#g writes

[hyperballart]

thinking…. thinking about being on art’s lap but refusing to let him fuck up into you. he’s so hard and leaking and has been for so long but you can’t give in so easily. he’s mindlessly babbling stupid shit because he genuinely has nothing in his head but the feel of your hot cunt teasingly sliding over his cock keeps him coherent enough for a fuck me please baby, just sit on it please. and then youre laughing at him and pressing his tip to your clit and rubbing it around, slapping it on your pussy a little bit and he begs you to stop. you play with his tip and pull it back to open his little slit up and it has him mewling, a breathless oh my fucking god please leaving his mouth. you’re minutes away from finally sinking down on him and offer him relief but then one particular jerk has your swollen clit catching in his slit and he glances down at the sight and just explodes… making a mess all over you with his dick jumping like it has a mind of its own and him nearly passing out after :((

[rudemarshmallow]

Taehyung: so what's the new rule here?

Bts: no daring jungkook to do stupid stuff.

Taehyung: why?

Jungkook: *sigh* *grumpily* because i have no regard for my wellbeing.

Taehyung: right.

[gaeasun]

Chapters: 2/? Fandom: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: CT-27-5555 | ARC-5555 | Fives & CT-7567 | Rex, CT-27-5555 | ARC-5555 | Fives & Original Clone Trooper Character(s), CT-7567 | Rex & Original Clone Trooper Character(s), CC-2224 | Cody & CT-7567 | Rex, CT-27-5555 | ARC-5555 | Fives & CT-6116 | Kix, CT-27-5555 | ARC-5555 | Fives & CT-5597 | Jesse, CT-27-5555 | ARC-5555 | Fives & CC-1010 | Fox, CC-2224 | Cody & CC-1010 | Fox, CC-1010 | Fox & CT-7567 | Rex, CT-5597 | Jesse & CT-6116 | Kix Characters: CT-27-5555 | ARC-5555 | Fives, CT-7567 | Rex, Alpha-17 (Star Wars), Original Clone Trooper Character(s) (Star Wars), Plo Koon, CC-2224 | Cody, CT-6116 | Kix, CT-5597 | Jesse, CC-1010 | Fox Additional Tags: Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, CT-27-5555 | ARC-5555 | Fives Has PTSD, if i tagged every character with PTSD it would be too long but the focus is Fives, CT-7567 | Rex is a Good Bro, Clone Trooper-centric (Star Wars), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Child Death, happens offscreen but very important and is walked in on directly after, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Depression, Found Family, Minor Character Death, Kaminoans Being Assholes (Star Wars), Kaminoan Eugenics (Star Wars), CT-27-5555 | ARC-5555 | Fives is a Badass, Psychological Trauma, PLEASE MIND TAGS im not kidding, if you recognize the cadet shhhh, Clone Troopers Speak Mando'a (Star Wars), Clone Trooper Culture & Customs (Star Wars), No Cloneshipping | Clone Trooper/Clone Trooper Relationships (Star Wars), Nightmares, reverse adoption, Unreliable Narrator, CC-1010 | Fox is So Done, Good Medic CT-6116 | Kix, Clone Trooper Inhibitor Chips (Star Wars) Summary:

Fives has done it. Palpatine is dead, the chips are coming out, and the war will probably be over soon.

But that doesn't mean Fives' problems are over.

After a mission to Kamino takes a turn no one expected, Fives finds himself looking after a traumatized cadet after his batch is killed. But how can Fives look after another brother when he's lost so many? As Fives' own past starts catching up to him, he must make two decisions; how to help the cadet, and how to help himself.

 Wednesday Update! Chapter two boogaloo

[onyour-right]

I wanna try my hand at writing something for one, Mr. Bo Chow, but I'm struggling to come up with ideas. If you wanna inbox me some prompts it'll be received gladly 👀

[fictionaldeity]

me like, OMG i'm wrRitTinG(!!!) For like the first in ForEvErrR(???) I've written so much. Like so so much. I must have written like 5k words

Reader I've just BARELY started getting close to 2k

which is fine, really. It's more than I've been able to get out in months, and more than a lot of people are satisfied with in a day.... but dammit it felt like I had made so much more progress

[darling-im-a-messs]

where's my fucking teenage dream?

i just turned eighteen. it’s sort of weird to say that now that it’s already been two months. but i guess eighteen is a weird age? it feels… bittersweet: like, i’ve waited so long, i’ve urged so much, to get here. to get to the age of voting, driving, drinking, college, moving out, being the “boss” of me. and, still, i’m just… numb. maybe it’s because none of it has happened. nothing went down the way i thought it would. right now? i spend my days pushing myself when i’m already on edge just to try and get the lost time back. i spend my nights overthinking and biting myself. i’m too much for my parents. i’m too expensive. i’m too overweight. i’m too disrespectful. i’m too sad. i’m too lazy. but i’m trying, right? i know i am. i feel like i am. i feel like i’m trying so hard. the doctors say i’m trying too hard. but it doesn’t seem to pay off in any way. i know i should just… give it time. but when you turn eighteen… when you turn eighteen and you used to have such high expectations… time seems to be passing by too fast and too slow. 

sometimes i just wish i could fast-forward it. and then i remember that maybe i don’t really want that because i don’t know what the future holds. other times i just wish i could go back. to a time when i was cute. and bright. to a time when i had grandparents to go stay with during the vacations. to a time when i could have tons of ice cream and just make up stories with my dolls all day long. and then i remember that back then i used to be scared. too scared. when i did something wrong i could feel the punishment coming my way. and it doesn’t happen anymore. that’s an improvement, right? i honestly don’t know. sometimes i feel like vigorously saying yes and thanking god. but, other times, it just feels like the belt was replaced with words?

words hit harder. i know they do. sometimes they’ll say that i’m being too sensitive but it hurts. things just... hurt. other times they’ll say it’s way past the time i started forgiving and forgetting. and i try. i really do. i’ve talked about it. i’ve prayed. i’ve confessed my sins. i’ve promised to do better. but the tears still come and i don’t know how it stop ‘em, i’m sorry, mom. i try not to react with violent words. or to just not react at all. i swear i do. and i know that i’m damn lucky. but everything just feels so hard right now. and, instead of helping, all he does is try to find ways to make it harder. he complains about my anxiety meds but what am i supposed to do without them? we all saw how that turned out. i don’t wanna be like this either. i know have to fight it.

i just don’t know how. i should but i don’t. i’m sorry, mom.

[gaeasun]

The work they had you do wasn't much. It wasn't fighting robots with lasers or flying demons. But there was more to do than just fighting.

They paired you with someone with a face you couldn't connect with anyone you'd seen on the news. Probably because he didn't have a face. He did, however, have a number 9 floating above his head. He didn't give you a name, just a moniker: "The Question."

You made an offhand remark saying if you were going to work together, does this mean you should go by "The Answer"?

He didn't laugh. From his pocket he pulled out a stack of photos. "Alright, wise guy. Let's get to work."

You went through the pictures one by one, rattling off the numbers you saw. You didn't have to explain your powers at all, which makes you wonder if the League had already told him about your powers, or something else. Every number you said he noted in a weathered brown book. You asked why a book, why not a computer. "Nothing's safe," he muttered. "All electronic devices ever made have a backdoor installed within. This pen has led to block permeable vision, and other isotopes designed to confuse satellites." If not for the 9, you would have slowly backed away.

You did that for a couple months, him showing you various people and you telling him how dangerous they were. There were some interesting occasions too, such as when numbers appeared over seemingly innocuous things. A cat that was a six, a computer that was an eight. One time a rock was a five. After going through the pictures he'd attach them to various points on a wall and connect them with little colored strings. By now you had learned that he (probably) wasn't crazy, as you tended to be more surprised by the numbers you saw while he nodded in understanding.

Maybe you were even friends.

Eventually, you passed some unseen test of his and graduated to field work. When you arrived he sat you down on a chair and told you not to move. You didn't recognize your own face in the mirror after he was done. He gave you a set of nice clothes with some serving company embroidered on the chest and told you to meet him in the car when you were done changing.

You didn't quite realize what was happening until you got there and saw Bruce Wayne come up to the stage to talk about some worldwide charity.

The person who served him his food had an 8 above their head. You flashed the corresponding number of fingers at Question and he in turn clicked out something on a little pen.

Bruce Wayne spilled his nice red wine all over his food and himself as soon as he sat down and excused himself with a flashy smile. Robin, now a 9, came later and took him down with a number of frankly ridiculous and inhuman acrobatic moves.

You did a number of those sorts of "missions" as you called them (so you could switch between the Mission Impossible and James Bond theme in your head), and they all went smoothly, with no one the wiser as to the part you've been playing, thanks to Vic's disguises.

Until.

Until one day, you were walking through the halls of some company that had a secret and nefarious scheme of world domination going on, according to Q. You walked together quietly through the halls, anonymous thanks to his acquisition of security uniforms. Considering your growing skill in martial arts, and the impressive repertoire Q had (one of these days surely you'd beat him. Or at least make it though without landing flat on your behind) you could theoretically be security. Although trying to take down this place probably would make you bad at your job.

There were some mid-leveled people walking the halls. Nothing really worth checking out. Until.

You don't know why you turned your head. You supposed it wasn't anything too suspicious, but something niggled you. Maybe it was Q's paranoid tenancies rubbing off on you.

That woman had been a 6 when she walked by you. When you turned back, she was a 7.

As soon as she turned the corner, Q spoke first. "Well, she's supposed to be dead. Isn't that interesting."

"What?"

"Never mind that. What's her number?"

You told him the weird part of her number, while he made no move to elaborate. He told you to carry on while he tailed her, and before you could protest he was gone.

Oh well. This wasn't the strangest thing Q had ever done. You had a comm that you were certain also functioned as a tracer on you, so you weren't too worried about being on your own.

All else failing, you could yell for Superman. He'd hear you.

After a few more corners you suddenly found yourself confronted by two burly looking men. "Boss wants to talk to you," they said. It was definitely not phrased like a question. You played along and looked confused but agreed, before they sandwiched you in, front and behind, and shoved you in an elevator.

It went down a long way. The further you descended, the more your anxiety rose. It had been a long time since you've felt this nervous. But now you at least had some more skills and experience behind your belt. You'd be okay. Probably.

They shoved you behind a door and closed it behind you.

The woman from earlier was there and leaning against the wall, Q nowhere to be seen. You really hoped he was just somewhere nearby and not unconscious (or dead).

Her number was now a 5. A little flame curled around a twirling finger. The number changed to a 6, and the flame grew.

You weren't really paying attention to her though. There was another woman sitting on an important-looking chair. A familiar woman, with a 10 above her head. As you watch, the zero fades out, leaving her with a 1.

"Irene?" You choked out, throwing all pretenses and disguises out the window. "You're alive?"

"Of course," she smiled, and stood. "And I've been waiting to get you alone for a while." Your blood ran cold. "What?"

"Oh, it's not to hurt you, I promise! It's about the tests." She walked closer, until she was eye to eye with me. "Remember those tests, from when we were young? I know what they found."

You swallow. The comm in your pocket buzzes. "What?"

"Bestie," she grins. "We are going to become gods."

You’re a regular office worker born with the ability to “see” how dangerous a person is with a number scale of 1-10 above their heads. A toddler would be a 1, while a skilled soldier with a firearm may score a 7. Today, you notice the reserved new guy at the office measures a 10.

[kestrel-of-herran]

it's so sad that the innies think the outies have all this life and freedom that has been denied to them and meanwhile mark is a depressed alcoholic who lives only in dim lighting, helena cuts eggs in pieces so small the fork shouldn't be able to lift them to her mouth, dylan and gretchen's marriage is desintegrating, all irving has is black coffee and black paint and the black hole of vengeance that wants to swallow him whole... it's just so fucking sad they have the physical means to reach for and grasp all the happiness denied to the innies and they still can't. they're too damaged to. they've drawn a chalk circle of hell around themselves and they never step out of it. the innies' lust for life is the only thing that will help them break the cycle. we can't, we can't, i'm ready, we can't, i'm ready, i'm ready, i'm ready.

[bakemonogatarii]

Pls I’d love to hear your thoughts on this I’ve been in a writing mood😔

[luffysfakebeard]

ICFFY reached 1000 kudos this week and I'm 😭😭😭 I want to do something special for it but I have no idea what since I'm already writing the first date chapter!

[rudemarshmallow]

Yoongi: [wakes up from power nap]

Yoongi: *groggily * did I die? Is this heaven?

*knocking*

Hoseok: open up! It's me, hobi, and jimin!

Jimin: you promised you'd come to zumba with us, hyung!

Yoongi: Oh! It's Hell!

[gaeasun]

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: CT-27-5555 | ARC-5555 | Fives & CT-7567 | Rex, CT-27-5555 | ARC-5555 | Fives & Original Clone Trooper Character(s), CT-7567 | Rex & Original Clone Trooper Character(s), CC-2224 | Cody & CT-7567 | Rex Characters: CT-27-5555 | ARC-5555 | Fives, CT-7567 | Rex, Alpha-17 (Star Wars), Original Clone Trooper Character(s) (Star Wars), Plo Koon, CC-2224 | Cody Additional Tags: Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, CT-27-5555 | ARC-5555 | Fives Has PTSD, if i tagged every character with PTSD it would be too long but the focus is Fives, CT-7567 | Rex is a Good Bro, Clone Trooper-centric (Star Wars), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Child Death, happens offscreen but very important and is walked in on directly after, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Depression, Found Family, Minor Character Death, Kaminoans Being Assholes (Star Wars), Kaminoan Eugenics (Star Wars), CT-27-5555 | ARC-5555 | Fives is a Badass, Psychological Trauma, PLEASE MIND TAGS im not kidding, if you recognize the cadet shhhh, Clone Troopers Speak Mando'a (Star Wars), Clone Trooper Culture & Customs (Star Wars), No Cloneshipping | Clone Trooper/Clone Trooper Relationships (Star Wars), Nightmares, reverse adoption, Unreliable Narrator Summary:

Fives has done it. Palpatine is dead, the chips are coming out, and the war will probably be over soon.

But that doesn't mean Fives' problems are over.

After a mission to Kamino takes a turn no one expected, Fives finds himself looking after a traumatized cadet after his batch is killed. But how can Fives look after another brother when he's lost so many? As Fives' own past starts catching up to him, he must make two decisions; how to help the cadet, and how to help himself.

 GUYS I’M FINALLY WRITTEN SOMETHING AGAIN! I’ve been working really hard on this for a while so I hope you like it. Thanks to @razena8 my beta reader and @fox-trot who gave a lot of research help!

[onyour-right]

The third chapter of my Oshamir AU fic is now up!

[cas-backwards-tie]

Music To My Ears

König x Reader

Summary: Uninspired by the monotonous lull of life, König can't help but feel there's something missing. Though he's not quite sure what it is, entirely... until it shows up in front of him.

Words: 600ish

Warnings: angstiness, misunderstanding,

A/N: Another song fic, inspired by... this song.

While he'd never admit it to you considering it'd be grounds for the termination of his position, you'd caught the Colonel's eye. After you've been in the military for a while things start to become monotonous in a way. Sure, there are things that are everchanging and always differing when it comes to the minutia of it, but truly... once you've been in the ranks for a while, it's safe to say that you've most likely seen it all.

Suffice to say, if his life were a movie, the Colonel doesn't think it'd be entertaining in the least. A book? Repeating stories over and over. A song? Something simple, like a children's song. Perhaps something with three chords in the melody. Nothing fancy. Despite his choices, despite what he'd been dealt in life. The truth is... deep down, the one thing that his enemies would probably never be able to guess that keeps him awake is not the actions he's taken, or the things he's done. It's all the things he hasn't. There are days, hours, and moments where all that feel left of him is a shell- a husk of a man, drowned by yearning, longing, and want.

It's not to say that the life he has isn't the one he wants. That he hasn't tried to get where he is or hasn't chosen to pursue what he has. No... no, he's worked hard to get where he is today. Yet, there's always been that part of him. That something, just there, tugging at him, at his heart, deep down- somewhere- deep within.

He has guesses of what'd fill that void. The longing, yearning, deep ache in his chest fulfilled by something so simple? It's a belief he holds. Yet, he's never found himself willing, or pushed, or whatever you'd want to call it. Perhaps, maybe, divinely persuaded to find purchase in pursuing such avenue. Not... until you.

Whether it was the way he found himself utterly enamored by the way he immediately noticed you and the humility you carry. Was there a chance it's the flaws you hold? Obvious in a glaring way when held up against a mirror to the almost perfect soldiers he and his captains train? Somehow you'd make it past selection. And he questions it every day, but doesn't send you home. Though you've only been sent out on a handful of missions he's seen the humanity you've shown not only the hostages, but the fatally wounded and surrendering enemy soldiers, the civilians. As Colonel it's his duty to uphold certain procedure and protocol, yet what could be deemed as a 'flaw', to him, is far more beautiful than everything that he's been taught, trained, and has been engrained into him to do.

Recently, you've been so kind to him. Treating him as an equal, not shying away your opinions or sucking up because of his position. It's clear you trust him, and while he knows that's a vulnerable thing to be given in this field, König knows he'd never betray you like that. Ever since you'd come into his life a few months ago when you'd been transported to base all he can hear is the way the simple music of his life has turned into far greater, more complicated music.

Maybe his outlook is different now, maybe there's a glimmer of hope, perhaps. Nevertheless, he knows his life could be ballads, or instrumental, or disco, or rave, or pop, or any sort of music he desires! Now, there's really a chance that those things he'd never let himself dream of having... of receiving... just maybe, he can dream of having them... with you.

~~~~~~~~

forever taglist: @ohdamnadam , @safarigirlsp , @jynzandtonic , @moonlightsolo

[fictionaldeity]

Sometimes I think about the main big plot twist of my sapphic Rapunzel retelling and get hyped up... Only to remember I have to write the whole book leading up to it

[darling-im-a-messs]

sorry i can't remember your name

yesterday i was laying in my bed talking to a dead boy. it’s a little weird because i don’t even know his name. i didn’t even know him before his passing. but, now — from time to time —, i can’t help but to think about him. and how all that really distanced us in school was a number. one single number different for me or for him and we would’ve been in the same class. maybe we would have been friends. best friends, even. 

it’s so weird because his death hurt me very much, even with the different number. i mourned for him back then. i cried and i thought what if i had done that? i could have. it’s just one different number. would he have cried for me, too? i felt like that — that one different number — was so crucial. it felt so important to me and i told my therapist about it but she just brushed it off. maybe if i’d told her that i really thought i could have done what he did… 

it’s weird, having a therapist to talk to. they’re supposed to be those people we can tell anything without risk of judgment or whatever. but how do i bring myself to tell her that yesterday, very late at night, i was talking to the dead boy, asking him if it hurt. i was sad, lonely, heartbroken. i wanted a friend to talk to but i don’t have too many. not the ones you can talk about this stuff with anyway. i knew that, on the next afternoon, i had my appointment. but i didn’t wanna wait. i didn’t wanna wait because i knew i wasn’t gonna tell her about all the things i thought of. i wasn’t gonna tell her because i knew she wasn’t gonna welcome my thoughts like the dead boy did. she was probably gonna tell my parents about it. warn them. i couldn’t let her do that. not when they’re the ones who step on my heart every time. because, hey! i’m fine. i’m completely fine, i just need to get my thoughts in order. right?

sometimes i think that they are in order already. they’re just sad. bad. ugly. but, you see, the dead boy, he doesn’t think that. in fact, the whole time we were talking he never said a word. he just listened. he just… made me feel better, somehow. i wish he was still around but who knows if we would have ever met? my school is very big and the only time someone is seen is when they make a strong statement. like the dead boy did. it was a really powerful one, that’s for sure. now, it’s been what two, three years? i’m not sure. like i said, i didn’t even know him when he was alive. i don’t remember his name anymore or when exactly it happened. i just remember it did and, still, he was kind enough to talk to me. somehow, i just know that we’re probably gonna have another talk soon. i can only hope that he’s still available then.