#I need to stop impulsively deleting

[pitconfirm]

why did I delete almost all my fic posts . 😭😭😭 wtf

[a-s-levynn]

.

[multi-lefaiye]

the world if my brain did not immediately jump to the conclusion of "you are being ignored and it is intentional and you should be angry and sad" at every opportunity: not utopia but certainly close

[thehotpilot]

deleting twitter and tik tok were the greatest decisions i’ve ever made for my mental health and i was just scrolling through instagram and felt like my head was about to explode so although i’ve tried and failed to keep the app off my phone multiple times i think this might be the one that finally sticks

[physalian]

How to Make Your Writing Less Stiff Part 3

Crazy how one impulsive post has quickly outshined every other post I have made on this blog. Anyway here’s more to consider. Once again, I am recirculating tried-and-true writing advice that shouldn’t have to compromise your author voice and isn’t always applicable when the narrative demands otherwise.

Part 1

Part 2

1. Eliminating to-be verbs (passive voice)

Am/is/are/was/were are another type of filler that doesn’t add anything to your sentences.

There were fireworks in the sky tonight. /// Fireworks glittered in the sky tonight.

My cat was chirping at the lights on the ceiling. /// My cat chirped at the lights on the ceiling.

She was standing /// She stood

He was running /// He ran

Also applicable in present tense, of which I’ve been stuck writing lately.

There are two fish-net goals on either end of the improvised field. /// Two fish-net goals mark either end of the improvised field.

For once, it’s a cloudless night. /// For once, the stars shine clear.

Sometimes the sentence needs a little finagling to remove the bad verb and sometimes you can let a couple remain if it sounds better with the cadence or syntax. Generally, they’re not necessary and you won’t realize how strange it looks until you go back and delete them (it also helps shave off your word count).

Sometimes the to-be verb is necessary. You're writing in past-tense and must convey that.

He was running out of time does not have the same meaning as He ran out of time, and are not interchangeable. You'd have to change the entire sentence to something probably a lot wordier to escape the 'was'. To-be verbs are not the end of the world.

2. Putting character descriptors in the wrong place

I made a post already about motivated exposition, specifically about character descriptions and the mirror trope, saying character details in the wrong place can look odd and screw with the flow of the paragraph, especially if you throw in too many.

She ties her long, curly, brown tresses up in a messy bun. /// She ties her curls up in a messy brown bun. (bonus alliteration too)

Generally, I see this most often with hair, a terrible rule of threes. Eyes less so, but eyes have their own issue. Eye color gets repeated at an exhausting frequency. Whatever you have in your manuscript, you could probably delete 30-40% of the reminders that the love interest has baby blues and readers would be happy, especially if you use the same metaphor over and over again, like gemstones.

He rolled his bright, emerald eyes. /// He rolled his eyes, a vibrant green in the lamplight.

To me, one reads like you want to get the character description out as fast as possible, so the hand of the author comes in to wave and stop the story to give you the details. Fixing it, my way or another way, stands out less as exposition, which is what character descriptions boil down to—something the audience needs to know to appreciate and/or understand the story.

3. Lacking flow between sentences

Much like sentences that are all about the same length with little variety in syntax, sentences that follow each other like a grocery list or instruction manual instead of a proper narrative are difficult to find gripping.

Jack gets out a stock pot from the cupboard. He fills it with the tap and sets it on the stove. Then, he grabs russet potatoes and butter from the fridge. He leaves the butter out to soften, and sets the pot to boil. He then adds salt to the water.

From the cupboard, Jack drags a hefty stockpot. He fills it with the tap, adds salt to taste, and sets it on the stove.

Russet potatoes or yukon gold? Jack drums his fingers on the fridge door in thought. Russet—that’s what the recipe calls for. He tosses the bag on the counter and the butter beside it to soften.

This is just one version of a possible edit to the first paragraph, not the end-all, be-all perfect reconstruction. It’s not just about having transitions, like ‘then’, it’s about how one sentence flows into the next, and you can accomplish better flow in many different ways.

4. Getting too specific with movement.

I don’t see this super often, but when it happens, it tends to be pretty bad. I think it happens because writers feel the need to overcompensate and over-clarify on what’s happening. Remember: The more specific you get, the more your readers are going to wonder what’s so important about these details. This is fiction, so every detail matters.

A ridiculous example:

Jack walks over to his closet. He kneels down at the shoe rack and tugs his running shoes free. He walks back to his desk chair, sits down, and ties the laces.

Unless tying his shoes is a monumental achievement for this character, all readers would need is:

Jack shoves on his running shoes.

*quick note: Do not add "down" after the following: Kneels, stoops, crouches, squats. The "down" is already implied in the verb.

This also happens with multiple movements in succession.

Beth enters the room and steps on her shoelace, nearly causing her to trip. She kneels and ties her shoes. She stands upright and keeps moving.

Or

Beth walks in and nearly trips over her shoelace. She sighs, reties it, and keeps moving.

Even then, unless Beth is a chronically clumsy character or this near-trip is a side effect of her being late or tired (i.e. meaningful), tripping over a shoelace is kind of boring if it does nothing for her character. Miles Morales’ untied shoelaces are thematically part of his story.

Sometimes, over-describing a character’s movement is meant to show how nervous they are—overthinking everything they’re doing, second-guessing themselves ad nauseam. Or they’re autistic coded and this is how this character normally thinks as deeply methodical. Or, you’re trying to emphasize some mundanity about their life and doing it on purpose.

If you’re not writing something where the extra details service the character or the story at large, consider trimming it.

—

These are *suggestions* and writing is highly subjective. Hope this helps!

[heartnoose]

I miss all my mutuals from my old accounts that I’ve deleted over the years

[baepsays]

Suck it and See ⸻ how you met stoner Suguru.

description: of all places, Geto Suguru didn't expect to meet a girl with knee high socks, who practically pulled him in like an eager sacrifice to the Siren— at a frat party surrounded by smoke.

cw: use of she/her pronouns, fem oriented reader, mentions of drugs, weed, and alcohol; nothing much this is mostly a meet cute-ish, lore stuff really, artic monkeys references everywhere, they mild nsfw stuff.

playlist inspired by the content.

What a pleasure it is to be surrounded by sweaty people you barely know in a room full of smoke. All because your best friend is an extroverted social butterfly of a freak.

Safe to say, Geto Suguru would be anywhere but here right now. But maybe he does need some free alcohol and free cigarettes, a finance degree is the furthest thing from causation of sobriety. And as an average university student reliant on caffeine, alcohol, and cigarettes—completing his last semester and starting his big-time finance bro job later this year might I add—he is oddly conservative when it comes to weed though, if we're talking about ways to numb yourself.

The fact he has seen people actually do much worse actual hard drugs and yet he has a bigger opinion about the devil's lettuce of all things available out there. The only viable reason which can be given is that he had a stoner roommate during his first semester and it was the worst time of his entire university life. And honestly, he has seen Gojo get high for the sake of trying it, that was not fun for anyone but Shoko who was filming Suguru trying to stop Gojo from jumping off the balcony to chase a cat he apparently saw (there was no cat).

But these are excuses really. Well, Geto Suguru would not say he is repulsed by weed. In fact, he has tried it himself once. It was mostly about going along with his high school debate team who wanted to get high during one of their out-of-town tournaments. And guess what. High Suguru went on and blurted out all his little animosities to big grudges against everyone there and somehow fell asleep next to a trashcan in the hallway. Thankfully no one remembered and the video footage of all of this happening went into his hands first. He made sure to delete everything and ask around without being suspicious if anyone remembered anything he said. He was safe since they all forgot about everything.

Since then, he has steered clear of weed, it does odd things to him which no other substances do. Even when he is drunk out of his mind or buzzing with caffeine and nicotine, he is never impulsive. He always has control. And the fact he let that control slip is very scary. Matter of fact, despite his side hobby of making fun of a scared Gojo during horror movie marathons, Suguru himself didn't like being scared by something unknown or letting himself slip out in front of someone he would rather not have seen him like that .

Yet here he was, at one of the more famous frats who are known for their weed more than their alcohol and what not. I mean, it's not about where you end up but what you're looking for, right? Maybe that doesn't make much sense but so doesn't his last assignment of the semester before exams start, which carries 40% of his marks.

And for someone who isn't looking for weed, his amazing friend makes sure to pull him right into the room full of—who apparently seemed to be—stoners. Supposedly Satoru knows someone there, but he also knows way too many people for his liking. The amount of time he has to stop, stand, and stare around to wait for Satoru to finish chatting with yet another stranger—infinite really.

Regrets of ending up in that room without any alcohol in his hand, seemed to have flown right out of the room with the smoke. And it might as well have been the residual of weed in the air, but what's happening in his head was alarming. Right across from the person Satoru apparently knew, sat this gorgeous being, looking ever so effervescent and oozing mystique surrounded by clouds of smoke (he is a poet everyone). Wearing, what in his mind seemed like, the most poorly constructed skirt, practically giving away the secret eighth wonder of the world—which are those thighs. And is that fishnet? Someone please check on him, is he having a nosebleed? If not, that tight top perfectly snug around your chest, might do the job. More over the breasts, it was the neck. How can someone find a neck that beautiful? I wouldn't know, ask Suguru.

Real question is who wears knee high socks in the summer? He is not complaining, it somehow really works for you, and it works wonders on him. Again, it might be the weed. It has to be, because Geto Suguru, who is the most calculated person you'll know—sly little shit who is known for being the level headed, mysterious, lady's man— he may be just as much of a menace as Gojo and just as silly, he just knows how to mask it. And he's losing it. He's losing that control, because why aren't his ears working? His eyes refuse to focus on anything but you dragging a smoke out of the joint, which was passed to you by someone. And his legs are moving on their own towards the couch where you are sitting with the only person who you seem remotely interested in, 'might be her friend' he assumes, while ignoring this other guy who seems to be high off his mind talking about who knows what. His ears already made the effort of blocking out every sound, including Gojo's, who was calling him out because he wanted to introduce Suguru to his friend.

"Hey"

Real smooth from Mr. Lady's man over here. Incredible opener to introduce yourself to this person who may or may not be a witch cause why is he completely under this sort of trance as if he is the one sucking on that joint. Also, the fact he is just awkwardly standing in front of you while you look up at him through your lashes, unbothered and definitely high, still sitting on that couch—he must've inhaled too much weed smoke.

"Did you mean to say that to me? Because I think your friend needs you over there actually."

You say after blinking at him twice, then point across to you where Gojo and his friend are sitting. It's rather a given to be confused by this random long-haired Rapunzel to awkwardly stand before you like he doesn't know any better about how to interact socially, he's not drunk definitely, you saw him and his friend stroll in through the doors just a few minutes ago. Why would you even bother to care enough to remember that? Well, Rapunzel here is too gorgeous for his own good, secondly, you're high and feeling rather needy.

Pre-finals week suck, universal sentiment shared by all degree pursuing students. So here you are on this couch, in some frat, with your friend who's seeing one of the frat members. All you expected was some good quality rich boy weed and alcohol, nothing more really. Sleeping with someone you met at a frat party, reeks of STDs. And yet here you are looking at this gorgeous man looking like he doesn't have any thoughts behind his eyes, contrary to what you assumed, from afar he looked like a manipulative man whore. The world might be full of surprises or he's a theatre major.

"Huh?" — is all Suguru somehow manages to utter, it's illegal to smell that good while also smelling like weed, what god forsaken perfume you're using? Those eyes are enough, why do you need to crawl through all his five senses and wrap your hands around his brain.

"Huh." You say with one raised eyebrow. Seems like you've found yourself an excuse to escape.

"Seems like you don't know anything other than three lettered words starting with h."

He just stares into your eyes and lets you throw that jab at him. Really just too enchanted to speak, it's not that this is something he's choosing to do. He'd rather sit across from you and socialize with Gojo, while staring you down from time to time, then after much considerable eye contact, he'll slide himself to your side of the couch, asking your permission to have a seat, with much charisma no one can deny.

Yet here he is, not drunk, or losing his mind with weed—purely high off of sucking in your presence. This is only the second time he has lost control over a situation, and this time he is completely sober. New discoveries are made every second he supposed. Because if a sly talker like him, one who especially finds existential joy in countering the opposing person's jabs, is standing here tongue tied—he believes climate change can be reversed then. (How wishful)

You get off the couch to stand facing him, way too close to him for his sanity's sake, between the narrow gap between him and the couch—you might be shorter than him but your gaze is too piercing. And yet he cannot look away.

"Would you rather I dragged you out of this room? Maybe the smoke is getting to your head huh?"

Takes a second for Suguru to contextualize what you just suggested. And without any power to verbally respond, he simply nods into agreement. Somehow in that moment his incognizant brain decided that maybe leaving himself to your devices in this situation is the most natural thing to do. In fact, you might as well have all consumed him and he couldn't care any less.

All he cares about is that you're taking his hands in your hands, which made him think it might be a missing puzzle piece that only fits in perfectly with his, and dragging him out after a little bye to your friend and Gojo as well. Suguru is really out of it. He's not going to hear the end of it from Gojo, while he retells this story to their friends in the most overexaggerated way, which is so impossible given how ridiculous he is acting right now. Anything less dramatic than a Shakespearean play wouldn't do justice to exactly what played out in there. Yet Gojo Satoru will make sure to put a shame to Shakespeare's dramatics. That's his headache for later, let's focus on the ache in his palpitating heart.

You drag him out of that room, into the big living room or space and then drag him through the crowd to one of the rooms on the first floor, and take him straight to the balcony attached to it. The balcony sits right above the pool. Below you two, you can see most people congregating around there, swimming or just dancing or talking. Most of the speakers are there playing every frat bro's Spotify rotation probably. It's dark enough and tucked away nicely for anyone to notice you two there even if they look up—you saw this balcony the first time you visited this house with your friend cause of the guy she was seeing and since it was not a party, it was clear in the daylight that it was a nice place to people watch from. Or just enjoy the music,

'And her lips are like the galaxy's edge

And her kiss the colour of a constellation fallin’ into place'

Suguru couldn't agree more. If he didn't know any better— he'd say the song was about you. Because right now he is pulling out the lighter out of his pockets. Moving it towards your direction and halting halfway in the little space in between you two. Suguru wouldn't write this out as some kind gesture. He would never even think of sharing his prized lighter. It has been with him since he found it one day visiting his grandma's village home with his parents. Lying in a puddle of mud near the river that flowed behind her house. Scratch random people he wouldn't even let Satoru touch it or let Shoko take a light with it. Yet here he is— silently helping you out all because it looked like with the roll of a joint tucked in your bra, you forgot to bring a light.

You stare back and forth between the burning flame and his face. Contemplating perhaps. Then you move forward grab a hold on his hand, which was holding up the lighter, just a bit far for you to easily lean in and ignite the blunt. So you move, move to now sit face to face with him, both your knees on either side of his thighs—hovering over him, hands holding his, which was holding his silver lit up lighter. You lean forward probably closer to his face than the lighter even, all while keeping constant eye contact. You move your head to your left and finally burn the joint pressed in between your lips, after what seemed like an eternity.

Once the smoke comes out, you unwrap your lips from the joint and smile at Suguru, not one of those half smiles you've been throwing at him all this time. A genuine laidback smile.

"Thanks uh- oh wait I don't even know your name"

"Well I haven't given it to you yet."

"You gave me your lighter, might as well give me your heart. How much more could your name matter?"

Well he might as well have given you his heart and what even is in the name, if he could he would give you the entirety of the galaxy, but It would probably fade out in your comparison.

"Suguru. Geto Suguru."

"Nice to meet you Suguru."

"And what more might you need other than my lighter, heart, and name in exchange for your name?"

"I don't know? Anything tempting you are offering? Perhaps a seat right here?"

Did you mean right there? There on his lap?

"I wouldn't ever deny you anything."

So you did in fact mean his lap. Cause you perch right up on there and drag a long smoke out of your joint, blowing the smoke up in the sky above you two.

"L/n Y/n. And I'll hold you onto that claim."

"Do you always ask people for names in exchange for a seat on their lap?" Suguru smirks and tries to regain some confidence and control over the situation. If he wants to keep you right where you are, he would need to get out of the haze of intoxication — which was ironically not the weed in the air but just your existence.

"I never really ask for names. Really bad at remembering them. And as for seats, hmm I don't know. Your legs looked more comfortable and warm than the cold floor. And you looked sweet."

"Sweet?"

"Why? Does that not describe your —chase Atlantic and Artic Monkeys, cigarette smoker, fuck weed i am better than that, only dark colors— aesthetic?"

"How did you know I don't like weed?"

"Made a face right as you walked into the room down there. Also anyone else would've asked to borrow this by now." You move the blunt in between your fingers slightly to signify what you're talking about.

"Does that not bother you?"

"I mean it doesn't bother you that I am smoking this right in your face, if you had said something I would've respected that as well. I don't really care what you think is the standard for intoxication."

Suguru just smiles. He doesn't really have a topic exactly to speak about. He is in fact not capable of doing much right now you've rid him of the taste of control and the only taste he wants to be acclimated with from this moment onwards is yours. And he doesn't care about this change. He knows your name, he knows the feel of your fishnets against your skin. He knows the material of your lethal skirt. He knows the vanilla and jasmine notes of your perfume. He knows the exact color of your eyes and how many eyelashes you have. And he thinks that is enough.

'You have got that face that just says

"Baby, I was made to break your heart"'

You might as well break his heart, do as you please with it. It burnt away from his grasp the moment you burnt the end of your joint using his lighter.

"Looks like they are more intoxicating than any drug in existence." Was he talking about the blunt? Because his eyes were aimed at your lips. And he was unaware of what he even let slip out of his own lips.

"Suck it and see. You never know." 

Not wasting a second with your unaware confirmation, Suguru moves forward. The hand on your fishnet clad thigh tightens, digging into the supple skin, weaving the fingers with the fishnet itself. The other hand, coming up to your lips, taking out the joint and throwing it out somewhere on the balcony, his fingers first touch your lips with light touches as if one touch is too heavy and you'll disperse into thin air. Slowly the fingers on your lips start pressing down on, well past both of your lips, making an audible gasp leave your mouth involuntarily. His fingers dig around the entrance to your mouth— rubbing your lips, then proceeds to press down on your tongue and graze over your teeth interchangeably. All while staring into your eyes, or staring at you, your eyes might as well be all white or shut close. Anything partially visible, is all a blur. 

And you allow him all of it. You allow him to twist his fingers up to rub his rough finger pads on the along the expanse of your hard palate and soft palate, borderline trying to choke you. You simply allow it. You allow those hands to explore parts of you even out of your own reach. One digging in your mouth, other trying to make itself at home on your thighs—practically memorizing every little stretch mark running along your skin. He wants to know it all, have it all and who are you to deny a starved man? 

When he's had enough of his little exploration, his own pairs of lips come crashing down on you. A sigh of almost a relief, leaves both your lungs. It is not quite relief, it is nice to finally have him kiss you—but his lips are the kind to leave your head dizzy, head swaying, forgetful of the whole process of breathing through your nose while he devours you, eyes flickering like unreliable headlights on the highway. You might as well be crashing out. 

His lips are caging in yours, tongue fencing with yours, hands roaming around you like he's gonna find the most prized treasure on the surface of your skin. Guiding your hips to force down on his lap and roll them into little grids of desperation. Who was exactly the desperate one here? 

At that point it all becomes too overwhelming to have your ability to breath taken away. So you push him off, with no ease. It was as if pushing him and pulling yourself back simply made him hold onto you harder. And when his lips did leave you alone, they go on to chase your lips to find his rightful place back on them.

You put one of your hands on his mouth to halt him, all that does is make you have goosebumps all over your body—having him look up to you with his desperate and hazed mono lids, the purple-brownish shade of his pupils burning you up. And him just heaving in your hand, short of breath, was of no help either. 

“I was talking about the joint.” you breath out with an exasperated sigh.

“Well I am not sorry.” He leaves a feather light kiss on your hand covering his mouth.

“What even are you?” Genuinely, how does a man with gorgeous hair and horrible vocabulary make you fold so easily? 

“‘I am a fool for you.” 

A/N: dividers by @/sister-lucifer & @/omi-resources, header from my own gallery. And I didn't proofread half of this ok IT IS HARD TO READ YOUR OWN WORK

SERIES MASTERLIST

To check out more of my work— click here.

tag list: @moonlitwitchdaisy @madamechrissy @cuntphoric @fuwagojo @aishi-toru @theorphicangel @rriwyu

if you would like to be added to future possible tag lists, please drop a comment and feel free to send asks! i got a few anon asks about this but unfortunately idk their @'s :(

[tinylilacbun]

Rafe from s2 two, with the sweetest reader, who is completely crazy about the idea of nedding to be in control of *something* in his life, and little reader being his safe place because he gets to take care of her, he is going al psycho and just about to act impulsive again but then he remembers he has her, so everything is going to be fine, he tells himself🤧

Rafe stands on the balcony, pressing the balls of his hands into his eyes to stop himself from crying after just hearing from his dad how 'he fucked up everything'.

"Man up..." He mutters to himself, a choked sob escaping him.

His attention gets drawn to a phone dinging nearby multiple times, glancing to his left he sees Wheezie's phone laying on a table. After checking that no one's there he walks over to grab the phone, looking at all the messages from an unknown number.

It doesn't take a genius to figure out who it is, his anger and frustration building up again. Sarah, the golden child. Every time it's about her and it pisses him off. This whole ordeal with his dad a few minutes ago was, again, just because of her.

A moment of hesitation passes as he thinks about confronting Sarah, to make sure she keeps her mouth shut about everything that happened. He's about to message her back over Wheezie's phone but he stops, he isn't in the right mind to act rational and this could all go south quickly knowing that somehow Sarah always manages to rile him up simply for just existing.

"No, no..." He mumbles, erasing what was about to send and delete the messages all together, blocking the number he places the phone back on the table.

Rafe steps back again just in time as Wheezie comes out. "Have you seen my phone?"

"What?" He turns to her.

"Have you seen my phone?" She repeats and Rafe sighs, acting all nonchalant.

"No I haven't seen your damn phone."

She groans and is about to leave, stopping in the doorway. "Oh, and Y/n is here. Said she'll wait in your room."

He visibly relaxes at the mere mention of your name, nodding his head he walks past his sister. "Thanks."

He makes his way to his room, opening the door and quickly locking it behind him his gaze softens the moment his eyes lock with yours, your bright smile and the happiness radiating off you just by seeing him.

"Hey baby." He smiles a little, striding over to you he cups your face in his large hands, leaning down to give you a quick kiss. "What y'doing here, hm?"

You frown at him. "You forget? You said we make disney night today..."

"Nah, 'course I didn't forget. It's- I was just wondering that you're here so early. Even went to get your favorite snacks yesterday." He says, letting go of your face he walks over to the dresser and opens a drawer, pulling out various snacks and throwing them on the bed beside you.

Rafe chuckles at your wide eyes from seeing all the sugar, knowing he'll have one hell of an energetic little on his hands but he couldn't care less right now. Your happiness is all he needs right now.

You're practically his therapy, it's funny how regressing is your type of dealing with all the stuff you go or went through but somehow heal him as well by letting him take care of you and making him feel appreciated for the things he does, unlike his dad.

The only thing he hasn't messed up yet surprisingly is his relationship with you. You're still looking at him like he's the only person on the planet, the only one you can run to when things get rough and Rafe relishes in that fact. It makes him have control of at least something.

He's pulled out of his thoughts when he hears you talk to him, holding up a bag of gummy worms. "Help pwease."

With a smile he walks over to stand in front of you again, taking the bag and ripping it open, dropping a few worms onto your awaiting palm before popping one in his mouth as well.

"So, what should we watch first?" He asks, grabbing the remote from his bedside he lays down beside you with his arm behind his head.

"Mmm...Beauty and the Beast!" You grin.

"A'ight, whatever the princess wants." He searches for the movie, huffing out a breath when you collapse beside him, letting you snuggle into his side with your lamb plushie tucked under your arm.

As the movie starts playing he wraps an arm around you, his cheek pressed against your head. "Y'know I love you, right? More than anything..."

You lift your head to look at him. "I love you too daddy. Mm, more than my lamb."

"Damn, that's...that's gotta mean something."

As long as he has you by his side everything will be alright, in his eyes at least.

Taglist

For everything:

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@mythixmagic @iris-xoxo-juhu

For Rafe:

@chiaraanatra @chimindity

[daitranscripts]

Solas Deleted Dialogue

Solas Masterpost

—

High approval scene

Solas: It means I will not forget the kiss, even if there can never be another. PC: Solas… Solas: It would be selfish of me to ask more of you.

—

Break-up scene

Solas: I’m sorry. I should have never—I distracted you from your duty. It was—it won’t happen again.

Solas: No. No, this is a mistake. (Sighs.) And it’s over. I’m sorry.

Solas: We must focus all our efforts on stopping Corypheus. If we fail here, nothing else matters.

—

Solas: What are you doing, Inquisitor? This behavior…

PC: I was—I was told to?

Solas: By whom?

Dialogue options:

[Lie] It’s nothing, I’m fine. [1]

Help. [2]

1 - [Lie] It’s nothing, I’m fine. PC: I’m perfectly fine, Solas. Solas: I see. If that is true, then indulge my curiosity. Relax and look past me… [3]

2 - Help. PC: Solas, something is… I need… help. Solas: Just look at me, Inquisitor. Hold a moment… good. Now look past me and relax. [3]

3 - Scene continues.

Solas: This collecting behavior… a task with simple goals, but its effect compulsive. I sense something, faint but present, and not entirely you. From the Breach, or Adamant, or… ahhhh. No, not the Fade, not Adamant. Your dream at Therinfal Redoubt.

Dialogue options:

[Lie] I’m fine. It’s nothing. [4]

Is this Envy? [5]

4 - [Lie] I’m fine. It’s nothing. PC: Nothing is wrong with me, really. I’m sorry to have bothered you. Please forget I said anything. Solas: Inquisitor, listen carefully. When you were trapped within Envy’s dream, something happened to you. [6]

5 - Is this Envy? PC: Therinfal. The dream, I was… Envy. Did it do this? Solas: Not directly. You destroyed Envy, but spending so long in its dream, something happened to you. [6]

6 - Scene continues.

Solas: Your mind was wounded and your spirit is compensating, as you might tuck an injured arm to your side. Now that you are aware of it, there is no true danger. This impulse is simply an annoyance. If you wish to deal with this, I suggest you return to Therinfal. This problem began there. It should end there.

[natsuminmin]

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆ CHATBOX LOVE -> kenma kozume !!!

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ NEVER MET! by CMTEN , glitch gum

synopsis; in which kenma is sent into a spiral after seeing a familiar username cw: deff slight angst, discord type-love , usage of baby , erm exes trope , kenma crash out , unproofread + lowercase , implied f!reader but can be interpreted as gn!reader , idk if its ooc but prob eek,

"and even though it's been a week, i still think of your face"

already? wow, a week since you had ended things with kenma. to him, it felt like months. years, even, which was why he decided to stop counting the days.

so imagine his surprise when he had randomly matched up with you in roblox.

he swears it was you, had all the the same numbers in your user, all the same accessories in your avatar.

he just had to type in the chatbox, he didn't care how desperate he sounded, he wants you back:

kod5uken : [baby? baby thats u right? its kenma]

skibidi1234 : [uhhh no sorry dude idk you]

ah. and then skibidi1234 left, probably weirded out. damn it, he was hallucinating now. on top of that, he was stupid enough to say his real name online.

he left the game himself too, closing roblox in a rage. he wanted to sleep, but his puffy eyes and stuffy nose made it hard to do so.

─── ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ───

barbie : [kenma we need to talk ]

kennie : [what is it]

barbie : [lets break up]

kennie : [oh]

kennie : [okay]

barbie : [im sorry, i cant juggle you and studies]

─── ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ───

that was the last he's heard from you because you've blocked him on everything. hell, you even blocked him on spotify. he should've listened when everyone told him e-dating was going to ruin him.

but how could he resist? he had fallen in love with you already. you were his perfect partner; games with him (somewhat bad, but you both managed), funny, attractive, his type. it's just unfortunate that you had to live miles away from him.

kenma's done sooo much impulsive things just for you: blew all his money on the latest 2-player game from steam so he could play with you, vc'ed until the latest hours of night just so he could keep talking to you, he even skipped some volleyball practices so he could come home earlier just to see you in a video chat.

ugh, he can't count all the times he's lost his dignity either. he had called you "his barbie" and he called himself ken. oh god, that was probably one of the cringiest things he's said in his life.

and don't even remind him about online karaoke, god knows how much screen records you have of his voice breaking mid-song.

speaking of records, he can't bear to delete all the adorable pictures you sent while updating him about your day. he's always liked seeing what weird and interesting things you've done. but worst of all, he's kept screenshots of every loving and tender message from you that had flustered him (spoiler alert: anything you said made his ears red.)

he opened the album he had moved the screenshots to, scrolling through it until his eyes settled on a certain one:

─── ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ───

barbie : [baby u live in japan right?]

kennie : [mhm]

barbie : [nice]

barbie : [just wait, im gonna buy tickets to fly there soon]

kennie : [ur crazy]

barbie : [sure yes whatever... i luv u ken :P]

kennie : [i love you too]

─── ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ───

oh, dear. he can feel tears running down his cheek again. yep, there it was. his recently cleared sinus was blocking up again. damn it, he thought, as he wrapped himself tighter in the sheet. he can't even enjoy playing his games anymore.

kenma still misses you, from the very day you left him. you were his perfect partner, even though you had heartlessly shattered his heart and he would probably never entrust someone with it.

you know what, he'll never respond to some random dm ever again.

unless it was from you, of course.

"it'd be better if we had just never met"

a/n: was a request from two of my dearest friends who suprisingly are kenma luvrs LOL hi guys @rahhhr @terrariumaura also this was a nod to his 2020-self ik this was so cliche and someone has probably done this but i hoped you like my own (short) spin on it guys do uu know the genius that thought of their chat names BECAUSE BECAUSE THE SONG GOES LIKE "REMEMBER WHEN I CALLED YOU MY BARBIE AND I WAS KEN" IT FITS SO WELL BECAUSE KEN-MA okay bye

[whereispearlescentmoon]

A Gs Hug

Ficlet of Pearl going back to Hermitcraft after Wild Life because I need comfort or I die. Wild Life Spoilers Below the Cut!!

It's not that respawning on Hermitcraft was sudden. They had all stuck around to watch the victor after they died. Pearl herself hadn't managed to catch the final fight since she had died only a few moments before and she hadn't managed to fly across the map yet. She heard from Cleo that it was impressive, that Joel was a real force of nature. All of them got the pleasure of watching Joel fail to die from his own trap, and have to kill himself with ender pearls. Pearl had asked why Grian hadn't just killed him the way he did for Martyn and Scott, and he had said he wanted Joel to have his moment. It hurt to hear a little. Pearl tried not to be bitter that she never got a victorious moment, it was just how the game she won functioned, but it still stung.

All of this to say, they had all hung around for a few minutes after it all ended to congratulate Joel, before heading back to their home worlds. Pearl doesn't panic when she respawns, she doesn't reach for a weapon, she just sits up slowly in her bed, reveling in the feeling of muscles that aren't sore and skin that is clear from bruises. There's nothing like the whole body ache of a death game world. Each life you lose took some part of you, mentally and physically, and old injuries never really healed right. But on Hermitcraft, regen and respawn cleared everything. She could run and stretch with nothing screaming at her to stop.

Her clothes were clean too, a welcome feeling after sitting in the grime of blood and dirt and ashes. The white of her Post Master shirt was untainted with red, her slacks neat despite having spawned laying down. For the first time in days, she smelled only the flowers scattered around her home, and the detergent she used on her clothes, rather than gunpowder and death. As small as it seems, she loved getting to look nice and professional, rather than having to dress for practicality and mobility.

Congratulations messages for Joel flooded the chat from the Hermits that had been in the game, and Pearl sent her own. Even the Hermits who didn't participate sent a couple, not understanding what they all went through but understanding that Joel had won. She could go over to him, but she had other priorities. For all that the games were games, that didn't stop them from feeling real in the moment. And that aching feeling of grief, of being lost and aimless, hadn't faded away yet.

Pearl sent a whispered message in the chat to Cleo and Impulse, asking them to meet at her base. The reply from both was quick, Impulse indicating that he was already on his way. For a moment, Pearl hesitated. She typed up a message to Gem, staring at it for a minute before deleting it. Right now she just wanted her Gs. Reconciliation with Gem could come later.

Impulse, of course, arrived first. Pearl was waiting in her rarely used living room for him, and chuckled to herself as he jumped at her doorbell.

"I still don't think the warden head is necessary," He complained, taking off his shoes at the entrance. Pearl had barely let him enter before she was throwing herself at him. She threw her arms around his neck, burying her face against his shoulder and trying her best not to burst into tears. As his arms came up to wrap around her torso, she failed, soaking her face and his shirt.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," She muttered into the fabric. Impulse shushed her, rubbing her back. Pearl could feel the way he was shaking and was sure she was too. The adrenaline from the game was wearing off, and exhaustion and regret was settling in. "I tried to get you to the end and I failed you. I'm so pathetic,"

"You're not pathetic," Impulse reassured. He heaved a large sigh, and Pearl let herself limply move up and down with his chest. She was so cold and he was so warm, and she didn't want to be alone again, "If anything I am, I mean, you made fifth. You gave me a damn totem that I wasted, I started the session on yellow, and I still couldn't keep myself alive. That's not your fault," His voiced dripped with anger at himself

Pearl her face away, though still not leaving her spot in his arms, to look up at his face. "Don't talk about yourself like that. You did the best you could. The totem wasn't wasted, because it kept you alive for one life longer, that was the whole point,"

Impulse hummed, moving a hand to run through his hair. Pearl made a little panicked sound, involuntarily, thinking he was moving away. Impulse wordlessly held her tighter with his other arm to reassure her. "You don't get to be hard on yourself either then. You survived, and that's the whole point. You kept me alive as long as you could and even if I didn't win, I appreciated every second of it."

The door opened behind him, once again setting off the warden doorbell, and Cleo cursed under their breath in surprise. Pearl pulled away from Impulse for just long enough to extend an arm out, creating an opening for Cleo to join the hug. They did so enthusiastically, fitting into the space between Impulse and Pearl on Pearl's right. She was the shortest of the group, while Impulse and Pearl were about the same height, so her arms were around both of their torsos, her face at chest level.

"We did great you guys, I'm so proud of all of us," Cleo spoke, looking up at the two of them with a kind of sincerity that rarely broke through their thick sarcasm. Pearl squeezed them tighter, remembering the way that Cleo had been just as lost without Scott as she had been without Impulse.

"Thank you for getting me to act at the end," Pearl said, shifting them so Cleo was more in between her and Impulse than off to the side, "I didn't know what to do and you gave me a directive. I needed that or I would have just stood there doing nothing. At least I got to die fighting with you,"

"And you didn't kill me!" Cleo joked, shrugging off Pearl's sentiment with a joke. Pearl chuckled weakly.

"No, I didn't," She sgreed.

For a long moment, the three of them just stood in her living room, wrapped around each other. Pearl knew she wasn't the only one crying. Impulse was keeping it together despite his shaking, but she could feel Cleo's tears soaking into the front of her shirt. They were cold, Cleo always was, but not the kind of freezing that Pearl associated with wolves and towers and snow. Both of them were real and solid and Pearl was not alone. That was enough for now.

[pipinpali]

I ACCIDENTALLY DELETED THE ASK BUT I HAVE THE ANSWERS

(Asked by @colliehollie)

From this!!

"What’s the worst experience your character has ever had with someone of a different size. (Or the best?)"

Technically, Jone had never seen a smallfolk before Randall,, but he certainly heard a couple of them a few years back

When he first moved out, he thought he was going insane bc a mother and her child needed shelter from a storm and the baby wouldnt stop crying,,,, , nothing too bad happened though

"After meeting someone of a different size, how has your character's opinion on giants/tinies changed?"

Clementine used to belive that humans were helpless big oafs, but after meeting what is. Pretty much her gf at this point. She realized theyre a lot more precise and observant than their size would leave on, also that they shared many things in common with fey behavior-ly , even without magic.

"How does your character feel about being reliant on others/relied on?"

Randall hates being dependent on someone, especially if that person was 20 times his size. It takes a while for him to get used to it , but he certainly never fully accepts it- usually impulsively doing something (with a broken leg mind you) on his own to prove he doesnt need help (he does)

[chimneyz]

lil ficlet of tommy wanting to reach out to buck:

Tommy's fingers hover over his phone in anticipation, the glow of the phone hurting his eyes as his slumps in his bed unable to sleep.

A few days have passed since the breakup, since he walked away from Evan. Tommy tried so fucking hard to forget about him, it would of been easier for him that way. But remnants of Evan Buckley have spread to every corner of his life. His hoodie that he left there the first time he came to Tommy's house (the one Tommy refused to give back), his shampoo and conditioner in Tommy’s shower, Evan's favorite blanket he brought over for them to cuddle together to watch the latest documentary on whales, his scent on the sheets Tommy is laying on at this very moment. Evan was etched into his life like no other.

These past few days Tommy hasn't been able to sleep or eat. He didn't know it would hurt this much. He removed himself from the situation in order to protect his heart. Little did he know this act of self preservation would quickly turn into an act of self destruction shattering Tommy's heart to a million pieces.

Now he stares at his phone at 3:14 in the morning wanting to, no craving to reach out to Evan. He tries and tries, typing, then deleting, then typing again. Nothing. What could he say to make this right.

A couple of days have passed and he nearly texts Evan again. This time he blamed muscle memory, everytime he would get off shift he would let Evan know that he was safe and heading home. Evan did the same thing. Tommy had to stop himself from pressing the send button. He wonders how many times will his body do it again until it stops. He wonders if Evan has done the same thing. Tommy sits in his truck, still parked and the Harbor Sation, wondering if he should reach out to Evan. His heart aches for him, to see his smile, to run his hair through his curls, to kiss him. After sitting there for what felt like hours but was more along the lines of fifteen minutes, Tommy puts his phone away and heads to his empty home.

Tommy sits in his little corner tucked away in the Harbor Station. This was his area to decompress after any bad calls, and this one was one that shook Tommy to his core. There had been a car pile up and the Harbor Station was called in to pick up a possible spinal injury. But this was not just a spinal injury, this man was on the brink of death holding on to life on a string. The man was no older than 33, his body broken and bloody. As Tommy and Lucy Donato started to haul the man on to the helicopter his husband rushes over pleading for them to take care of the man, to save the man. Tommy promised he would do everything in his power to make sure the man will get to the hospital alive and safe. That was a mistake that now haunts Tommy. The man's vitals crashed on the way to the hospital and was pronounced dead once they landed.

Now Tommy is curled up alone, tears falling down his face and his only thoughts were of Evan. Evan who he has wanted to reach but forced himself not to. Evan who he craves his warmth. Evan who's heart Tommy shattered one week ago.

Evan, I am so sorry about how things have ended. I was the one being too impulsive, too afraid. I need you Evan. I love you.

Tommy stares down at his one, vision blurred from tears. He wants so bad to press send, to let Evan know how he feels. But how can he, how can he rectify his wrong after breaking Evan's heart the way Tommy was afraid of his being broken. Tommy deletes the message shutting off his phone and wipes away the tears. It's not like Evan would know Tommy has tried to reach out. Little did he know Evan was contemplating on reaching out to Tommy at the same moment witnessing the three bubbles with hopeful eyes.

[bonefall]

i found a god awful doc about this one person (who, too, is a god awful being) trying to reason why mudClaw would be a bad leader. I'ma try to find the doc but meanwhile I'll submit this because someone could have the link, I'll need your honest thought about it bcs why are we defending oneWhiker now

Anon, buddy, I'm gonna have to sit you down and gently discourage you from casually calling random human people "god awful beings" in my inbox like this. Not when you're just talking about relatively basic media analysis. That isn't ok or normal.

I hope that when I speak harshly, it's coming from a place of condemning hurtful actions and the tangible harm that they cause. I don't appreciate people trying to get me to directly beef with other people directly by requesting I break down their individual posts or analysis documents (when I ask for people to share links, it's so I can see and prepare to counter the ideas because they usually "float downstream" if they get popular); but in a second ask, you linked this document and there's nothing harmful in it. In fact, it's got a far more neutral tone than I'd take if I was writing an analysis about Mudclaw.

If you couldn't tell the difference between a document like this and one that contains active abuse apologia rhetoric, I would be filled with concern. But I don't think you read it. I think you maybe skimmed it and stopped reading, or just heard the title.

Because this document literally says this;

and your takeaway, something you felt so strongly about that you came to me hoping I'd validate it, was "Why Are We Defending Onewhisker Now."

Art is a tool we can use to explore our own biases, and teach us something about ourselves. That overwhelming sense of anger and disgust that you probably felt when you saw "Mudclaw Would Be A Bad Leader" made you jump to an emotional conclusion and you assumed something that was not said. I know the feeling. You might have had a reactionary impulse.

You are not a bad person for doing that-- you're human. You can grow.

Why did it upset you this much, though? Is there something very personal about this that set you off? ...are you spending a lot of time in spaces online that keep you angry? These are questions for you to reflect with.

I do not know the owner of this document or "what they've done," if anything, so I will not link it, because their Discord is at the bottom of the doc. If they are truly a "god awful being", please do not engage, just block and move on. Nothing is accomplished by following around 'A Bad Guy' and boosting their cat takes.

But something VERY bad WOULD be accomplished if I indulged an anon for a situation I know nothing about and unwittingly became part of a harassment campaign. How do I know that you've got good intentions?

I usually just delete unsolicited links to docs and videos that are 'fightbaiting' like this-- trying to get me to beef publicly with a 3rd person. But I've seen more of these than usual lately so I would like to try and cool it down.

[astraerystarr]

Din Djarin x Boba Fett fic recs

Agonistic Courtship by Selma (FAVE) [M, 114.015 w., ongoing]

When a strange artifact calls out to the Child, Din sets out on a journey that takes him to the wildest parts of Wild Space. Also, Boba Fett shows up and the problem is that he refuses to leave. That is, it's only a problem until it isn't.

~ The first bobadin fic I read and my favourite to this day. it has fluff, angst, action, Grogu being cute — the whole package

A Century Of Lonely Nights by Hammocker [E, 11.917 w.]

Din had heard stories about the palace being a hub of every flavor of drug and degeneracy in the galaxy, and certainly not without its racier entertainment, but this was something else. Something entirely unexpected and foreign to him."

~ Din and Bobba dance!

Pel'gam Copad by Cryo_Bucky [E, 6k+ w.]

"Pel'gam Copad" lit. "Skin desire" - the need to touch and be touched by another person.

Din doesn't know what he wants after losing everything he's known, but tagging along with Fennec and Boba Fett isn't so bad. Maybe if Boba would stop touching him he could think straight.

~ I blushed reading this and that's saying something

A Series of Unfortunate Collisions by skrrtnation [Teen and Up, 40k+ w.]

Din Djarin is a bounty hunter desperately trying to make a few extra bucks by streaming his bounties on the holonet. Boba Fett is a veteran hunter with a cult following returning to the holos after 10 years out of the game.

After running into each other on the job, Boba proposes a scheme: stage a rivalry to make more money. For Grogu and the covert, Din can't refuse.

But Din can't outrun the imperial remnants forever. Instead, they'll face them together.

~ I was obsessed for MONTHS after reading this kskdjh

Hang your last lariat in the hallway by whimsicalimages [E, 9k+ w.]

The man turns to face him fully, then, helmet tilting. “You got a point, Fett?”

He’s not usually so impatient, from what Boba’s seen, but he’s been coiled tight as a spring since Morak. It’ll mean trouble, if he gets impulsive on the mission. “No,” Boba says. “But I’ve got an offer.”

(Or: 5 times Din didn’t show Boba his face + 1 time he did.)

~ good reading!

Deleted my last account @numbraerys and had to reupload this ^^

[pintrestgrl]

Dad!Rafe anon here 👋🏻 I love, love, love what you wrote and it was literally the perfect length! tysm 🫶🏻

Could you please write something for reader with a sports injury x JJ in a college AU? I'm imagining her having a limp or something and JJ's always wondered what that's about, but her bsf told him not to ask and when she finally opens up to him he's super understanding and sweet ❤️‍🩹

(also do you think I could claim an emoji to put at the end of my asks? I like this one 🪼)

sigh the way i wrote this and was literally done and then it deleted. i’m so sad omg. also i don’t know if i like how i wrote this but we live we laugh we love. anyways yes hii 🪼 anon !! i love u and i love this idea it’s so creative. i hope u like itt !!

also think of reader as mysterious black swan!reader kinda, like she’s obsessed with the sport. like unhealthily.

jj maybank x sport injury!reader in college au

he’d watch you from a distance, wondering why the hell this pretty girl was always limping around campus. it was just a wonder for a bit, until he found himself infatuated with you.

he began watching you more inbetween classes, asking your mutual friends about you. asking them about what happened to your leg, but they’d advise him heavily not to ask.

he listened, for a while. but he really just couldn’t get you out of his head, and he had no idea why.

he’d watch you even closer, pondering and narrowing down the reason why you were limping like that.

he couldn’t stop and just let it go, no. not until he figured what was up with you.

he was heavily, almost unhealthily, obsessed with the idea of you.

so, he impulsively approached you one rainy day after class, without thinking.

“hi.” he’d bluntly say, causing confusion to cross your face.

“hello?”

“why haven’t we talked? what’s different about you? and what happened to your leg?”

you tensed up at the last question, quickly averting your gaze elsewhere.

“um, i just- got hurt.”

“hurt from what?”

you didn’t want to answer, and he could tell. you looked uncomfortable, and hesitant to reply.

“dance. ballet, actually.”

“ballet? you do ballet?”

he’d ask, a quick look of uncertainty crossing his face.

“did. i did ballet.”

“what happened?”

“um, really- it’s a long story. and i don’t know why you care.”

you’d say, clearly trying to get out of this conversation. however, he needed to know. hell, he already gained the courage to go up to you.

“i care because i care. and i have time. so sit down and tell me. please.”

“fine. let’s sit then.”

you’d say, rolling your eyes, clearly not pleased with this.

you’d sit down on a wet bench he had laid his jacket down on for you, thoroughly explaining to him the story of how, and why you had to stop.

you’d tell him about how you’ve been doing ballet since you were a child, and how it was all you did. you loved the sport, and were heavily obsessed with it.

you’d explain to him how you had gotten chosen for a role, in the ballet play you’ve been obsessed with since you were a kid. you practiced and practiced for months, and finally the night came.

you were nervous, trembling and shaking from the anxiety, and also due to the lack of food you had that day. the role had a lot of physical and mental toll on your body, and you could tell.

you told him how you went on, and performed, until mid dance. you landed wrong on a leap, tearing your acl.

you were fine now, medically. but not having a personality outside of ballet, was present. you were unhealthily obsessed with the sport, and you didn’t know what to do.

“i’m sorry. i didn’t know that.”

he’d blurt out, while you were mid sentence, finishing up explaining why you had that limp.

“are you okay?”

“yes, i’m fine. i just- miss it, i guess.”

thoughts ran through his mind at what you might of looked like dancing, jumping and turning around the stage.

“why’d you ask?”

he was snapped out of his thoughts at your pretty voice, opening his mouth to speak.

“because you’re interesting.”

“i’m interesting?”

“yeah. really interesting.”

“you’re interesting too, jj.”

you’d say, averting your gaze as a smile crossed your face while you spoke his name.

he raised his eyebrows at this, a smirk coming onto him.

“you actually know my name?”