#I'm starting to write too much halp

[kommandonuovidiavoli]

Hey Sydney! Have you ever lost your temper before? Like if someone tried to hurt your family and friends?

" I never get mad.

Even with Wally, I made sure to never scream or even just raise my voice at him, and just talk things and problems out. Besides, Charlie had enough voice for both of us.

Which is funny, considering I have a power that can make my voice really loud, if I want. But I don't like it.

I usually keep everything inside; the downside is I don't have a valve to take steam out and I end up doing stupid things or getting too sad.

First time I raised my voice was to break a fight between Wally and Charlie, but that was it. Just raising my voice.

Then my family got to see me really mad during the Nightmare War when that Boogeyman tried to hurt Joey. Which... it wasn't the smartest decision on his part. I had already lost a son years before, I wasn't gonna lose even more.

For the first time in my life, I let rage out to fight that war, and it ended up helping a lot. I also screamed a lot. Everyone heard that.

After the war, I didn't get mad too much.

Just once with Charlie and it happened some months ago. I've never been that mad with her. It was for personal things I'd rather not discuss.

After that, I never got too mad again.

Just don't touch my family and we're good! "

[bereft-of-frogs]

getting a book written about my two favorite minor character Jedi ladies by an author I trust to write them well...

(because I'm confident that Justina Ireland both won't go for any of the kinda yikes 'Vernestra and Qimir's falling out is over him wanting a romantic relationship' theory that I didn't necessarily trust some other writers not to do, and has proven she can balance reserved characters, a solid part of my internal reasoning for how much I instantly loved Indara was 'wow she's giving me Zallah Macri vibes')

...is a particular win for me personally but I have realized something in the 8 hours since I learned this information, oh my god, I can never go on star wars reddit again

I'm going to have to nuke my reddit account, I got way too comfortable over the last month or so picking fights with people over all the 'why Vernestra is evil/this actually proves Indara is the secret Sith Lord' stuff, you KNOW those people will be back, but I can't be doing that for the next year but clearly I can't help myself, I must be stopped send halp

Additional Notes:

1 - I actually doubt the book is going to do the full Vernestra&Qimir backstory, unless they've already gotten news it isn't going to be renewed, but I think as long as they're banking on a season 2, they'll reserve the full picture but I think it would be really funny given the title and rough timeline - though I can't figure out if they mean 20 years pre-the main events of the series or 20 years pre-Brendok - if this was the aftermath of The Qimir Situation and Vernestra's just like 'whelp, fucked up again, another apprentice dead (but secretly not), time for sad girl sabbatical' and the whole Order's just like 'yeah, she's fine, don't worry about it, she does this, she'll be back' it would be so funny if it were just an intentional echo of Defy the Storm

2 - Indara was really Zallah on steroids, I have A Thing Apparently for doomed-from-the-start reserved and competent Jedi women, but I was only mostly convinced Zallah was doomed from the start because of all her 'dead flags' and the fact that I had played this game with the high republic authors before, Indara really was dead dead from the start I hate realizing how obvious my Types are

[iciatheguardess]

Hiiii it’s meeee elsie

conflicted Elsie

Look, you know as well as I do that I love TAOCC to freaking death

but like

I may have to partially step away from it after the current arcs are over.

these goofy goobers took over my life for the last three-ish months, and while I’ve had an amazing time, it’s…caused me to neglect other parts of my life, and restrict myself more than I should when it comes to how I am on this site. I’ve stated my intention to try and branch out multiple times but I never go through with it because I just…I have things to write here! I can’t! And yeah it’s fun but sometimes I get hurt even if people don’t mean to, like, I’ve gotten legitimately ill from this once or twice.

But I feel like even trying to step away a bit is somehow abandoning all of you or betraying your trusts. I want to stay friends with you guys, but my actual life and Irlsie has to come first most of the time, because I am not JUST Elsie, if that makes any sense. Elsewhere is and was always meant to be a sona for some interaction, maybe some friendos, but nothing this…involved, because I can’t put all of my social effort onto the internet because no matter what I do, the internet is not a completely genuine place, and I’ve accepted that. There are some parts of my personality I just don’t use. You don’t really ever see calm Elsie or mental illness Elsie or sappy Elsie, maybe once or twice, and that’s intentional. This is Writing Elsie’s blog, lol, but there’s other Elsie that needs to be allowed to exist outside of the internet, and I can’t neglect her or my actual life for the sake of this.

I honestly don’t know what to do here. I love these characters on a very personal level, and have poured my heart into them, and I don’t want to straight up leave them. Even only partially separating myself seems kinda pointless because I know what happens when someone gets really behind on the lore and has to be caught up on even just a day’s events to explain why Character A looks like this now or Character B is referencing this event, etc. etc.

But there’s a point where it’s not healthy anymore. Where things reach a place where I have to admit that this can’t be my entire life anymore. And I’m not entirely sure what on earth I should do about it…

If I do somewhat step back, it’ll probably be right after the vacation arc ends. i’m gonna pour my fluff loving heart and soul into that thing, don’t you worry. But you shouldn’t expect another dungeon or something like that from me unless I have a VERY good reason and a well formulated plan. Yes, I’ll probably still engage in shippery and fluff, as well as analysis, but mostly within the bounds of characters and dynamics we’ve already established, and not much farther than that. My one exception to the “after the vacation arc” rule would probably be Yelena’s arc, because of how long things in that section tend to take, for various reasons. Yelena’s arc is barely started, and stuff takes possibly days to move even a few hours in-universe. Sooooo….yeah, I wanna finish that, I’ve put too much work into it already to just stop it.

…dang this was only supposed to be a paragraph…

…pls halp, I have no idea what to do lol.

Ok. I've read over this a couple times.

First off, I'm talking to you as L here, and not Star. I am very, very proud of you for acknowledging this and understanding that this is getting unhealthy. I think it's very smart that you dont want to neglect your yourself irl and the fact you're saying this, and saying exactly what you'll be doing, I'm really proud of it.

To give you a clear answer, if it's going to help you irl then I think stepping back is smart. Especially from the trauma and angst, because that stuff hurts a LOT and it can be really, really detrimental and negatively affect irl things. What I DONT think is that it's betraying anyone. You need to be able to put yourself and your needs first in order to be your best self, and everyone understands that you can't be on tumblr 24/7 because, well, that's really really really really unhealthy and not good. I'm really glad you're telling me about this though so I, and everyone else who sees this, knows.

TAOCC is really great but there's a LOT of heavy things on here and with everything going on, it can be super weighing and really affect people irl. I can speak from experience because honestly, I'm in a similar situation. I won't speak much about that though. It's definitely addictive and can get really really unhealthy if you let it, and honestly it's not hard to let it.

I want you to do whatever you feel is best for you, no matter what that entails. Fei and Tails and Xeya and Kumo and so many others and I love you so much and do NOT want you neglecting yourself and your life irl for this- it's meant to be entertainment, not a lifestyle.

I think it's smart to finish Yelena's Arc before partially stepping back. And I think it's even smarter to not want to do another dungeon, because that whole thing was a massive angst-fest and I think it negatively affected people more than they care to admit. Shippery and fluff and minor things is a good boundary.

I'll wrap this up now, but again, I'm in full support of this decision because I want you to be at your best. You're right, you're not just Elsie. And it's not fair for you to only be Elsie when you're so much more than that. If stepping away from tumblr will help you take care of the other parts of your life that we aren't involved in or aware of, then please do so because no part of you and your life should be sacrificed for the sake of entertainment.

Again, I'm really, really proud of you for admitting this.

Please know we'll always support you and you're super important to all of us, so don't ever feel bad for putting your needs first. Irl things should always come first.

But no matter what always remember:

WE LOVE YOU SO SO SO MUCH AND YOURE SUPER IMPORTANT AND WE WANT THE BEST FOR YOUUU ❤️❤️❤️❤️

Everything I said is applicable for everyone else reading this too. Taocc is fantastic and we love it but it shouldn't completely take over your life. It's okay to take a break or step back fully if it means the best for your health and irl life. Please remember to take care of yourselves- and everything that Elsie talked about here is FANTASTIC self care. It may be hard, but it's also the best decision she can make for herself and may be the best decision for others too.

Alright- I think I covered everything. Don't ever feel like you're betraying us Elsie- it's not betrayal, it's self care. We'll still be here for you, always. Never forget that ❤️❤️❤️

[hypnotisedfireflies]

Readers, pls halp

So um as I hit 'save' on chapter 11 of Interstellar Overdrive this afternoon, it occurred to me that I've only posted up to chapter 4 on AO3, because I said I'd only post it weekly so I could "write other things and slow down."

Plot twist:

I haven't been writing other things and I haven't slowed down much, I'm just not uploading. >>

So I'm actually pretty shit at working across multiple stories!

So I haven't been working on other things (*cough*SQ sequel*cough*Boston-era fic*cough*). And I kind of keep fiddling with chapters until I post them, which means I'm not emptying out my brain to do other things. So in my garbled mind that means I'm technically working on every chapter I haven't posted until I do, which means my stupid brain is currently seven chapters full.

I'm saying it's getting a bit crowded in here.

So my question is:

Please feel free to add any thoughts re this in the comments too, idk, help. Basically I like sticking to a schedule once I've committed to it but idk if this is working.

I guess I'd post something like ... Australian Tuesdays and Saturdays?

[bookofkatherine]

Naughty Cupcakes | The Great Cupcake Fiasco of Star City

"Wouldn't you like to eat me?" the enchanted cupcakes would sing in back alleys as they dropped their wrappers low enough to expose their red raspberry filling... 2.5k w/c

Writing What I Know

At UCLA the English department's creative writing professors kept telling us to "write what you know." And when we scoffed, citing the libraries of fiction we had to read for our degree, the professors would always respond with, "truth is stranger than fiction."

But I didn't buy it. How could I?

As a kid, we're subjected to a life indoors sitting in rows of hard plastic chairs, only dreaming of being free one day. Freedom was found in books, in stories, in adventures - all of them labeled fiction.

Of course fiction sounded stranger than truth. Fiction held light sabers, secret doors, mysteries, zombies and great romances. And compared to truth - compared to four walls and a class bell that sounds an awful lot like a prison bell- fiction sounds a hell of a lot more interesting, nevermind strange. There's nothing strange about a classroom.

But then, when we are released from prison and allowed to go out into the sunlight whenever we want, and we meet people not by alphabetical order, but at bars, conventions, church, clubs and parks... we start to swap stories.

And the more stories we hear, the more an episode of a crime show sounds pretty fucking boring compared crimes you know that actually happened.

When I graduated from UCLA, I didn't think truth was stranger than fiction. Why would I write what I know?

Ten years later, before I even knew there was a Star City, nevermind an army of God's angels on earth, nevermind my destiny to lead them... I definitely knew truth was stranger than fiction.

And I began to write what I knew.

Demon Cupcakes

My point is, you can't make this shit up. Well, I certainly can't, anyway, and I'm pretty damn creative. I had to be, to survive my childhood's horrors. But they made me an an avid reader and enormous movie fan, as abuse often does.

But still, for all my apparent training in the art of storytelling and storymaking ya'll... Seriously. I can't make this shit up. No one can.

But it happened. And I still have nightmares about it.

Like this morning! I grabbed my journal to write Jesus a love letter when the naughty cupcake song from the Star-debacle came floating through my head: "Doooooo you want to eat me!?"

Ugh. And the song was still sung in that high pitched cupcake-whine! Aguh!!!

Needless to say, I never got around to writing Jesus that love poem. Instead I'm on here, on Tumblr, writing about demon cupcakes, a mssion I completed nearly 10 years ago! Aaaaaaugh!!!

The Truth

Here's what happened.

It was a normal day, if you can call a day in The Order 'normal.' I was calling various leaders around the world through my link to see how things were going and to offer assistance where I could.

That morning I called Benji in Star.

I'd grown up with Benji in Redlands, California. He went on to win So You Think You Can Dance? and I went on to marry Nick, the angel formerly known as Hermes and Mercury.

In 2014 the Lord asked me to recruit Benji for a mission. And I did. He destroyed an entire nest of witches in the forests of France without any training whatsoever. Not long after that, he met Ilyana on a separate mission. She was a 1000-year-old warrior from the magical city of Star.

Star City

There are several magical cities around the world. They've all appeared in various stories, games and mythologies, but they're all very, very real.

Borax is a magical city in the Amazon. Tortuga is based on Borax, for example. Ice City is a magical city in Antarctica. It's small, but very real. They halped guard the ancients for millennia.

Desert City used to be located in Iraq, but when the bombing became too much, I helped moved them to the sands of Texas. They love it there.

And then there's Star City. Star is located in a frozen plane of Russia, out in Siberia. It's impossible to get to, no without magic. But where Borax is a haven for ruffians and pirates, Star is more along the lines of Cinderella's castle: cottage streets with talking trees and giant Christmas parades.

All magic cities are extremely dangerous - more dangerous than you can imagine.

But Star tends to be more like the western fairy tales portray a magic city. It's completely run on water. It has music shoppes and magical furniture storoes, and bakeries on every corner.

And it's those bakeries that became a problem.

Benji's Problem

"Hey Benji!" I called out over the link. "Hey!" he called back. Benji and Ilyana had met on a a mission and became a couple in a matter of hours - a very, very passionate couple, shall we say. Ilyana became the queen of Star not long after that, so I didn't like bothering her if I didn't have to.

So I made it a habit of calling Benji instead. If there was a problem that required Ilyana on the line, Benji would let me know and I'd talk to Ilyana next. But I always started with Benji. (Yes, Ilyana is my daughter with Viggo Mortensen. But I hadn't met Viggo yet and I certainly didn't know about the TVA or my past lives yet, so Ilyana was queen I honored, respected and revered in my eyes back then. She still is, but now I just call her directly,)

Anyhow, back to my check-in with Benji back in 2015/2016.

"How's it going?" I asked. "Is everything okay?"

"Ah, no, actually. I was going to call you..." Benji replied.

Uh oh. Benji never sounded so serious or so worred. But never in a million or bajillion years would I have imagined what he was about to tell me.

"We have a cupcake problem," Benji said grimly.

I paused. "A what?"

"A big - a very very big - cupcake problem!" Benji tried to explain. And for the life of me, I couldn't understand why his voice was so damn serious.

And that's because he knew Star way better than I did. I'd never visited. Gustaf and Stephan had. So it took a bit of explaining and filling in by everyone before I understood what the fuck "a big cupcake problem" meant from a citizen of Star.

Talking Cupcakes

Jerry Weintraub hates Star. He refuses to visit. And that's because everything there is enchanted. Remember the talking teacups, candelabra and clock in Beauty and the Beast? Yeah, basically extend that to all of Star.

At his first dinner in Star, he kept slamming his hand down on all the flatware because it kept walking off on him. His fork would begin to crawl and he'd go, "WHAM!" to stop it. But then his napkin would begin to float.

He really, really hates Star.

But I personally think he could've handled Star if he hadn't tried to make love to his wife Liz our in public again, as he always does. The tree they were hiding under picked Jerry up, his pants hanging around his ankles, and asked, "What are you doing?" while dangling Jerry over the street.

Liz, one of the best actresses to ever grace Broadway, knew when to exit a stage and siddled silently away. Jerry decided to cuss-out the tree. That didn't go well. Never take on a talking tree. Never take on a tree for that matter. Believe me.

Anyhow, my point is, if you're going to be a baker in Star, your pastries better be able to talk and sell themselves in the bakery window for you. Otherwise, if you let your pastries and baked goods just sit there in the window doing nothing, customers of Star will think you're bad at baking. Period.

But then...

But then a certain baker took it too far.

In the spirit of competitive marketing, he charmed his cupcakes into little whores and harlots.

And then all hell broke loose.

The Red District's Naughty Baker

Look, he wasn't actually a nice baker. The magical world has good and evil just like the muggle world does. And man, can the magical world get evil. But you don't run into a lot of really dark evil in Star City.

Evil had some haven there under the previous ruler. But we helped Ilyana destroy him. Then the city brought her in as their ruler. And it became a peaceful city of magic and charm. There's even a Starwood on the edge of town, the magical world's version of Hollywood. Their celebrities are just as vain as ours, if not more so.

But I digress. Back to the evil baker.

Yeah. This baker was a bad guy. In fact, he was so bad that the red light district of Star City, where his bakery was located, ended up being destroyed in order to wipe out the plague of naughty cupcakes once and for all.

Oh yeah! You heard me right! The entire red light district of Star was wiped out due to one single bakery and its very evil baker.

The Great Cupcake Fiasco

Once upon a time, in the great city of snow and magic called Star, there was a baker. And this baker wasn't like all the other bakers. He wanted his baked goods to be the only baked goods bought and sold in all of Star.

And so, he set about the task of inventing new charms for his baked goods. He delved into all the magic books he could find, and didn't shy away from the dark magic ones, although dark magic tends to stick with milk and candy products. It has something to do with the three witches of Germany and their Ashkenazi heritage. The golden calf stretches all the way back to Egypt and deep deep into witch and warlock trickery.

So the baker mixed what he could in secret at night, not letting any of his customers see what he was up to, lest the other bakers here about it, or worse, the city's high council.

And at last! He found it! The secret magical recipe that could sell, sell, sell!!! What was it? A magical cupcake recipe that turned the cupcakes into more than merely charmed cakes that could move and swirl wherever they were placed in the baker's storefront window.

Oh no! These cupcakes were fucking whores.

Even Wolf Wolfed One

You may think that I'm stretching the truth when I tell you that this evil baker made magical cupcakes who were whores instead of cakes, but I'm not. Wolf himself ran into one in a back alley when we were helping Benji and Ilyana investigate... and Wolf - WOLF! couldn't resist!! He snapped up the cupcake in his jaws and wolfed her down immediately, filling and all! (no pun intended on the 'wolfed' part - that just slipped out, sorry Wolf.)

Now, Wolf is one of the Lord's best warriors. He has served at Stephan's side ever since Nick and I married, and that's 20 years ago now. Wolf may be fashionable, may have earned $75 million on his own as Wolfie Wolfuson by trading Beanie Babies and tires online, but on the battlefield!? Wolf is ruthless.

Actually, Wolf is one of my most trusted advisors, if you want to know the truth. So I was shocked when he ate that cupcake. Shocked.

But it sure told me what a bad problem Star had on its hands at the time. If Wolf couldn't handle a back-alley run-in with one of the naughty cupcakes, then no one stood a chance. Fuuuuuuck.

Anatomy of a Naughty Cupcake

So. You're probably wondering what the fuck this baker did to his poor cupcake batter, right? Well. I'll tell you. If you ran into one of these naughty cupcakes (my God, if you DO, call me immediately - they should be completely irradicated by now), this is what you see.

Instead of a cupcake that blandly waves and says, "Buy me! Buy me!" you'd find a very pretty pink cupcake with super fluffy icing stacked very, very high. And the cupcake would have giant eyes made of glossy candy. And the cupcake would be a 'she.'

Yes, a she.

The goddamn baker gave his cupcakes a human personality. A human female personality. A human female whore personality, to be precise.

I mean, Only Fans girls could learn a thing or too from these fucking cupcakes.

Get this. They wore metallic wrappers, right? But these fucking cupcakes used little candy licorice arms to LOWER their wrappers to reveal a cherry filling down... you know... there.

And as they lowered their skirts/wrappers, giving peeks of their raspberry or cherry fillings, they'd dance around, bat big eyelashes at their prey, and sing in a very high pitched feminine voice that was perfectly pitched to be alluring... "Dooooo yoooouuu waaaant to eat me?"

God, what a nightmare.

(Right about now I'm foreseeing mothers covering their children's eyes and ears as they realized that Book of Katherine did not, in fact, write a children's story for once. They are hauling their kids off as they ask questions about what cherry filling means 'down there' on a cupcake. And then they're asking what Only Fans is. Oh fuck. Sorry moms.)

When the Whores Escaped

The baker had a problem though. He made his little cupcakes so fickle and so whorish that they didn't stay in the baker's window. Oh no! They wanted some action!

I mean, these bitches were begging for anyone in the street to "lick them" as they shook their cherry filling at their intended victim.

So, in short, no matter how many the baker baked, they'd all ditch him and flood the streets and hang out in back alleys, jumping out in front of unsuspecting visitors and Star citizens. Oh, it got so ugly.

And of course, if you ate one, you'd want more. And the more that you ate, the naughtier you were when you ate the damn cupcake. And then, if you got enough of that bad-girl cake in you? It began to affect you and your health. But that's another story for another day.

Don't just eat anything magical or charmed. They're quite potent.

So, what happened was that the baker lost control of his bakery and fled. And the evil cupcakes multiplied like crazy and the whole city, not just the red light district, became filled with super-whorish baked goods that were tempting men and women alike into dark corners of the city.

Jesus. It took so much to clean that place out.

Naughty Nightmares

And... yeah. That was nearly 10 years ago now. And I still have nightmares about it. Clearly.

God, I just woke up. And the first thing I heard in my head was, "Do you want to eat me!?" in that goddamn sugary-sweet cupcake goddess voice. And suddenly, I was reliving being flashed by one of them again.

And I saw this cupcake's red jam filling oozing out between their legs as they dropped their skirts while they begged me take try a taste.

Fuck me.

Fuck my life, really. I mean, I wouldn't give it up. Life was hella boring before I met Jesus. But no one tells you in Bible Study what you're really signing up for if you follow him, and him alone, you know?

And no - don't you fucking dare. Don't you fucking dare say those words to me. I can hear them in your head!!! Don't you dare say...

"He works in mysterious ways."

AAAAAARRRRRGGGGGHHHH!!!! (Tell that to the mothers with kids asking why cupcakes are whores, ok?)

[nyx-umbrakinesis]

So fucking sexy from the start! The bite of the cuffs! And fucking hell the cold metal bar being hooked behind our knees spreading us wide and vulnerable is fucking everything I need omfg u can't even begin to describe how much I fucking need it, how fucking feral that position makes me!!! 😩😩😩😩🥵🥵🥵🥵🤤🤤🤤🫦🫦🫦

Being all alone and so horny, calling out to see if Vox will let us go, to see if he's even listening or if we've been left alone like this, in an almost empty room, feels so fucking ughhshjsjsbdhd fuck me disndkdkwj fuck 😭😭😭😩😩😩💜

And oh shit so many screens, he's not even gonna be there with us! But fuck he's fucking watching! 🥵🥵🥵😩😩😩

Out bravado immediately being met with the machine powering up, oh be still my beating cunt 🥵🥵🥵🥵😭

The cool metallic feel of it and the stretch omfg I'm already shaking ma'am so fucking good omfg!!! How do you do this to me everytime, I'm a fucking incoherent babbling mess for your words!???!!!! 😩😩😩😭😭🥵🥵🥵🥵🤤🤤🫦🫦💜💜🥺🥺💀💀💀🫠🫠

The machine claiming us! Fuck what a choice of words, we belong to a machine, Vox's machine as he watches it fill us up! Omfg fuck I'm dead 😭😩

The machine humming almost in response to our moan makes me feel like Vox can feel everything through the machine and fuck me there go my knickers RIP 😩😭🥺💀💜🥵

Oh fuck the cervix stretching paired with Vox's smug sarcastic rhetorical question if we like it omfg he's such and arrogant arse that needs to fuck me right now! 😩😩😩💜😭

And fuck you can hhhear him getting his cock out while telling us to tell him how fucking much we like it in such filthy detail!! Fuck me get me in this scene right fucking now! 😩😩😩

Throbbing and squeezing around it as we beg Vox while he teases us omfg so delicious sjjdkwkabd 🥵🥵🥵💀💀💀💀

Oh fuck and we can he him wanking over us, fuckkkkebsnsnnene and his words omfg halp 😭😭😭😩😩😩🥵🥵 so filthy so much need more fuck fuck fuck!!! 😩😩😩🥵🥵🫠🫠🫠🤤🤤🤤💜💀... I had to take a break here omfg 😭...

Oh fuck, how fucking audibly wet we are as he finally let's the machine start fucking us omfg 🥵🥵🥵😭

'The cuffs bit into your wrists, holding you in place, and with each thrust, you were reminded that you had no choice but to take everything Vox was giving you. The thought made molten liquid pool between your legs – a mix of demeaning and deliciously erotic, knowing you were being used as his personal plaything, his private material to get off.' oh you bitch fuck me that was too fucking good omfg jdjskiwhrbe 🥵💀🥵😭🥵💀🤤💜😩🫠😭🥵🫦🫦🫦🥺😭😭😭😭

And then the attempt as sass which Vox immediately counters with the machine and his smug agreement fuck you write him too fucking hot fuck me fuckity fuckfuckffusjsnd 🥵🥵🫠😩

Even as he's clearly fucking his own hand 😭 and then he tells us he's recording us omfg RIP my ovaries fuck that clench hurt woman that fucking spasm!!! 😭😭😭😭

Oh fuck jdndmsms then he forces us to cum with him fuckkkkebsnsnnene fuck me fuck ruensms 😭😩🫠🥵🥺🥵😩🫦😭💜😭🥺🫠🤤😭💀💀💀

And he keeps it going, dragging it out for so long we get overstimulated and only then giving us reprieve fuck! 😭🤤😩🥵

And him with his own cum on his face fcuj that's so sexy and then asking when he's going to actually fuck us making him blue screen is everything 😩🥵 but fuck now we're trapped until he boots up again and we know full well he's not going to let that slide as it make him black out... We know he's gonna return the favour via machine 😩🥵😭😭💜🫠💀🥺🫦🫦🥵😩🤤

TAGS/WARNINGS: f!reader, masturbating!vox, sex toy, penetration, bondage, dom/sub undertone, lots of f-bombs dropped, consensual play

The leather cuffs bit into your wrists, the taut straps digging into your skin as you squirmed against them. Your legs were spread wide, forced apart by a thick, cold metal bar hooked behind your knees, rendering you completely exposed. The surrounding room was eerily sparse, save for the gleaming obsidian-coloured machine at the centre. Its dark surface shimmered beneath the cold, artificial blue light cast from the array of monitors encircling you. Most of the screen flickered blank, their glow barely illuminating the space by making the shadows seem deeper, more oppressive.  

A sharp gasp escaped your lips, your body already thrumming with anticipation. Your cunt clenched involuntarily, then relaxed, the slow, pulsing need growing nigh unbearable. You bit your lower lip, trying to suppress the whimper that threatened to escape as your arousal dripped out from you, a slick heat sliding down from your inner lips.  

“B-boss,” you breathed, shivering at the sensation of the cool air caressing your bare skin, teasing the sensitive edges of your desire. “How long are you going to keep me like this?” You asked, voiced laced with playful defiance as you smirked despite yourself. “Time is money, after all,” you added with a low, husky whisper, your tongue teasingly curling around his name. “Vox.” 

A sharp crackle of static filled the room, and then Vox’s face appeared – surrounding you, filling every screen. “Oh, Sunshine,” he chuckled, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. “You’re off the clock tonight.” His lips pulled upwards into a wicked grin as his piercing red eyes locked onto yours through the cameras, narrowing slightly in dark amusement. “So don’t worry about that. This isn’t company’s time, after all.” 

You rolled your eyes, fighting back a laugh that threatened to betray your own excitement. “What are you going to do, then?” You taunted, raising an eyebrow as you let your gaze drift down your body, your nipples hardening under the cool air. “Just sit there and stare at me, like this?” Your voice dropped to a sultry murmured as your muttered, “Pervert.” 

His low, dark laughter filled the room, echoing around you, before a sudden mechanical hum cut through the sound. A sharp yelp escaped your lips as the machine came to life, the phallic-shaped appendage rising from its centre. It pressed its cool, metallic tip against your throbbing heat, sending a jolt of desperate want through your entire body. Slowly, agonizingly, the bulbous head nudged into you, parting your slick folds with its firm, unyielding girth. You gasped as it stretched you, every inch sinking deeper, your wetness making it easy for the machine to claim you.  

"Oh fu–" The words caught in your throat as the machine hissed to life, juddering forward. Inch by inch, its cock sank inside you, stretching you wide, filling you in ways you hadn’t imagined. “Ah–mhm,” you moaned, your head lolling to the side, your breath shuddering with every push. The machine hummed, almost as if it were pleased, burrowing deeper, filling you completely. It hit places within you that made your toes curl, sparking sensation that jolted your body to life.  

Your breaths turned into heavy pants, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you squirmed beneath the machine’s relentless pace. Each inch of its smooth length glided against your inner walls, the sensation overwhelming as it pushed further, deeper. When it finally reached the tender, fleshy wall inside you, a sharp gasp escaped your lips – a mixture of pleasure and pain as your cervix strained to accommodate the size.  

“Ah–!” Your cry was soft but desperate, the intense pleasure teetering on the edge of too much. Just before it crossed that threshold, the machine stilled, its presence a heavy, pulsing weight deep within you. Your body responded on instinct, your walls clenching and twitching around the thick cock buried inside you, begging for more. You could feel the heat blooming between your legs, your body trembling with the need to be filled and used.  

“You like that, don’t you?” Vox’s voice echoed through the room, distant yet commanding, dripping with dark amusement. You heard the faint rustle of his clothes, followed by a soft, satisfied sigh that made your skin prickle. “Mmm…tell me, baby doll, tell me how much you like being stuffed full, and maybe, just maybe, I’ll reward you.” 

Your face flushed with heat, the fire in your cheeks spreading down to where the machine still stretched you wide. The last remnants of your pride crumbled under the pressure, replaced with sheer, unadulterated need.  

“Oh, fuck–Vox, please,” you grasped, your voice breaking as you strained against the bindings, your hips wriggling on the machine’s cock. “Please, fuck me… I feel so full, so stretched – Vox, please!” The words poured out of you, each plea more breathless than the last. Your cunt clenched tight around the artificial cock, squeezing as if to pull it deeper.  

You made the mistake of imagining it was Vox inside you instead, and that single thought send a flood of fresh arousal rushing from your, your slickness coating the machine. The ache in your core only grew stronger, your entire body sparking like live wire. 

Vox’s voice crackled through the speakers again, but this time it was low, roughly, dripping with lust. You could hear the unmistakable wet sound of his hand working himself, the soft groans slipping past his lips as he watched you write on the machine. “That’s right, baby doll,” he growled, his voice laced with heat. “Keep begging. I want to hear every filthy word.” 

“Please, Vox,” you whispered, voice trembling as your body quaked with insurmountable need. “Fuck me good, please…” 

That was all it took. The machine’s crimson eyes lit up, glowing ominously, and with a loud whirl, it surged to life again. The first thrust was slow, almost teasing, the thick cock easing in and out, deliciously stretching you out once more. The wet squelch of your arousal filled the air as it slid through your soaked folds, each pump driving deeper, harder, making your entire body tremble with desire.  

It began to pick up pace, the rhythmic thrusts intensifying, each one sending jolts of pleasure through your core. The wet, lewd sounds grew louder, echoing through the dark room, as the machine relentlessly fucked you – just the way you’d begged for.  

“Ah, fuck,” you moaned, head falling back as the machine drove into you relentlessly. Your neck exposed, a vulnerable column of bare skin glistening with sweat as your chest heaved, breathless from the onslaught. The cold floor beneath you was unforgiving, adding to the harsh contrast between your restraint and the brutal way the machine was fucking you.  

The cuffs bit into your wrists, holding you in place, and with each thrust, you were reminded that you had no choice but to take everything Vox was giving you. The thought made molten liquid pool between your legs – a mix of demeaning and deliciously erotic, knowing you were being used as his personal plaything, his private material to get off.  

“L-like what you see?” You panted, trying to hold on to some semblance of control, though your voice was shaky and breathless. The air pistons hissed louder, the machine’s pace increasing as it plotted into you harder, faster. “Ah, ah, fuck!” You cried, every thrust pushing you closer to the edge, each impact against your g-spot sending electric currents down your body. The wet, obscene sounds of your arousal bounced against the wall, sealing your approval in a way that words couldn’t.  

“That’s right, baby,” Vox’s voice was thick with lust, his breathing uneven as his arm worked in a steady, repetitive motion. He wasn’t even trying to hide it anymore, his ragged pants and grunts proof of how much he was enjoying the sight of your being fucked brainless. “I’m recording this,” he growled, the strain in his voice growing as his strokes became faster, more frantic. “Gonna watch it every time I need to jerk off,” he panted, his eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment as his breathing hitched.  

The machine, as if sensing its master’s own impending climax, kicked into overdrive. With a sharp surge of energy, the pace became wild, erratic. Each thrust pounded into you with ferocity, the thick cock slamming into your g-spot again and again, your cervix kissed with every brutal stroke.  

Your ears were filled with the sound of wet slaps, the machine whirring, hissing, louder and louder. “Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck!” You gasped, your body squirming helplessly beneath the ferocity of the machine as your orgasm approached like a tidal wave, ready to crash over you. “Fuck me!” You screamed, saliva slipping from the corner of your mouth, your head thrashing side to side. You were desperate – so, so close, the tension coiling tighter and tighter inside you.  

“Fuuuuck!” Vox’s moan was long and drawn out, the sound distorted as his voice glitched, signalling his release. The wet sounds of his climax filled your ears, and it was all you needed.  

The moment his groan hit you, your body tensed, your cunt spamming violently around the thick shaft inside you. Your orgasm hit with explosive force, your walls clenching and pulsing as you cried out, the waves of pleasure completely crashing over you and taking you under. The machine didn’t slow, continuing to pelt you with overwhelming sensation, picking you further and further into a new territory you have never experienced before.  

Your mouth hung open, a silent scream on your lips as your body convulsed, something warm and wet spilling out of you in a powerful spray. Your squirt red hard, drenching the machine, your arousal coating every inch of its cock as it milked every last drop from you.  

It wasn’t until your moans turned into small sobs of over-stimulation that the machine finally slowed, its movements easing into a crawl. The thick cock remained buried deep inside you, your cunt still twitching and squeezing around it as if refusing to let go. Your body trembled as you tried to catch your breath.  

Your vision blurred with exhaustion as you blinked your eyes open, barely able to focus on the monitors surrounding you. There was Vox, staring at you with a mixture of triumph and satisfaction, a droplet of his own release smeared across his face.  

A weak smile tugged at your lips as you exhaled a shaky laugh. “So, boss, when are you going to come down here and fuck me with your cock?” 

Vox blinked, his expression faltering for just a moment before something sparked – literally. A small arc of blue electricity snapped from the tip of his antenna, and his face flickered until it turned into a solid blue with small white writing across it.  

You chuckled softly, shaking your head. “Looks like I’m not the only one who got fucked brainless,” you teased, your voice hoarse, but filled with a satisfied warmth.   

Follow #vexitober 2024 to read my questionable kink/fluff stories!

[valoisfulcanellideux]

A few thoughts on Chapter 43

I'm... not happy with it. It'll remain published as-is (if you like the story, don't worry; I won't be deleting or rewriting that chapter) but I rather wish I'd left it in the drafts folder of Scrivener.

Why am I not happy with it?

It over-eggs the pudding of 'terrible thing happened, man is traumatised, man needs comfort' - "yes yes we know because we've already seen at least one chapter about that!"

It doesn't really belong in the story. It doesn't move the story forward. It just sits there, rubbing in the above 'man is traumatised' thing a bit too much.

It's in Paix's POV; something I've avoided thus far, because that's how I've differentiated him from other timelines (pretty much everything related to him has been from another character's POV, with a couple of minor exceptions) and because of that it feels out of place to me

It's also left me in a bit of a quandry as to how to continue, and how to move forward with the development of Paix's and Mhenheli's relationship, mainly because how that chapter turned out didn't jibe with what I've been seeing in my mind's eye, going forward

And lastly, it's honestly.. a bit schmaltzy :|

I don't usually allow myself to be influenced by comments on my writing, but someone wondered what Paix was thinking, and that made me wonder too. That chapter was the result of that wondering.

I'm not blaming that commenter at all; their wondering sparked something, and for me there's no such thing as a bad writing session - everything that drives me to produce words is a good thing - but what there are are writing sessions whose output should have remained in the drafts folder. That this particular writing session's output ended up in the story rather than staying in the drafts is on me, not on them.

Luckily, it's only a short chapter, so once there's a few more chapters published any readers coming in fresh to it will most likely gloss over it in order to get to the next one. But that now means I need to write that next one - and quickly, if possible - whilst in the above quandry about how to move the story where I need it to go.

It's got me a bit roadblocked, tbh, so I'm going to have a think for a day or so, and ponder some advice that an old friend gave me one day after a writing session had thrown me for a bit of a loop. Paraphrased, that advice was:

Go back in your mind to before the bit that feels 'wrong'. Find the moment where the story took that left turn into "Nah, not feeling this - HALP!" and start your next chapter from there; the last known good point. Just as long as what you write doesn't completely negate the stuff you're not happy with (i.e., no sudden about-turns on something already published) you'll have found the slip road back onto the freeway again.

[wren-ravenheart]

I have too many plot bunnies and only so much ability to write them all into actual stories, halp.

I am determined! But it's eating me and I start working 4x10s in a couple days outdoors and I'm gonna be an exhausted mess.

[lankylevi]

has the ereri fandom died???

Short answer: no?

Long answer: no??? jk. No, the ereri fandom is still very much alive anon. We still have artists and writers who post some bomb-ass content. 

But I am gonna give a link to an uhm, salty tea post ;) as to why some creators may post less than before.

[pompadourpink]

Hi mom I went through the valks tag to see your stuff about depression and the one about fighting an episode really helped but i didn't find anything about just living with depression on a daily basis ?? halpe

Hello dear, (multiple TW to follow)

Here's what worked for me at the time:

#1. Surrounding myself with goodness. I was following photoshopped models on social media and hated the way I looked. I was friends with toxic people who used me to feel better about themselves. I ate crap, slouched, didn't drink enough and had terrible sleeping habits which led to practically constant discomfort and pain (stomach aches, insomnia, tension headaches, dehydration, etc.). I constantly told myself horrible things about my appearance, character, future, etc.

And big surprise, I was miserable! Who wouldn't?

Unfollow anything and anyone that always makes your heart ache and instead look for hashtags that have to do with things you love (a country, designer, museum, type of food, etc.) and find new accounts to follow. If someone never has anything good to say about you, block them, or avoid them and play dumb if you can't, and find new people to befriend. Have your favourite movie playing in the background. Take pictures of or write down the nice things people say about you.

#2. Normalising everything. Get rid of the idea that you can't do certain things if you can't think of a reason why not. I love running very early or very late to avoid cars and there are times I woke up at 4 and thought "ah, too bad it's not 5, I would have gone for a run". It turned into "ah, clearly I'm not going back to sleep, I'll go for a run". Because why not? Who's going to arrest me? No one. It is that simple.

You haven't done the dishes? As long as they're not discovering fire, you're good.

#3. Getting better habits. If you can't sleep, stop using your phone in bed (it makes your brain think bedtime is screen time and you'll stop being sleepy even if you were falling asleep on the couch). Avoid finding shelter in sugar or caffeine, you don't want your copying mechanisms to harm you: always try something else first (my go-to is cool water and fruity tea bags: tastes like icees). Get off the Internet, open the windows and give yourself a pedicure while listening to the Bee Gees.

#4. Making a list of reasons to stay alive. It can be a list of people, destinations, a portrait of the person you want to turn into, of the movies you'll watch when you're done learning French, etc. Anything that makes it worth trying.

(TW on these next paragraphs)

At the peak of my depression, in 2019, I woke up one morning and decided I was done with the pain. I hated myself, had no job, no money, no prospects, no one, and it felt like it would never get better and I had no reasons to keep fighting.

I had a drawer filled with boxes of sleeping pills because my GP was desperately trying to help me rest (but nothing worked, hello ADHD). I had some random appointment at 10. I went, enjoyed the sun on my face, feeling the calmest I had felt in years, didn't hear a word the lady said, came home, and took my own life. Laid down and waited. Only then, my beloved cats started fighting and I realised no one was going to find me for weeks and they would starve to death. I freaked out, made myself vomit, felt hungover for three days, and started therapy two weeks later.

Fast forward three years, I'm a business owner, the happiest I've ever been, madly in love with life, I'm moving to the south for the sun and the sea, planning a vacation to meet my best friend, and I can't believe how much everything changed. I read my diary entries from that time and don't recognize that girl.

What a waste it would have been if I had given up.

Love,

Mum

[birb-on-fire]

Page 16: Alakan and Wulf

This is, to be honest, my favorite sketch in the whole book. Alakan was my first really original character (if you recognize him somehow, please forget that you ever met him before, I'm sorry I can't roleplay well!)

He's hat started me writing actually original works instead of glorified fanfictions/spin-offs. I've been shaping him since I was 14 and I'm rediculously attatched.

Alakan is a half human/half skyrian. Skyrians are a race I created and one day I will include my (very brief) species sheet on here for them. He's a freedom fighter of sorts, and mostly a loner. (He prefers to work alone, but has no problem with coming back home to his family when his work is done.)

He's a selective mute, and I have far too many parts of his character and story detailed to put it all here. I plan on including him in a lot of future works here on my blog tho!

Sweet wings, I can't even usually draw dogs. This was really good for me! (Animals are my weakness, halp!)

Wulf is a friendly companion that hangs out with Alakan on occasion, but much prefers spending time with the kids Alakan runs into a lot. He's a big doggie (I'm also bad at drawing things to scale) and he acts like it when there aren't any adult humans around t judge. He isn't afraid to be a butt around Alakan though, he thinks it's funny.

[shotosimp1]

naps

sugawara x GN!reader.

Authors note: helloooo this is my first ever fic so if I did something wrong or its low key cringe don't hate me lmaoo so this fic is basically that you're daichis sibling and you and sugawara are like close friends who love taking naps togather I don't want to spoil anything so I'm going to stop here. ⚠️Important note⚠️: when suga is talking the text colour is purple. And when you're talking its blue :D genre: fluff. warnings: nothing but if there is dont be afraid to tell me! Here is this playlist i made for this fic i hope you like it! :D

being daichi's sibling came with its pros and cons. I cant lie to you he is a good brother but that doesnt mean he isnt protective of you. And no, no boyfriends. But the best thing about being daichis sibling is that you would get to spend time with the one and only crush of yours sugawara koushi. Everything about him just made you happy. He is so caring and sweet you just couldn't halp yourself from falling for him. And because sugawara and daichi met in middle school they were very close. And with that he came over to hang out like at least once a week. You didn't mind as long as daichi let you be around for a bit you just wanted to be around cutie

And with that you and him would chat every now and then Just getting to know each other more. Both of you would talk about your hobbies and interests and life etc. You just found him so interesting you just kept wanting to be around him more and more. And daichi as the good brother he is will try to leave you two alone for a couple of minutes to have a good conversation together and would excuse himself with "oh im going to the bathroom" or " um im going to get a snack" and it works too!!

Finals were close and the boys, daichi suga and asahi came over to study it was their second year and you were a first year student. Suga would help you study and help you understand the things you couldn't and all that jazz. You felt kinda flustered whenever he says "good job!!" And gives that warm smile of his. It was around 1:12 pm and all of you were too focused on your work and didn't remember lunch....Yeah I know unbelievable. "Mmmm god I'm so hungry" "shoot we didn't eat lunch" daichi said looking at the clock "its 2 something pm there is still time for that just go order _______ or something" -"ahh your probably right" asahi said "okay okay should we all go get _______ i mean we should get our mussels movi-" "im not going anywhere im tired" "okay fine what about you asahi?" -daichi- "sure" "and what about you ____?" -asahi- "nahh I would rather stay sorry.." "eh its okay we'll get going yeah?" -daichi- " yeah let's go" -asahi- and boom you two are alone.

"You look kinda sleepy" he said as he chuckled for about. 10 minutes both of you were kinda silent he was laying on his tummy on the sofa while you sat on the floor near the desk you were studying on. "Kinda actually" "oh? Well mabye you should take a nap" "sure.. but uh you look sleepy too" "hm? Oh yeah i am " you both laughed a bit. "Wanna sleep in my room? It would be more comfortable there?" " well what about you?" "My bed is big i will be just finee" seconds after you said that he starts..to grin? "Ooou you wanna sleep with me that bad?" "You're honestly making me regret my choices." "Hey!" "You can sleep on the sofa bye bye!" You said as your going to your room and him of course following you.

"Cute room kinda messy tho" he laughed " can you leave me and my "messy" room alone" "fine fine" he said chuckling. Both of you layed on the bed and him falling asleep almost instantly from how tired he was. It was peaceful sleeping next to him. I mean yes you were blushing at the thought of him being so close to you but it still felt so peaceful and nice. You turned around to face him. It sounds like too much but he looked like an angle. You stared at his features for quit a while.. he's just so nice to look at. "Can't sleep?" "what the hell!? You scared the living shit out of me!" He laughed. He asked you again "can you not sleep?" " yeah actually" you said still mad at him for scaring you like that. He asked if he can come closer and you said yes. He but a hand on the back of your head and gently guiding it to his chest. And with that your head is on your crushes chest. You tried your best to not show how surprised and flustered you were. "Do you feel comfortable? Can i put my hand on your back? it would feel even better" "s-sure I don't mind" he started to rub soothing circles on your back. Seconds after that you fell asleep..in his mf arms ahh.

"Sorry we took so long the line there was kinda long" No response. Both asahi and daichi left the house for about an hour. They looked around the living room to see that no one was there. "Hm that's wierd" -asahi- daichi agreed as he went to check your room to see if your there. "Oh.my.god." asahi heard him and went to see what's up. "Wait aww that's kinda cute" "what! No its not!" Asahi laughed at how angry he was from just seeing his best friend cuddling his younger sibling. "Hey..hey! HEY!!" "Hmm what what do you want cant you see were sleeping here ugh" " yeah i CAN see and get your filthy-" " why are you so mad? Its not like I did something to them I was just helping them sleep" " I mean he has a point..plus I'm sure its just a nap" -asahi- "ugh fine...CAN YOU ATLEAST MOVE YOUR HAND OH MY GOD" "Why are you yelling...?" You said as you got woken up from your brothers yelling "its nothing..get up its time to eat" daichi said as he went downstairs to eat. Asahi mouthed a 'sorry' to both of you and went to fallow him. "Did you sleep well? I hope I didn't make you feel uncomfortable or anything.." "No no!! It.. it was nice thank you" "great!! Let's go downstairs now im starving..." you both laughed as you went downstairs to eat.

From that day whenever the both of you found the chance to nap together you would do it. Suga tired from practice? nap time! Stressed? Nap time! Sad? Nap time! It's like both of you were nap buddies and you loved it. Daichi couldn't really do anything at this point. Don't get me wrong he was SO happy when you actually found someone to hang out with and actually be comfortable around. But he just didn't like the fact that the both of you were so touchy its like you guys were dating. But you always denied him saying "no no he's just a close friend nothing else!!!!" Until...

It was a Saturday night you and suga were in your room watching a barbie film. It was a chill night both of you got snacks and watched the movie in peace. sugawara kept giving you these side eye glances every now and then you noticed them but didn't say anything. It was the last 20 minutes of the movie and he did it again but this time it was a side glance his eyes were fully on you. "What?" He giggled and said nothing. You were confused a bit so you paused the movie and looked at him. "Is there something on my face?" "No..you just look pretty" he smiled. Both of you were eye to eye and very close. His eyes would go from your eyes to your lips as he came even closer. He gently took your hand in his as he said "can i kiss you?" You were in shock your heart was beating as you nodded. It was gentle and sweet you swore you could right a whole essay about how that kiss was the best thing you have ever experienced. "AHM AHM!!!" Both of you pulled away almost instantly as you saw daichi standing in your bedrooms doorstep "listen- its not what it looks like okay??" "Uhuh..koushi have you been dating my sibling behind my back?" "WHAT? no!! I swear-" "come downstairs cuz we have some stuff to discuss here"

You sat there confused but genuinely so happy 'I kissed him..' 'holy shit i actually kissed him!!' your mind was running with thoughts 'wait what if we start dating?' 'Oh my god!!!!' 'Wait what did daichi mean when he said "discuss some things"??' "Hey im back..." he smiled nervously at you "oh hi!" He smiled as he sat down on the bad next to you "um suga" "yes?" "what did my brother 'discuss' with you downstairs?" "You know "don't hurt their feelings!!" And "don't even think about cheating on them!" And he may or may not threatened to kill me if I did" you giggled "all that because of a kiss? Its not like were dating" " ..Well what would you do if I asked you to be my partner right now hm?" "Uhhh!!??!!? I- I dont know mabye say yes or something" he laughed "well then do you want to be my lovey dovey partner?" You giggled a bit as you nodded "tsk, man i kinda wanted to hear you say "yes please please i do!!" Oh well.." "really suga.."

I hope you guys liked it ♡ again this is my first time ever writing fics so I hope its not that bad

[andthebubbles]

🌹💔😊🎬📝

hello skjfng i know this was a few days ago but there was new years and then ??? what is a poetic line 😭 (actually this was quite hard overall halp)

for this ask game

these are all from a/b fic (y'know the one where anthony and benedict get together because they don't know they're brothers (yet) because anthony went missing as a child and they only met as adults at oxford)

(sorry we don't share a fanfic-writing fandom 😭)

...okay so it turns out i'm sharing much more than one line... for CONTEXT (idk who would be interested in these excerpts though but... welp. sorry)

🌹 Share your most poetic line.

(ch3)

Anthony just grows close and then closer, entrenched in Benedict’s every day, any day, more than welcome in Benedict’s life. And slowly but surely, Anthony’s notes and books start to make their way into Benedict’s room, then his clothes, his boots, the little that he owns. All of it migrating, mingling together with Benedict’s own things, rearranging the space, remaking it. Until one day, quite without Benedict knowing how, but knowing only that he is more glad than he can put into words—Anthony quite simply, quietly, naturally, moves into his room.

💔 Share your most heartbreaking line.

context: this is the bridgerton house tour benedict gives anthony (ch9)

It’s now or never, he thinks as he leads him over to the one remaining door he hasn’t pointed out yet; he leans against it with a little flourish and with far more confidence than he feels. “This is my old room—or well, not quite my old room. When I’m alone and staying at Bridgerton House for the night, I still sleep in here.” Then he lopsidedly, suggestively smiles. “Would you, er, like to come in?”

Against all his expectations, Anthony half steps back, tension suddenly writ across his face. “Ah… to just… look around, perhaps?”

“Amongst other things?” Benedict swallows, now somewhere between nervous and coy. 

He does not know what he was expecting, exactly. But it’s not Anthony blankly staring at him, taking breath after breath, shorter and shallower until he’s wound up tight. 

“But you do not have to,” Benedict says quickly, letting go of him, berating himself; still brushing against his forearm, soothing, “You do not have to come in. I understand. I only…” he flushes humiliatingly hot, “perhaps foolishly hoped that you would… Well.”

“Hoped that I would… what?” Anthony asks, a little choked and hushed.

“Well, I know that the staff do not wake until half past four at the earliest,” Benedict shrugs, far too falsely casual. “So if you would return to the guest room before that… then no one would know about us.”

☺️ Share a happy line.

(ch7)

Daybreak colours the horizon when they’re already on the road the next day; the last of the tension in Anthony only leaves him as they keep riding away from Oxford. With every mile they cover he sheds a bit more of his harried look, the years that have piled onto him, aged him, the stress that for a while he had lived and breathed. Hooves churn up the ground; he urges his horse into a trot and a canter and then a gallop and a race; “The first one to that big tree wins,” he suddenly shouts over his shoulder, and Benedict can barely hear him with how fast he’s already going, his entire self thrown into it like he’s running away and is finally free—

“What??” he shouts after him, and Anthony’s laughter echoes back eventually, bright and full on the breeze. 

The tree in question turns out to be at the top of the next hill; Benedict rides hard in his dust and steadily catches up and wonders if he would’ve let him win, had he been prepared to race. But right now it’s a moot point; Anthony reaches the tree just ahead of him and wheels his horse around, grinning and breathing hard in exertion, leaning forward to pat his horse’s neck. 

“I won,” he says somewhere between matter-of-fact and smug once he falls into step with him, his horse snorting and tossing its head, apparently as spirited as its rider. “I won, did you see that?”

“Funnily enough, I did,” Benedict says dryly.

Anthony’s eyes narrow for a second. “You didn’t just let me win, did you?” “And miss my chance to have you not gloat at me?” Benedict hums at him, affronted and affectionate, and Anthony beams even wider, nudging his horse even closer. He reaches out his gloved hand to him and Benedict takes it, clasps it tightly, watching Anthony smile and tilt his head up, turn his face towards the sun.

🎬 Share the last line you’ve written.

(well, the last line i've KEPT anyway. i'm giving more than one line for context (because out of context it's a bit 👀 ... 😂))

(ch18)

“I have to go to London,” he says. 

In a way, it is a relief; it is certainly one way to not ruin what they have further. Maybe it will reset itself by the time he gets back. 

…But all the same he would not say no to Anthony asking to come with him again.

He looks up in the silence. Anthony has turned around in his chair, quill in hand. Candlelight wavers over the half dozen books he has open, the clean, unmarked page of his notebook—except for one heavy blot of ink in the top left corner, visible even to Benedict across the room. 

“All right,” Anthony says.

He does not ask to come. And so, as if by mutual understanding, Benedict does not ask him to come, either.

📝 Share the first line of your project.

Benedict meets the love of his life one ordinary autumn evening in an Oxford pub.

--

thank you for sending this ask! <3

[novantinuum]

Current mood:

Utterly destroyed by @hellmandraws 's newest comic. 💯👌🏻

[welllpthisishappening]

So I think that I sent you a babbling, semi-incoherent ask a couple of weeks ago that tumblr may have eaten. It was (sort of) a prompt about CS, snark and banter, and Santa!Con. But then I started to think - did you already write that fic? Did it sound to me like something right up your alley because you'd done it? If so, forgive me for not remembering! Also, I'm looking everywhere for a fic of yours I know I read about CS and a proposal attempt at Rockefeller Center, but I can't find it. Halp!!

Oh nooooo I never got that!! Well, this must be remedied at once, don’t you think? So, first off, I did write about a proposal at Rockefeller Center last year. It’s Heart to Heart and Hand in Hand and is basically my thoughts about public proposals and people taking pictures of a moment that isn’t theirs. As far as Santa Con goes, he’s some slightly proposal-type words with an incredibly drunk Killian Jones and vaguely stunned Emma Swan. 

“Is everything spinning?”

Emma chuckles, wrapping her fingers around Killian’s arm in a rather pitiful attempt to keep him balanced. He’s sitting down. That does not appear to be making much of a difference.

“Your hat is going to fall off if you can’t sit up straight,” she says, and he makes a noise she’s never heard before. But, to be fair, she’s never actually seen him this drunk before and that includes David’s last birthday when the Knicks lost their first-round playoff series and the whole night ended with several oversized vessels for alcohol and the promise that it’s really a matter of dignity, Swan when it came to finishing every single drop.

“Sod the hat,” Killian grumbles. He slumps forward, the top flipping over, which only ends with the little pom pom thing bumping against his nose and Emma really has had far too much alcohol to deal with any of this.

She’s still not entirely sure why they agreed to this – but Ruby can be incredibly persuasive, demanding, when she wants to and Mary Margaret had done that doe-eyed thing and even Elsa said it sounded like fun. That had only gotten David to make some kind of noise of victory and Emma had sighed dramatically no less than half a dozen times before Killian agreed he’d wear a hat if they’d all shut up about it.

And so the Santa Con plan was born.

Ruby bought them matching hats.

“That’s a very old fashioned sounding sentence you know,” Emma points out, Killian making some kind of noise that she hopes is an agreement.

“I’m an old fashioned kind of gentleman.”

The laugh that bubbles out of her is decidedly alcohol-fueled and a little more like a giggle than Emma really wants, but the whole thing is also pretty goddamn endearing and those cookie shots at the last bar had been especially potent.

The room is definitely spinning.

There are so many people dressed like Santa Claus.

“Yeah, that’s definitely true,” Emma mumbles. It’s much harder than it probably should be to pull her arm up, resting her palm on the side of Killian’s cheek. He leans into it, eyes fluttering shut in a way that makes it almost too obvious how long his lashes are.

Emma bites her lip.

“But that’s a good thing,” she adds. His lips quirk up.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. How many cookie shots did you have?”

“Way too many,” Killian admits, eyes still closed. He moves his head slightly, a low groan in the back of his throat when the room very likely starts spinning again, but Emma forgets to be worried about that as soon as his lips brush over the back of her wrist. “I really like you, you know.”

She blinks. And waits for the rest of that sentence. It never comes.

And it’s not really surprising. She’s somewhere in the realm of one-hundred percent positive he likes her. Loves her, in fact. A lot. Like. Well, a lot. More than she thought possible and Emma hopes her heart can handle the rather sudden wave of alcohol-based emotions its being force to contend with.

It’s not surprising. 

It’s normal and she’s not used to it, probably won’t ever be used to it, because it still makes it feel as if she’s glowing from the inside out when he says things like that, but it’s also kind of par for the course or tradition or something. Or, at least getting there.

She hopes so.

She’s been kind of thinking about it.

And Ruby claimed that Santa Con could count as some kind of quasi bachelorette party for both her and Belle. That made Emma’s heart thud too.

“Good to know,” Emma says, hating how breathless her voice has turned.

“I’m serious.”

“Oh, I know you are.”

Killian opens his eyes, far too blue to be anything except distracting even with all the alcohol metaphors. He kisses her skin again, nipping softly until Emma makes a noise that’s closer to a yelp than she’d like. It makes him smile. “Just,” he continues, and it’s almost impressive how he manages to elongate four letters into what sounds like several thousand, “God, you’re so pretty.”

Emma has no idea what noise she makes. It’s not a laugh. Or a scoff. It’s not even disbelief. It might actually be joy.

Her heart feels like it’s expanding.

“What?”

Killian nods earnestly, and Emma hopes this isn’t actually a dream. That’d be kind of disappointing. “That was the first thing I noticed, you know.”

“That I was pretty?”

“It’s not that super—superfi—“

“Superficial?”

“That,” he mutters, humming softly when Emma’s fingers move into his hair. The hat is a lost cause. She’s fairly sure someone has already stepped on it. And Mary Margaret may be singing carols on the other side of the bar. “Smart.”

“Smart and pretty, huh? God, I sound unstoppable.”

“Stopped me. Right in my tracks.”

Emma’s smile threatens to strain the muscles in her face. “That so?”

“Yuh huh. Belle said she wanted me to meet her girlfriend’s friend and you were there and your hair.”

“My hair?”

“It’s so…yellow.”

“Seriously how many cookie shots did you have?”

Killian scowls, a twist of lips that probably shouldn’t be attractive. Emma’s breath catches when he wraps his fingers around her wrist. “That’snotimportant,” he mumbles. They should probably find a seat with a back. This stool suddenly seems incredibly dangerous.

He shifts again, letting go of her arm and that’s only slightly disappointing. That, of course, is until his fingers card through the ends of Emma’s hair, letting the strands fall across his palm and over her shoulder and she’s not entirely sure what to do with the look on his face.

Like he’s a little stunned to still see her there.

“I like you so much,” he says again, half to himself. Emma’s heart does not care.

“So you’ve mentioned.”

“I want you to know.”

“Babe, trust me, I know,” Emma promises, ducking into his slightly blurry eye line. He smirks – or at least tries, one side of his mouth tugging up and free hand falling to her hip with an almost audible thump. “I really like you too. Maybe we should get you some water. And some food. Something greasy.”

“You want onion rings.”

“This is not about what I want.”

“Do you mean that?” Killian asks. Emma narrows her eyes.

“Mean what?”

“The—liking, I—“ He takes a deep breath, a hint of nerves that do not make sense with the man at all and Emma’s heart thuds for a totally different reason. Mary Margaret is definitely still singing.

“Were you doubting that? Because we could definitely make out some if you want, although we may get arrested for public indecency.”

He laughs, short and quick and still a hint nervous. Emma only just realizes she’s never actually moved her hand – her arm is starting to ache from holding it up for so long, but Killian definitely leans into the touch again and she really likes being able too feel him smile.

What a weirdo. It’s probably the alcohol.

It’s not.

“No,” Killian whispers. “But I want—“

“What?”

“Everything.”

Emma is very impressed her knees don’t give out. They wobble slightly. “I don’t—“

“It’s got to be perfect,” he says, barely giving her a chance to finish her half-finished thought. “That’s what you deserve and what we should—better than Mary Margaret and David. Way better than Ruby and Belle.”

Emma shakes her head slowly, trying to push past the admittedly rather large amount she’s had to drink to figure out what the hell he’s talking about. Her right knee gives out when she realizes.

“Oh my God,” she breathes, and Killian’s gaze gets hazier. He hooks his foot around her leg. That doesn’t make standing any easier.

“Perfect,” he repeats. “I’ve got—it’s going to be perfect.”

“What?”

“There’ll be kissing. We won’t be wearing Santa hats. Probably.”

“Probably?”

He hums, another far too serious nod and maybe the problem isn’t her heart at all. It might be her lungs. They appear to be shrinking. “Definitely,” Killian amends. “I want to do it at home.”

“We have one of those.”

She says it like it’s not the single most important sentence in the world, but Killian can’t seem to stop nodding and the footsteps coming towards them sound impossibly loud. “Yeah,” he mutters. “Together. Then we can make out.”

“Is that the goal?”

“With no clothes.”

“I think that may qualify as more than making out, babe,” Emma says, a forced lightness to her voice.

“Just the ring.”

She’s going to die. Right there – surrounded by several thousand drunk Santas and her equally drunk friends and her whole body shakes when David claps her on the shoulder.

“Hey,” David says brightly, Mary Margaret tucked against his side. They’re both still wearing their hats. Emma’s might be somewhere on Ninth Avenue. “You guys want to get some food?”

Emma doesn’t answer. She may nod. It feels like she nods, but she’s also trying to fight off death, so…

Killian, for his part, doesn’t appear to realize what he’s said or done, just tugs Emma closer to him and lets his lips drag across the side of her jaw and, really, dying in a Midtown bar a few weeks before Christmas would be so goddamn disappointing.

It would definitely make her a meme.

“You ok, Em?” Mary Margaret asks. Emma hopes she nods again. “Fries? Mozzarella sticks?”

“Onion rings,” Killian answers.

“Ah, good call. Where’s your hat?”

“Don’t know.”

He kisses behind Emma’s ear before Mary Margaret can say anything else.

And, honestly, if asked Emma would say she doesn’t consider the potential for a proposal the rest of the night. She’s far too busy telling Ruby the hats don’t matter and eating what must be some kind of record for onion ring consumption and navigating Midtown is a challenge she almost fails completely.

They opt not to take the Subway – far too many bridge and tunnelers in Port Authority – meandering up Tenth Ave instead on the assumption that it will be easier to hail a cab. It’s not. They’re too clearly drunk. And dressed like Santa.

“This is Santa prejudice,” Emma mumbles, nearly twenty blocks away from the last bar and Killian makes the world’s most ridiculous noise against the back of her neck.

“We’re not that far.”

“From home?” He makes the noise again. “You want to walk home?”

“I know you don’t want to pay for a cab anymore.”

That’s true. Emma doesn’t say that. She doesn’t have to – particularly when he tilts her head up to kiss her scrunched nose, fingers lacing through hers as they trek further uptown. Slowly, but surely.

It takes her several tries to open the door and a few more tries to get out of her boots and she’s not exactly expecting anything, but she kind of thought about the potential for a proposal and lying to herself is not an attractive quality. They don’t make out. They barely even make it to the bed, falling onto the mattress without moving the blankets or the pillows and Killian doesn’t take his belt off before he tugs Emma against his chest and they fall asleep with the lights on.

She may still be drunk when she wakes up the next morning – bits of sunlight poking through the curtains and a distinct lack of perspective fiancé next to her. Emma groans when she sits up, running a hand across her face. There’s noise coming from the kitchen.

She definitely uses the wall as support when she walks.

And Killian smiles when he turns towards her. He took his belt off at some point.

“How you feeling?”

Emma shrugs. “You were way more drunk than me. You take anything?”

“Probably more Ibuprofen than I’m supposed to, honestly.”

She laughs softly, leaning back against the counter and ignoring everything that appears to be fluttering in the pit of her stomach. “That help at all?”

“A little,” Killian says, handing her glass of water and several large pills. “Something about modern medicine, love.”

“You’re not a doctor.”

“But I was way more drunk than you and still alive, so—“

“—Well, who am I to argue with that?”

“Exactly.”

He doesn’t stop looking at her while she downs the pills, which is only a little unnerving, but that may be the fluttering and—“How much do you remember from yesterday?” Killian asks, the same hint of nerves in every single letter.

Emma nearly chokes on tap water.

Killian winces. “Was that all real, then? Not a dream?”

“Depends on what kind of dreams you’re having, I guess.”

“Ones that include all of that going much better than they actually did.”

He hisses in a breath of air, only to huff it out just as quickly, the tips of his ears going red when he takes a step back. And Emma doesn’t really think before she follows him, just moves into his space and rests her hand on his cheek again and—“I was so jealous of Ruby and Belle claiming Santa Con as some kind of bachelorette party, I could hardly see straight.”

Killian’s eyes widen.

“I really like you too,” Emma adds. “Like. An absurd amount, honestly. And, I um—“ She takes a deep breath. Her body doesn’t entirely appreciate it. “It’s always going to be you and I, well, it’d be yes. No matter when it happens.”

She barely gets the words out before he’s kissing her. It’s nice. It’s a hell of a lot better than nice, but they’re both very clearly hungover and Emma is still holding water and none of this went according to the very real plan Killian had.

He had a plan.

With her.

Emma can feel his smile against her mouth.

“I love you so much,” he whispers.

“I think that’s kind of a prerequisite of this, honestly.”

“Emma.”

“I love you too,” she says, and it feels like a guarantee and a promise and they barely get off the couch all day.

And he does, eventually, ask – telling Ruby we’re not going out on New Year’s, tugging a box out of his pocket at 9:47 p.m. because that’s the same time Emma showed up at the bar that very first time and it makes her heart thud and expand and a slew of other verbs it probably shouldn’t, but she kisses him before she answers.

“Swan,” Killian mutters, already doing his best to get her shirt off. The ring looks particularly good on her left hand.

“Yes.”

[greatwyrmgold]

I have thoughts about that which I don't know if I've shared on Tumblr before.

TL;DR: The weirdly merged Master category (and to a lesser extent its overlap with Stranger) makes me think that the PRT's power system was designed as a framework for matching trigger events to powers first and an in-universe power categorization system second.

First off, for anyone who hasn't read the Weaver Dice documents, I recommend it—especially for people who want to write/think about writing Worm fanfic. The section on trigger events for the most recent version I bookmarked is here. It outlines the ways that different trigger events lead to different power categories.

So, from the shard's perspective, it makes sense that mind-control Masters and minion-creating Masters would arise from the same general kinds of triggers. The problem is that you're alone and need friends, here's a power that gives you friends, I'm halping.

Same deal with Stranger powers. Too much social pressure, too much attention, here's a power that lets you avoid it—maybe through invisibility, maybe through mind manipulation. The line between Stranger powers and Master powers is muddled in part because the line between Stranger/Master trigger events is muddled. It's not two distinct categories, so much as a continuum of trauma types and powers branching off from them.

I suspect that Wildbow created this system (which is a pretty good way of formalizing what kinds of trauma lead to what kind of superpowers), needed a power categorization system for the PRT, and realized he already had one and reused it. Fair enough, it reduces the potential for confusion in your notes. Or maybe the idea was that parahuman researchers had recognized patterns in trigger events and powers and were basing their categories off of that. That's plausible, I guess.

But it does make things messy for the PRT. Some poor intern has to look at each mind-controlling cape and decide whether they're more of a Valefor or more of a Heartbreaker. And those Master/Stranger protocols are needed for both Masters and Strangers, but not all Masters or all Strangers; they do little against Imp and less against Skitter.

Now, there are ways to justify this in-universe. The PRT classification system is noted as a bit of a bodged-together chimera of a taxonomy, with bad decisions and awkward compromises lingering because nobody really wants to redo decades of training material, jargon, and so forth.

And this feels like something that could happen by accident if several agencies were working on their own power taxonomies, all of them writing and rewriting them on the fly, none starting from first principles and trying to figure out what an ideal system would be. You fight someone that controls dogs and someone that conjures dog-like constructs the same way, so they go in the same category, and powers that control dogs are basically identical to ones that control people, so they go together too. Invisibility is basically the same as editing the perception of people around you, so that's the same category, as are things similar enough to that kind of perception editing. Even though those similar things overlap a lot with things similar to mind control.

But the specific ways that this system fails line up too cleanly with a system designed from the perspective of entities and shards. That's why I think the PRT classification system is the way it is.

Master as a category is very funny to me. Why would you put the girl who can twist your emotions into a Gordian knot in the same classification as the guy who makes clones of himself.