#at least not in a way that they actually let themselves feel. not in a way that hurt them more than hardened them

[violetsiren90]

*WIP Wednesday*

Pairing: masochist!Bang Chan x dominatrix!f!Reader (idol au) - ft. all Skz members

Genre: one-shot; professionals to ???; smut/angst/found family

Summary: When your favorite client comes to you with an unusual request, you're unprepared for the world, and the heart, you're drawn into.

Content warnings (for snippet only): 18+ (minors, DNI); it's really just a conversation and some allusions to pro dom services.

Word Count: TBD.

Author's Note: Serious question - how do we feel about this premise? I've got a few thousand words and some notes at this point, but I might fuck around and actually do this.

Your brow furrows and your tongue slips between your lips as you take in what he’s just asked of you.

“…Go with you?” You blink.

He nods, lacing his fingers together and leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

“I know you have other clients, so we’d compensate for that, of course, if you did agree to come. Make it worth your while.”

“How long are we talking?” you ask, already despising the notion of your freedom having a price for which it could be sold to the highest bidder.

You are a business woman, but ultimately you take orders from one person and one person alone: yourself. The phonebook of an NDA you’d had to sign to take Chris on as a client was a hefty enough imposition by JPY Entertainment on your professional autonomy. You tolerate it for his sake, as his whole world seemed to be one of bindings and restrictions - the least you can do is to offer him the sort that would grant him some sacred semblance of reprieve. Relief. You like Chris. That is the only reason you are even entertaining the current proposition.

“Honestly probably about a year,” he admits, raising his eyes to look at you with a little grimace.

You scoff softly, leaning back and crossing your arms as you tilt your head and offer him an expression that asks him to be serious. He smirks in return, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth as his warm brown eyes find yours with confidence.

“I can afford it.”

Can he, now? Badly trying to repress a grin, you take in his words with a nod.

“Okay,” you posit, “Assuming you actually can…” you watch him shake his head, grin still plastered on his face, “…what would this look like?”

“Oh, um…” he glances at the ceiling with a little hum and widened eyes in a way that lets you know he’s just a tad nervous, and it makes the barriers you’d begun to construct against the matter at hand shift on their foundations. This fucking kid. “Well, you’d come along with our crew - under the title of physiotherapist, of course. Basically, you could see the world with us, come to our shows - and I could continue to take advantage of your...invaluable services.”

He follows his last remark with a smirk that is incredibly boyish, and certainly not the sort you’d expect from a man who just payed you top dollar to beat two orgasms out of his beautiful body.

You purse your lips as you consider.

“I’m not an escort service, Chris” you say, softly but firmly. “Or a toy to bring along on a trip. And my play rules wouldn’t change.”

He frowns a little, his handsome features schooling themselves with concern.

“No, no, of course not! You know that’s not what I think of you.”

It’s not phrased like a question, but you know he’s asking.

“I know,” you offer softly with a little smile, “Your company though?”

“This would be on your terms, there would be a contract meeting and everything,” he says earnestly.

He’s obviously thought this through. You sigh.

“How long until you need an answer? I have to think on it.”

“We leave for Australia on the 17th, so probably by the first of the month to make the all the arrangements and, y’know, yeah,” he says, standing as you do.

You grab your duffle and pull your lanyard over your neck.

“I’ll let you know in a day or two,” you remark, pulling the strap of your bag onto your shoulder, and he smiles, pushing a hint of a dimple into his left cheek.

It’s a lazy, lopsided smile. The kind he only ever sports after your sessions, and never before. You think of that smile as you close the distance to your car, and wonder if you can bear the thought of its absence from that face for months on end - even if it wasn’t your problem, even if its owner was halfway across the planet.

“No, no…” you mutter with a sigh as you toss your duffle into the trunk and pull it shut. You slide into the front seat, eyes trailing back up to door that just closed behind you.

“Or…” you hiss out another sigh as your forehead gently collides with the steering wheel.

“…fuck.”

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

Why Writing Is So Lonely | Rin T.

Hello writers, and anyone else who uses Tumblr on a daily basis like me. (Although I’ve been inactive off and on.) It’s me, Rin, and I wanted to talk about something that I think a lot of us struggle with. Or at least anyone, and everyone who considers themselves writers.

The loneliness that can come with the writing life and being a writer. We spend so much of our time alone. It doesn’t matter if you're using your laptop or scribbling in notebooks. Or pacing around in your living room and muttering dialogue to yourself (which I'm completely guilty of.)

Writing is really a solitary passion, and it hasn't just recently been like that. I'm sure Jane Austen and Edgar Allen Poe dealt with similar feelings. And sometimes that isolation can take a real toll that many of us choose to ignore, both on our creativity, our passion, which I assume is writing in this case, and our mental health.

I’ve been writing for about 4 years now, mostly working on my own little passion projects that I plan on publishing and side hustles, not only for my writing project but also my blog (TheWrite AdviceForWriters). I’m currently knee-deep in 4 different novel drafts that I’m absolutely in love with. However, let me tell you. It can get Very lonely a lot of times. There are days when I feel like I’m the only person in the world who cares about these made-up characters and their fictional problems. The characters I create in my mind are so vivid that they seem like the only individuals who actually care about my passion. (They technically are, considering they are basically my passion.)

It’s so easy to start wondering whether anyone will ever want to read the stories I'm pouring my heart into. The self-doubt I get has been a big part of my writing journey, and sometimes it breaks my heart knowing that I may not please everyone who reads my stories. That I possibly could get the worst reviews out there on my book. If it's not perfect for society. For example, I have been reading and receiving news on Alex Aster and the amount of bad reviews she received for her LightLark novel, and she has had a few times where she’s stated she poured her heart into it. And it's not just Aster who deals with these as a published author; there are many others, and it sometimes scares me.

But you know what? I've come to realize that this loneliness is just part of the writer’s journey. And that it truly is going to be the process of every writer’s journey and career. It’s going to be one of the prominent challenges we have to face if we want to do this crazy, wonderful, painful thing we call writing. And I think it's important we talk about it, especially since I'm a blogger who owns a blog specifically for writers. The biggest reason I chose to create this blog was for this reason and the many other challenges of being a writer. 

I definitely will consider this blog post to be a discussion, and if anyone wants to reblog or reply to this blog post and start a conversation, please do so, just so we can support each other and figure out healthy ways to cope.

So, why is writing such a lonely pursit? Well, there are quite a few reasons, especially reasons for each individual writer; however, here are a few key reasons:

The Act Itself is Solitary.

At the end of the day, writing is something we have to do on our own. Sure, we can brainstorm with other writers and friends who write or get feedback from beta readers. Or even develop  and edit your manuscript with a professional book editor. But the actual act of putting words on the page is a solo endeavor. We’re the ones doing the typing, the (physical) writing, and the constant racking of our brains to find the perfect word or phrase to put down on paper or the blank page on a screen.

Even when we’re writing collaboratively, there’s still a certain level of isolation involved. I mean, after all, our individual writing process and creative visions have to align for the collaboration to work.

And let’s be real—aligning those things isn't always easy.

I’ve reached out to book editors, more so of developmental editors, which is an editor who guides the writer/author on the actual plot and outline of the novel itself. And they have mentioned the difficulties of needing to align with the creativity of the topic or novel. It isn't easy at all.

I know that for me, my most productive writing sessions happen when I'm alone. And I know for a fact I'm not alone on that.

Having no distractions when it's just me, my thoughts, and the blinking cursor on the screen with a Spotify playlist playing in the background. And while that can be deeply fulfilling and very productive, I will admit it can be incredibly lonely.

It's an Emotionally Draining Process.

Writing isn't just about stringing words together. It's about pouring our hearts and souls onto the page. Were digging into our deepest emotions, our biggest fear, our wildest dreams, our thoughts, our philosophy, I can go on. And that kind of vulnerability can be utterly exhausting.

When I'm in the process of drafting a new novel or the many current projects I'm working on. I often find myself emotionally drained at the end of the day. I've been living and breathing these characters, feeling their joys and pains as my own. describing the actions, words, and emotions these characters do and feel. And then after that, I have to close my laptop, put my pen and notebook away, and try to reenter the “real world"—a world that doesn’t always understand the weight I've been carrying. 

It can be so isolating, feeling like the only person who understands the emotional journey of your writing. Knowing what it feels like to create characters and their stories and emotions and personalities just as if they were real humans. Our non-writer friends and family members try their best to be supportive, but unless they experience it firsthand, they cannot fully grasp the depth of what we go through. I can tell when I explain my projects to others who aren't writers, it can sometimes feel like they don't care about what I'm saying to them. Or it can also feel like, my stories are just a synopsis for an underrated movie no one’s ever watched.

It's a Profession of Rejection

I think we all know, writing is a tough gig. It's a tough career and job. Even the most successful authors have had to face their fair share of rejection. The rejections can be received from agents, publishers, readers, or critics. (like I mentioned earlier), and that constant stream of “no’s” can really chip away at our confidence and sense of self-worth. And especially if you're an aspiring author and have not yet published your work. Knowing that rejection is a big part of the career of writing is frightening. Really.

I remember when one of my best friends, who is a writer, who is currently in the process of publishing her book, would send query after query only to receive endless rejections. She told me it felt like the entire world was telling her, “Your writing isn't good enough,” and that can be a pretty lonely and demoralizing place to be. It has made me anxious about getting to the querying phase, as I still haven't begun to query yet.

Even when we start to find some success, the fear of rejection never really goes away. Will readers love our next book as much as the last one? Will readers even like my debut novel? Will the critics tear it apart? I know when I first started writing my first novel project. I rewrote the first chapter. 13 times!! And that’s because of all the questions and doubts I had in mind. It’s enough to make any writer want to crawl into a hole and never come out.

And the thing is, as writers, we often don't have the same support system that people in other professions might have. We don't have coworkers to commiserate with or a boss to reassure us; it’s just us. Our doubts and the eerie silence of an empty inbox. For example, Ana Neu, one of my all-time favorite Author-Tuber's, has dealt with similar struggles. She’s mentioned several times how lonely she feels and how her family doesn't fully understand her love and passion for writing. And I completely agree with her. If you want to listen to more of her, please listen to her podcast and watch her videos on YouTube here.

So, now that I went over the key reasons as to why writing is so lonely, I didn't want to end this post on negativity, that’s why I wanted to list the main strategies that have helped me:

Build a Writer’s Community

One of the best ways to combat the isolation of writing is to surround yourself with other writers. That’s why I found social media to be a gift, not just for the other obvious reasons, but because we get to find writers around the world who enjoy the same things we like. Having that sense of community can be a game changer.

When I first started my Tumblr blog, TheWriteAdviceForwers, I was really hoping to create that kind of supportive space for writers. I wanted to create a space where anyone who enjoys writing—not just fiction writers, but anyone who finds writing to be a passion of theirs—can share their dreams and struggles with. It's been amazing to connect with so many incredible people who just “get” the unique challenges we face. Being able to share our achievements and share our compassions. It's been vital for my own mental health as a writer, and I hope that it can also be vital for all of you.

And of course, the community is not about venting or seeking validation from others; its about providing feedback, encouragement, and just being able to make friends. Having that makes the lonely parts of the writing process and journey feel a little less lonely.

Prioritize Self-care

It's so easy to get caught up in the work and neglect our well-being. There have been multiple times where I wouldn't take a break from my writing sessions and simply not eat and drink. I wouldn't give myself time to process everything I wrote, and I immediately after would criticize it.

However, I find that self-care is the most important part of combating the isolation that comes with being a writer. For me, that looks like making sure I get enough sleep. You can't process, learn, and remember anything when you don't have enough sleep. During my personal self-care, when I do 45-to 1-hour writing sessions, I usually take a short nap after. Eating nourishing meals and snacks is important, as is making time for the hobbies and activities that bring me joy. I usually like reading books, spending quality time with my family members, and very feisty (and sometimes scary) cat.

3. Cultivate Gratitude

When loneliness starts to creep in, it can be really helpful to shift our mindset and focus on what we are grateful for; this can be really productive and rewarding. Being a writer is a gift; we get to spend our days doing what we love, bringing our creative visions to life and sharing them with people who love literature. Readers are such a big part of being a writer, and they're huge motivations to me.

So, if you can, just take a moment to appreciate the joys of writing. For example, if you have any writing quirks, I personally have to wear bracelets on both of my wrists in order to produce some type of creativity when I write. I'm not sure why it's just something I noticed. I also really love writing my manuscripts physically. I tend to do this when I'm suffering from writer's block, and for some reason my writing style is a lot better.

And don't forget the many other joys of writing, like drafting, and the excitement of sharing your work with others. Having a new idea come to mind that fits perfectly in your plot. Or even a reader or beta reader sharing a comment on your work and giving you encouragement.

Also, please celebrate your wins; it makes writing all too fun, and it's a great way to integrate writing into the real world.

End Note

I wanted to write this post because I know a lot of us deal with feeling lonely; I’ve been feeling that way for quite some time, and I wanted to share it with Tumblr. I feel like each and every one of you all feel the same way. And that’s why I created my Tumblr community; that's the reason I created this blog, and that's the reason I strive to build this into an entire brand.

I want to bring more awareness to writers, we are the people behind the stories, movies, and media that we consume today, and we barely get any credit for our work. I want to make a brand where others who never thought writing to be their passion could actually for once consider “Is writing for me?”

I feel like it's such an underrated yet overrated passion. Yet it's not acknowledged as much. 

I hope this post can make you understand that writing is 90% lonely and you are not crazy for thinking so. But, we can use the resources we have today, like social media, to change that and make writing better for the present and the future. 

Thank you all for reading. And please, if you are considering joining a community if you haven't already, please join The Write Right Society. We recently met 100 members, and the community is continuing to grow.

[suzukiblu]

Question. How would you go about writing from a mad scientists point of view? Or how would you write a point of view of a character who writes in logs or records their work aloud?

No matter the narrator, I just about always start with the character's base personality, so when you say "mad" scientist, the immediate question for me is are we talking, like, cackling lunacy or cold logic or neurotic obsession? Because I'd approach all of those personality types differently, obviously. So like, using those archtypes as examples:

The cackling lunacy would be very hard to follow and jumping all over the place and their logs/recordings would be very self-referential and full of delusions and hallucinations and just be INCREDIBLY difficult for other people to understand, but still following their own internal logic. It doesn't make sense to anyone else, but it makes sense to THEM. Their notes literally just sound the same way they talk all the time.

The cold logic would be stripped-down and short and full of cross-referencing notes and references to previous experiments or other people's work, and trying to minimize the effects of their personal opinions on the data. Their opinions show in glimpses based on WHAT experiments they're running and what data they find important and how they approach their work, but they don't express them outwardly unless they can back them up with Results(tm). Their notes code-switch to more formal and precise language than they'd typically use in daily conversation, and more clinical and neutral tones/terms, plus a lack of bothering with the kind of put-on social niceties that make talking to other people a less annoying process for them.

The neurotic obsession would be VERY stream of consciousness, weaving in and out of topics and going off on tangents and struggling to concentrate on the nitty-gritty details or things that just don't interest them like their obsession does. Literally just writing down/recording their thoughts without a filter or focus and having to catch themselves and go back to previous parts of the experiment, and possibly need to stop and course-correct or just correct MISTAKES at least two or three times a log, and possibly inadvertently contradicting themself sometimes without actually noticing. Everything is about the obsession, and everything is bent AROUND the obsession and made to fit or relate to it. Their notes just sound the exact same way as their infodumps do when no one interrupts or stops them and just lets them talk their ears off.

So yeah, those are some starting points for my best immediate advice, but I would say above all else, the personality is ALWAYS what most matters, and especially the internal logic the person taking the notes operates on. Also, the additional motive of the question of it these are PERSONAL notes, or if they're notes that the character intends to publish or edit FOR publishing, or if they're notes that another character is supposed to transcribe later? The perceived audience in the character's head is always gonna influence what they do/don't mention or do, whether intentionally or not.

Hopefully that's helpful, feel free to follow up if you've got more questions or want some clarification on anything I said!

[eevylynn]

WIP Wednesday

Tagged by @endwersed and @violetfairydust

This is from my fic for the Sterek Reverse Bang

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Eventually, they found themselves way in the middle of a clearing, a cliff rising high on one side, providing at least one wall of protection from anyone stumbling upon them. A stream flowed along the opposite side, adding a peaceful ambiance to the area.

“Well, this is pretty,” Stiles said, turning in place to observe the clearing around him. “How did you find this place?”

“I used to come out here with my Cora, Laura, and our cousins,” Derek replied softly.

Stiles turned to give him a soft look, but he didn’t say anything because he knew Derek wouldn’t want to dwell on it.

“So, what’s the plan?” Stiles asked, swinging his arms nervously but trying not to look like he was actually nervous.

“First things first,” Derek began, “we need to find out how strong you actually are.”

“Yeah, obviously,” Stiles said.

“So, we know that when the Nogitsune had full control of your body, it was stronger than me.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Stiles winced, memories of the Nogitsune tossing Derek like a ragdoll flashing in his mind.

“Don’t worry about it,” Derek said firmly, dismissing Stiles’ concerns with a wave of his hand. “It wasn’t you.”

“We’re going to start with a warm up. What I want you to do first is climb that,” Derek said, pointing to the cliff that rose next to them. He pulled his phone out of his pocket. “I’m going to time you to see how fast you can climb up and then get back down.”

“What about you?” Stiles said. 

“I know how long it takes me,” Derek said simply.

“Well, I think you should climb with me,” Stiles said with a sly grin. “We’ll be able to compare better.”

“Stiles...”

“You just don’t want to face humiliating defeat if I beat you at this already,” Stiles taunted, his grin widening

Derek fought a smile, obviously debating internally whether or not he should give in. He shook his head with a sigh. “Fine,” he conceded, returning his phone back to his pocket. “Let’s get on with this.”

“And no jumping?” Stiles added quickly. “Just pure climbing, right?” He had seen how much the werewolves in his life took advantage of their ability to jump high and far.

“Just climbing,” Derek confirmed, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “We’ll test your jumping later.”

They walked over to the cliff and discussed the best spots for both to climb, ensuring the challenge was as fair as possible. Once they were in position, Derek counted down.

“Ready. Set. Go!”

At Derek’s signal, they both grabbed a hold of the cliff wall and began climbing. Stiles was thrilled by how quickly he could identify the best handholds and footholds, his muscles working in perfect coordination to propel him upward. Glancing quickly to his left, he saw that he and Derek were neck and neck. The surge of confidence pushed him to climb faster, and before he knew it, he was pulling himself over the top.

Mere seconds later, Derek joined him at the top, and Stiles couldn’t help but cheer.

“Nice work,” Derek said, a hint of pride in his voice.

Stiles grinned widely, soaking in the rare praise. “So, what’s next?”

“Next, jump down,” Derek instructed calmly.

Stiles’ grin faltered. “Wait, jump?”

“Yes.”

“Jump…off the cliff?” Stiles asked, staring over the edge in disbelief.

“Yes, Stiles. Jump off of the cliff.”

“But…” Stiles hesitated, his brain short-circuiting as he looked down at the fifty-foot drop. “That’s over 50 feet.”

“Yes,” Derek confirmed, his tone unwavering. “And you can handle it.”

Stiles swallowed hard, nerves tingling in his gut. However, he trusted Derek, so he took a deep breath in and jumped, feeling the wind rush past him as he plummeted towards the ground.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Idk who hasn't done this yet, so I'm going to tag @hedwig221b @thotpuppy @rosieposiepuddingnpie and anyone else that wants to do it

[stervrucht]

Read on AO3

Steve is tipsy—actually tipsy—and it has everything to do with the rockstar currently stuck at his side. He doesn’t know how old he is—old enough for booze at least. He takes whatever Eddie hands him and doesn’t know what he’s drinking half the time. It doesn’t matter. Good company makes everything taste honeysweet; makes his thoughts move slow like syrup.

The combined power of a shaky buzz and Eddie Munson’s heated presence has him blushing and faltering as he tries and fails to compose himself.

He has never felt like this before, had a single person consume his thoughts so fully. 

The music is loud and the club is dark. They’re sitting in a VIP booth and Steve wonders why they’re in a club at all when they’re not dancing. Light bounces off their faces, each color painting Eddie’s features in a new enticing view.

There are fewer girls now. Not all of them joined their detour to the club.

Detour from—Steve doesn’t dare to finish that thought. It isn’t like that at all. Eddie invited him because…because…

Steve looks over to the girls again, with their bare shoulders and flushed cheeks, sitting close to the other band members, draped over their bodies like cloth heavy with water. 

Touching

Whispering

Kissing

It isn’t like that. Not between them. Not for Steve. 

Something about the night is off. Mid-sized concert halls, taxi rides, but a VIP booth in an Indiana club? And the drinks…the thing is, Steve knows his drinks, knows wine. His father has expensive taste, and what little knowledge he lacked was supplemented by the hotel’s wealthier guests.

The drinks they order don’t make sense. 

Expensive mixed drinks for their guests, yet they order the cheapest wine for themselves. 

Wine that remains untouched.

It’s posturing. Peacocking. A way to impress their guests probably. Steve’s not gonna judge because after tonight he’ll never see them again. 

Still, it’s odd.

And they hardly need it anyway, the girls are all over them.

And Steve...

Involuntarily, his eyes move to Eddie’s grip on his waist, an arm draped across his lower back and their legs flush together. They’re close. So close he could count the lashes on Eddie’s eyes, smell the spice of his cologne that makes Steve’s head swirl and his mind go still.

There’s no denying what it looks like.

They don’t talk much. Maybe Eddie isn’t the talking type. Steve hardly knows anything about the man by his side besides their next gig (Chicago) and his opinion on Indy (eh).

Somehow, it doesn’t seem to matter.

Eddie laughs at something one of the guys says and buries his face in Steve’s hair. It’s so intimate and unprovoked it makes his heart jump. They don’t know each other, yet it feels right. It makes Steve flush with embarrassment at the part that hangs unspoken between them.

Makes him crave more. 

Eddie leans close to Steve’s ear because the music is loud and the lights are low and talking is hard. “Let’s get out of here, yeah?” Eddie drags his nose just below Steve’s jaw, lips only an inch away from skin and he feels his breath ghost over it, anticipation building in his gut. 

He’s fucked. 

He’s so fucked and he’s not gay. Yet, Steve feels excitement grip him tight and heat rise to his cheeks like hot air. 

He swallows heavily, tries to compose himself.

He knows what it means. 

He knows what it looks like.

Read on AO3

[warning-heckboop]

I really love your changeling dev au 🤌✨️, i was thinking does this make dev the youngest in fairy world ? then that means there is a fairy who accidently had a baby but beacuse of da rules, it cause them to give it to dale as a gift? Im sorry don't know how the gifting works 😅

Okay, first off. Apologies for the late reply. Writing the fic on top of work and other plans took a lot out of me.

On to the actual question! To be honest, I hadn't actually thought too much about Dev's origins regarding who his actual fairy parent(s) would be. So let's brainstorm now, shall we? I'll be putting this under read more, because it got kind of long :')

Full disclosure, I never watched the entirety of the original FOP, especially after Poof/Peri was born, so I don't have a full grasp on the canon lore. I know before Peri, fairy babies were against the rules for thousands and thousands of years, but I guess I kind of assumed that after the dam was broken, they just kind of let fairies have babies whenever they wanted again--especially considering there's a "fairy shortage" in the later episodes (that's my understanding, at least, from what I've read. Again, I've never watched the later episodes, especially not the really later ones with Chloe). Even if this wasn't necessarily canon, I consider it canon in my head, especially since I like seeing people's OCs who are younger fairies born after Peri! Just gives more possibility for world building, I guess.

Regardless of the above, however, I think I'm leaning towards going more the route of Dev being an especially unique case. As I mentioned in my previous posts, Dev was given to Dale as a sort of compensation for Dale's lost childhood, where a fairy could have intervened and helped him escape Vicky's wrath, but he was just somehow overlooked. As I mentioned as well, I see this as a sort of cover-up that would have been handled very high-up in the fairy hierarchy, possibly by the Fairy Counsel themselves. Not only is giving a human a Changeling Baby an outdated and frowned upon practice that they want to limit the number of fairies knowing about, but I also think they'd just want to hide the fact that they so largely failed Dale (and the other children who worked with him) to begin with. They can't let the populous know that their all-powerful and all-knowing leaders screwed up like that, so instead they'd rather just pay off those affected in secret, and pretend like it never happened.

(Does this imply that there might be more changeling kiddos out there that were given to the other kids who suffered under Vicky alongside Dale? Maybe. I'm probably not going to ever expand upon that myself, but if that piques anyone's interest, feel free to build on it yourself!)

Based on this line of thought, I don't see this as a scenario where Dev was born first and then they decided to give him to Dale afterwards. I think Dev would have been created specifically for Dale. We've seen that fairies can reproduce like humans do through birth, obviously, but since they are magical creatures, who's to say there aren't other methods of creating more of their kind?

A fairy's human form appearance isn't completely detached from their natural form appearance (based on my own headcanons which are based on those created by @bunnieswithknives, who originated the 'natural form' concept I'm using in this au, for context), so in this case, in order to create a child that the world and probably even Dale would truly believe is his own flesh and blood, they'd have to create a fairy who would have traits that resemble Dale's. Maybe it was even a process of using magic combined with something of Dale's, like a lock of hair or something like that, to create a fairy child that to some extent really is related to Dale, although less in a "biological child" sort of way and more in a "slightly-modified-by-magic clone" sort of way.

I guess that's all just a really long-winded way to say: I don't think Dev has fairy parents! He's just a product of magic, and the closest thing he'll ever really have to a technical parent would, in fact, be Dale. I hope that's not a disappointing answer, haha.

[desired-misery]

BOW!Leon WIP | Luis's POV

An unlikely ally in Luis’s trying-to-comfort-a-BOW-because-it's-the-right-thing-to-do plan is one of the BSAA’s own soldiers. One of the soldiers who encountered 537 in the field, actually. Lieutenant Piers Nivans, second in command of Alpha team. Luis finds Nivans watching 537 over the lunch break, curiously peering at the computer monitor to see 537 inside its crate (which it had returned to and not moved from since the crate was put back inside its enclosure, proving the attempt to teach 537 the floor was safe was a failure).

Nivans— he insisted Luis not use his rank— is very interested in BOWs in a more academic way than Luis would have expected from one of the BSAA’s top soldiers, especially from Alpha team, which Luis knows is deployed to eliminate BOWs all the time. Frankly, Luis is surprised that Alpha team didn’t shoot 537 on sight. He asks Nivans about that decision.

“It’s really weird, but it wasn’t attacking us. It was doing exactly that, so we left it alone.” Nivans points to 537 through the one-way glass. “I’ve never seen a BOW be calm, you know? I thought it was just an animal at first, like a leopard or something. Didn’t feel right to shoot something that was minding its own business, so we just closed the door to the room and moved on.”

. .. ... .. . It is a brutal, callous thought, but it is scientifically interesting that 537 could even be taught to be ‘calm’ as Nivans put it. Nivans is thinking along the same lines, though, because he suddenly looks even more interested.

“Have you guys ever trained a BOW before?”

Luis frowns. “No.”

Nivans tilts his head. “Do you want to try?”

Luis stabs a finger at the paused video on his tablet screen. “That’s cruel, I won’t let anyone—”

“You know zoos train their animals, right? Their dangerous animals, including lions and reptiles. It’s possible— straightforward, probably, as long as the animal has the capacity to learn, which 537 clearly has.” Nivans pauses, looks Luis over. “Do you have anyone on the team who has experience with training dogs?”

“Why would we have someone on the research team with that expertise?” Normally, BOWs are pretty single-minded. If awake and aware, they are either trying to destroy or trying to produce more of themselves. The only time Luis has heard of anyone having any sort of progress ‘training’ a BOW is with Nemesis— but those were human, so it was more about preserving enough of the mind and brain to allow tasks to be remembered and completed.

“I could teach you how to do it, if you’re serious.” Nivans offers like Luis doesn’t already have a full time job. “I’ve helped train MWDs— uh, military working dogs. It’s actually pretty fun.”

“Why don’t you do it yourself?”

Nivans shrugs. “I don’t really have much free time usually, but I guess I could for a little while. Until we’re moved onto another assignment.”

“If you think that could be helpful,” Nivans adds.

“I don’t know what good it would do, to be honest. What do you think we could train it to do?” Luis asks.

Nivans watches 537 pretending to sleep inside of its too small crate. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s really smart?”

“That would be fascinating to discover,” Luis says. “But I think 537 is owed at least the understanding that it can have the whole room to itself.”

Nivans nods. “Let me talk to my captain.” 

[p1nk-b1tes]

Daddy Kink? Embarrassed Gale?

yeah, let's do it.

nearly 2k words of gale discovering he has a daddy kink and being mortified by his new fantasies

Gale might just lose his mind. 

It’s Tav – lovely Tav – who just can’t help but test every ounce of patience and control that Gale is capable of today. It all started when they began their exploration of the blighted village that had been occupied by a never-ending horde of goblins and ogres. And if the arrow that had whizzed past his skull when he’d taken his first few steps past the border wall hadn’t been enough to set his nerves on fire, it had to have been when Tav failed to disarm a simple trapped chest in one of the crumbling cellars simply because they “wanted to try their hand at it.” Their rogue had been there the entire time (more than a safe distance away, understandably) and had nearly allowed Tav to blow themself up before Gale was forced to intervene at the last second before the thing actually went off. He hadn’t meant to yell at them, they were simply trying their hand at an amateur skill, but he’d certainly given them quite the talking-to about allowing Astarion to handle traps from then on out. 

“I appreciate your concern, Gale. I really do. But you don’t have to scold me for it as if you’re my father,” they’d said. 

And that had been the end of that. 

Except it hadn’t. 

Throughout the rest of the day Tav had managed to prove their unique ability to consistently avoid being careful at the worst of times, exhibit their clumsiness at regular intervals, and be generally entirely irresponsible for their own well-being. 

“There he is again – father to my rescue once again,” was their far-too-calm response when Gale politely informed them that they’d nearly set off a pressure plate that had been clearly visible in broad daylight. Astarion had laughed at their sarcasm, and so had Wyll, and Gale had continued forward through the crypt, frowning at the oddly strange feeling in his belly that sidled up to the sourness he felt at their response. He’d only been trying to help… 

And finally, when Tav nearly threw themselves over a crumbling edge into the whispering depths for a useless chunk of agate, Gale would’ve pulled them back to safety by their tunic’s collar if they hadn’t turned to him after he’d practically saved their life and said with their chest heaving from fear and their cheeks flushed crimson from adrenaline, “well shit, that was way too fucking close. Thanks, daddy.” 

Truthfully, Gale doesn’t know why he reacted the way he did. He should have been furious with how the previous hours of their day had gone. They’d nearly walked in circles for hours because of Wyll’s inability to follow a map, and had clawed through miles of cobwebs, dust, and dirt all so that Tav could nearly die three times and so Astarion could stake claim to some stupid dark-magic book they’d found that he knew absolutely nothing about. He should have expressed his discontent, to say the least – or should have shimmied the rest of the way off of the ledge and pulled his companions along with him – but no. Out of all of the things the wizard could have done, he’d frozen in place. Immobile and unable to form a coherent thought with the rest of his companions pressed shoulder-to-shoulder along the crumbling edge of the most terrifying drop he’s ever seen – he’d actually just frozen. 

He could feel his face turn red from the blood and embarrassment that had suddenly flooded into it, and he’d certainly felt it when what remained in his head suddenly rushed right down across his chest and into his dick. 

Tav had only called him daddy – they’d been calling him things like father all day long for his well-deserved scolding and lecturing and that was close enough! So why did that specific word turn his brain to mush and his cock into iron? He realizes with a mortifying lurch that the strange feeling he’d been feeling all day when they’d call him those stupid names wasn’t discomfort at all. He liked it. 

Oh, Gods, no. 

He likes it… 

Poor Wyll had already been shaking in the knees from being so high up above the unknown that loomed below and Gale could barely make out the sound of Astarion giving him quite the ear-full from beyond Tav’s opposite shoulder to “encourage” him to move, but to make matters even worse, Tav reaches out to grab him. They place their hand on his arm first, shaking gently to try and rouse him from his trance, and when that doesn’t work they toss their arm across the span of his chest as if they’re worried that their wizard may just lean forward and plummet all of a sudden. 

“Thanks, daddy…” 

His cock stiffens in his shorts almost immediately, his balls suddenly heavy, and then Gale is shimmying off of that ledge faster than his companions had ever seen him move before like an absolute fool. 

It’s been hours since Tav inadvertently scrambled his brain in the whispering depths and Gale can’t stop thinking about it. How he’d so un-heroically frozen in a terrible position and more so how Tav had allowed that word to slide so easily off of their tongue. They didn’t mean anything by it. It was entirely offhanded and playful, meant to ease the tension of Tav nearly losing their footing on the edge of what would have certainly been death, yet his brain continues to remind him it was anything but.  

Gods above, he can’t get the image out of his head – Tav, breathless and chest rising and falling wildly from the realization of a too-close call, their hand clamped around his forearm as he pulls them back towards the wall to reestablish their footing. And then there it is again. “Thanks, Daddy…” Even hours later his stomach still flips and flutters dangerously. 

Gale’s jaw clenches as he lies back on his bedroll and stares up at the ceiling of his tent. He tries not to focus on what’s happening below his waistband. 

He can’t shake it. His erection refuses to wane. He’s been hard since they uttered the word so nonchalantly and his cock refuses to allow him to forget how it sounded. In fact, his brain has distorted his memory into more of a fantasy. He’s heard Tav’s voice in his head for hours now in every intonation and at varying speeds. Now they’re whispering it into his ear, all slow and sultry like sweet molasses, and Gale is leaking a damp spot into the fabric of his trousers. 

The wizard clenches his fists across his belly and watches the shadows of the leaves as they print themselves into the canvas. His cock throbs. He leaks. He gives in. 

The wizard drops his hands towards his hips to free himself from his trousers and the rush of air that passes through his lips when his flushed, hot length makes contact with the cool air is absolutely divine. 

His companions are not far away. He can hear them as they dawdle around their camp, chatting and laughing about how ridiculously clumsy Tav was today. Someone says their name and Tav begins to laugh. 

“Daddy, daddy, daddy…” 

Gale groans, squeezing his eyes shut as if it’ll block out the noises in his head, and fists the base of his cock, squeezing and teasing himself and resisting the urge to curl in on himself when the pleasure zips up the length of his spine and into his throat. He begins to stroke himself, firmly, slowly, and his knees fall open in a silent invitation to no-one. 

No-one… 

He’s lying to himself again. 

He imagines Tav crawling between them, their hands on his thighs as they descend on his cock with their velvety mouth – that satin tongue… He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth to suppress the noises that threaten to spill from his lips as he wraps his fingers along the bottom ridge of his head and glides the pad of his thumb over his slit. It’s slippery and slick. He drags the wetness down the side of his shaft and continues to pull at himself. 

He’s beginning to lose himself in the pleasure of it all when someone walks by his tent so close that he can hear the crunch of dirt under their boots with every step. He tenses, ceasing in his horrible ministrations as they come closer and closer and finally pass. The breath trapped in his chest escapes him in a quick exhale and he listens as Lae’zel reminds Wyll about some sparring on the edge of camp later. Gale doesn’t care in the slightest about their plans – he wishes that it had been Tav approaching his tent instead, coming to invite themself in so Gale could pull them into his lap and tell them to say that word over and over and over again while they grip at his chest and run their fingers through his hair until he’s begging to allow them to put it inside… 

Gale’s free hand reaches between his legs to cup his balls while his right hand flies over his cock, tugging and pulling wildly as it jerks in his palm and slicks up his fingers. It feels too good to stop now, despite it all being so, so wrong. 

He shouldn’t be thinking like this. Shouldn’t be thinking of his friend in such vulgar terms. Shouldn’t be imagining how they’d look with their lips or their hole around him. And he definitely shouldn’t think about how they’d take it all when he’d cum so hard across their cheeks as they look up at him from the floor with their face beautifully scrunched up in pleasure, cheeks pink and lips swollen. 

“Can I have it, daddy?” They’d say. “Will you give it to me?” 

He’s cumming before he even realizes it, abdomen tense and thighs shaking as he squirts onto his stomach and into the valley in the center of his chest. His tunic is ruined with his cum, but for the first time in hours the fog in his head begins to dissipate. 

And dissipate it does… Quickly. 

The fog clears from Gale’s head and immediately becomes replaced with mortification of his actions. He strips his tunic from his chest, tossing it aside to be cleaned later, and his pants, and quickly changes into something clean of his mess while his sensitive cock deflates. Tav’s voice fades from the forefront of his mind, stored away somewhere secure so that he can function as a normal person again. He pushes away the shame for now and steps out of his tent only to be bombarded by the image of Tav stripped down to their undergarments on the water’s edge, Astarion in similar garb at her side. They’re sprawled on the dirt together, side-by-side soaking in the rays of the sun while their clothes from earlier lay out on the rocks to dry after a well-needed wash. Upon exiting his tent, both of their heads turn to his direction and Gale wants to crawl back in and hide at the slight evidence of a smirk on the vampire’s face. 

“Hey daddy,” Tav says, wholly innocent and full of light. It makes Gale’s stomach churn. “Wanna join us for a bit? We had quite the day today, didn’t we?” 

That smirk grows on Astarion’s face and Gale watches in real time as he catches an elbow to the ribs. 

Tav will be the death of him.

-- i have a ficlet collection on ao3 if you wanna keep up or read more of my stuff

[howlsofbloodhounds]

I need to start screenshotting posts i like but anyways

There was one where color tried to get nightmare to learn what mortals need, that at first they didnt have a kitchen so they had to eat while they were out terrorising people.

Just stuff like that, n just generally being bad. Ripping the heart out of a childs chest infront of their mother, forcing someone to eat their pet etc.

Like nightmare is horrible yk

And yk how some people say he does that because of trauma, he doesn't know better and allat.

Okay so take ALL THAT, and let them learn nightmare can love, he has loved, he had a spouse and a friend group, he knows what mortals need, he knows what to do when they are sick he has taken care of his sick spouse before etc.

Basically im just thinking about their reaction when learning nightmare knows their needs, has felt love before etc. But he does it because he can, and it makes him happy (dude is def a sadist after them 999 apples ykyk)

Like obviously its also a fear of being vulnerable and stuff and needing to be the one in power because not being that scares him because villagers decided to hate on a 6 year old, but also he can just be cruel and sadistic 🤷‍♀️

I also feel it’s important to realize that there are those who don’t feel love, or describe themselves as loveless, and has never or would never do half of anything that nightmare has done.

but ultimately, i feel the ones who’d have an issue with it morally off the top of my head are swap, dream, color, delta, cross, epic. possibly many more but that’s my first thoughts.

killer definitely wouldn’t care about it. It’s the least of his concerns. hes too busy surviving nightmare to care about if the man is capable of love or not. he’d only care about it in Stage 2 if it means he could manipulate those emotions in his favor.

i have no doubt that the fawn response is something deeply ingrained in killer—whatever hes had to do to either survive, avoid inconvenience (stage 2) and pain (stage 1), or just whatever will get it over quicker or will make nightmare/chara leave him alone faster.

;would be interesting to explore how killers trauma responses would play out in the context of his dissociative disorder/stages. Especially in the context of one sided killermare where killer has to play his new role as nightmares lover. at most he’ll find small, easily deniable ways to inconvenience, annoy, anger, or upset nightmare. just because he can.

Murder and Horror, i find a little harder to say mostly because neither are exactly free from “sin” themselves so to speak, but they also arent killer; who has lived in this type of environment for years. killer does not have things like shame, anger, embarrassment, guilt, pride, morals, things like that—hindering him, he will do whatever he thinks he must. any emotions like that are greatly suppressed and dissociated—even in stages such as stage 1 where they’re very intense.

i can see this actually being something killer struggles to actually unpack and allow himself to feel in therapy—any anger or hatred towards nightmare or chara. i can see a lot of emotional outbursts from stages 1 and 3.

this is because killer has learned that emotions are dangerous, and wouldn’t get him anywhere. murder’s entire thing is fighting back in an endless loop against his human, and horror refused to be sacrificed to help his AU, fought back, and then went even further by destroying the core, lobotomzing alphys, and then leading Snowdin into eating humans seemingly just to spite Undyne.

I doubt they’d care at all if nightmare is capable of love or care or not, they’d probably not like him regardless. and whereas killer is unable to even really hate nightmare due to the danger surrounding such emotions (especially in stage 2, although im sure he’s very capable of despising nightmare in stage 3), horror and murder definitely could hate nightmare. which would mean their negative emotions are directly making nightmare stronger lmao.

{ @brokenramunebottle }

[purpurussy]

.

[werebutch]

My mom getting a new place is kinda making me anxious I think she thinks I’m gonna move in w her instead of my dad 😭 and I’m not sure why I don’t want to. Cuz she’s way better. But I don’t. And I feel responsible I think and plus my sisters will never favor my mom over my dad… so we’d live apart. but I’m 20 years old I can live whatever I want. But. But but but

[seventh-district]

so uh. that 2.2 Special Program, huh

[cupuasu]

idk man i dont feel the need to always message my friends and always go out with friends like if it happens it happens i like the spontaneity of it all. i don't think i'm a bad friend for not being up someone's ass all the time. i can spend months not talking to someone but if i see them on the street i'll go up to hug and talk to them bc for me it's never that deep to spend a long period not contacting someone. plus now all friends i made irl are at completely different point in their lives and i'm still at the same place i was in like 2019 so i do feel like i'm not "supposed" to be bothering them (wrong of me to assume im bothering i know but all i do is wait for most of them to do the first move). and nowadays all everyone posts about is you're not a real friend if you dont answer my msgs 1 second later you're not a real friend if you don't go to parties 8 days a week with someone you met in the public bathroom a thousand years ago you're not a real friend if you don't go to therapy and stop bothering your friends about your illness like omg. i'll talk to people i like i'll hang out whenever it works and i'll message you back and i won't mention my depression and i'll act normal in public but i honestly can't wait to go back home and be alone. i love you so much and me not talking to you doesn't mean i like you less or that i don't want to be your friend it just means i want some time out to be on my own lol

[quietwingsinthesky]

Not to be horny on main but spn should have had more hand holding

[fantasy-costco]

I think if a tumblr user says anything about history they should include Chicago style citations in the post. This is also true for other areas of study but I don't really know much about those so I only get filled with a blind rage when history posts are wrong. So that's what we need to fix first. For me.