#papel carta

[doniabatata]

Carta para los que ya no están 💔

[invisibleicewands]

[randynova]

ᴅᴇᴠɪʟ's ᴘʀᴏᴍɪsᴇ

ʙᴇʀʟɪɴ/ sᴏɴɢ ᴊᴜɴɢ ʜᴏ x ғᴇᴍ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

A.N.: I was so disappointed there wasn't much on this fine piece of a man yet. Then I remember, "Wait, I can write…." Sooo, I put something out! Enjoy while I work on requests. 

✦✦✦ ✦✦✦

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ(s): sᴍᴜᴛ ᴡ/ᴏ ᴘʟᴏᴛ, ᴀɢᴇ ɢᴀᴘ, ᴀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ʙɪᴛ ᴏғ ᴄʜᴏᴋɪɴɢ, ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴs ᴏғ ᴏᴠᴇʀsᴛɪᴍᴜʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

✦✦✦ ✦✦✦

"Hahh… hahh, sir…! Ahhh!" 

A nip to your helix has you shuddering, the rumbling laughter of the man having goosebumps run across your body.  "Shhh, you don't want to alert the others, now do you…?" He whispers, his clothed chest flush against your bare back as hot breath tickles your ear, hands gripping your waist and pulling you back into his hips. "It'd be such a shame if we can't finish. You wouldn't want that, right…?"

You shake your head, mewling as he sinks you back onto his cock, gasping at the stretch of his thick girth, clenching your thighs together whilst tears lear at your eyes. For a criminal, he really knew how to break a woman, how to have her melt into a babbling mess under his touch and still wish for more. 

A stream of pants and small whines slip past your parted lips, gripping onto the desk presiding in the main office of operations, eyes rolling to the back of your head as the crown of his cock presses against your cervix. He groans, burying his face into your hair, screwing his eyes shut from your tight cunt constricts around him. The man could feel himself getting lost in your warmth, knowing it would be difficult to push back his own release from coming early. God, he was grateful you two were the only ones awake — for now.

He laughs breathlessly, a single hand trailing up your body and wrapping around your pretty throat. He gives a few squeezes, eliciting an adorable whine from you. Berlin hums, satisfied with your answer, knowing the cute little assistant wanted this just as much as him. "Of course you don't, darling…. Can't have my favorite girl left in such an unsatisfied position. Mm, f-fuck…!"

The feeling of his palm against your windpipe had blood rushing to your head, head spinning as your senses heightened, whimpering pathetically as you gushed around his shaft once more. You couldn't keep count how many times you cummed, but you didn't care. Fuck, you couldn't care as long as he keeps fucking you like you were nothing more than his own damn personal coccksleeve. Shame bubbled in your chest at the thought, only to be ignored by how his tongue ran across the flesh of your shoulder, painting the canvas of your body with dark welts, bringing you back to your own filthy desires. 

The world be damned, you craved the criminal and the pleasure he gave you — the attention, the compliments, the feeling of being wanted — you craved it all. And now, you were more than addicted and he knew it.

You start pushing your hips back into his pelvis, desperately fucking yourself on him in an attempt to reach the famailar high again, to feel him spill his fertile seed in your cunny. You sob pitifully, "O-Oh, sir, please, please, want – ah—hahhh…!"

"Hm? What? Tell me, what does my pretty girl want...?" He coos, tightening his hold on your throat. 

Throwing your pride aside, you plead to him, voice dripping with longing, "Need your cum, sir, please — please cum inside! Ngh–ahh!"

He stays silent for a moment, stuttering in his movements for a moment. His breath fans the shell of your ear, muttering, "Are you sure? Because once you agree, I will not hold myself back anymore…."

The dangerous edge dripping in his voice made your core throb, nodding frantically as he chuckled in pure delight. You truly were a whore. 

Berlin bites his tongue and swallows dryly, letting go of your throat and leaning up. Who was he to deny your wish, he thought before rutting into you, clutching your plush. You were nothing but obedient and so very giving, now, it was up to him to graciously return the favor.

Dark hues trail to where you two connect, mesmerized at the sight of your dripping  pussy, arousal stringing to his dick as he pistons his hips in and out your weeping heat. A  squeal rips from your throat as he pumps inside your poor cunt with fervor, determined to coat your walls with his cum, wanting to see your young cunny filled to the brim.  The sounds of slapping skin and  squelching came in continuous wet clicks, resonating in the empty room. Oh it all created such a sinful symphony of lust.

A series of broken moans drifted in the air, mixing with your cries and chanting of his name, arching your spine and clawing at the wooden surface. Praises trickled from his mouth, shaft twitching and balls tightening as he dragged his cock, whispering how well you were taking him – how beautiful you were, how precious you were to him, and he couldn't wait to make you his for good.

Each sugar-coated word had you reeling and soon, believing every promise as your orgasm washed over you in waves, clenching and releasing around him as your juices dribbled down the curve of your ass. He did not deter and merely quickened his pace, chuckling darkly at the irony of the situation. 

Berlin, however, was not even close to being done and now that you made it abundantly clear how much you wanted him, he would use it to his advantage. You were a wicked rapture of his own creation, and he would be stupid to not abuse the emotions you held towards him.

Afterall, he needed some way to pass the time and someone like you to make the stress of the heist all the worth bearing. 

You'd forgive him though, right?

✦✦✦ ✦✦✦

©ʀᴀɴᴅʏɴᴏᴠᴀ || ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛs ʀᴇsᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ || ɴᴏ ᴛʀᴀɴsʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴs, ᴇᴅɪᴛs, ᴄᴏᴘʏɪɴɢ, ʀᴇᴘᴏsᴛɪɴɢ, ᴇᴛᴄ. ᴜɴᴅᴇʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴄɪʀᴄᴜᴍsᴛᴀɴᴄᴇs.

[meu-papel-de-carta-novo]

Espero que o amor se reinvente

E que não me faça esperar

Que não me deixe em devaneio

E que chegue para completar

Não quero mais do mesmo

Não quando se trata de amar

As mesmas músicas

Os mesmos jeitos

Não quero cópias

Repetidas do amor

Se for para ser

Já sou

Se for para esperar

Logo mais já vou

Que me alcance

Ou que me deixe voar

Só não me tire minhas asas

Que foram feitas para amar

- beija flor

[cruelseraph-art]

when I was a kid, I loved decorated letter papers and envelopes a lot, and most cute sets I had were from a korean brand called "날고 싶은 자작나무"

[weirdjanuary]

December *.*

[mikrokosmcs]

💌 + queen jisu 🥺

💌 if you could write a love letter to one person , what would you write and to who ?

-  —¿Por  qué  tengo  que  escribir  algo  si  puedo  demostrárselo  a  la  persona?  —  -es  una  pregunta  genuina  que  nacía  de  su  propia  forma  de  ser.  -  —No  soy  buena  dando  expresiones  grandiosas  de  amor,  tampoco  diciéndolas  en  voz  alta…  —  -y  aunque  muchos  llegasen  a  creer  que  escribir  es  más  sencillo  que  decirlo,  Jisu  prefería  que  las  personas  sintieran  el  amor  en  sus  acciones,  en  sus  actos  para  con  otra  persona.  -  —No  lo  sé,  supongo  que  le  diría  como  me  hace  sentir  y  lo  que  significa  en  mi  vida,  como  me  motiva  día  con  día  a  ser  mejor  y  como  lo  que  siento  por  esa  persona  me  ha  obligado  a  escribirle  una  carta  —  -se  ríe,  creyendo  que  ese  si  era  la  mayor  muestra  de  amor  de  su  parte.  -  —¿A  quién  se  la  daría?  Eso  no  se  pregunta.

[mate-y-viajecito]

I am looking thru my stuff and I have a lot of letters exchanged with my family, like some from my mum and some from my siblings. There are some birthday letters and some letters just because, and I got curious

[ocasoinefable]

Cientos de palabras, en un solo silencio.

[allofmez]

Nell’amore c’è sempre un orologio che fa “TIC TAC”,

c’è sempre un conto alla rovescia,

Non basta amare qualcuno,

Devi arrivare in tempo..

- TOKYO, la casa di carta -

[lcdp-bc]

“You’re my favorite person, I need you to believe me.” From Heartstopper on Netflix

By @lcdp_bc

[invisibleicewands]

[andrea-non-sa-tornare]

[pacinosgf]

               from paris, with love: learning to accept the wonders of life, facing your problems, coming to the realization that love requires a sacrifice that you are more than glad to make. starring marjorie & dorothea, written by isa & amanda.

               How weird it is to write a letter. I know people used to do it all the time, but it's obviously different. now I could simply text you, but what would be the fun in that? Where is the romance? Where is that fuzzy, warm and at the same time aching feeling, like when you are watching a 40s melodrama and the protagonists are intense and passionate and you can't help but feel totally affected by them?

               Exactly, these things don't exist in a text. So write a letter, we must! I see the whole thing as a movie montage of our own: I will write it peacefully, a sweet smile on my lips that will make the audience melt and root for us. I will spray my adored perfume on it. I will put it on your pocket, and in a especially hard moment at work, you will find the letter and feel totally mesmerized by it. When you finally arrive home, I will be at the couch, waiting to embrace you in the most loving hug to ever grace the screens. Not even Cary Grant and Ingrid Bergman could top that hug. Our chemistry is so unbearing that producers will consider censoring an embrace! And that's how our movie ends. The kiss scene is for us and for us only.

             Can you notice how much free time I have now? It's almost killing me. Not that I used to do much in Genovia too (at least when I was just the princess), but having an internal depressed monologue took up too much of my time to notice. It's the most free I've been since I graduated college. So, while you are out and I'm here alone, I try to master day-to-day activities to fill the schedule. Cooking, for instance. I know how to make an egg, before you start laughing! This princess does not have a problem with getting her hands dirty. But really cooking, like doing fancy dishes. Sewing too. I suppose tomorrow I will start talking to the rats in the sidewalk.

             Two days before we met, I was in Venice, trying to build some courage and get to Paris to see you. I remember wandering around the streets, uncertain of what to do, considering simply giving up and going home. Then I met this musician and her girlfriend (or wife, I didn't want to ask it properly) and they started telling their history together. How it was against all odds, how the lovers themselves didn't think it could work. The girlfriend was only in Venice for vacations, a break from the busy and incessant big city life she loved so much. But when she met the musician, with her quiet life and sensible tones, so different from everything she'd ever met, she knew it was over. The musician would follow her everywhere, as a melody, as a memory, but never as she truly wanted: in person, out of love. So she stayed.

             She stayed and I rushed out to Paris, following the string that unites us since we met for the first time. I put on my favourite clothes, as a kind of armor. I motivated myself by remembering the nights we spent exploring museums, kissing in every corner and leaving our mark in every bar. Holding hands and feeling the most powerful people in the world. Silently recreating famous movie scenes. The napkins with love notes I used to hide in your bags and pockets, those you probably only found right before washing, because that's simply how you are. A smudged Love you so much - Dotty out of the machine.

             Thank you for always seeing the Dorothea behind the princess. Thank you for understanding that there's no Dorothea without the princess. And thank you for being so patient! I have no idea of what I would have done If I had gotten here and you had someone or just wasn't interested in me anymore. Maybe I'd have killed myself or become queen. Who knows? My first royal assent would be incriminating you of something and making sure that you would be locked up in Genovia for the rest of your life.

             Just kidding! Love you. I think I should start looking for a job. I've read once that adults that don't really want to adult keep getting masters: maybe I should do the same? Former princess-Doctor Dorothea Grimaldi, expert in Social Science, sounds good? Should I put the almost forty years of experience being a princess in my curriculum?

             That's the part where I feel too sensitive to say something and keep joking to distract you. It's over now. What matters is that I love you! I'm so glad that I missed the plane.

                           Sincerely and profusely,

Your Highness, Princess Dorothea.

p.s: I swear that the signature was out of habit.

@gllianowens

[fabianocolucci]

Money Heist and the problem of Pantsing in the wrong way

Money Heist is a Spanish show that rose to international popularity when Netflix acquired it. There were only supposed to be two seasons, in a limited event, but it became so popular that Netflix produced three additional ones.

Now, I won't be judging its success, because, I mean, it's good to see a show written in a non-English speaking country have the same widespread popularity as British or US shows. However, one thing I'd like to talk about is the writing of the show.

The authors have shared in an interview that, when they create an episode, they come up with ideas along the way, without knowing what is supposed to happen.

There is nothing wrong with that. Writers, sometimes, call it Pantsing, and can be a really well made technique, if handled well. Another show that created stuff along the way is Breaking Bad, and its writing was so well received that it kept receiving prizes and accolades.

Yet, the way Money Heist handled its Pantsing is, well, a bit monotonous. By that, I mean that they always seemed to rely on one way to get around a plot hole or when they find themselves in a corner: the "I predicted it!" way.

Whenever the characters have a problem, there is always someone (usually the Professor) who, somehow, predicted that this would happen. They would have someone say "The Professor knew this would happen!" or something similar, and cut to a flashback where he explains what to do in a certain scenario.

When done properly, this could feel like good writing. For instance, there could be hints about specific parts of the plan hidden somewhere, like a box in the flashback with "Plan B" written on it, or blueprints for an object that would then show up in an emergency.

However, since the writers eep adding things as they move along, all they do is say "X predicted this would happen" and have a flashback of them talking about it. And it gets frustrating as the seasons go by, because they literally ONLY use that as a writing scapegoat.

Of course, the show has ended last year, and it remained a huge global success, but I doubt someone would use its writing as an example about what to do.

[elpuntomasimportante]

Hechizo

La magia de lo que los dos sentimos

"Entre polvos mágicos y hechizos. Me hechisaste para estar contigo. Para no salir de tu camino. Para quedarme contigo".

ÁNGEL R. O.