#author dividers
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inklore · 1 year ago
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— feel free to request more colors.
like or reblog if you use them please!
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sayornispress · 2 months ago
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Two author copies delivered! Both for @bropunzeling (AO3 here).
More photos and info under the cut!
I actually did my copies of these a while ago--both in February, one in 2024 and the other in 2023. collide the spaces that divide us was one of my earliest attempts at social media formatting, and one of the last books I ever made with my inkjet printer. I did end up fixing a few things on that one's typeset, but it's nearly identical to my first copy. You may also notice in the photos that I chopped off a bit too much off the edge--I didn't yet know how to use my guillotine, and in all the time that's passed since then, it's become defunct (sharp enough to cut off a hand, but not sharp enough to cut through a stack of paper lol)
It's neat to see such a clear example of how much I've improved as a bookbinder in a year and a half--my copy on the left, author's on the right:
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Also, a comparison of color ink (left) vs color laser (right):
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Like this, it's easy to see how much more vibrant color toner is than ink. Ink works much better for complex images, but since I don't print a lot of photos, but do make a lot of social media typesets, this works much much better for my purposes.
Soon after that, I bought a black-only laser printer and had a whole new set of challenges. It was in this era of printing that I made only fools rush in. It has one of my most complex title pages to date, as they're not really my forte.
Below are my copy, the title page, and an example of how I did texts in this particular typeset.
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My copy has a cloth spine and a different cloth as the cover, with a strip from the endpapers to hide my sins act as a bridge between them. This is one of the binds from last Binderary that I'm most proud of.
The title page is in several different pieces--sort of jigsaw-puzzled together from vectors, Google Drawings, and a few different fonts.
Black-toner-only printing meant adjusting how I did social media formatting, and this is one of my favorite ways I solved that problem. I like the simple, almost minimalist formatting that sets the texts apart but doesn't steal the show.
I'd been meaning to offer author copies for these books for as long as I'd had them, but it's hard to understate how little I wanted to use my inkjet once I got a laser XD It's both slower and more expensive to use an inkjet, so as soon as I got my color laser printer set up, I sent the DM!
I organize my handbound fics by ship--that is, every ship has a set spine cloth and title color--so one of my favorite things about author copies is that I get to be a little more creative about covers!
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last-starry-sky · 8 months ago
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too sweet pt 3 - innocent!reader x graves
(original idea inspired by this post by the lovely @shotmrmiller - part 1 here - part 2 here)
NSFW - MIND THE WARNINGS - MDNI: (slut shaming, a lil bit of body horror-ish stuff, pov switches, lots of pet names (as per usual lol), dub-con if you squint (reader is a bit drunk so ymmv), fingering, look me in the eyes and tell me graves isn’t the type of guy to pack heat 24/7, i’m really leaning into how much of a virgin reader is so buckle in, no hard smut (again, sorry lmao))  
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You were standing around the kitchen island with your mother. It was your usual morning ritual, but this morning was different somehow. You just couldn’t place it. Things seemed . . . weird. Off. Just a little to the left of normal. Like how the sun felt a too bright, blasting in the front windows like a floodlight, far too bright for the early morning.
You squinted at the bleached out white walls and shiny tile floor as your mom was cradled your face in her hands. They were cold. Your cheeks were cold. You shuddered in her grasp, peeling her off you as you stepped back. Your foot hit the leg of a stool behind you. You plopped down, falling right into the cushioned seat.  
“How was it sweetie? You have fun?” she said picking up her coffee cup with a smile so wide you wondered if it was hurting her. 
Her voice is unbearably high-pitched and sweet; like cold syrup pouring in your ear. It took you a moment to realize you had heard those words before, that this was not a dream.
It's a memory. 
Oh yeah, you realized, this was the morning after you went on your first date. You felt the stupid smile you had walked in with return to your face. Your first date with Phil.  
The thought of him warmed your brain. His hand in yours as he led you to the front door. How he’d let you doze off in his car on the way home. How warm and protected you felt laying against him by the bonfire. The memory was comforting, creating a mix of pleasant feelings in your chest.
“Yeah mom,” you replied automatically, “had a lot of fun.” It was the exact answer you had given her that morning. 
Her hands clenched around her steaming coffee cup, knuckles white.
“Tell. me. how. it. went.” She said punctuating every word, smile gone taught; practically carved into her cheeks. 
Weird, a rouge blip of a thought came to your mind. Those were the right words . . . but her voice, the way she said them. It was far too terse. This was not how you remem- 
“Really good,” you responded on queue, still dreamy and automatic. It was like you were on a track, all of the lines already set and all you had to do was say them as they came, no matter the parts of your conscious brain screamed at you that something was wrong. You have to stop. You have to stop now.
“That’s good!” she said flipping back into her overly-happy demeanor so fast it gave you whiplash. “He seems like such a nice man. Your dad just wouldn’t stop talking about him after you left!”
That was . . . normal. You still felt weird, squirming in your seat and looking at your hands just to look at anything but her. Maybe if you kept going everything would go back to norm-
“He is nice,” you said before you could stop yourself. “So nice. I’m glad you both like him, too. We want-”
She interrupted you.
"Oh, but I don’t, honey.”  
“What?” you gasped off script, cracking away whatever part of the memory had it’s tenuous hold on you. This isn’t how this went. You remember this morning. You remember what she said. You know-
“You heard me. Whore,” she said, smile dripping off her face. Her words were like a black hole. Void of emotion and sucking you in with a terror like oblivion as the unreal brightness of the room turned dimmer and dimmer behind her.
Your mouth fell open. You tried to do something, anything: turn around, backpedal, run, but you couldn’t. Of course you couldn’t. You never can run away in a dream. You were forced to watch your mother’s face swirl off into the cheery kitchen around her as her voice turned acrid and shrill.
“Don’t play dumb with me you little slut.” Her eyes falling inward into black pits that shone back at you. Mirrors into your own guilty soul. “I know what you do when you’re alone in your room. I can hear you. And now, even that’s not enough? Look at you. I spent all that time, raising you right, taking you to church, putting the fear of God in you, and still you ended up like this. What would your father think if he saw you now? Letting a stranger touch his daughter, in public no less!”
“Mom!” you managed to gasp out, cheeks burning. How did she know? How did she find out?
“Don’t mother me!” her squaking, multitudinous voice called out, echoing around the little kitchen as a pit twisted deeper and deeper in your gut. 
“You think you’re still my little girl? Look at where you’ve done. What you’re planning to do.” You felt like God himself was there shaming you. The cup shattered in her hand, spraying blue ceramic in slow motion. “I sure hope you enjoy your night with him because you’ve made your own bed now.”  
-
The truck sways, bouncing up and down and then left to right, waking you suddenly from your soft, childlike sleep. You hear Phil mumble a quiet ‘sonofabitch’ above you as he corrected the truck with his left hand while squeezing your waist protectively with his right. You’re still right where you’re supposed to be: cuddled safely into his chest.
You crack open your eyes a slit. The cab is dark, interrupted only by the irregular pass of streetlights that flooded the cab suddenly with light only to plunge it back into inky, silent dark a second later. 
You can feel his bicep flex, tensing to hold you close, behind your head. When he’s got the truck back safely in his lane, his muscles in his arm relax. He sighs into your hair and you feel his hand move back down to your thigh, the rough skin of his fingers slowly stroked at the exposed skin south of your skirt. You sigh softly, shivering at his touch, burying your face in his shirt as you stretch yourself in his lap. 
His hand stops when you move, turning to look down at you. It lays there, warm and strong, on your thigh.
“I wake y’up, sweets?” he asked, his breath rustling your hair.
You squirmed in his lap as you shook your head, stretching your neck and wiping at your eyes. His hand tensed on your leg. 
“What happened back there?” you asked sleepily. The alcohol had made your tongue heavy and clumsy in your mouth. You could still taste strawberries when you swallowed. 
“Ah. Oh that? Just a . . . just a log in the road,” he said with a pause and a shrug. 
He patted your thigh once before reaching up to take the wheel with both hands. He let out a soft groan as he canted his hips, shuffling your body on top of him as he readjusted himself in his seat. His eyes were focused straight down the road. It made you sad to lose his touch but you understood. Out the windshield you could see the road he was driving you down, if only what was illuminated by the headlights. Pine trees thickly lined both sides of the unfamiliar two lane road, interrupted only by the odd set of mailboxes that signaled a line of houses down hidden dirt roads. Everything was dark green and black. No stars. No moon. You didn’t know he lived so far out in the country, but then again, you had never been brave enough to ask. 
“You okay?” you asked quietly, still not quite woken up. You wrapped your arm around his ribs, relaxing into him, stealing his warmth.
“Yeah,” he said moving his left hand, letting it drip down the steering wheel until it just barely hung off the bottom. “Musta been a raccoon or somethin’ in the road. Got distracted.” 
He let go of the steering wheel, bringing his hand to grip your thigh where his other hand had been just a few minutes ago, right on the hem of your skirt. His thumb swiped back and forth, gently tracing from the soft, sensitive skin of your inner thigh to the top of your leg. The motion sent tingles racing to your core. You moved your leg a fraction of an inch to relieve the pressure but had to bite back a moan. Oh no, you thought tipping your head against his chest. You could feel how wet you still were. 
“Saw it too late ‘n had to swerve,” he added as an afterthought. You wondered if he had taken his eyes off the road to watch you now; if he could see you with your eyes closed, lip caught in your teeth, blissed out and squirming against his leg. 
He spread his fingers, pressing his warm palm flat to your leg, as he brushed up under your dress. You let your head loll back against his bicep behind you, unable to to keep your next moan from escaping.
“Now I got you distractin’ me,” he said with a hiss into your hair, sliding his hand up further. His fingers brushed at the edge of your panties. You squirmed under him as he danced ever so close to where you wanted him. Needed him.
“Phil,” you sighed. 
You were just about to crack, to grab his hand with your own and make him touch you, when he stopped, resuming his absent stroking. 
“Hold on jus’ a little bit longer, darlin’,” he said with a squeeze to your upper thigh. “Last turn’s comin’ up.”
He slowed down fractionally, taking a wide left turn that swayed the whole truck, the driver’s side wheels falling down into the slope of the ditch before pulling back onto the road. You bounced in his lap as the truck transitioned from the rough, but still somewhat maintained, concrete country road, to dirt and gravel. The trees lined the narrow road even closer than before, choking out the light from the increasingly rare streetlights. 
He took his free hand out from your dress, nudged in between your legs and his pants and adjusted himself. He closed his eyes for but a moment and groaned as he palmed his cock. It made you blush, you weren’t exactly used to men acting like this around you, but it also made you wickedly excited. He was like this because of you. You had made this strong, older man, a soldier, race you home on a dark rainy road just so he could get his hands on you. 
He put his hand chastely on your waist for a moment, flexing his fingers into your skin. It was as if he was weighing his choices. When you sighed into his touch he let out a held in groan. His choice was made. He skimmed his hand down your body to the press of your legs. When he got to the edge of your dress, he slid his hand under, bunching it against his sleeve as he sought out his prize.
It was the tip of his middle finger that first grazed your pussy. It made you jump, his touch punching out a gasp even through the cloth of your panties. He kept going, pushing his whole hand to palm at your warm, aching core. He ground the bottom of his palm against you, fingers stroked at your weeping hole, earning a pitiful whine into his chest. The brute, indirect pressure was making your legs shake.
You grabbed at his arm, looking up at him with pleading eyes. His eyes stayed stubbornly on the road. “Phil . . . please,” you begged. “Please-”
He cut you off by twisting his hand, curling his fingers under the waistband of your underwear to stroke at your silken folds in a single, fluid motion. You clenched, nails digging into his arm as you squeaked out a silent Ah as your eyes flew shut. 
The truck slowed to a crawl, headlights swaying back and forth, illuminating the same frame of unfamiliar road and dark, foreboding trees, as he concentrated on slipping his fingers through your untouched pussy. His ability to drive completely shot. You were lost too in the overload of new sensations. Your wetness covered his fingers, dulling the rough texture of his skin. He used his strength to press almost too hard as he made a circuit through your labia, up to your clit, finally swirling down and around your hole. You’d never had someone else touch you there, and even your own “experiments”, alone and frustrated in your bed, hadn’t yielded very much pleasure. But this, the tingling, shooting pleasure coiling tight in your core that had you open-mouth panting. This could be something.
He took his remaining hand off the steering wheel to wrap both his arms around you, leaving his whole body flexed on to the brake like a vice. He pressed his face into your hair as he rolled his hips against you with a moan.
“Fuck, baby,” he said with a flick of his fingers across your clit that made you flinch. He was completely blissed out - his voice rough and heady. The combination made you shiver against him. “Fuck. We can’t-” he said tipping your jaw up, forcing you to face him again as a blush crept over your cheeks, “-can’t do this here.” He pressed an open mouthed kiss against your lips before pulling back, his nose sliding against yours. “Open your mouth for me now, babydoll,” he said taking his hand away from your pussy to peel your bottom lip open with his thumb, your own slick painting your jaw. 
-
Somehow, someway, he did manage to pull his brain out of his cock and drive that last stretch of road to his house. As much as he had wanted to throw his plans to the wind and just fuck you in the truck he reminded himself that this was your first time. He needed to make it good for you. 
No high school specials tonight. That wouldn’t make you stay. 
He let himself indulge in one more sleepy, dazed kiss before he mechanically went through the motions to shut off the car. Slide the clutch into park, unbuckle, radio off, lights off, turn the key in the ignition. He had to move you off his lap to get out first before he could scoop you back up into his arms to bring you inside. When he leaned in to pull you out he saw his jacket crumpled into the corner of the passenger seat. You nuzzled your head into the crook of his neck, almost ready to fall asleep again. A corner of your bright purse stuck out. It was tangled inside his jacket, almost completely hidden. He hugged you tight to his chest as you shivered from the misting rain. Your phone was probably in there too. 
Shame, he thought as he slammed the door shut with his free hand, you’ll probably be looking for that in the morning. 
He didn’t set you down until he got to the front door, not that you protested. Your useless heels would have sunk into the mud of the lawn anyway. It was still cold night despite the weather clearing. He liked feeling of you shivering against his side in the dark as he unlocked his front door. It wasn’t longer than a moment before he had the deadbolt and door unlocked, shooing you inside ahead of him. 
You ambled in, tipsy and disoriented, in the dark, heels clacking in an unsteady gait across the wood floor. He listened with amusement as you made your way around his unfamiliar home with only the sparse outside light to guide you. Sometimes he forgot how dark it could get out here in the country. 
He stopped at the dinner table, taking his time, unloading his usual carry: wallet from his left pocket, phone from his right. Each made a light clink against his keys as he tossed them onto the table. He reached around his back and unclipped his holster from inside his slacks. His clip followed shortly. They both made a weighty thunk on the table. He rubbed at the sore spot the grip had worn into his back, suppressing a groan. It didn’t help that his holster had slid to the middle of his back, making him adjust the way he sat the whole drive home with you wriggling in his lap. 
Once his watch was off his wrist and his shoes kicked behind him, he walked silently back to the door and locked the deadbolt. The sharp CLACK of the metal had always been comforting, but now, it was exciting. A sign that everything was ready. That you were safe now. Finally. he thought with a sly smile creeping across his face. Locked inside his home (could be yours too, in a heartbeat, if you asked). With no one around for miles to bother you. Right were you were always meant to be, darling.
The only safer place you could be is wrapped in his arms, and he planned to remedy that problem as soon as he found you. 
It didn’t take much of a hunt to find you. You’d made a light thump as you found the end of the couch with your hip in the living room and had decided it was as good a place as any to lean against. He had to give you credit, you had hauled yourself up onto the arm of the sofa all by yourself. It was almost cute to watch you struggle to keep your balance as you reached down for your ankle straps, little frustrated noises falling from your lips. 
He was quiet in his socks. He could tell you hadn’t heard him when you jumped as his hand touched your knee. He laughed at it as he slid up your thigh boldly.
“Phil . . .” you said grabbing his belt, looking up with pleading eyes.  
“Need help, baby?” he teased, trailing his hand back down to hook under your knee. You let out a gasp, crumpling his shirt at his waist as your fingers clamped suddenly together. He held your hips with his other hand, hiking your leg up to his hip, allowing him to smoothly slot himself in between your legs. 
This was going so fucking well. 
It took a little bit of fiddling in the dark, but he managed to unclasp your left heel, letting it fall with a loud THUNK against the floor. It didn’t help that there was not another sound in the house beside your rasping breaths. You were such a cute little thing like this: holding on for dear life, whining into his chest, barely able to breathe already. He smoothed his hand up your leg until it met his other hand at your waist. He couldn’t help but give you a little squeeze. You yelped, head shooting up out of his chest to lay your pleading eyes on him.
He pressed his advantage immediately. He chuckled and leaned down to peck a gentle, toying kiss on your lips. His hand was already moving down to your remaining shoe as he pulled away, a small, disappointed oh falling from your lips. This time, he wouldn’t let you hide. He moved his hand from your waist to the small of your back, rough fingers catching on the smooth, clingy fabric of your dress. You were red cheeked and panting, a small ah all the noise you could make, when he pressed you forward, forcing you flush against his front. Only an inch of needy, heated space separated his cock from your barely-clothed pussy and, good fucking God, did he need it. 
Need it. Need it. Fucking need-ed-it.
Your ankle in his hand, he deftly popped your hip open. He tilted forward that last, cloying centimeter to feel you. His eyes fell shut as he pressed to you with a groan. You were so warm. He could feel it through his pants. You let out a shamefully high-pitched whine in return. He felt his trapped cock jump in his pants. He was throbbing and, fuck, so were you. He couldn’t feel it yet, but he knew you were wet. How could you not be? All that excitement in the car had to have your pussy working overtime. 
Your second heel fell to the floor. 
“Phil . . .” you whined in the silence that followed, pawing at his sides and back. His dress shirt made soft swishing noises under your nails. It was almost like music. 
He chanced looking down at you. Fuck did you look gorgeous. Your skin shimmered in the dark with sweat. The first thing that caught his eye was your breasts pushed against his ribs, that little silver cross hidden safely away, swallowed entirely by your chest. Your eyes were huge, with pupils blown wide and glassy with tears as you looked up at him. You were chewing on your bottom lip again, the irritation making it all the more red and kissable. The more blissed out and needy he made you, the more irresistible you became. 
A perfect, vicious circle. A positive feedback loop.
He let go of your ankle to place his hand on your cheek. You were beyond flush, more like burning. When he felt you fold your leg around his hip of your own volition he couldn’t help but feel satisfied. He rutted forward into you. It was a rough pleasure that did almost nothing for both of you, but it was something. A tease in this slow, slow dance he had been leading you on, a preview of what was to come, maybe even a reward for holding on this long, for doing so so well.
“Doin’ okay, sweets?” he asked, petting your burning cheek with his thumb. 
You nodded with a bat of your lashes. You straightened your back suddenly to make yourself taller when you saw him leaning down to kiss you. You were still so excited, enthusiastic. 
Trusting. 
He let all the chains come off. Long gone were the quick, chaste pecks at your front door. The ones that drew you into him. A delicate summer moth hypnotized by a porch light, never to escape. Even the “real” kisses he’d had with you outside the restaurant and in the truck were blown away. He held your jaw open with an iron grip while he forced his tongue in your mouth. He was sloppy, aggressive, taking what he wanted. He would only momentarily break away to nip at your open, panting lips, before diving back in. It amazed him how submissive you were. You weren’t fighting him in any way, just let him control everything while you let out an occasional moan or whine. It took him longer than he wanted to admit to figure out why that was. 
You’d never been kissed like this before. How could you have an opinion on how you liked it when you’d never- Fuck, he forgot. How could he forget? You’d never done anything before. He’s got a little virgin in his hands, whining and squirming, practically begging for it. 
Hmm, he thought. Could he really . . . could he make you beg for it?
He squeezed the side of your thigh as he rolled another thrust against you, groaning against your lips. You yelped at the pain of his fingers biting into your skin, but it dissolved into another high-pitched whine. Fuck, could listen to that all night. Your legs tightened around his waist, keeping him close. 
“Phil,” you sighed as he rolled his hands up your thighs, dragging your dress up with it. “Phil please.”
Oh fuck, he thought. She’s really going to do it.
“Please what, darlin’?” he asked hoarsely, resting his forehead against yours, watching you squirm as he tried to pull your dress out from under you.
“Please . . .” you trailed off shyly, trying to make him stop by pawing at his hands. Not that you could.
“Gotta tell me what you want, sweetheart,” he said voice drawn gruff and dry. 
He balled the stretchy fabric of your dress in his fists and pulled. It resisted, pulling ever so slowly from where it was trapped under you. The sound itself was delicious tension. More music to his ears. It was a long, soft noise as the knit stretched to it's limit in the quiet of the room. You tried to turn your head away, to hide your pants and whines, but he prevented it by shoving his face into your neck. He kissed and nipped at your neck until, without fanfare, your skirt popped out from under you.  
You slammed a hand to his chest before he could make another move. This time, he obeyed you. 
“Phil!” you plead, red faced from embarrassment, “Can we . . . can we not- um can we go . . . ” You caught your breath for another couple moments, wiggling your knees on either side of his waist, before turning to him. “Can we do this in your bed . . . please?” 
He hauled you up by your thighs, throwing you up onto his chest without another word. You scrambled to throw your arms around his neck as he backed away from the couch. 
“Yes, ma’am,” he whispered into the side of your head.
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frenchkisstheabyss · 1 year ago
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đŸ–€ dividers for writers w/ a bone to pick đŸ–€
Get it? Bone? Skeleton? Halloween...anyway, the season of the witch is upon us and your scary godmother is stopping by to drop off some skeleton (& other spooky themed) dividers for your horror/supernatural adventures
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quotelr · 1 year ago
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It is not our differences that divide us. It is our inability to recognize, accept, and celebrate those differences.
Audre Lorde
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shesalittlelost · 16 days ago
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I know it's not that deep but I love that he made Armin of all people being the ending hater. This is how you deal with a partially divided fandom. No condescending nonsense, just really giving everyone a treat and also acknowledging the critics while reminding fans that at the end of the day it's just fiction and really we're here just for fun.
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blooming-gwens · 6 months ago
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I'm pleased to inform you that the wait is over! Here is CHAPTER TWO of For Everything
Chapters: 2/
Fandom: Spider-Man: Spider-Verse (Sony Animated Movies)
Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death Relationships: Miles Morales/Gwen Stacy | Spider-Gwen Summary:
~Perhaps they were meant for each other. It was written in the stars—stars meant to burn out in their all at once powerful surge. Stars meant to fall. Bright, burning and then gone. And in its sudden demise, no one would even remember it was once there, lost in the infinity of severed constellations.
That was the way of the universe. That was the way it had to be.~
Alternatively: Gwen Stacy is doomed but Miles Morales’ love might save her.
Please feel free to reblog to support and share my work!
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vg-k · 9 months ago
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𝗆đ–ș𝗇𝗁đ–șÌƒđ—Œ đ“Źđ“žđ“¶ đŻđšđœđžÌ‚ á€Łà„Żâ€€ @yrminji
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sprintingficcommentator · 2 months ago
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I love System mission names in fics omg
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bayeprose · 4 days ago
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â€żïž” ‧˚⭒ excerpt from please stay, hippocrene on ao3
(warning: contains suggestive text + mentions of kissing) ‧˚⭒
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Frank eventually sputtered, “I’m... I’m just gonna try to explain what happened, and you can just tell me to shut up when it’s TMI, okay?” “Okay.” Percy said. He lowered his voice even more. Shadows from the gray sky made it seem like he was about to tell a ghost story. “Last night, things with Hazel got kind of... weird...” “Weird?” “Yeah... weird.” “How weird?” “We... we were kissing.” “Oh.” Percy blinked. That’s not where he thought this was going. “Okay. Uh... do you guys not usually do that, or—” “No, no, we’ve kissed before. But this time, we really kissed. A lot. Like, we were making out. And it was great.” Out of respect, Percy tried not to visibly grimace. No offense to either of them, but Hazel was like a little sister to him, and it felt really strange to hear Frank talk of her like that. It just wasn't something that he wished to visualize. “Okay,” he said calmly. Really. He was trying his best to be calm. “And?” “Well...” Frank twiddled his thumbs. “We’ve never done that before. And it got really intense, and I... I kind of reacted to it too much.” Now, here was some telling information, finally. Percy felt like he was starting to understand what his friend was getting at. But... their first time making out? Last night? Really? Percy’s free time was quite limited, and he spent approximately zero seconds of his days thinking about what other people in his circle did behind closed doors. He’s a--‘That’s none of my business.’--type of guy, to the extent that Annabeth was often irritated by his lack of interest in demigod drama. She’d come to him with fresh, riveting gossip like, “Did you hear? Sherman and Miranda got caught in the Big House together.” and he’d have little more to say than, “I forgot they were dating.”
Like... sure, he figured that the couples he knew of were sleeping together. He could even surmise that the singles he knew of might be sleeping together. But... so what? They’re adults, now; it’s not really all that scandalous or interesting, and in fact, people not sleeping together seemed a lot more noteworthy than the alternative. So to hear that Frank and Hazel had never even made out before... not only was it noteworthy, considering how long they’ve been together, but it was so surprising that he needed to know more in spite of his discomfort with the sordid subject matter. Is this why people like gossip? “... Wait,” Percy started nervously. “What do you mean you ‘reacted too much’?” Frank blushed, which made Percy even more nervous. “Um... Hazel was, well, we were on the couch, and we just finished a movie, and we were just really close, and I kind of— “Oh gods, Frank, you didn’t... do that, did you?”
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Summary: In Frank's eyes, Percy and Annabeth are the perfect demigod couple. They're grown, they're engaged, and they've overcome so much together. Feeling helpless in escalating his own relationship to their coveted adult achievements, he seeks out Percy's help. Unbeknownst to Frank, Percy and Annabeth are grappling with some intimacy struggles of their own.
read on ao3 ⭒ 25k/ongoing ⭒ explicit content/18+ only ⭒ percabeth/frazel
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inklore · 1 year ago
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— feel free to request more colors.
like or reblog if you use them please!
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fate-defiant · 25 days ago
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You've inspired me so you gotta deal with these in your inbox now
There he is 💖💕💞 that motherfuckerđŸ˜™đŸ„°đŸ«€đŸ˜» what a tool!!! đŸ’«đŸ’—đŸ’œđŸ€đŸ’“âœšđŸ«‚â˜șïžđŸŒ„
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chilschuck · 9 months ago
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lilia đŸŒ± ⛀ she + her. i write and draw what i’m currently fixated on!
currently really into dunmeshi and chilchuck. twenty-three y/o. ꒱
feel free to send me fic or writing requests when they’re open, or even musings and rambles always!! i love writing hcs and x reader stuffs. sfw only for right now!
my requests are closed for right now!!
— masterlist. đŸȘŽ draw me something?
꒰ dni if proship or other dni criteria !!! ꒱
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sarasade · 2 years ago
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Backstory headcanon- Harrow and Viren met at a small pastoral village where the royal family used to spend their summers and where Viren lived as Kpp’Ar’s apprentice
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frenchkisstheabyss · 1 year ago
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✹ dividers for people who like cozy sweaters ✹
Even though autumn is largely spooky season for me it's also cozy sweater, latte, pie baking, playing in leaves season for me too here's some general adorableness đŸ–€
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lith-myathar · 2 days ago
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#people very much want to blame readers for a lack of engagement with fic these days but frankly i think this is.... incorrect#we need to be real about WHAT ao3 is#it is an archive#it is not a space that is particularly conducive to social engagement#the most collaborative experiences i ever had around fic happened on livejournal#it was not on ff.net#like i agree that there is a depressing drop off in like...idk the idea of the social acceptability of leaving comments#and a far more pronounced divide between readers and authors#but this isn't happening bc readers suck now and they're selfish and entitled which frankly is how many posts opining about this issue sound#it's not like lurking or sorting by complete works only is NEW#these are things that have always happened#what has CHANGED imo is that the spaces where fic happens and the spaces where fandom happens are now very different#and isolated from one another#and we can blame readers for not bridging that gap all we want but it's not gonna fix it#especially since we know how well shaming people for Not Enjoying Things Correctly tends to go#like i don't have an answer to this problem but i think this ''you're entitled!'' ''no YOU'RE entitled'' back and forth#between writers and readers certainly isn't going to fix anything either#it's only going to push those two groups further away from each other#to my mind what we need is a) a platform more conducive to collabortive fic writing and fandom interaction#(think LJ or old dedicated fandom message boards)#and b) a cultural shift within fandom spaces away from this idea that authors are like... untouchable or whatever#bc from what I have observed authors who DON'T have this issue are ones who started creating fanworks from within a pre-existing friendgroup#a pre-existing readership really#and these little subsets then grow into larger readerships#the problem is how partioned all these group start#and that i think is a byproduct of an overall more hostile fandom space where people feel like they can't speak or create openly#without being in danger of running afoul of some fandom scold and their lackeys#like fandom has never lacked for drama but i do think in a post-tumblr/twitter fandom space we can all agree that shit jas gotten Buckwild#*gestures at how bg3 fandom recently speedran fandom insanity primarily on twitter*#shit is different these days and blaming each other for that is missing the forest for the trees
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