.

“If you say so.”

They talked, got 10 whole minutes of random conversations Steve never wanted to end before Eddie cursed.

“I’m sorry, I promised my uncle I’d help at the shop.” He muttered, “I’m gonna be late.”

“That’s fine, you should go help him.”

“I’ll call you later?” Eddie asked, and if Steve didn’t know any better he’d say it sounded hopeful.

“I’ll be here later.” He responded. 

They called all the time after that, whenever they were both free. They even met up in person, it was just to the park because Eddie found out Steve had never fed ducks before, but it ended with another day scheduled to spend together and then another and then a month had passed and he could say they were officially dating. It was the best time Steve had had in a long time and he really didn’t want it to end. The realization came to him one night, after another day with Eddie, and it wasn’t as shocking as he thought it would be. It was a Friday night, Eddie was busy most Saturdays—something about going to shows with the guys—so a lot of their slow nights were Fridays. They were watching TV on the couch in Eddie’s trailer, which was quickly becoming Steve’s favorite place, when he found himself watching the way Eddie laughed and even jumped at whatever horror movie was on more than he was watching the movie itself. 

“I love you.” He whispered. 

Eddie’s head whipped around, eyes wide, movie forgotten, “I love you too!” And then Steve couldn’t be blamed for not watching the movie anymore when he was practically tackled to the couch, laughing the whole way down.

It was a month after that night that he was steeling himself outside of his front door.

“It’ll be fine.” He said to himself, “They’re going to love you.” He said to Eddie who was gripping his hand.

“It’ll be fine.” Eddie agreed and he almost sounded convinced.

Today was the one day that everyone could gather at Steve’s. The whole party had shown up, everyone he had folded into his makeshift family was in his living room waiting for him to get back with the new partner he told them he was introducing. Today was the day they decided to tell people about them.

Steve pushed the door open, taking a deep breath before leading Eddie to the living room. All of his friends sat scattered around the room. On the couch and floor and coffee table. He could do this.

“Uh. Hey.” He cleared his throat, “I’m back.” All eyes snapped to him, eager to know who this mystery person was.

Eddie tried for an awkward wave but their hands were still connected so they just shook between them.

The silence was getting unbearable until finally Robin shot up from the floor and tackled him in a hug, subsequently dragging Eddie along into it.

“I’m so happy for you, dingus.” She laughed as she pulled away, “Robin.” She stuck her hand out to Eddie who visibly relaxed, “Best friend, platonic soulmate, hurt him and I swear to god you’ll wake up with no kneecaps.”

“Eddie.” Eddie squeaked, shaking her hand hastily.

“Bobbin.” Steve only called her that when she was being particularly over the top because it annoyed her to no end and she knew this, “Tone it down, would you?”

The rest of the group chorused their hellos and introductions and a weight lifted off of Steve’s shoulders at the sight of all of his friends accepting the news without comment. Until he realized there was only one person who hadn’t spoken a word, standing in the middle of the room with a strange look on his face.

“Dustin?” Steve prompted, voice strained.

“Oh my God.” Dustin mumbles in disbelief.

“Dustin…” Steve shot him a warning glance, “If you’ve got a problem with it—”

But Dustin ignores him, he’s staring at Eddie in shock, “Oh my God!” He practically shouts, coming to life to jump and screech, “That’s—! You’re—! You’re Eddie Munson!” 

Eddie grins, seemingly unfazed by this bizarre reaction to meeting your brother’s boyfriend, “I take it you’re a fan?”

“A fan of what?” Steve asks, pulling his hand out of Eddie’s to turn to him face to face.

At the same time, Dustin starts babbling hysterically, “A fan? Only the biggest CC fan in all of Hawkins! I have every song on vinyl, like three posters and—oh my god this is so embarrassing. Eddie Munson is in my house and I’m telling him I have his face on my wall.” 

He keeps talking but it’s more to himself than anyone else in the room so Steve raises an eyebrow at Eddie, “What’s he talking about? Why are you on posters and why does he have them?”

Eddie, for the first time since Steve has known him, looks almost sheepish, “Oh…I guess I’m kind of, maybe the frontman of Corroded Coffin.” He might be blushing.

“You’re that nerd Dustin’s always going on about?!” Steve exclaims.

[bluewolfangel01]

Obey Me content creators, be prepared to carry the entirety of the fandom ✊️

Edit: as if yall weren't already

[bunnieswithknives]

OH MY GOD??? HAS IT SERIOUSLY BEEN A MONTH????? I am so sorry guys

Prev | Next

[essektheylyss]

I was thinking about how you'd go about adapting for the Nein show with regard to the alluded-to D-plot following whatever Essek was up to with his Assembly contacts prior to the Nein showing up given that the general sense I get is that the cast does hope to adapt campaign 3 as well, and Ludinus was his main point of contact. If he is not the eventual villain, it isn't tight enough for that format (which is super limited in comparison!) if you don't alter that, since that just ends up feeling like a loose end.

Personally, if I was doing the adapting, I'd probably switch Essek's contact to one of the other collaborators that he listed. Trent seems like the obvious first choice, since it does later tie him to Caleb, but I think you run into trouble there, because it becomes too personal in a way that's harder to reconcile, especially in the time the show allots. It's certainly doable, but I'd personally think it causes more problems than it solves. It would also require threading a needle in terms of his willingness to collaborate with Trent; you could go the A:TLA season 1 route and set him up to be an obviously much worse person, but I think that makes it too clean cut. That's very sensible for a kid's show where you do have an antagonistic teenager who you want the audience to sympathize with, but you can make the dynamic more complex than that in adult media.

Which brings us to the final candidate: Vess Derogna. It took me a minute to think this one through, but this is actually brilliant. You sprinkle her in from the get-go, rather than only vaguely alluding to her through Cree up until Felderwin, and you don't run into nearly as much complication in eventually settling Caleb's distrust of Essek as you would if he had mainly been working with Trent, nor do you risk defanging Essek by juxtaposing him against a blatantly horrific guy. You also ratchet up the horror of Lucien killing her, because she will have been such an uneasily menacing contact for so long, so the audience if not the Nein fully understand how powerful she is and how much influence she has, and he just waltzes in and offs her. That is already pretty powerful in the campaign just by knowing that she's a member of the Assembly, but it hits harder when this person has been an imposition for four seasons straight.

And most importantly, it takes the "What happened to Vess Derogna?" exchange up from funny to fucking hysterical.

[shirajellyfish]

So many writers put so much work into their robot lore and how the robots work and where the components are and meanwhile I'm just like

High research writers with actual notes on how robots work: I both respect and fear you. And most of all love you.

[tea-potato-gt]

G/t Trope Bingo:

Borrower stories:

Captured/discovered while out borrowing

The dredded 🫙Jar🫙

Bean, the “no, it’s pronounced human BEING” conversation

borrower with artistic abilities

The “that’s not borrowing, that’s stealing” conversation

Befriends bean of the house

Hurt-Comfort

Drunk giant scene

Dealing with pets/animals

Borrowers named after objects, food, or plants.

Tails or animal ears

BL

Fairy stories:

Losing ability to fly due to getting wet

Magic affinities/powers

Wishing to be human

Collecting human things

Odd names based on plants/magical objects

Curse(s)

Dragonfly or butterfly wings

Merfolk G/t:

Human drowning and saved by giant fish person

Speak different languages/can’t understand eachother

Put in air sack or underwater cave

Tiny fish person kept in a tank

Collecting human treasures

Pirates

Saving an entire sinking ship

Fantasy:

Jack and the beanstalk retelling

Princess/prince is engaged to a giant/tiny from a neighboring kingdom

Magic, spells, curses

Character goes on a quest to slay a giant (fails lol)

Kidnapped by a well meaning giant

Found family

Dark Borrower Stories:

Entire species is discovered

Kept as Pets or exterminated or experimented on

Borrower found by kind hearted bean, who shows them not all giants are bad.

Rac!sm/spec!es!sm

Humans think borrowers are dumb and underestimate them

Size-shifter:

Triggered by emotions (Scared/sad = small) or (Angry/happy = big)

Accidentally growing infront of friends and freaking them out

Accidentally growing in a confined space (room/box) and busts out.

Tearing through clothes or shrinking out of them, resulting in needing to make special clothing that changes size with them.

Modern setting:

Dating app misshap (accidentally unknowingly matching with a giant or tiny)

Disastrous first date

Fear of giants

Recently integrated school/jobs

Adopted by giant or tiny

Using phone twice your size

K!dnapped by school bully

Aliens👽:

Travel to or from other worlds/dimensions

Abduction

Different languages

Science experiments

Giant trying to convince tiny they aren’t evil

Mixed-sized families stories:

“Big” sibling & “little” sibling

Stairs and ramps around the house for easy access and travel

Tiny kid has giant sized room/bed

Extra rooms that are small scale (bathrooms and kitchens)

Small scale furniture next to giant furniture

Adopted kids/married in step kids

Protective parents (either giant or tiny)

Being carried to school/work by giant parent/sibling

Kids not telling friends they live in a mixed family (embarrassed.?)

***

Comment any other tropes to add! Also if anyone wants to make a bingo card 👀👀

I got recommendationsfor each G/t genre if y’all want any 👀 here’s some of my recs