#for reading this and giving me feedback

[i-literally-cant-with-this]

A/N ::: 😳. Iiiii ... Ok. So I'm never this creative to think of such things like ... oh, idk. Kafka likes to roleplay with his girl - kinda fucked up things. Like, being a little rough in bed. Both ways - roughing and being roughed up. Idk. I just totally see him being the best fucking husbando/boyfriendo ever. Sorry Draken, Chifuyu, Mitsuya, oh god, and Baji. ANYWAY. Yeah. This Kafka stuff just keeps oozing from my fingers and I'm in no hurry to stop. I hope you guys enjoy this!

C/W ::: Roleplay (on the rougher side - not violent, per se - but not like petting a kitten either ... no pun intended), unprotected P->V, hands-on stuff, a little tossing of the other person around but like I said, I don't think it's like, too too rough. You've read this far, heed the warning if you think this won't be for you =). That's why we put them here!

WC ::: Under 1,200 (I'm coming back around, you guys!!)

MDNI UNDER THE CUT PLEASE, THANK YOU.

You bite your bottom lip as Kafka growls against your skin. His words and his tone are harsh, but his touch … it’s painfully soft. The slight pressure of his mouth, the rasp of his tongue against the sensitive skin of your neck. It makes your stomach flutter, and your eyes roll back.

He breathes heavily against you as he moves his mouth lower, to your shoulder, then down, across your collarbone and back up again.

"You're sending me really, really mixed signals here, Kafka. You're mouth is literally saying one thing while your body does another."

"You don't say," he says.

"I do say."

He huffs and lifts his head to look you in the eyes, his own dark, pupils blown wide. "What do you want me to say?" he says, his voice low, rough. "That I like you?

"I mean, yeah. That would be nice. But maybe a little consistency first?"

"I like you," he says, "But I also hate you. So I don't know. What should I do?"

You try to shimmy away from him but his grip just tightens and there's no way you can get out of his arms.

He leans in, his breath tickling your ear and you shiver. "Do you want me to let you go?" he whispers.

"What I want is ..." You sigh, "What I want," you say slowly, "Is for you to get over yourself." You take a deep breath. "I know that you want me, at the very least. Why are you being so gentle and rough with me at the same time?"

He huffs. "It's complicated," he says. "I like you. I do. And .... But ..."

"But what?" You ask.

"But nothing. It's not important."

He looks down again at your body pressed into the mattress. His hands sliding down your shoulders to your elbows.

You try to wiggle your wrist free from his large hand. You want to grab him by the chin and make him look you in the eye, but he still has an unreasonably tight grip on you.

He glances at you through his lashes, his mouth curled into a devious smirk. "You want something, little one?"

You shout, "That's it! That's it! I've had enough of your patronizing. You're gonna get it now, Kafka."

You can feel your temperature rise and your willpower falter. Mustering every tiny little ounce of strength you have in your much smaller body you flip him over so he's on his back. Though you have a feeling that he went willingly. You don't care though. You're just happy that the tables have turned - in your favor, too.

For now, anyway.

You squat over him on the bed and straddle his torso, placing your knees on either side of his ears, careful not to put too much pressure on his chest.

He laughs at you and asks why you're not putting your full weight down on him. "You think you're gonna hurt me, you little fly."

You see him smile at you, a sharp-toothed grin. "Come on," he says, "You're not going to hurt me. I want you to give it your best shot, though. G'head."

You lean forward, putting your full weight on him and he laughs. "Oh-hoh, now you've done it," he says. "You should not have done that."

The laughter stops and his eyes narrow as you press your hand to his cheek, running your thumb across his bottom lip. He leans forward, trying to bite at your fingers and you pull your hand away, making him growl again. This time in frustration, you’re sure of it. 

You place your hand on his throat, pushing him back down onto the bed.

"Enough," you say, your voice low, barely more than a whisper. "It's time to stop playing around."

His eyes widen as you lean in, pressing your mouth against his. He stiffens at first, but then relaxes, his mouth opening under yours.

His tongue brushes against your lips, and you open for him, your own tongue meeting his.

You can taste the sweetness of his mouth, and the taste makes you hungry for more. You press closer, your teeth clicking together as you try to deepen the kiss.

Kafka wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer as you continue to kiss. You feel his cock harden against your thigh and you moan.

You press your hips down, rubbing against him, his cock sliding against your pussy through the thin black lace of your underwear.

You break the kiss, panting, your body is on fire.

Kafka groans as you begin to rock your hips, grinding your pussy harder yet against his cock.

"Fuck," he whispers, his eyes glazed over, his lips swollen from your kiss.

You reach between you, grabbing his cock, squeezing it tightly as you stroke it, your hand sliding up and down his shaft.

"Do you want me?" you ask, leaning in, your lips brushing against his.

"Yes," he says, his voice rough, his breathing ragged. "Fuck yes."

"Then," you say, kissing him deeply. "take me, Kafka."

An animalistic sound escapes his throat as he flips you over onto your back, his body pressing you down into the bed.

You moan as he pushes his cock inside you, stretching you open. He fills you completely, his cock buried to the hilt in your pussy.

He begins to move, his thrusts slow and steady as he fucks you, his cock sliding in and out of you. Your walls squeeze him tightly.

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer as you rock your hips, meeting his offerings.

You look up at him, face flushed.

He looks down at you, his expressions are intense, but he never shifts his focus. His movements become harder, faster. Almost desperate in his attempt to navigate this fare.

You gasp as you feel him hit just the right spot, making your vision blur. You dig your nails into his back, clinging to him as your orgasm hits you like a surprise wave. Despite knowing full well what the outcome of this would be, the result never ceases to amaze you.

He never ceases to amaze you.

Kafka groans, his thrusts becoming erratic. As he fucks you through your orgasm, he approaches his own.

He slams his cock into you one last time, his body going rigid as he begins to cum, his cock pulsing heavily as he fills you with all he's got.

You cling to him, your bodies pressed together, your heart racing as you both come down from the almost violent release of energy.

Kafka rests his forehead against yours, his breathing ragged.

"You are amazing," he whispers. "Absolutely … fucking ... amazing."

You smile and kiss him softly, your fingers stroking his cheek. "I almost believed you for a minute there, Kaf. Your growly voice is super sexy, but my god. I thought you were a little pissed for a second. Let's do this again. Soon, mm?"

You lift his chin to take stock of his face and you know you'll never tire of seeing his kind eyes looking back at you. "Hey, I love you, you know."

You can't see it, but you're pretty sure he's blushing. The heat radiating from his face against your shoulder washed up like a sunrise; It was slow, but you felt every little prickle of warmth overtake everything it touched.

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his lips brushing against your skin.

"I love you too," he whispers. "You know I do. You know I'll never stop, yeah?"

You smile and close your eyes, letting the near total darkness of the room wrap you both up in a blanket of promises.

@southside-otaku @kazutora-kurokawa @katkusuo

@supersecretsaga @trevengersprincess @reiners-milkbiddies

@arlerts-angel @darkstarlight82 @bakubunny

[thepoisonroom]

'I flirted with the idea that instead of being trans that I was just a cross-dresser (a quirk, I thought, that could be quietly folded into an otherwise average life) and that my dysphoria was sexual in nature, and sexual only. And if my feelings were only sexual, then, I wondered, perhaps I wasn’t actually trans.

I had read about a book called The Man Who Would Be Queen, by a Northwestern University professor who believed that transwomen who were attracted to women were really confused fetishists, they wanted to be women to satisfy an autogynephilia. And though I first read about this book in the context of its debunkment and disparagement, I thought about the electricity of slipping on those tights, zipping up those boots, and a stream of guilt followed. Maybe this professor was right, and maybe I was only a fetishist. Not trans, just a misguided boy.

About a year later, on the Internet, I come across a transwoman who added a unique message to the crowd refuting this professor. Oh, I wish I remember who this woman was, and I wish even more that I could do better than paraphrase her, but I remember her saying something like this: “Well, of course I feel sexy putting on women’s clothing and having a woman’s body. If you feel comfortable in your body for the first time, won’t that probably mean it’ll be the first time you feel comfortable, too, with delighting in your body as a sexual thing?”'

-Casey Plett, Consciousness

[pearl-the-artist]

(You called for me) Gabriel / Reader Oneshot

Ok please be patient with me on this. I spent over 24 hours in a car on a trip to Russia a few days ago and it made me do something I've never dared to before: write a fanfic. On my humble Samsung notes.

If this isn't a total flop I might make more? I dunno? Maybe hop on ao3?

Criticism and feedback is appreciated ok thank youuu have fun

Another restless night, another hour spent lying in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling above you. The room was shrouded in the comforting night air, more illuminated than usual by the soft glow of the full moon outside.

You look at the clock on your nightstand; precisely midnight. Two hours after your drunken father came home again, letting his pent-up frustrations and anger out on you in a one sided yelling match. Of course, as usual, neither was your mother of any support; only giving you that same disapproving, disdainful glare. You were never really welcome, not even in your own home- your parents biggest mistake lingering around only to weigh them down, and remind them of what they could've had. Or so they've told you, many, many times before. Tonight was no exception.

When the broadcasts first announced the new threat infesting the county, "alternates" they called them, you were, admittedly, both terrified and somewhat relieved. You were never really one to believe in the supernatural, but who knows, your parents were just superstitious enough to maybe fall for their schemes.

The first announcement had been around, what, a year ago now? Not much had really changed admittedly, although the population had begun falling drastically since then.

Your parents had of course used this opportunity to also confiscate your phone, the CRT TV in your room and old little MP3 player gifted to you by a relative, god forbid you let an alternate in to potentially threaten them, your own safety not even really a point for consideration to them.

Living with your parents was already hell, but getting by without your favourite albums and shows? Torture.

So tonight when you lied in bed unable to fall asleep, your mind wandering as usual, it may have wandered a little too far.

You recalled something you overheard your parents talk about. A friend of your dad's, a man of unwavering faith, who had been found dead in his own home a few weeks ago, seemingly in the middle of his usual prayers. Even though his family mentioned having seen an odd, ghostly figure outside their home that night, the doctors seemed to blame the cause of death on a brain hemorrhage.

It made sense, come to think of it. When you first saw the emergency PSA, it explained all kinds of methods to protect yourself from alternate attacks, one of which being avoidance of religion, faith, and philosophy.

So then, the alleged "ghost" that visted that poor man just might've been... Well.

This gave you a bad idea, but you weighed the options available to you.

Either you would die in a similar way as the old man, or... you might just get lucky and bargain with it. Alternatively, nothing happens, and you remain stuck with an unhappy married couple that hates each other as much as they hate you.

It was definitely stupid, but at this point it seemed like you had nothing to lose anyway. You weren't really much of a believer yourself, so you didn't exactly know how to pray, but you gave it your best shot. Sitting up in your bed, hands clasped together with a bowed head and closed eyes, you tried your best to focus.

If there was a god out there, may it hear your pleas. Wordless whispers called for help, begging to be heard, while you did all you could to try to concentrate on any spiritual connections. All the while you knew you may as well be praying to a literal demon.

A few minutes passed as you racked your brain for what to say before you stopped, your hands falling back into your lap.

What the hell were you doing? Yes you hated it here, and you couldn't even run away if you wanted to, but inviting an alternate to your house just like this? It was a death sentence, and not a pretty one, that much was certain.

You shook your head. It probably wouldn't have worked anyway. Right, this was all just some silly superstition, not that different from those "send this to 5 other people or you'll die tonight" chain e-mails. You laughed internally at how silly it was that you even thought this would work to begin with, and, admittedly, felt a brief sense of relief. You decided that you were ready to just go back to sleep, and just as you pulled your blanket up to crawl back underneath it- you almost jumped.

It was a voice, faintly audible outside your window. You didn't even process it until a few seconds after, a barely legible, strained whisper.

"I heard you praying."

You froze. A cold wave shot right to your stomach. Slowly, agonisingly so, you turned around to face your bedroom window.

A tall figure stood outside, its hands clasped together similarly to how you just had a few minutes ago. With long, flowing white robes and silver, wavy locks that reached down to his shoulders, he looked... Ethereal. Not to mention the massive, pure white wings folded neatly behind his back. His head blocked out the full moon, the light creating something almost like a halo around him, making him appear even more angelic.

"Woah."

You couldn't help the little gasp of awe. He seemed to find it amusing, his grin spreading a little too wide for comfort. Admittedly, you almost doubted if he even was an alternate at all. Maybe you'd come out a person of faith yourself, after this.

"Are you... An alternate?"

You whispered hesitantly, quiet enough to try to conceal the trembling in your voice and also not alert your parents sleeping upstairs, though you weren't sure if he actually heard you at all.

He didn't respond for a moment, tempting you to ask again, before that inhuman whisper was heard again.

"You called for me, and now I am here."

Avoiding your question, huh. Suppose he was an elusive sort. You quickly glanced around your room, eyeing the door in particular just in case; you really hoped your parents were asleep.

"May I... Come closer?"

You couldn't even recall the last time you were this polite to someone, though it was your best bet not to piss him off while he was still friendly, if you could even call it that. You had no point of reference, though he wasn't actively trying to harm you, so it was a start.

The angel, his smile unwavering, simply nodded, waving his arm in an invitation to approach.

It took a moment for you to will your body to move from the initial shock, but with slow, careful steps you moved to open the window to properly speak to him, a pleasant cool breeze inviting itself into your room.

"So... What's your name?"

Did alternates have names? Suppose they just took on the name of whoever they were trying to mimic. You leaned onto the window frame, trying to catch a good look at his face; and for the first time in god knows how long you were met with eyes that, albeit a bit creepy and lifeless, looked back into your own with an unfamiliar lack of hostility.

"You may call me Gabriel, child."

Gabriel? That name sounded familiar- Oh! The Saint Gabriel's church at the edge of town. Suppose that made sense, given his angelic appearance, if it wasn't just one morbid coincidence. Your thoughts and scrutinizing stare dragged on for a bit longer than you were aware of, though, as his voice pulled your attention back to him.

"Are you lost, my lamb? I can save you. Let me in. Let me into your mind."

The last bit seemed a bit more... Pushy than the rest, making your stomach feel just a little heavier. You gathered your thoughts anyway, trying to push that feeling aside for now. You did do this for a reason, after all, though now that he was actually here you were starting to second guess things.

Gabriel seemed to take note of your hesitation after a while of you not responding.

"Open your eyes, my lost little one. Look at me. I can grant you anything you wish for. You just need to let me in."

An odd mix of dread and comfort you'd never felt before settled in, and the feeling was almost... Refreshing, in a way. You quickly glanced back up at him, and he was still staring at you, ever so patiently, eerily.

"Uhm... I was just- well, it's probably kind of silly."

No backing out now, not when he was already here. Even if you wanted to, you don't think he'd let you go so easily. As you verbally stumbled over your own thoughts, he simply waited, his unblinking eyes staring into you, gouging out your soul. Or so it felt.

"I just thought... Is it possible for, well... Is there a chance for humans to be able to ally with alternates? Can I join you?"

Surprisingly, that got his smile to falter, if only a little bit. A flicker of emotion you couldn't quite explain showed in his eyes- surprise, perhaps, or consideration.

"What for, my child?"

That uncanny whisper of his never gave away any emotion, monotone and unfeeling, yet not unfriendly. Admittedly, his question made you pause; you hadn't exactly thought of how to explain this to him. You hadn't even expected him to show up at all.

Fidgeting nervously, unsure of whether to tell him the truth or not, you tried to think of what to say. Despite your rationality screaming at you for being an utter moron, you knew you were in too deep at this point.

"I don't think I'm any good to these people at all anymore, I just... don't know what to do anymore. With myself. I have nowhere else to go. And, maybe..."

You weren't sure if you should say it or not, you already let more vulnerability slip than you wanted to. But your spite driven words were quicker than your brain, and man did it feel good to open up for once.

"...maybe for revenge, also."

Gabriel listened to you surprisingly attentively, very interested in your words. At your last statement, he perked up with an almost malicious twist to his grin. Before he could respond, though, you suddenly heard the sound of your parents creaky old bedroom door and footsteps from upstairs. And you could tell by the sound of them that it was your mother. And she was pissed.

For a very panic filled moment you weren't sure what to do, your thoughts racing- instincts called for you to jump into bed and pretend you were asleep like you usually would... but with Gabriel here, you couldn't- and that's when you realized you really only had two real options.

Stay here, and continue living this miserable life, and also deal with the imminent outburst of your mother.

Or go with him, and then... Well, nothing and no one could possibly guarantee what would happen to you then.

"Choose wisely, my dear lamb."

Your dilemma seemed to be rather palpable to the "saviour" as he pulled you out of that mental spiral, and you were rather grateful for it. As much as it made you nauseous with uncertainty and anxiety, you finally snapped out of that paralysis and turned towards the window.

"Please, help me. This is the only favor I'll ever ask of you. I will do anything you want in return, I promise."

You began to plead in an urgent, hissed whisper, practically leaning out of the window, causing him to take a step back.

Desperation and panic shook your words as you glanced back at your bedroom door.

"Get me out of here."

He chuckled, an amused sound mixed with something you couldn't quite explain that made you feel more fuzzy than you'd care to admit.

"Come. Come to me, my child. Step outside."

For the first time tonight hesitation became a foreign concept as you practically leapt out that window. Your bare feet felt the cold gravel beneath, just in time as the door to your room swung open.

The angered yelling of your mother were drowned out by the feeling of suddenly being lifted off the ground, Gabriel taking you up into his arms like your weight was akin to a feather.

He was cold, lifelessly so. And yet the soft silken robes, the way he held you in his arms, and his deceitfully promising whispers were lulling you into a sense of security you hadn't felt in a long, long time.

"A lost little lamb, asking their shepherd for guidance..."

His eerie, yet strangely comforting laugh filled your ears once more over the noise of your mother not yet realizing you weren't in your bed. You're surprised she wasn't hearing him at all. Maybe it was another mind game of his.

"You made the right decision. I knew you would. Such a smart, yet scared little thing you are, are you not?"

You leaned your head against his chest, sighing deeply, beginning to forget what you were ever doubtful about during the start of this whole fiasco. Your weight began to sink into his arms as you relaxed. He held you a little tighter in turn.

"Of course I shall guide you, my child. Come with me; you will be mine. You will be safe."

Just as the furious woman realized to check the opened window, Gabriel vanished as swiftly as he appeared, leaving behind the sight of nothing but an empty garden, peacefully quiet, as if you were never there.

[herman-draws]

ok so. remember i talked about doing a big project?? well, here it is. i made a comic about my ocs, red and will. i also finally came up with the name to the project with them! introducing you to

LOST AND WAYWARD (side story)

i know ppl mostly subscribe for hk content but i also really really love to do original stuff so i hope at least someone will enjoy it!

[eywaseclipse]

Does anyone read my So’lek series? Do y’all want a new chapter? Do you like my art? What do you want to see more of? What do you prefer? More headcanons? More angst? What is it you want to read/ consume? I’m all ears!

[baronfulmen]

So here's my problem:

I think paragraphs, like stanzas of a poem, should be defined by feel and flow and stuff. I don't like the rules.

SPECIFICALLY, I don't like having every single quote be its own paragraph. It's fine sometimes, but when you have a lot of back and forth it's just bad - and even when it's just one thing and then the reply to that thing sometimes they belong together.

I don't mean that I run them all into the same line, just to be clear. There's still a line break. So it's like this:

"Where did he go?" "Who?" "You know who! The fucking axe murderer!" "Oh, Bob?"

But when I do that, people complain. "Oh, Baron Fulmen, you have accidentally only used a line break and not a new paragraph! I can't possibly read this! It's too hard!"

So I go online and I search, hoping to find support and solace, and instead what do I find? YOU MUST START A NEW PARAGRAPH.

Well, fuck you.

...

Except.

Except if, somehow, that really is hard for them to read then I should fix it, right? But seriously you can't read it that way? Really?

[fancifulflora]

(SFW) been wanting to cry for some angsty stuff for ATOC, can I request a hc list of how would X, D, R and A react when the Crown is fatally injured, possibly shot by an arrow or stabbed?

Maybe an extra rrq that the Crown is a gentle, cinnamon roll type, that overly kind soul you'd want the least to get hurt but yeah now they're dying

The editor for this tumblr ask literally crashed when i was almost done with X's entry and I've never felt more devastated in my entire life ksahkj. There is also something very similar to this prompt though, it's more about the Crown sacrificing themselves for the ROs. If you're interested in that I'll link it here

I apologize if this isn't the best but I'll try to redo what I can

Azad/Ashti

You were absolutely foolish to get yourself hurt. No matter how kind-hearted you may have been, the Imperial Guard was made to lay down their lives for you. Any injuries you sustained was a stain upon their honor, their own failure to complete their duties.

The Royal Protector fights the icy cold waves of guilt washing over them. They save the lectures and punishments for another time because all that matters in that moment is you.

Their first priority is to get you to safety, the only sign you may see of their inner turmoil not found in their words, but their actions.

The protector's hands shake ever so slightly as they apply pressure to your wounds, hoping to staunch that they can before the healers arrive. A cold sweat chills them down to their very core as they listen for your pulse- only to find it fading away by the second.

They try to reassure you, but it doesn't work. In desperation, they find themselves practically ordering you to keep your eyes open, to not leave them while they're trying to save your life- tightening your bandages up. The unspoken words of concern and love dying in their throat when they look up to see just why you haven't responded.

By the time the healers do arrive, it takes their combined effort to finally pry the Royal Protector from your side.

Dara/Delal

Having served in the military for so long, the General was used to the bloodshed and horror of it all. Gore, suffering, and pain were things they could stomach. Or a least, the ability to do so was required of them.

It's when they see the arrow impaled in your skin, smell the metallic scent of red staining their cloak that the General realizes they may have been wrong. A complex bundle of emotions stirs under those layers of armor, but they have the strength to push through and remain vigilant.

If not for you, then for their own sanity.

Without a second thought, they tear their cloak, torn strips used to either secure the arrow in place and prevent it from moving. If not that, then to help stop the bleeding of any wounds.

They hold their Crown close, all propriety forgotten as the only thing on their mind is you. You need them in this moment and the last thing they'd ever do is fail you. Even if it's killing them on the inside.

What you need in these moments is strength, a shoulder or person to lean on. Which is why they allow you to squeeze the life from their hands. They listen to your weakened voice, giving you the same, almost practiced, words of reassurance they've given countless others.

Yet something about the words this time shakes the General to their core. This time, it feels entirely too raw, like a hundred old wounds made fresh again. The feeling paralyzes them, the unadulterated fear deep in their hardened expression.

As the situation worsens and all seems lost, the General straightens themselves, remaining by your side and keeping a steadfast vigil by your side. Never once do they stray from you. Even as crowds of healers all frantically apply aid to no avail. They remain by your side even as the anguished cries from loyal allies and friends alike sound throughout the halls at news of the inevitable.

And there they remain, even when the last wisps of golden sunlight in those eyes of yours wither away.

Rozerîn/Rêzan

To say that you were everything to the Sorcerer would be an understatement. They had found themselves and their entire life turned upside down by your very being, your warmth and kindness endearing you to the Sorcerer.

You were their purpose, and their friend.

So it's surprise that when they rush to your side, panic and fear overtakes them. The tension is almost palpable in the air as they order, practically beg for others to secure your safety- to fetch the healers- to do something.

It's also in this very moment that they curse their own abilities, or lack thereof. Healing magic simply wasn't a big priority, especially when there were so many others who could look after your health and safety.

If only they had studied more - practiced more- perhaps paid more attention to their surroundings or kept a better eye over the many enemies of Arsur.

A gentle hand, your hand, frees them from the mental prison they were trapped in, lifting the weight of guilt and shame enough for them to focus on pouring every once of themselves to saving you.

You had saved them, been there by their side from the very start.

They had to return the favor, to repay you for all your trust.

Those sentiments ring through their head, repeated over and over again like a mantra as they feel a sharp pain in their skull. Hands trembling from the sheer amount of magic they were using.

The darkness, a very similar one you once saved them from sets its familiar claws into them, the Sorcerer collapsing besides you- their fists bunching up the fabric of your clothing. With what little strength they can muster, the Sorcerer pulls you to their chest, cradling their dying star to their chest.

Xelara/Xelef

The mercenary was a mess. Clever words had long left them by the time they reached your side. Instead there were only frantic, broken phrases of concern and orders to remain still less your wounds worsen.

It almost feels out of character for them, at least, for those who only knew the mercenary by reputation. Having lived the life they did and taking on a profession that exposes them to danger so very often; the Pale Sword had a relationship with death that bordered on being blasé. Even when other Crescent Blades fell in battle, their leader could keep a rational mind about it. For many, this helped to cement the band of mercenaries as relentless, a force to be reckoned with.

If only the gossip mongers and general public could see them now, form hunched over your own. The corner of their vision blurred from the stinging of tears threatening to spill.

They had expected an end like this for them, perhaps even desiring it over the withering they'd have to endure from aging, but for you? Nothing like this was supposed to happen to you. You were the Crown of Arsur. The leader of millions that all relied on you being safe and well. And, perhaps more importantly to the mercenary, you were also the keeper of their heart.

Were? No, you are the Crown of Arsur. And you will live through this. You have to. Otherwise...

The Pale Sword ends the notion right then and there, focusing on the present and being by your side. By now, they've done what they can for you, whether through what general first aid they know or through the healing magics of one of their Blades.

Moving you was out of the question, the very attempt to do so drawing a loud cry of pain from your lips. A wince of guilt burns in the mercenary as they pull back, trying to keep your focus on them instead of the carnage of battle.

The feeling of helplessness isn't an unfamiliar one to the mercenary, however, it's one that the Pale Sword despises to their very core. But what could they do for you that hasn't already been done? What could they do to ease your undeserved suffering?

What they do best.

Lie.

It only takes a moment for mercenary to pull their act together, a practiced, albeit softer smile, gracing their features. What would have been smoothed, honeyed lies of your condition fall flatter than they'd like. Your weak smile tells them as such, a weakened, forced laugh humoring the mercenary and giving them one last act of kindness they know deep down they do not deserve. Nevertheless, they embrace the comfort wholeheartedly, bringing the back of your chilled hands to their lips, their touch- their kiss, returning your gift with one last hug of warmth before the light in you fades away.

[gingerpeachtea]

🦀🦀🦀

15 sentences!!!!

Satine was lying on Christian’s bed, seated up against tattered pillows thin with use; she might have minded, if the smell of his shampoo and her perfume weren’t lingering so sweetly. She could recall their early days, before Christian had gotten properly settled, when all that clung was dust. Or, the bitter stench of absinthe, when the same could be said of his breath—when the green-cheapened poetry of his mouth swallowed the copper twinge in her own. A small mercy she'd held tight in her bloodstained fist. Paris backstreets shone among the red L’amour sign beyond Christian’s apartment, a mere glimmer peeking through the reflections cast on the window: Christian’s backside, lit warm by the bedside lamp while he excitedly leafed through the pieces he’d workshopped with Toulouse. He was always working on something new, jumping from project to project, passion to passion; a constant balancing act of his overactive imagination atop the cusp of fresh creation. He came home from each session with Toulouse more than eager to share his day’s musings with Satine. After all, try as he might, Toulouse was never too successful in pacing Christian, keeping him stoking one creative flame at a time instead of just dousing every concept in gasoline and tossing in a reckless match. No, it seemed Santiago and Satine were the lucky few capable of reining him in from careening wildly between ideas at the drop of a hat. (Nini had successfully shot down an idea of his once, though, after being forced to overhear him describe it to Satine in their dressing room between acts. She’d been a bit harsh about it, but he appreciated her honesty.)

i think this is more than 15 whatevs tho ily

(make me write!!!)

[megumi-fm]

so the plot enthusiast part of my brain is fighting the poetry enthusiast part of my brain yet again and my attempt at narrative fiction on has turned into a snippet of lyrical prose 👎

[bigcats-birds-and-books]

update, y'all: suddenly i have SIX (6) micro writing projects for the weekend, and i'm hyped!!

[readerstories]

I am having ideas way outside my skillset, so here's another snippet from the soulmate au just so I can gauge if people think it's not utter shit. For context reader does not know Wade's name yet so he has given him a nickname

“Oh I am having fun!” Red tries to clap, but he just knocks the hilts of his katanas together. “Though we are just a little unevenly matched here.” He sounds like he’s breathing just a little bit harder at least, even though there are no cuts on him. He tilts his head for a moment, then bends down, and then there’s a katana sliding over the floor, bumping into your boot. You look down at it, before looking back up at him.

“Come on, pick it up.” Shifting your knives into one hand, you keep your eyes on the white eyes of his mask as you bend down and pick up the sword. 

“Oh yeah, look at me during.” You ignore his comment, feeling the weight of the katana in your hand. It’s heavy, but perfectly balanced, feeling perfect as you spin it in your hand a few times, the hilt still warm from Red’s earlier hold. 

“Hot.” Red says as he twirls his second katana, mimicking you.

[notesbyash]

26.07.23

Tumblr's new desktop update is horrendous. I wish it a very Die.

In other news, life transitions. Everything is a mess, has been for a month now, but something I've been looking forward to has finally happened today. Inevitability can be a beautiful thing when the outcome is one so sweet. Work remains as it always does; hoping to carve out a bit more time for myself to return to it. Worried, but hopeful. Soon I will have my peace back again - all's left to do is to hold on through the end of the storm.

🎶 Epilogue - Andrew Bird

[aezuria]

gang i have a poem abt me due on friday WHAT DO I DO THOSE ARE LITERALLY THE ONLY INSTRUCTIONS I NEED MORE RULES

[mellotronmkll]

I need to stop having one weird reaction with someone and then letting the anxiety decide in my head that the friendship is doomed because I ruined it like it's my absolute worst trait and I just have to move past it but it's hard

[reading-writing-dying]

Ey-oh-ey its Chapter 8!

Eight Chapters in and we finally get to see another side of the love square in this love square AU

[cerealxperimentslain]

ok wait i so appreciate the blocking advice but wouldn’t filtering that way also have gotten rid of this post with the warning? since the blocked url would be in the text of the post? as well as blocking if they rb something. so i would block the content but also the helpful information. or am i misunderstanding how this filtering works? thank you so very much

(bear with me i am severely sleep deprived for unrelated reasons. i’m gonna try to make sense ✌️😵‍💫)

when you filter a tag or content of some sort, it doesn’t hide it from you. in fact, it stands out when you come across it

using my blocking advice post as an example, this is how it looks when you have the url filtered

and presumably you remember why you filtered the url in the first place, so seeing a post get caught in that filter on a blog like @/killy, it would make you raise an eyebrow. make you go 🤨

so you click (or tap i guess) the “view post”, and then you see the full context

and so you see that and you’re like oh okay, this is a post that got caught in the filter because the url was mentioned in the purpose of showcasing what an incredibly vile racist ey are

in contrast, let’s look at this example that i’m gonna go dig up right now (i had to remove my age old vas/pider filter for this, and also breaking up the url as to not jumpscare people who have good content filters)

this example is less “hmm 🤨” and more “oh ofc😑” but i digress. below is the same post, we clicked view post to see the post

this sort of thing is quite common. not everyone notices the urls in a reblog chain, in fact i’d say it’s quite common for people not to. go into any mildly popular post by one-time-i-dreamt and you will see endless comments stating how they didn’t read the url first or how they missed the url

so when you filter a url or you filter a tag, you are making them pop out on your dash and be extremely conspicuous. and then you can look at the post critically and see what the context is. by filtering urls or tags, you are infinitely more likely to notice the post in the first place, rather than the other way around.

that’s the end of my explanation, but stick around if you wanna hear about one option of what you can do if you see someone you know or suspect simply isn’t aware of who they accidentally platformed

personally i’m always that guy who if i see someone has accidentally reblogged a post with someone like roa/ch-wo/rks or vas/pider or prism/atic-bell (the unholy trifecta of “people who can never resist the urge to add inane bullshit to a post” & are “very popular so their inane additions get spread around” & also “they are gigantic pieces of shit”) (also sorry for the slashes but i’m trying to not make this the most horrifying post ever to people who filter responsibly), if i see a blog like that be nestled in the reblog chain i will dm the person who reblogged it to my dash and let them know who they accidentally put on their blog.

i also always try and provide a link to a post that illustrates why they’re a piece of shit. usually i’ll try and find a post from the blog itself, but that can be hard to do if you don’t know what to search for and how. the easiest way is usually to just plug the url into the search bar and see what comes up (yes you will have to click “view post” a few times to see what’s going on, alternatively you can temporarily remove the filter for that url)

here’s an example that also reminds me i have to add vas/pider back to my filter:

if you have issue finding a post addressing the problems of the blog you’re looking for, i’ve found that the best way to find stuff is to have the search perimeters set to “top post” and “last 6 months” or “last year”, “latest” is sometimes better but often can give you a bunch of 0 notes posts along the lines of “i’m so fucking sick of [blog you searched]”