#a masterpiece of writing i think

[opt1mistic]

caitlyn’s lips glided smoothly over your bare stomach, leaving small kisses, on your waist, around your bellybutton, and pelvis. her hands tightly holding onto your hips, preventing you from moving away from her touch.

her mouth opened slightly, showing off her glistening, glossy, white fangs, that now were moving over the skin that laid shakily beneath her. you rose your head up, pulling your neck a bit while at it, to get a glimpse of what she was doing. and as soon as you see her fangs peaking out your head dropped flat against the mattress.

without a single warning caitlyn’s aggressive fangs bit into your skin, feeling the stings instantaneously.

the skin on your stomach was much more thick than the skin around your neck, yet somehow it hurt more down there then up here, you thought as one of your hands slipped higher on your body lightly skimming over the surface of the healing wound on your neck.

your face in a look of discomfort and incredible pain, palms itching to push caitlyn off of you, but your needs stopped you. you enjoyed the pain, the way her vulgar fangs penetrate through your skin, and the way she sucks you clean of blood, making your head light. felt so fucking good.

parts of your naïve mind told you that if you wanted to keep caitlyn you just need to say yes to all that she demands. and the other parts told you that you should run, fast and far. that her words at your heart; like a dagger laced with black poison, sucked you dry of all the warmth, and soon you would as well turn into a soul eating, killing bloodsuckers just like her. cold, mean, and heartless…

is she though?

she’s so devoted to you, cares for you, says words no one else could utter to you. buts take too much, destroys the only thing that’s keeping you alive. was being loved better than keeping your life? no, but if it’s caitlyn’s love than thats what you choose.

so you let her sting you, you let her hurt you, take from you, and reward you with love you’ve never felt before. she asks for one thing and you give it all to her. if she wants to eat you alive and not drop a single tear than so be it. as long as she makes you feel the way you feel at this very moment…

loved.

©opt1mistic

[softiedingo]

*look* dear god *sighs intensely*

[harocat]

Shoutout to Cdramas* written by women, we love you Cdramas written by women.

*And one Taiwanese drama.

What are your faves that aren't on here? Let me know so I can watch them. 👀

[supercrazyangel4]

i think the thing that makes people mischaracterize and completely miss the point of chara is that theyre written to be two very different things concurrently that dont really mesh together.

from what we know concretely about chara as a character, they were a very mentally ill child and complicated person who simultaneously hurt and helped people around them, who held both a lot of love and hate in their heart. they are fairly vague but also have specific character traits such as liking chocolate and filling up water glasses to the brim to maximize efficiency. they take speaking patterns from toriel and an interest in gardening from asgore. if you believe in the narrachara theory, they even have a character arc that changes depending on the route you take. they are inarguably a character who haunts the narrative due to their decisions in life having lead to tragedy that shapes the very plot of the game inextricably; and arguably a character that haunts the narrative and shapes the story much more literally in being a conscious force and companion that accompanies our journey.

at the same time, chara isnt treated as a character at all and is instead a meta-narrative device meant to act as an in-universe player stand-in. in this way chara isnt actually a person with character traits, but a vehicle for toby to provide commentary about the people who play video games. they are a concept that represents the state of thoughtless exp grinding. in the no mercy route their main purpose is to be a reflection of you and your mindset, even more directly than flowey. the reason theyre named after you is because, for a number of aspects in the game, they are supposed to be you; with no notable separation like there is with frisk.

this problem also heavily applies to frisk, for who there is an effort to separate their identity from yours at the end of the pacifist route but who still ends up with no real character traits of their own. people compensate for this by using black-and-white thinking; which results both in assigning frisk and chara a sort of "good-and-evil" dichotomy leading to their early fan interpretations, and in thinking that frisk and chara can only be either fully fleshed out characters or mindless player inserts leading to people favouring option one and basically ignoring the player as a concept except to occasionally use it as a generic big bad.

i think toby prioritized meta-textual implications over actual textual characterization for the human characters in undertale. this left chara as a character feeling unclear, unfocused, and incongruent due to them trying to be several things at once with no real through-line; and frisk as a character feeling practically non-existent outside of being a vessel. there are effectively two different charas in undertale, the character and the plot device, which makes it hard to talk about them as one consistent whole. i think this is why in tobys second game hes been putting such a focus on kris as a character and their separation from the player, as to improve on what he didnt properly touch on in undertale.

[002yb]

"How did you find me?"

Because it's been a lifetime for both of them. Because Jon was there one day and gone the next - taken someplace where Damian could never follow. Jon was missing and Damian couldn't find him, help him, save him.

Because Jon was a bright-eyed boy stolen away before he was beaten to be something less and forged into something more. He's different in all the ways that matter and all the ways that don't.

For all the relief Jon feels to be home, he's resentful that he was brought back to a place he doesn't fit anymore.

It's painful. It's distressing. And Jon wants to be that warm, kindhearted, foolhardy boy he was before - adaptable and adventurous, untouchable and invincible because youth is that way, but Jon thinks that boy burned and all that's been left behind is brittle obsidian - sharper than steel and easily broken.

"From your heartbeat."

Because seven years is too many, but even a lifetime couldn't be enough for Jon to forget it.

His pulse. His breaths. The way his feet strike the earth. His smooth-spoken articulate, the click of his tongue. The way he mourns and the stillness that follows it.

"You know my heartbeat?"

Intimately. Ardently. Jon listened for it across time and space and circumstance - only Jon could never tell if it was something he genuinely heard or if he clung so hard to his memories of it that he was able to delude himself into thinking it was there.

"Yeah." Jon breathes, eyes closing so that he can listen for it again - so it can be all he hears.

"What is it like?"

"Steady. Strong." Jon tells Damian around a fond, melancholic smile. Vulnerability might blindside Damian always and forever, but it's been a lifetime for both of them and Jon is - everything has changed and he hasn't found the good in it yet; he's home, but he doesn't fit anymore. "I missed it."

There's a beat and it's not so much that Damian's heart stutters so much as it settles. Because Damian knows. He feels it, too.

I missed you.

"I don’t know yours." Damian admits after a few beats more. "I only know what it is to be without it."

"What’s it like?" Jon asks.

City lights pollute the sky, but far below where they stand on a high-rise, the yellow-gold glow from windows and the flash of traffic stops and taillights feels as beautiful as any star. The noise is easy to let fall away. All Jon hears is the wind and the slow breaths Damian takes that keeps his heart thumping strong in his chest.

"Lonely."

Terribly.

Dreadfully.

"And now?"

Damian turns and finally they make eye contact again. There's a pensiveness to Damian's expression as they take one another in. Making note of all the things that changed because Jon is different now. He feels different in all the ways that matter and all the ways that don't. Jon is home, but he doesn't fit.

The way Damian has to look up, up to meet Jon's gaze is wrong. For all Jon wanted to grow and torment Damian for being the smaller of them, Jon finds no joy in it now.

It feels like something was stolen from him and he mourns it. Anger burns hot through his veins, like ice in his lungs. It's as twisted as Jon feels - tormented until it's something unrecognizable; rage and wrath and anguish. Grief.

Jon wants to go back to that time he was young and brash and untouched by the unfairness in the world. A lifetime has passed and he doesn't know how he fits. He is not steel; he is volcanic glass and every breath he takes feels like it pierces his lungs and Jon is meant to be strong, but all at once the world is unbearably heavy and-

Damian drops his head to Jon's chest and - oh. Everything settles.

"A beat too quick, but strong. Resilient." Damian tells him and Jon blinks hard against the burn in his eyes. There's a lump in his throat that he can't swallow past and if Damian feels the hitch in Jon's chest - he says nothing of it. All Damian does is rest his head over Jon's heart, counting the beats until Jon lets go of his tentativeness and uncertainty and brings his arms around his friend and holds him close, closer until Jon can take Damian's steadily beating heart into his own chest - so that no more lifetimes will pass where he can't feel it. Damian's own arms reach around Jon, his too broad shoulders and the too large span of his back. Damian heaves a sigh and clicks his tongue and Jon doesn't need to see it to know that Damian's scowl has stayed the same. "Never let me be without it, now that I know."

A watery smile pulls at his lips as Jon breaks forward over himself - trying to be small where he is not. He nods, unwittingly lifting Damian off the ground despite Damian's grunts of protest if only to be closer to him after a lifetime apart and marvel the ways Damian has changed - the ways he hasn't.

Jon doesn’t feel himself after everything. Safety and security is something stolen from him - he doesn’t know how to go back to the life he lost. It’s overwhelming, so he closes his eyes and feels Damian's heart beat against his and lets it be his anchor.

@pechaghtlecha

[caterpillarinacave]

Using the computer as a babysitter for Jed and Octavius is all fun and games until they figure out how to use Larry’s credit card

[lesbianlenas]

i miss when we had supercorp sunday and kara and lena would scissor on the cw while homophobic slurs flashed on screen those were the days 😔✌️

[acciomjolnir]

hey if you're in those toxic-af dramione fic rec groups on facebook trashing the authors whose work you supposedly love might i suggest eating out of an outdoor floridian garbage can while you're at it

[princehendir]

🔥 dragon age 2

There's actually a nonzero chance that a longer development time would have made it considerably worse.

[yogacatdeskknit]

fanfic idea wherein the strawhats come across a very dangerous pirate with the devil fruit ability to steal voices, who makes a sick show of “collecting” peoples’ voices, especially if they’re the voices of famous (or infamous) people, and Luffy sacrifices his voice to save Zoro’s life. Mute!Luffy ensues but he literally doesn’t care that his voice is gone. He’s just happy Zoro is okay. ofc the strawhats fight and get Luffy’s voice back (and manage to free everyone else’s voices in the process), and when Luffy gets his voice back he has the BIGGEST and purest laugh of the century

[formosusiniquis]

this doesn't have a title cause it's late and I have work in the morning. this is a surprise gift for @cauldronoflove cause her fic last week and the whatever is going on with this show did something to my brain (positive) wc: 860 | T | pre-Max/Avery/Tristan (odt3?)

“Welcome to Eyes Wide Shut week, doctor.” Tristan's smile pulls up higher on the right side, Max’s side, as he wiggles his fingers in a wave at a woman boarding. Her dress is tight as her hold on her husband's arm. She's older than him, easily old enough to be Tristan’s mother.

“Don't call it that,” Avery chides, still it's hard not to miss the amusement that sparkles in her eyes.

“That's the Tom Cruise movie?” He finds himself asking. He hadn't read the briefing, he never reads the briefing, far preferring this rundown where his experienced team tells him what he actually needs to know.

“So he knows the finer details of the Barbie Dreamhouse but not one of the best Cruise films to date?” Tristan muses.

That earns an actual reaction from Avery. Max can feel the smile playing on his own lips as her eyes widen and she leans enough to see around him to stare at Tristan, mouth dropped open just a breath in her disbelief. “Not Interview with the Vampire?”

“I did say ‘one of.’ I can like more than one thing.”

“Oh yes, I forgot you hit two of the B's for your little poker game.”

The quip is right there for the taking and something about the two of them has made it harder and harder for Max to resist taking. “Our Tristan is pretty butch, isn’t he?”

Pleasure ripples across Tristan’s face instinctually accepting the compliment implied with the claim before the next wave crashes over top of it, him catching the tease.

“Funny.” There’s a charm to his scowl. If Tristan weren’t so handsome when he was mad, he wouldn’t be so fun to rile up. As it stands, there’s a light in his eyes as he plans his next comeback, and the tight draw of his brow somehow compliments the line of his jaw. “Maybe you'll find someone who appreciates your wit during this year’s swingers week.”

“That’s what this week is?” He can feel his smile in his cheeks and his eyebrows arching up his hairline. In the milieu beneath their feet he watches with fresh eyes the way the boarding couples greet one another. The way greetings linger, hands on elbows and kisses pressed to cheeks.

“Officially,” Avery says, a warning note in her voice that the fondness on her face betrays, “we are hosting high ranking guests from several fraternal orders.”

“And unofficially?”

“Priapism is the diagnosis of the week.”

A grin that's all boarding school charm melts across Tristan's face. “Good thing for your steady hands, Doctor Odyssey.”

His own smile turns small, his face feels warm as he takes his eyes off his crew and looks back down at the boarding passengers. Faces with the bland similarity that he associates with wealth and power. A former Midwestern Senator moving around the floor holds his focus but not his attention.

That is devoted to the memory of Avery, laid out on his table. His fingers alongside Tristan’s inside her, her life in their hands.

“I thought swingers were couples.”

“Yes, that’s the point.” Avery says.

“No, I just mean that couple was just making eyes at Tristan.”

“Some are just looking for a third,” he says, lips twisting into something coy. “Have you ever known me to deny a damsel in distress?”

The former Senator has found the woman that smiled up at them in the mezzanine. A scowl has found Max’s face and his hand has found Avery’s. Their knuckles graze against one another, seeking comfort in a way that’s becoming increasingly common. He thinks he could pick their hands, strong and sure, out of a line up. 

He understands more than ever the bright flashes of green eye irritation every time he and Avery emerged from a room with a locked door. Tristan laid out against white sheets with… He doesn’t even want to finish the thought.

“Don’t tell me you’re a prude, doctor.” A coy smile grows wider, teasing. Mirth and something Max has come to recognize as curiosity dance across his face, in the lines beside his eyes. 

Tristan keeps his attention on Max, but with every brush of hand against hand he knows his answer will be for both himself and Avery.

“Personally, I think the only couple I’ll worry about pleasing this week are my nurses.”

It’s not been long, but they react the way he would have predicted. Avery scoffs, smacks the back of his hand with hers before crossing her arms across her chest, playing at annoyance and disapproval. Tristan, who’s need for approval and fickle attachment Max understands much better after meeting his mother, gapes any witty retort he might have managed stolen by the blatant way the thing they have been dancing around has now been laid out like a patient on the operating table.

“Now, is there anything other than fine gauge needles we should be preparing? Antibiotics? Some compresses? Condoms?”

As he wanders toward the elevator his team follows. The previous topic not forgotten but transmuted, changed in his favor like the tide beneath him. It’s something he thinks he could get used to.

[kirkwallguy]

like don't get it twisted i think everything should be gay and transgender and video game mechanics tend to be built on violent white supremacy that needs to be dismantled. da2 is my favourite game of all time. but old bioware hits so different and they'll never reach its highs again.

[martsonmars]

unfair [M, 9k]

Daphne isn't stupid, and Malcolm isn't subtle. She knows the real reason their home gets raided like clockwork every month. And she could almost forgive her husband for his indiscretion if only he were honest about it. If only he didn't let his pride get in the way. But she could never forgive him so easily. And before long, she finds even more reasons to hold a grudge against the man who threatens to ruin her marriage, her family, and the World of Mages...

Read on AO3.

[5h0w1sh]

"I promise to you, Chaos, if you don't let me die today, I will worship you till the day I die." Tails muttered to himself. When he woke up today, the last thing he ever expected was that he would end up chained up and held at gunpoint.

Went Bat shit insane and started a whole new fic! And worse of all- it's a fucking cowboy Au! Fuck it- We calling it Vaquero AU!

Check it out, tho

[vellichorom]

boyfriends ( yes, the webtoon ) wasn't NEARLY as bad as people bitching about it online would make it seem actually

[lale-txt]

i don't know which writer needs to hear this, but delete that self-depricating paragraph in your author's note. it will alter your reader's view on your fic and you. seriously, even if you wholeheartedly believe it's the worst thing you've ever written and you don't feel proud of it at all, don't tell your audience. let them form their own opinion, and if you want to or not, it will make you feel better about your own work as well in the long run.