#because there is no myself there is just a white sheet of paper where people can write whatever they want

[girlthativealwaysbeen]

so tired of being a shitty bandaid for my parents' loneliness. like have u ever considered you passed your curse to me and some days i feel so lonely it's like i can't breathe around the emptiness in my chest????

[vanessagillings]

I love your art so much!!! I've also been starting to paint with gouache, and I'd love to know a little more about your process! What kind of paints do you use, do you sketch first or start with paint, do you paint in layers over several day or all at once?

Hi and thank you! I hope you don't mind me answering this publicly and apologies for length, but:

MY ART PROCESS!

Supplies: I use winsor and newton gouache and arches cold press paper blocks, usually 140 lbs (the lime green ones) and sometimes 300 lbs (the teal green ones). Even though this paper comes pre-stretched in blocks, I actually take the sheets off and stretch them myself because I've found arches' glue isn't as strong as it used to be. This is how you get watercolor paper to lay flat! I recommend youtubing some videos on how to do it -- there's a lot of great tutorials out there. Also, I use princeton brushes, and kraft paper tape and these boards to stretch my paper. (these aren't affiliate links, I just shop at blick)

A word about art supplies: these are the exact tools I use but everyone uses supplies differently and two people with the exact same supplies might get different results! A lot of it is about what works for you and what you like, so I always suggest that gouache/watercolor beginners just buy a few tubes from a couple of different paint companies and some small pieces of paper from different manufacturers to see what you like. Just changing one ingredient in the above has created massively different results for me, but maybe that'll end up being something you'd like! The first step in learning a new medium imo is to play. Just have fun!

ALSO: gouache isn't super light permanent, check your tubes for which ones hold up to sunlight. Here is winsor and newton's color chart explaining which ones will fade when exposed to sunlight -- all manufacturers will give you this. I only use the colors rated A and AA, and I still frame my pieces with UV glass just to be safe. Not all gouache is re-wettable, but winsor and newton is. I just put it in my palettes and refill my palettes if it runs low. AND SOME PAINT IS TOXIC. A lot of paints have cadmium and cobalt in them. I don't use any of the toxic colors, but if you do, make sure you don't eat while working and wash your hands thoroughly afterwards. This information is also usually available on manufacturer's websites. As more people are rejecting cadmium paint, you'll see more tubes labeled things like cadmium-free yellow. This is why. More artists should be aware that their tools can be dangerous. You don't need that many tubes of paint to begin, just a warm and cool red, warm and cool yellow, warm and cool blue, white and black. I have around 50 colors and use 20 regularly. I always mix all my colors myself, and never use straight tube paint. Most of my colors have about 5-6 different tube colors mixed together. If you use re-wettable paint a tube of paint will last you years; even as a professional I only buy new paints every 5 years or so.

Process: I ALWAYS start with a sketch first. Not everyone has to, but because I do illustration work -- where sometimes a client gets input on a drawing -- I always do a lot of preliminary work before I even begin to paint. At this point, even my personal work usually involves the exact same process:

I start with a 3" or so thumbnail that I scan (left; I traced it quickly digtally for clarity to myself here) and then either clean up digitally or print out and clean up traditionally with tracing paper (right):

Then I scan the cleaned sketch in and color rough it digitally (left, this was for a gallery show, so no one had to approve my color roughs, so it's messy!) then I transfer my sketch to my paper (with either carbon transfer paper or a light table), stretch my paper, and paint (right):

I obviously changed my mind about the color of the ribbon in the trees, ha, and made everything a lot more vibrant. The benefit again of gallery work is no pre-approval!

You are correct, I paint in a series of washes, going from lightest to darkest, where I apply the same color beneath all shapes that are the same warmth (cools under all upcoming cools, warms under all upcoming warms). I paint a piece usually in one or two days, depending on complexity. I didn't take pictures of the above painting, but here's a different painting to show you a little bit what I mean:

I painted the peach color under everything (and twice for skin tones), and the gray color of the sky under everything that would be grayish (the rocks, trees, her pants, her skirt, and coat). I do this to stop me from getting darker lines where two different colors butt up against each other, and also for color harmony. I have step by step photos of this in my process stories highlight on my instagram; also check my FAQ and tip highlights for more info on all this stuff. Most pieces take around 25-30 washes before I start adding in the details (sometimes I add in face details early though because if I mess those up it's not worth finishing the rest of the painting! 😅)

All this might seem like a lot of work (...it is) but I do it so that I can show clients previews of the final piece and so I don't have to repaint the finals. I also used to pre-test all of my washes on scrap paper like this:

I still recommend doing this if you're just beginning! But at this point I only do it when testing techniques because I know my paints really well. (the above was my test for the pine boughs in this piece)

Painting by far is the longest part of the process, so I do more work up front to not have to do it twice. Every piece takes about 6-24 hrs of actual work time to produce. Stretching watercolor paper takes about 24 hrs to dry, and because I sell most of my originals in galleries, they need to be flawless, so planning ahead is useful and in the end saves me time.

And to conclude this novel of an explanation, don't be overwhelmed by all the information I've given you! I put it here so that people at various stages of their artistic journey can maybe find something useful in it. But seriously, the first step to learning how to paint whether it's traditionally or digitally is just to have fun. Try it out, see what's working and what isn't, and then try to solve specific issues that you're struggling with. I've been doing this for a loooooong time at this point, but here's my first watercolor piece from when I was re-teaching myself how to paint traditionally nine years ago:

Obviously, I was destined for greatness. Ha, yeah, no. If you scroll back through my tumblr archive, you can see me learning how to use these paints in real time. And keep in mind that I'd been working digitally for years before then, and years before that where I didn't post my work online at all.

So for anyone who needs to hear it: there's no such thing as talent, just hard work, patience, and trying again and again and again...and sometimes again. What I do is a skill and anyone can learn it. Sometimes, progress is slow. I'm 38. I only really feel like my art was half-way decent starting a few years ago, but I've been making art my entire life, and I went to art school at 18. 20 years later I'm kind of figuring it out.

The best advice I can give, whether it's about art or not, is find the thing you love so much that you'll keep at it even when you suck at it, because most skills you'll suck at to begin with -- and perhaps for a long time. I sucked at art for yeeeaaaaarrrrs. On top of the usual learning curve, I struggled with fine motor control and dexterity. But I loved it so much I kept trying every time I failed. If I can do it, so can all of you, no matter what stage of art you're at now, and no matter how old you are.

Anyway, thank you to those still reading this deep in. I wish you all the best on your artistic journey. Art can kick your butt sometimes, but it's also pretty dang rewarding 💛

[loserlvrss]

꒰ 𝐌𝐘 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐄 ꒱ 구정모

summary : all you've ever wanted was to distract you boyfriend from the world he finds himself smack in the middle of

genre : mafia(?)!au, jungmo x afab!reader, fluff, established relationship tws : pet names, kiss, slight suggestive content (like not at all) author notes : for my dear anonymous requestor. i hope you like it & thank you for the scenario!! i've never fully written a mafia!au before so, i hope it's not too bad. and, truthfully i've been in a bit of a writer's block recently. word count : 0.8k

“how long will you be gone?” my voice broke through the deafening silence, which was only interrupted by the light crinkle of paper.

i paced the darkly-decorated room as i waited his response. murals, framed with gold and old weapons hanging on the walls. the brick was a dark shade of red, dusty and, purposefully, dingey-looking. it had a scary aesthetic, in contrast to the white slip-dress you’d put on only hours ago. the setting-sun shined through the window with an orange hue — which was only covered halfway by the dark curtains that were made to keep it out. i paused and stared crossed-armed at the man who casually sat behind the, just as dark, cedar desk: papers, upon papers scattered in a never ending raging-sea.

his attention didn’t settle on me, in turn making my voice raise as i tried again to catch it, “jungmo,” his movement stopped, however he didn’t look up from the sheet he’d read seemingly a hundred times, “how long will you be gone this time?”

i knew it couldn’t have been an easy task, told by the way his body tensed and his fingers pressed over the bridge of his nose.

but still, he didn’t answer me.

he was the quiet-type. he’d been that way since the day we’d met almost three years ago now, when he was prowling the bar i had spent the better part of my life tending. but, he was gentle and honest from that day forth. he did his best to protect me from the horrors of his world — hesitant to add me to it in the first place. but, he said it was love at first sight. that he'd shield his sunshine from the bitter planet's patterns.

and, who was i to deny?

i did love him endlessly, the ugly and disgusting included. i've known for years that he does things less the desirably. he'd killed people, however, it never scared or put me off. i knew the innocent look in his eye, reserved for me and me alone.

i guess, maybe his sunshine could get cloudy from time to time, too.

my fingers traced along his shoulders once i'd gotten close enough. he sighed, maybe because of what he'd read, or more likely, my touch, which i've been told — by him — is very soothing.

"baby," i stated, running both my hands down his arms and resting my head in the crook of his neck. i could hear his heart drumming a steady rhythm, that every so often skipped a beat when i'd motion like i was going to let go. "jungmo, love. what is it this time?"

he hummed, but still no words left his lips. though it wasn't unlike him, and has since stopped irritating me; i just wanted his mental anguish to avert to me, to distract him.

without any more questions, my right hand snaked up his own and to the paper. with ease, i took it from his grasp and added it to the droplets already on the wood.

his gaze fell upon me as i slid between him and the desk, holding his wrists out to the side so he couldn't protest — but, he didn't even attempt to. he let my legs straddle his lap, myself then letting his hands fall to their place on my waist, like that's where they were made to be.

"when do you leave?" i asked, his eyes locking with mine. i could feel him tense, his grip on the fabric over my skin tightening. the look in them was enough to answer, the sparkling that he saved for my view gone in an instant.

"tonight." he said coldly, barely over a whisper.

"and, when do you return?"

at this time, my hands had come to rest around his neck, our faces nearly centimeters apart — breaths mixing.

"my sunshine," he started, his hands rubbing up and down my sides soothingly — but, more for his stim than my comfort. "hopefully, tomorrow night. twenty-four hours. its not a complicated task. between wonjin, woobin and i, it shouldn't take long."

i halved a smile, "then why hopefully? who is it for?"

he finished the smile in my place, halting his movements on my side and bringing them to rest against my cheeks. he all but cooed, "don't worry, my sunshine." and pressed a light kiss against my lips.

i chased it, when he broke off, with a slight pout. but, he laughed against the skin of my neck, pulling me into an embrace instead of giving into my desires.

i'd see him again, i was sure of it, but that didn't stop the unbearable thought from crossing my mind: it very well could be the last kiss we ever have. still, he wouldn't say the word goodbye, and i prayed i'd never hear it fall from his lips in my lifetime and the next.

reblogs, likes and comments are greatly appreciated! thank u!

— perm tag list .ᐟ send an ask to be added c:

[justnerdy15]

iterum sol oritur (daily writing 1.20.24)

prompt: @isabellebissonrouthier The sun hasn't risen in seven years. Why are people terrified that sunrise has finally returned? wc: 2200 (more under the cut) a/n: thanks for the inspo @isabellebissonrouthier! this really tickled my brain into actually writing for once. content warning: cursing, child death (off page)

The hubris of humanity is unmatched. The gall to deny nature its function, to manipulate the stars in the sky, to exert their control over forces that have existed before humans were even specks in the dirt is a level of egotism that has never been seen before and, god willing, will never be seen again.

***

“What do you mean you can’t come today?” a woman demands, clutching her phone with a white-knuckled grip as she paces a pristine kitchen, her voice shrill and hair-raising. “I need this done. Do you understand me?”

A muffled response.

“I don’t care about a list! Or that you’re busy,” she snaps, lip curling to reveal sharp canine teeth. “I’ll pay triple the rate for you to come out now. Fuck, I’ll install it myself if I have to, just give me the fucking supplies.”

A younger woman watches from the couch, glancing between her irate mother and the giant panes of windows that reveal a starless sky, and sighs. It’s embarrassing to watch as her mother argues, anger undercut by the creeping desperation that pricks Eliana’s ears, going back and forth with some kid on the other end.

He probably isn’t being paid enough to deal with the end of the world.

Well, for some at least.

“You know what? Get me your manager. I want to speak with whoever’s in charge,” her mother says. Oh boy.

Eliana rolls her eyes, pushing herself off of the couch, and makes her way upstairs.

She reaches a pale green door, drawings pinned to the wood in layers and layers of printer paper, and knocks.

“Hey, Luke?” Eliana calls out, hand resting on the door knob. “Can I come in?” She leans in, trying to hear something, and tries again. “Luke?”

The light taps of small feet. A sniffle or two. The knob creaks as it turns underneath her still hand.

The door cracks open just enough for wide brown eyes to look up at her, red-rimmed and watery. “What?”

Eliana offers a small smile. “Can I come in? We can draw for a little bit?”

He sniffs, nose snotty and thick, but he nods and lets her in. He clambers back to his bed, comforter and sheets twisted around into a little nest, and fumbles around until he’s comfortable, pulling a drawing board into his lap.

She follows suit, careful to avoid the soft toys scattered around the floor, and perches on the edge of his bed, picking up a sketchbook from the ground. Eliana flips past pages of crudely drawn mouths, sharp and bloody, and glowing eyes in the dark before coming to a blank page. She takes a pencil from his little pile.

“How you doing, bud?” Eliana asks, using the side of the lead to start shading the corner of the paper. Glancing out the corner of her eye, she sees Luke drag a red crayon down his paper in heavy stripes.

He shrugs.

She brings her pencil further down. “You know you can tell me anything right? I —”

“Momma’s gonna die, isn’t she?” Luke asks, not looking up. “When the sun comes back?”

Well, shit. Eliana takes a sharp breath, pressing a bit harder on the pencil, marks darkening with every swipe. She can’t lie. Not to him.

“Maybe,” she admits, looking at her paper. “She doesn’t want to.”

“But why?” A loaded question. Not that he knows that.

She bites at her lip, wincing at the metallic tang, and tries to figure out where she should begin.

“You know how there’s a lot of special adults around us? Adults like mom?” she asks him, watching blonde curls bounce up and down. “Do you know why they’re special?”

“They don’t grow up,” he answers matter-of-factly. “They drink special juice and they don’t grow up.”

Eliana can’t help the face she makes, a begrudging grimace, because he isn’t exactly wrong.

“Yeah,” she says, nearly done with her page. “That’s pretty much it. And what else is special about them?”

He sniffs again, rubbing his sleeve across his nose. “They made the sun go away.” Luke looks at her. “Why?”

Because they’re selfish assholes. “It hurts them,” Eliana answers, meeting his gaze. “And they thought it would be better for everyone if it just went away.”

“How?”

A noise, a weak excuse for a laugh, escapes her. “I don’t know.”

“What was the sun like?”

Eliana looks down at her paper, filled to the brim with dark gray, and thinks of all the pictures Luke has drawn. How there’s never a bright blue sky with a yellow circle and white fluffy clouds. How he’s lived his entire life in the dark.

“It’s warm,” she says, “Even in winter, it’s always a little warmer in the light. And it’s bright. So bright you can see for miles. Sometimes when it hit the windows just right, there would be rainbows on the walls, on the floors. Even the sky was different colors. Pink and purple and orange and blue all mixed together.”

“That doesn’t sound bad,” Luke says.

Eliana chokes out a laugh. “It —” she cuts herself off and scrubs at her eyes “— It was nice.”

Luke looks away from her, returning to his drawing with another crayon. “So, why did momma become special?”

Eliana huffs. Because dad died and she couldn’t cope. Because she was afraid to leave them too. Because she wanted some sense of control of the chaos they spiraled into. Because she was weak and let those fuckers whisper poison in her ear. Because she never thought through the consequences of her actions.

“I don’t know.”

“How many grown ups are special?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why’s the sun coming back?”

“I don’t know, Luke.”

“You don’t know a lot of things, Eli,” her brother says causing her to roll her eyes.

She pokes him in his foot. “Well, excuse me, mister,” she replies, “I don’t think anyone knows.”

When the reports came, of how the endless blackness was lightening, distant stars once again puncturing empty skies, it sent the world into chaos.

How could this be happening? Why is it happening? They had promised never-ending night, never-ending life for those who accepted the Bargain, in return for servitude.

And hadn’t the people kept their end of the deal? Supplied them, worshiped them, feared them? Why have they turned their back on their chosen devotees?

Eliana remembers catching her mother later that night crying — or, well, trying to — begging to empty air that she would be saved. Now, instead of bartering with would-be gods, she’s wasting hours arguing over useless solutions in one last desperate attempt to delay the inevitable.

“What’s going to happen to us?” Luke asks.

She purses her lips together, a sudden burning in her eyes, and swallows against the knot in her throat. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you, Luke.”

Her phone vibrates in her back pocket. She doesn’t bother to look at the screen. “Hey, I’ll be back in a second, bud,” Eliana says, clearing her throat as she gets up from the bed. “Won’t be long.”

Ducking out into the hallway, making sure the door closes behind her, Eliana slips out the phone and answers it.

“Hello?” she says, trying to sound a little normal.

“Have you heard?” a voice asks, low and dark. Eliana looks at the screen.

“Heard what, Clara?”

There’s a bitter laugh and a pit grows in Eliana’s stomach. “The Watersons. Fuck, Eliana, they killed their kids. Cops just found them.”

“What?” Eliana looks back at Luke’s door and takes a few steps down the hallway.

“Benny, Lucy, and Willa. They’re all gone. Word is that Chris and Donna put something in their food. They —” some rustling, the slam of a car door “— They fuckin’ drained them, Eliana.”

She blinks, stomach turning, and tries to make sense of it. “Why? I mean, Jesus Christ, what the hell?”

Clara scoffs on the other end. “All this shit with the sun. They didn’t want to leave their kids behind —” sarcasm drips with every word “— and they’re dead anyways so. Why the fuck not I guess.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. I just talked to them a couple days ago. They said they were going to send the kids to an uncle or something up in St. Louis.” They were sad, sure, but they seemed to have reached a level of acceptance. Even told her they were going to be with their families when the time came.

“Guess they changed their mind,” Clara says.

Eliana leans back against the wall, rubbing at her forehead with one hand, listening to quiet breathing.

“Fuck,” she says.

A hum. “There’s going to be more before this is all over,” Clara states. “As the clock starts counting down. When it finally sinks in.”

“Christ. What’s DPD going to do?”

“Fuck, what can they do? Half of them are turned and the other half are getting ready for the shit storm that is going to follow. Besides, it’s not like anyone is going to admit that they plan on killing their families. It’ll be busy for us to, you know, clean up and everything.”

Eliana looks at the floor and imagines her mother pacing underneath, probably still on the phone. Anxiety settles in her chest, heart beating just a tad faster. She takes a deep breath.

“Clara —”

“Eliana —”

Her mouth shuts with a click. She swallows. “Go ahead.”

Clara sighs. “Come to my place. You and Luke. Please? Until this passes?”

Shaking her head, Eliana replies, “You mean until my mom dies.”

“Technically she’s already dead.”

Eliana grits her teeth together. “Try that again,” she bites out.

“I’m sorry, Eliana. I — I’m sorry, okay? I just want you and Luke safe.”

The words tumble out of her mouth before she can stop herself. “We are safe.”

Her mother is a lot of things, but she — She isn’t that.

She’s not. She would never hurt them.

“Barely,” Clara retorts. “How’s she been acting? Erratic? Angry? Aggressive?”

“Christ, Clara, she’s trying figure out a way not to die. I think a little emotional volatileness is understandable.”

“Sure, but she has a habit of taking things too far. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.”

“Of course I haven’t,” Eliana snaps, reaching up to run a hand through her hair. She wants to pull it out. “What the hell is your problem, Clara?”

“No, Eliana. What is your problem? Jesus, it feels like you’re sticking your head in the goddamn sand. You aren’t safe there and you fucking know it,” Clara bursts out, voice raising enough for Eliana to hold the phone away from her.

Eliana clenches her jaw, teeth aching under the pressure, and smothers the desire to pitch her phone down the hallway. “I don’t need a lecture from you. You have no idea what it’s like —” The words catch in her throat, her mind catching up with her mouth, and shame slams into her like a freight train. God. She didn’t mean —

It’s just —

This is her mother —

But Clara had mothers too.

Dammit.

Eliana closes her eyes, squeezes them shut until the stars reappear behind her eyelids.

Clara breathes out heavily.

“Yeah, well, there’s a reason for that.”

Silence falls between them. She can still hear her mother downstairs, angry and demanding, and the quiet humming from Luke in his room. Her heart thunders in her ears. She wonders how many people can hear it.

“I’m sorry.”

“I think we’re going in circles,” Clara says dryly.

“Yeah, I guess we are.”

Moments pass before Clara speaks again. “Listen, I just want you safe. And I think the best place for you and Luke to be is with me, but clearly, I can’t force you to do anything. So, if you want to stay there, fine — just don’t forget you can always come to me okay? I’m just a call away.”

“I know, Clara,” Eliana quietly replies, scuffing her foot against the wood floor. “And I’m sure there’s something else you want to say, so. Just say it.”

Another sigh. “Your mom made her bed, Eliana. She knew the risks when she took the Bargain. Whatever happens happens. It’s not your fault either way.”

“Maybe she’ll make it,” she offers, not believing her own words for a second, “She’s trying to get ahold of that special glass treatment. Maybe it’ll work.”

“Maybe. For your sake, I hope so.” There’s ruffling, the rumble of the car engine as it turns over. “I gotta go. We have to get hazmat gear for clean-up. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Course. Be safe.”

[litafficionado]

“I can’t imagine ever writing anything of any kind on a machine. I never tried to write either poetry or prose on a typewriter. I like to do it on useless paper, scrap paper, because it’s of no importance. If I put a nice new sheet of white paper down in front of myself and took up a new, nicely sharpened anything, it would be instant inhibition, I think. “So now what?” I would think and I would sit there—so now what?—for quite a long time. But if it’s something, if I need somewhere to write it down it will be on the back of an envelope, or something like that. Then it’s okay. It’s just to keep it there so I can find out where it goes from there. I use a computer like everybody else, but I'm not in love with it and I'm happy when I don't use it. To be hooked on it to that degree -- I watch people, they get up in the morning and they go to the computer, and whatever else they've been doing, they go right back to the computer. I think that's a fixation. It's an addiction. People very close to me have got it and I'm just troubled to see it. I see kids being brought up that way, no contact with animals, no contact with growing and living things, very little social life and this thing substituting for all of them, and I find that very troubling. I expect that sounds limited and old-fashioned or something of the kind. I'm not saying that we shouldn't have computers, but I think that that fixation is a little troubling. Writing poetry has to me always had something to do with how you want to live. I guess I’ve done something that many of my contemporaries didn’t do. Many of them went into universities and had academic careers, and I have nothing against that. But I didn’t think I was made for it. I begin, after about a week in university, I begin to feel the oxygen’s going out of the air very fast and I have to go somewhere else.” -W.S. Merwin, in a conversation

[neighbourhood-rambler]

i just tripped out during this study session and i don't know where this chat ends.

disclaimer/s: first, most of these are one-liners/mostly incomplete thoughts because, again, this is in between trying to actually get information in and trying to not copy the whole textbook on these sheets of paper, and actually trying rest during a study break. secondly, this whole thought sits closely to the importance of language to any self-identifying adult, the concept of community itself, and to africans entirely.

i asked myself: 'what is the broader south african coloured community's stance on the events of 16 june 1976?'

quick context: 16 june 1976, also known as 'june 16'/'soweto uprising'/'youth day' is a day on which the youth of south africa took to the apartheid-thick streets to protest against being taught in the afrikaans language - which, although indigenous to south africa and spoken by most if not all of the coloured community as a first language, was (and continues to be by most people) considered as 'the oppressor's tongue'. reports say 'about 200' people died in soweto that day after the apartheid police opened fire on literal children.

a couple of things went through my head after that:

there were coloureds in support of that movement. (in whatever capacity) so they must've been able to detach themselves, right?

this whole 'oppressor's tongue' name is weird too, right? because the coloured community has developed an entire culture with whatever history has thrown at them. for sure having that as a basis of a movement must have sat funny with some coloured folk.

not all coloured people identify as 'coloured'. some identify as 'ethnically coloured & politically black'. in fact not all coloured people are 'coloured'. some are bi-racial and none of their parents are afrikaans-speaking. so what is these individuals' significance in this conversation?

should they feel a type of way about it? while it would be weird to say being coloured was 'forced on them', (insert the full history of coloured people with the dark and bright parts) it would also be remiss to not include the white man's involvement in the creation of the community. should they champion and protect their own oppression?

does it continue to become their 'oppression' once they have owned it and made it theirs? or does it just become a part of history?

while all of that is happening, a thought that i have shared with my friends in the past resurfaced. it basically says: 'the day south africa has a true and honest conversation regarding the coloured community is the day the relationship between the minorities in the country will start getting better or horribly worse.'

as i type this post i am asking myself 'does south africa even need to have that conversation in the first place? does the coloured community need to be re-legitimised beyond what we known them?'

yes? becuase in doing so, we get to clear some politcal grey areas?

no? because it is not our (non-coloured folk) place to decide what is worth talking about regarding their community and identity? especially just because it doesn't make full sense to us.

[jennay]

I’m Glad I Met You

Master List

Request:

Peter Ballard meets one of his female co-workers for the first time through break even though he's seen her around quite a bit and has found pretty in his eyes, except she has adhd and tends to stim/get distracted and off topic easy so he tries to help her stay on topic?

A/n: I hope this was ok its about 900ish words. Thank you for reading. 💜💜💜💜

Walking into the break room for lunch was your favorite part of the day. You'd worked in Hawkins for nearly four months and had yet to make real friends. They looked at you like you were some outcast, and you weren't sure why. Was it because you were younger than most, or possibly because you tend to be in your own world, or perhaps because you were easily distracted and seemed to bounce from one thing to another quickly?

Did your liveliness remind them of something they lost after years of working in this imprisonment? They looked at you with dead eyes like zombies, and you were soon to follow suit.

You lean against the counter, watching your food spin around in the microwave.

"It takes longer if you watch it."

Your shoulders tense; nobody usually talks to you. Turning around, you shyly smile at Peter. You'd seen him around the work area but didn't talk to him, afraid you'd scare him away. "I needed some sort of entertainment."

"I'm Peter," He sticks his hand out to you, and you are glad to accept.

"Oh, yeah, I know who you are." Blushing, you turn around and open the microwave. You nervously look down at the floor as you reach the white plastic table. You pull out a chair and wait for your food to cool down.

You're surprised when Peter sits down next to you. "Usually, how greetings work is, I'll tell you my name, and you tell me yours." His blue eyes hold amusement, and he grins at you tilting his head slightly.

You swallow your noodles and say, "I'm (Y/n)."

"Nice to meet you."

You nod, looking up at the clock on the wall. "Shit...I need to go." You jump up from your seat and leave out the door without saying goodbye.

"There you are." Dr. Brenner says to you. "I saw that you didn't finish the laundry yet. I asked you to do that this morning. Did I not?" A condescending smile plays on his lips. "Those papers I asked you to finish are still sitting on my desk. Are you capable of working in this environment?"

"I'm sorry. I got distracted and-" You stop when you realize Brenner is no longer paying attention to anything you're saying.

"Just get it done."

Your shoulders sink as he walks past you. You hated upsetting people, especially your boss, and it seemed you did it quite often.

"I'll help you." Peter says, "We'll start with the laundry and make our way through the list of chores." He waves you over, and you follow him down the hallway. "I was like you when I first started. Overwhelmed and couldn't focus. It's a lot to get used to." He opens the laundry room door.

"I'm like this anywhere. It's not just here. I almost burnt my kitchen last year because I forgot I was cooking and watched a movie." You shake your head, slightly embarrassed.

Peter grabs sheets out of the drier and lays them on the folding table. "It must've been a good movie."

"It wasn't...that's what makes it worse." You toss a folded sheet to the side, "You might not want to stick around me. I'll probably get you in trouble for something."

Peter's eyebrow raises. "I get myself in trouble plenty. Plus, it's nice to have someone to talk to. I've been here my whole life, and they haven't fired me." He laughs. "I wish they would."

"I need the money. I'm going to be a nurse one day."

Peter admires the hope you still have; he loves that happiness in your voice, and he dreads the day you find out that you aren't allowed to leave once you're here. He refuses to be the barrier of bad news and lets you live in your world of joy. "What's next on the list?"

"Filing." The corner of your lip raises in disgust. "I hate filing; it's boring." You put the sheets on the shelves where they belong and leave the laundry room. "I miss the coffee from the outside world."

"I haven't seen the outside world in years. I don't remember a lot of things." Peter opens the office door, allowing you to go in first. "I think you should've been a model or an actress instead of a nurse. You're too pretty not to be seen."

“Stop.” You laugh. “You’re just saying that.”

His hand flings to his chest, “ I would never just say that. I promise it's true.”

You sit down on one of your favorite stools that rotate in circles. You open the brown folder and start alphabetically arranging the papers.

Peter watches as you spin in your chair, humming a tune. "It might help if you filed papers as you went. It would be much faster."

"Nope, that's not how my brain works."

He opens the filing cabinet, and you hand him all the ones that begin with A. "How do you know if you haven't tried it?"

"I know I need it organized, and then I can file it. Trust me. What your saying doesn't even make sense to me." You hand him the next pile of paper. "B's," You say without meeting eye contact. "Just trust me."

When Peter is with you, he can't hold back his smile. You were different from anyone else who worked here, and honestly, he wished he could work with you every day if it were going to be like this.

You quickly stand, "Fuck." You groan as you set the papers back on the desk. "I forgot to put my food back in the fridge."

"I got it for you." He tells you. "I heard Brenner talking to you, and I knew you weren't coming back."

Your shoulders drop, and you plop down back on the chair. You scoot yourself closer to Peter and grab hold of his hands. "I am so glad I met you."

[sevilemar]

Hey,

anon beginner to dnd from before, with many additional and build-on questions. Thanks for answering these!

What's some ways to find a dnd or rp group? What if I'm bad at acting or get really nervous and closed-off with people I don't know? How can I make the time for this? What materials would I need to bring?

What are good strategies to start a dnd or rp group? Do you have to be dm, as founder? Is it from scratch and from the ground up? What materials would be needed to start off? What if there are people you know and think might be interested? And what if there's no one you know that may be interested in such a group?

You rock!!!!

I'm glad to share what I know, since I believe ttrpg is just awesome! 😍

- My first table was just me and my friends trying something new. But not everyone's friends are interested, so for my second group, I googled if there was a local ttrpg, roleplay, or DnD forum. I found a national one, with sections for each region, so I answered someone's post there. I would have asked in my local comic book stores next, or in other stores that sell nerdy stuff. Maybe you already have a coworker or acquaintance who is playing and can hook you up with some people, or at least with some links?

If you don't find anything locally, you also can opt for online groups. I don't have any good starting spots, but you should be able to google it pretty easily. Look for people who are roughly in the same time zone than you, it makes scheduling easier^^

- You do not have to be GM to look for or found a group. It's very common to look for groups as a player, though it might take you longer to find one. People who want to GM are rarer, and usually a GM has an easier time finding players than the other way around. If a group cannot find a GM, people who wanted to be a player sometimes take up the mantle so that they can play.

- Most groups who find each other start from scratch, but it is possible to enter an already established group as a new player. Both have their own challenges and advantages.

- If there are people you think might be interested, just ask them. Role play is all about communication and relating to people, and this is a good start. If there's no one in your vicinity, find a new group. It's very interesting how easily strangers become friends when you regularly slay monsters together 😉.

- I find that a regular playing schedule works best for everyone when it comes to sessions. My two online groups play regulary every other Monday and Wednesday for 2-3 hours, and my local table meets roughly once a month on the weekend for longer sessions. When our GM didn't have the time to prepare, he tells us so, and we just drop the session. That gives him two more weeks of preparation.

GMing is a lot of work for me. I find myself thinking about campaign stuff while doing mundane tasks, or while crafting. I also spent hours as needed writing notes, or drawing maps, etc., mpstly a day or two before the next session. I find session logs are best written down the next day, so I tried to give myself half an hour for that the day after a session.

- The only materials you need as a player are your character sheet (physical or digital), some way to take notes, and either a set of dice or a digital dice roller. As a GM, you also need monster stat blocks, your campaign notes, and whatever rule set you're using for references. That's all you need to get started, really.

It is helpful as a GM to use some kind of grid for encounters, and something that represents PCs and monsters. In a physical space, easel paper works well, or a grid-based map. You can draw a battlefield or locaton on it in preparation, but it's not necessary. In our first campaign, we just used whatever pens where at the table to make a battlefield, and we used dice or random snacks as PCs and monsters. White Othello or Backgammon pieces are nice, because you can write names on it, or whatever damage your monster has taken with a removable marker. In a digital space, you can use tools like map tool or roll 20 to upload maps and PC tokens on to it, but don't bother if it's too much hassle.

- A good strategy to start a new group is talking to each member individually while recruiting them, making a group chat for orga stuff, and having one or multiple session zeros where you get to know each other and can talk about what kind of game you would like to play, and create characters together. Recruitment and orga can be done by anyone in the group, session zero(es) is (are) usually lead more or less loosely by the GM once they know more about their world and the kind of story you all want to play.

- Every person in the group will be nervous when you meet for the first time, especially when you play with strangers. That helped me a bit when I met my group for the first time. It also helps that ttrpg is something that takes a lot of love and passion for something that's still a bit weird to most people. It's still very much the domain of nerds and theatre kids, so chances are high that you are one of those types, and you will have both types in your group. I meet more nerds in DnD, and more theatre kids in larp, but thats highly subjective.

- There are things you can do to help you with role playing, either as GM or as player. It's too much to list it all, so let me give you a few online ressources I found helpful:

Ginny Di's role playing tips

Matthew Coleville's thoughts

[sketchyjessieblog]

My Experiences Making Stickers

Machines

In terms of making stickers, you don't inherently need any machine whatsoever. If you can find decent sticker paper to draw on, some kind of laminate or protective adhesive coat, and scissors, you can make stickers just fine. Hell, you don't even really need the laminate/coat, but people tend to use stickers in situations where they'll need that protection to stand up to rain, weather, or condensation.

However, importantly, producing stickers without a machine is slow as fuck. Hand drawing is much slower than printing, and hand cutting is much slower than using a machine like a Cricut. Ultimately, I'd recommend at least a printer, as it will probably be able to print on more material than you can draw on, and it's a fairly cheap way to speed up production. But going without a Cricut is a lot more reasonable, as the Cricut is quite expensive, and you'll likely not need to produce at a large enough scale where hand cutting is impractical initially.

I personally have both: a printer and a Cricut. I like them both, and the Cricut allows much more precise and uniform cutting than I can do myself. But I honestly might have gone without the Cricut if I had better realized it wasn't really necessary to create good die cut style stickers.

Paper

Sticker paper is fairly easy to find online, and I've seen some decent material in stores like Hobby Lobby and Wal-Mart. Generally, you'll get more for your money going with bulk options online, but a smaller order might be more in budget and more practical early on.

In terms of material, I'd personally recommend something along the lines of printable vinyl, or otherwise something with a coating already on it. I have some sticker paper that was effectively uncoated paper, and it doesn't stand up well to weather on its own. And laminate and coating options have been difficult to work with in my personal experience. The spray I tried ended up being scratchy and weird, and laminate sheets are extremely thick, to the point that the Cricut struggles to cut it, even on the highest setting I have (poster board).

Another note, home printers can be quite finicky when it comes to thick material. Try to pick fairly thin, but still durable, material when possible, as thicker materials can get snagged in the average home printer. I effectively couldn't print on some heavy cardstock I got because of this.

On a final note, unless you need very uniform, standard shapes, like circles, rectangles, etc., I don't recommend getting pre-cut label sheets. Die cuts tend to look much more interesting and work with much more designs, and it's fairly easy to make them even without a Cricut if you make the outline simple enough.

Designs

In terms of design, you can get away with a lot as long as you're working with a printable material. I'd recommend making the files fairly bright and saturated, as this tends to come out looking better. If you're working with an incredibly dark piece, make it slightly brighter than you would think it should be. In my experience, a lot of detail can get lost with darker works, as the print looks darker than what's on screen. I'd recommend going more saturated with very light, pastel works. I've had issues with the material coming out near white, with the color barely showing through. Ultimately, it may be best to simply test things out with your own machines, but these are my experiences.

With hand drawn stickers, something I haven't personally tried, you'll have to consider your own personal limitations and tools. Again, this is something you can probably experiment with, but be mindful of your body. You don't want to treat yourself like a printing machine and develop medical problems like carpal tunnel because of it. We already risk that enough as artists.

Selling

If you'd like to sell your stickers, I recommend ensuring they're fairly weatherproof, as the average person is going to want to stick them in places where that's at least somewhat important. Laptops, tumblers, their car, etc.

I won't get too much into places to sell items, because that could probably be its own post, but in terms of pricing, I'd base that on the effort, material, and size. For me, I tend to price tiny stickers (roughly 1-2 inches) at 50 cents and larger stickers (2-4 inches) at $1. I don't usually make much larger stickers, so I don't have personal pricing there. Beyond my anecdote, I'd recommend looking around at local events, sites like etsy, and possibly even calculating sheer cost to yourself plus the profit you want to make. Analyzing general “market trends” plus your own costs will probably be the best route to get a decent price tag.

Shipping is something I have limited experience with, but I'd recommend going with a fairly protective shipping container, such as a bubble mailer. Even with decent weatherproofing, stickers can be fragile. In addition, you may want to charge your customers for shipping. I've personally paid upwards of $5-6 to ship individual bubble mailers with artwork and stickers in it, but I was also paying for tracking. The prices without tracking were more around $1-2, and obviously this will vary massively depending on the size of your mailer and the weight of your items. You may also be able to talk to your local post office or research business shipping. I don't know much about how to keep shipping costs low, but I've seen options for savings on things such as bulk shipping.

Products

Cricut Explore Air 2 - Pretty useful, but I had some issues with calibration initially. Also glossy materials have some issues with the scanner: I've used scotch tape over the lines the scanner looks for to help that. You can also use some cloth to gently clean the scanner if it's having issues. You definitely need the software that works with it, the Cricut Design Space, and use the Print Then Cut feature for printed sticker designs. I personally print from the Design Space as PDF, then print out the PDF, because the Design Space doesn't have proper paper type settings from what I can see.

Cricut Machine Mat - I found some decent off brand ones at Hobby Lobby. The machine comes with one, but I damaged my first mat and had to buy more. Good to have at least one extra on hand just in case.

Cricut Weeder - This makes removing stickers from the mat very simple. You can get a lot of the big parts off by hand, but the weeder is good for getting little details off without damaging the sticker.

EPSON EcoTank ET-2803 - Pretty decent printer. I haven't had to change ink since I got it a couple months ago, and I use it pretty regularly. It can be finicky with paper and get jammed easily, but otherwise it's fairly reliable to me.

Cricut Printable Vinyl - I just started using this properly, but I ran tap water over it, and the damage was pretty minimal from what I could tell. It was still usable after the fact, and the art was undisturbed. Prints fine, though it likes to fold on the edges a bit and get ink on the very tips, which doesn't impact much in my process.

Pen+Gear Self Adhesive Laminate Sheets - Too thick for the Cricut, but useful for other applications. Would work amazing for hand cut stickers. I personally use this for bookmarks atm, and the stickers I got using this are incredibly well protected.

Scissors - Any brand works. Good to have even with a Cricut. Useful for less precise cutting.

[nikolas-ivankon]

Lisa - my love

3:00 a.m.  That dark night I was already in bed, but sleep did not come.  Didn't want to.  I lay awake like this for about five minutes.  I was on the verge of falling asleep when suddenly I heard someone hit the window.  At first I thought it was a tree branch, but the rattling of the window didn't stop.  The biggest surprise was when I suddenly heard a voice:

"Are you going to let me in?" it was a woman's voice. Soft. Her voice sounded like she was in her twenties.

    I froze in place.  Fear took hold.  I thought I knew what was on the other side of the window.  All those moments when I was smaller flashed before my eyes.  I remembered when I was nine, everyone in the family slept except me.  While they slept safely in their room, I sat in the library with her, the beautiful ghost, and did whatever she told me.  She wouldn't tell me to do horrible things like killing people or animals.  Only self harm.  I obediently did everything she told me.  And when I asked why she told me to hurt myself, she usually said that she needed blood to survive.

"Kame, I know you're there~..." she spoke again.

With no other choice, I let her in.  Her name was Lisa.  The most beautiful girl I have ever seen.  It's just a pity that she was already dead.  Her blue eyes shone like crystal, her hair seemed to shine like gold, and her skin was as white as a sheet of paper.

She smiled and admitted:

"I already thought that you wouldn't open..." then she chuckled.

And so we started a strange love affair.  Lisa looked like a goddess and I was her servant.  She is like the Sun and I am a plant that always bloomed when she was around.  Before long, I started doing everything she told me again.  But it didn't happen often.  He showed up at my window every night at the same hour.  We didn't do much at night, we just held each other in our arms and I kissed her until the morning broke.  Then she had to leave.  I begged her not to leave, but she wouldn't listen to me.  Sometimes, even though she was not at home, I seemed to hear her soft and sweet voice whispering in my ear.

***

   One day in July, although it was summer, it was raining like a bucket when she finally agreed to stay even a day with me.  I was not in the room when it happened.  The door must not be closed because one of the mother's cats, Keiko, jumped onto the dining table.  And scared Lisa because she hates cats.  Not all animals.  Not just cats.  The whole house could hear her screaming in her high-pitched voice of terror.  Even the environment door to get away from Keiko as far as possible.  As soon as I heard her scream, I rushed to run into our room, but I already saw her crawling into the living room.

"Lisa, what happened?  What are you so mad about?" I followed her quickly, trying to catch her.

"T-t-ta - that cat!  That stupid cat!"  and evaporated as the sun kissed her skin.

I saw her evaporate right before my eyes.  Then I stared at the accused cat, Keiko. I knew Lisa wouldn't come back if I didn't get that cat out of this house.  And when the night comes... I will kill my mother's cat.  Anyway, she was already old.  Almost at the brink of death.  Just like my mother.

"And if my mother asks where she is, I will answer that she ran away... Yes yes... Everything is going wrong... And then I will see my goddess Lisa again..." then I began to cry as if possessed by Satan.  I don't know what happened, but I just started having a crisis.  I felt bitter on the verge of going crazy... Especially when I couldn't see my beloved.

- Lisa, Lisa... Dear, that cat that scared you... She's gone... She's all bloody, she's gone... She's doomed... Please come back... To me... -  and I felt like salt beads started rolling down my cheeks.

"I would do anything for you.  All for asking... PLEASE DON'T IGNORE ME!  I KNOW YOU HEAR ME PERFECTLY!

"AND IF IT WAS MY CHOICE... I... THE FUCKING SUN WOULD BE GONE A LONG TIME AGO!"

***

After a few months, she returned to her "castle" - my home.  We were lying on the bed and... Kissing... But her kisses weren't what they always were.  Something was wrong with her.

"Princess, what happened?  Why are you so upset?" I asked her after breaking the kiss.

- I don't think we can date much longer...

- Why?

"Your neighbor's kid saw me...And I won't be able to come back because they know our secret..." then she looked around as if to make sure no one heard her, "unless you can make them keep this secret..." and with  with those words, she narrowed her eyes.

   Then it dawned on me that if I could get my neighbors to keep that secret, Lisa would finally be out of hiding and she would be able to come back to life.

***

The next night I was already carrying a rifle and a knife.  I jumped over the fence that separated our house from theirs.  I found their child first.  Aiming the rifle at him, I pulled the trigger and one bullet went off.  That bullet hit him in the head, straight into the brain with no chance of survival.

My second victim was the boy's father.  He ran straight down the hall to see who had created the commotion.  I aimed for the father's throat and pulled the trigger again.  He slowed down, took a few steps slowly forward, then let out a strange unintelligible sound and fell to the ground like a doll.

Feeling a rush of adrenaline, I dropped the rifle next to his dead body and took out my knife and sneaked off to find the child's mother.  After climbing the stairs to the second floor, I first went to the room of the husband and wife, where she was sleeping.  She must have been in a deep sleep that she didn't hear the screams or the gunshots.  After slowly approaching the bed with a knife in my right hand, overcome by anger, I began to hit my neighbor in the stomach and chest.  And so she died in her bed...

When I was sure that everyone was already dead and there were no witnesses, I returned home covered in blood.  Stained with the blood of that family.

***

   I waited for her to come back for two weeks.  She still hasn't come back to me.

"Nothing" I thought, "I will wait longer."

"Maybe she still doesn't have enough?  No.  She needs more blood.  To make it stronger.  Yes. Yes.... It's all coming by plan..."

I waited another three weeks.  I killed six more people in those few weeks, but when I got home, she wasn't there.

"WHERE IS SHE?!" I shouted, looking around the room.

- WHY DOESN'T SHE COME BACK TO ME?!  MY GOD WHERE ARE YOU?!

Somewhere in my subconscious I could hear her long rotten fingernails tapping on the window, but I was more preoccupied with my questioning.

- I KILLED THOSE PEOPLE?!  BECAUSE OF YOU!

-WHERE IS SHE?  WHERE ARE YOU?!

I heard the muffled chattering again, but I didn't open the window.

- WHY DON'T YOU COME BACK?!

That anger made me very tired and when I calmed down, I clearly heard a knock on the window.  I was happy.  I already thought Lisa was back.  Gathering all my strength, I ran to the window and opened it.  I looked around - there was nothing.  THERE WASN'T SHE!!!!  IT WASN'T HER!!  BUT I HEARD HER BABBLING AT THE WINDOW?!  HOW CAN THAT BE?!

I looked through the window to make sure she wasn't there.  But unfortunately, I lost my balance and fell from the second floor.  Cause of death: I fell on my head and received a concussion, bleeding to the brain.  And so I died without seeing her for the last time.

A foolish boy wanted to play with death...

[omegasomeone]

I’d started to write a story a while ago, but I wasn’t very happy with how I had written some of it, noticed stupid stuff I did (like forget like half a paragraph), so I rewrote it (also, this post is the “remaster” of like 5 different ones so long post ahead)

I wake up, still not used to being alone in a small bed. I get up, then make my way to the living room, where I am greeted by.. nobody. I grab a few copper coins, I’m gonna go buy some flowers later.

I’m in the middle of making myself breakfast when I hear a knock at my door. I can’t really answer, I have to watch my fried eggs to not burn them. It’s 6 in the morning, and I am not expecting anyone, much less at this hour. After a dozen seconds, another knock, this one louder. I continue ignoring them: if they wanted to see me, they could just have come later. “Guards here! Ingrid Desne, open this door or we will have to break it open!”

Ugh. That’s a name I hadn’t heard in a long time, kinda hoped I would never hear it again. Can’t help it, I guess. Though, this just made my day even worse in less time than it would take to say “bookworm”. “Wait a sec���, I yell, “I’m coming!” I turn off the stove, then note on a sheet of paper: “restock on fire stones”. I place my eggs on a plate. Perfectly cooked! You’re an egg master, Gri! Finally a good note to start today on! I go to the door, and open it, before firmly telling them no never ever dare call me that name again unless they had a death wish.

The guard promptly announces: “You are under arrest for suspected attempt of deicide.”

Oh, my runes. Oh, my fucking runes. And I thought this day couldn’t get any worse. I answer that this case was closed exactly 324 years, 2 months and 9 days ago, and that I was condemned to have my magic sealed off for stabbing a god with a non magical weapon because that asshole killed my partner over losing fucking 20 copper in poker, and that I would go enjoy my breakfast and to come back later with concrete proof but to not bother me before that pretty please, then close the door and come back to my eggs that, of course, are now cold. I haven’t swallowed a single mouthful of eggs when my door suddenly shatters. Half a dozen people burst into my living room. Someone raises their hand, and my mind goes blank.

I feel… weird. I think I’ve blacked out, but I am at least half conscious now, even though I can’t move, my body feels like a ragdoll, I can barely see anything, and most importantly, my head is in my plate. At least I can smell the odour of my mastery in cooking eggs better. Yay.

I hear muffled voices, saying something about evidence. My mind is cloudy. I feel like falling asleep. So much for a day where I had planned to bring flowers to a tomb then go to sleep. Someone grabs me. I struggle not to lose consciousness again. Someone puts me on their shoulder. I feel like I’m gonna black out a second time.

I wake up. I smell faintly like rotten eggs. I look around, to see where I am: no windows, damp walls and floor, bars.. yup, that’s a cell. Ooo, a plate! I chow down on the stale bread that was probably supposed to be my sustenance for the week in less than ten seconds, before noticing someone seemingly sleeping in a chair on the other side of the bars.

I call: “Hey, what the hell is happening?” Startled, the guard falls down from their chair, stands back up and picks up their staff. “Since when are mages prison guards, I ask, and why am I here?” The mage casts a fireball, and slowly approaches me. I couldn’t clearly see them beforehand, but the light of their spell makes me able to notice their face and clothes: with light blue eyes, and a small, slightly pointy nose, a bright pink and white dress, looking like they have never been hurt a single time in their life, their appearance startles me.

“Wait, if you aren’t a guard, then who are you?” I shout at them, before realising that my aggression was not at all helping the situation, as they were trembling. I sigh: “Listen, kid, it’s not against you. I woke up in a cell after being abducted during my breakfast when my day was already ruined, and the people that took me didn’t even bother cleaning me when they made me faceplant into it. I am in a pretty bad mood right now, but I shouldn’t have lashed out at you like this. What’s happening to me is not your fault, as far as I’m aware, so I’m sorry. So, why don’t you tell me who you are and what is going on?”

“Come on, I don’t bite! I am just trying to get answers, and you happen to be the only one I can get them from. So please, give me some explanations.”

The person on the other side scrambles for something in their pockets, before pulling out a pen and a small book. They write something on it, before showing it to me. In a full-of-loops handwriting, there is noted: “is it true that you stabbed a god?” “Yes”, I answer, surprised. “I used to count the amount of days had passed since I had done so, but now, I don’t really know anymore. I only just woke up and it could have been 10 minutes just as well as ten centuries since last time I was conscious! Why do you ask? And I don’t remember knowing who you are?”

My interlocutor promptly shows me their book, in which I read: “I need your help! Order from the daughter of the King!” Wait, what? That old fart has a daughter? I still remember how much of an event it was when his first son was born, which was…10~ish years ago? How didn’t I hear about a daughter? Oh well, might be a touchy subject, if true. She didn’t specify her princess rank, just said she was his daughter.

Might also be a lie, but at this point I don’t care anymore, at least I got an answer.

“So, what do you want from me? It’s not like I’ll be of much help without magic anyway, I’m pretty sure.” She writes: “please help me escape.” Confused, I ask her what she need to escape from; she then answers, in a slightly hesitant writing: “this country. My father. Everything.” On the next page, there is written: “I was fleeing the castle when I heard guards talking about the incarcerated god killer, and when I found this prison, nobody was guarding it. I thought you could help me.”

She takes a keyring out of her pocket as I accept, and inserts a key in my cell’s door. Nothing. She tries with another one. No success either. She removes it. Pick up the one next to it. Still no progress.

After what felt like years, she finally finds the right one. I step out of my cell, and we make our way out, without encountering any guards, nor any prisoners for that matter.

Before opening the jail’s gate, I turn to my newly found adventuring companion, and ask her: “by the way, you can call me Gri. What about you, what’s your name, Princess?”

…

…

“You don’t want to tell me? Well, I’ll just refer to you as Princess, I guess?”

As we open the doors, I realise the streets are empty. The sky is pitch black, but nobody turned the streetlights on. Even then, there is still light some light, almost as much as if it were late afternoon. No shop is open, and even the inn is closed. Carriages are few and most of them are broken, no horse attached to any of them.

I trip on something. A guard. Or more like half of one: their lower body has been ripped off, and judging by the state of decomposition of the body, they’ve been here for a few days at least. In their hand, a fancy but broken sword. I pick it up: it’s better than nothing, and it’s not like they’re going to need it. I notice a few arms on the floor. A leg there. Yeesh.

I turn to the princess, and before I even ask her if the city was already in this state when she entered the jail, her horrified expression gives the answer away. She starts pointing at the sun. Crimson. …Just like last time a god had been attacked. I would know, I’m the one who stabbed that sucker.

Is this why I was arrested? Was it already like this when I got arrested? No. It can’t be. I’m pretty sure the sky was blue then. What do I do? What do I do? What do I do what do I do what do I do what do I do what do I do what do I do wh-

Something grabs my arm. It startles me, and I only recognise the princess after a solid five seconds. I take her by the hand, and ask her to follow me: we either have to flee, or hide. The panic that must have caused the city to be in such a terrible state can’t have only been the result of the red sun, something -or someone- must have been at least part of the reason for such a chaos. And if whatever came to this place and killed all those guards is still here, we’re in deep trouble.

Through narrow streets, we make our way to a house: run down, with ivy growing on the walls: the only reason I recognise my house is because all my furniture can be seen in the living room, through the broken door. Everything is ruined inside, like it had been left to mould for years. All of my food has gone bad, and there are cracks on the wooden floor.

After asking the princess to wait for me, I make my way to my room. Except for the musty bed and the occasional worm-eaten wooden board in the flooring, everything seems about fine. I grab the little box under the bed: still intact! A small wooden box with a silver lining, and protective runes carved on the sides. Inside, a small crossbow, a dagger and a pocket watch, all lined with silver just like the box they’re in. I still remember when I got these as if it were yesterday. I guess you were right: “a silver lining to see hope in tomorrow”, huh? I wish you could tell me what to do, you’ve always been the one guiding me. I miss you so bad, Leon, you have no idea. But it’s too late, I know. You’ll never be able to come back. Your soul might not even exist anymore. I am so sorry for not being able to bring you back. If only I could have done some-WAIT I DON’T HAVE TIME TO GRIEVE LOVED ONES WE HAVE TO GO NOW

I rush into the living room with the box, put it in my bag. Ew, moss grew inside of one of the pockets! We make our way out of the city through small alleys. Nobody is even guarding the city gates anymore. The sun looks to be setting in a few hours: we’d better get to the nearest town before sundown.

[thegreatobsesso]

Edited today + update from meeee

Callie POV

Camilla reached inside folds of leopard print and Callie startled, flaring the energy in her outstretched hand in warning.

“Simon, if you’ll restrain your guard dog,” she said with amusement, and pulled an envelope out of her ugly coat. “Hand this over to him, would you, hun?” she said, wiggling it in Callie’s direction. “Just papers. Don’t get your panties in a twist.”

Easy, Bennett sent her as he reached for the envelope. Do as she says, hand it to me.

Callie reached forward and snapped the thing from this, this Camilla’s hand, swallowing the uneasy feeling she got from the woman’s fingernails. Too sharp, too long and a wretched shade of milky pink. She passed the envelope behind her to where Bennett stood, not taking her eyes off the intruder the whole time.

She was only sure of two things at the moment: the first was that whatever was happening was bad, and the second was that it was unfolding on live TV.

Camilla conveyed ease, even boredom while Bennett put his glasses on and tore into the envelope, but Callie knew the look of someone trying to hide just how much they were enjoying themselves.

All at once, the bridge groaned with the weight of shock and disaster - she and Bennett’s bridge, not the one they were standing on.

“This isn’t…” he stammered, and she heard the flutter of paper as he flipped the pages, hoping something in it would add some kind of understandable context to the opening paragraph. Camilla just waited, and while she did, the sound Callie heard earlier grew louder. She could see now that people were rolling metal carts up the bridge bearing loads of cargo; various shapes and sizes, covered by white sheets tied tightly with rope, their wheels clattering over the cobblestone. She counted eight, nine, ten - no, even more emerged from the mist even as she stood there gawking. What the hell was going on?

Updates related to the draft and me in general underneath the cut!

Hi friends! I’m still alive, and still slowly plodding through draft two edits. In this bit above I’m cracking open the campaign plot that will keep these kids busy throughout the remainder of book 2. Which, now I guess I’m calling this three books. So. That’s, fun? 😂 On some level my brain really wants to know how many books it will be, but another part of my brain knows I have to service the story and ultimately it gon be as long as it gon be. 

Thematically, it truly does make sense for it to be three books. Word count wise, draft two is.... shaping up that way. Sooooooo, I don’t know, it’s funny. 

I wasn’t writing for awhile there, mostly because I started listening to the Magnus Archives and it consumed me. :) :) :) Binge-listening is the way I would describe what I’ve been doing and if anyone wants to talk about it, please for the love of christ slide into my DMs. I’m only through the first two seasons, but in a rare move where I don’t know what came over me, I kind of just started dipping my bare little toes into the fandom space here and I’m pretty sure I’ve spoiled almost everything for myself, and a small part of me regrets it, but a bigger part of me is also just.... enjoying it. I don’t want any more spoilers than I already have poisoned myself with but I do do do do do do wanna talk about it so hit me up if you are also a fan. 🙏 🙏 🙏 🙏 🙏 🙏 🙏 🙏

[yourfavouriterival]

eddie munson : guitar pick

note : i wanna die. i don't know what to do with myself as of today.

pairing : eddie munson x fem!reader

warnings : ¡¡¡ MAJOR season 4 volume 2 spoilers !!! angst (grief, crying, death), slight fluff, some people are assholes

word count : 1566

summary : the aftermath of volume 2

- 

“Mister Munson?”

There. She’d only met him a couple times, lounging at Eddie’s trailer with some shitty, one dollar drink and an amazing horror movie playing. He’d say ‘hello’ and she’d reply something kind, and then Eddie would laugh at her shyness in front of his uncle, who’d grin and go to his room. 

Standing, head bowed down, in front of a vandalised photo of Eddie Munson, stood Wayne Munson. His hand hovered over the pin holding the paper sheet to the corkboard of similar announcements of missing people, all of which would be prioritised over finding Eddie Munson. 

He didn’t say anything. No reply, just robotic movements of grabbing the pin and yanking off the ruined paper, replacing it with a new one. 

Her heart twinged—no, twinged wasn’t the word for it. There wasn’t a word painful enough for how her body locked up, squeezing out any air from her lungs and burning through her composure which she prayed she’d keep through the day. 

“Y/N,” he replied, turning his head to look at her. His eyes went straight to the shirt she was wearing—Eddie’s—and his face contorted into something painful. 

A white shirt with a black print reading: ‘Corroded Coffin’. Eddie had been designing it, grinning when Y/N had asked what he was doing:

“I’m making merchandise. We’ll be big, you know? And everyone will be wearing this,” he said, grabbing her hand which was reaching for the shirt. “It’s wet, dumbass.”

“Do I get one?” she asked, laughing when he pulled her onto his lap and pressing quick kisses to her hairline. 

“Duh. You get this one, lucky charm. Hopefully, you’ll wear only the shirt,” he paused, sucking a mark onto her jaw, “and nothing else.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“What, you don’t like it?” His face twisted comically.

“Don’t put words in my mouth, Eds,” she laughed, head burrowing into his neck and pressing soft kisses to his shoulder. “I’m honoured. You know I’m your biggest fan. I’ll be there for every show.”

“Yeah, yeah, you charmer,” he laughed, one hand grasping at her hips and the other cupping her jaw and leading her lips to his.

They’d gotten distracted and he never finished the shirt. He never would. 

“They’re not going to be looking for him.”

She didn’t want reassurance. He knew already that this stupid town decided who deserved to live and who didn’t with no regard. She just said, “no, they’re not.” 

He walked to one of the empty beds close to the corkboard, slumping down. Y/N couldn’t move her feet, staring at the picture of Eddie. He was staring at the camera, and her mind could remember the colour of his eyes and the feeling of his lips. 

“You got any idea of where he is?” he asked, glancing up at his nephew’s girlfriend. 

She lowered her eyes, shaking her head. 

“I’ll still put up as many damn posters as it takes until he’s found because my boy is innocent.”

Her hand reached into her pocket, wrapping around the guitar pick as she tried to fight off the tingle in her nose indicating the sobs in her chest. 

“I’ll see you around.” He stood, walking away. 

“I was with him,” she faltered, but it didn’t matter. Eddie’s uncle had already turned, eyes searching hers. “When the, uh, earthquake hit.” His figure was getting blurrier, and her throat started tightening around the words she was attempting to force out. 

“So,” he paused, “you do know where he is now?”

She couldn’t physically push the words out. Her eyes closed as she took her hand out of her pocket, holding the guitar pick—Eddie’s guitar pick—out to his uncle. 

His gaze went from hers to the guitar pick. 

“I’m…” she faltered. “I’m so sorry,” she sputtered out, hand quivering around the chains which Wayne Munson took. How could she tell him that Eddie was—

Words failed her, and she could only watch as Eddie’s uncle fell apart in front of her, collapsing back onto the makeshift bed. 

And when the usually stoic man started sobbing, Y/N couldn’t keep her silent cry, hand coming up to cover her mouth. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she repeated, a muffled apology, sitting down next to him. Her eyes fluttered, drops falling from her eyes. “He was good. He was so good. And no one bothered to try to find that out, and I don’t know why.”

Crying used to feel good, like a relief from the world. But Eddie used to be there, holding her or talking to her, and now he wasn’t and she couldn’t collect herself in front of his uncle, and he was still facing away, clutching the guitar pick to his chest and nodding. 

“I wish more people had tried to find that out, because I think they would have loved him as much as I do. I love Eddie, Mister Munson, so much, and he was the best person I had the privilege to know. Even when this town didn’t deserve it, he fought for it. He never got mad. He never shouted at anyone, he just took it and I know it hurt him but he kept being himself. He could’ve run—survived. But he fought and he…” she swallowed, a nausea settling over her at her next words. “He died for this place and that isn’t fair.”

“Eddie! Dustin!” she yelled, having just fallen out of the doorway. “Eddie? Dustin? Where are you?” 

Her voice was hoarse now, but she ran out either way to find—

Dustin was holding Eddie, and something was wrong. Something was bad, worse than anything someone could dream up. Through all the shit with Vecna, with the bats, with the deaths, Y/N had never felt this kind of dread until this moment.

“I think it’s my year, Henderson,” he struggled with the words that she heard as she ran forwards, “I think it’s finally my year.”

“Eddie!” she fussed, falling onto her knees opposite of Dustin. She didn’t care about the dead bats around them or the way loose rocks dug into her skin, she could only see him. “Eddie, hey. Hey, you’re okay, right? You’re okay.”

“I’m okay, lucky charm,” he smiled, but it didn’t last long fading to be replaced with the tears filling his eyes. 

But he wasn’t okay. There was blood around his mouth and on his body, and she could see that he was struggling to even breathe. He wouldn’t survive the trip out of the Upside Down, and she had the sinking feeling that the hospitals would turn them away. 

“D—don’t worry,” he blinked. “Worry ‘bout Henderson here.” Dustin grabbed his hand, saying something about how Eddie was okay, but Eddie just smiled and said, “I love you, man.”

Dustin, the poor boy who was too young to lose someone this important, whimpered back, “I love you too.”

“Y/N, I—I—” he struggled, but Y/N just leaned down and pressed a kiss to the spot where his forehead met the bandana wrapped around his head. 

“I know,” she answered, because she knew what he meant. He never stopped saying it. “I love you, Eddie. You did so well. Just rest a bit, and I’ll fix this.” One of her hands went to his hair, smoothing it out for possibly the last time, and she wished she could hear the way he usually hummed when she did that. 

She thinks he may have tried to laugh, but a cut off sound came out instead, and just as a tear fell from his eye, she knew that he was gone. 

She didn’t make a sound, just fell forwards and grasped at Dustin’s hand which tightly gripped back, gasping into the tattered fabric of his shirt. 

“Eddie…” Dustin begged, and he was so young and innocent that she couldn’t hold herself up anymore. 

“Oh, God,” she sobbed out, wishing she could scream until her throat corroded and her heart burst. Her hand was still in his hair, but she couldn’t physically move from where she’d collapsed onto him. “Eddie,” she screeched, a panicked and pained sound lost in his shirt. 

He didn’t say anything, and she took that as incentive to stand. 

“I’m—I'm sorry,” she said again, wiping her eyes. 

“You should keep this,” Wayne said, reaching towards her and giving her Eddie’s guitar pick. He didn’t look at her, and she wondered if he ever would again. 

She took it, and her throat hurt so much that she rushed to the women’s bathroom, ready to puke her guts up or tear her heart out in one of the stalls. But she wasn’t the only one in there, so she rushed into one of the compartments, sunk down onto the lid of the toilet and held a hand to her mouth, holding it down and hoping to hold in the sounds. 

“It’s that boy’s fault, you know? Eddie Munson killed all these people. Him and that cult.”

Eddie did so much, and he died with everyone thinking of him as a devil worshipper. He was so good. He was perfect, and he was flawed, but he did good. He didn’t run. He fought. He loved so fiercely. And Y/N had no clue of where to go from now. 

Because, truly, did anything matter if she couldn’t share it with the only person she’d ever truly love?

[tohokuu]

inked dreams - tattoo artist ! san

warnings : smut. pure smut. mdni. kinda mean-ish ! san, mentions of pain, tongue piercing, reader gets a tattoo, san has a hair pulling kink, dry humping, glove kink, overstimulation, dirty talk, praise kink, degredation kink, slight voyeurism, cheeky wooyoung, slight ot8 ?  nic addict and stoner ! san ?

a/n : super ooc san. he’d never be mean :(

wc : 4k 

the scene in your local tattoo & piercing shop was much different than the one you had just walked into. your original one was filled with middle aged men and irritated women high off their asses taking people in for some quick ink work. this scene seemed much cleaner. the floors shined with a sparkly finish and the walls were aligned with intricate work, most likely belonging to the artists of this shop.  

you walked up to the front desk where a man with tattoos lining up his forearms stood. he was tall with a plump pair of lips and eyebrow piercings. walking up to the intimidating male, you gave him your full name and reason for visit. he smiled at you, showing off a pair of pearly whites. “first time getting a tattoo ?” he chuckled. you giggled, trying to fight the deep embarrassment you felt with the attractive man. “it’s my first tattoo, yeah. i’m a bit nervous because my friend got one and they messed it up so i’m a little worried.” you said honestly. 

he began to laugh, eyes crinkling at the corners. you smiled a little, his face was contagious. “well, we’ve never had any complaints of messing up a tattoo but if you want our most careful artist, i suggest choi san. he’s a little pricey and a little grumpy but he’s the best at what he does. oh- i completely forgot to introduce myself. i’m mingi.” he said. you smiled at mingi, “hey mingi, it’s nice to meet you.” 

at what seemed like perfect timing, a couple heads popped out from behind a curtain. “oy oy mingi, you’re not gonna introduce us to her ?” came a voice. it was one of the 3 men that were walking up to you. you felt as though you were about to faint. they were all so incredibly handsome. perfect noses perched atop perfect faces.. their hair was done neatly and you would’ve mistook them for models if it weren’t for the ink stained gloves adorning their hands. 

one of them came and kissed your hand, “hello, ma’am. jung wooyoung at your service. what would you like tonight ?” your face burned at his comment while you coughed awkwardly. another one of the males piped up, smacking wooyoung upside the head. “stop it, will you ?” he said. after quietly scolding the artist, the man looked back at you. “i’m kim hongjoong. nice to meet you. i’m the owner of this shop. these are my tattoo artists, wooyoung and yunho.” you shook his hand that he had offered graciously. the chilling sting of his rings a huge contrast to your warm hand. “nice to meet you. you have a very lovely shop. its very neat and uh, i was wondering if i could get a tattoo with choi san..” you said awkwardly. all 3 of the boys looked at each other, giving each other a wide eyed look. 

“uh, if it’s your first time here, i suggest yunho. he’s a little nicer.” hongjoong said with a nervous laugh. yunho gave you a small wave. you looked between the men, debating what to do. “you guys are confusing her. just let her go with san. it’s not like he bites peoples heads off.” mingi interjected. wooyoung was quick to jump back in, “no, remember the time he-” he couldn’t get to finish his sentence due to yunho’s hand coming back to smack him upside the head..again. 

“don’t pay attention to him. he talks too much-” “i do not !” wooyoung argued. someone from a back room yelled back “do too !” you assumed it came from one of the other artists in their booths eavesdropping the conversation. hongjoong grabbed your hand and led you back to the desk, reaching over the counter for a couple sheets of paper. as he handed them to you with a clipboard and pen, he gave you a quick wink and told you to call mingi as soon as you were done. 

as you finished your paperwork, you looked over the piercings box sections on the sheet. looking over it, “tongue piercing” seemed to be taunting you. after thinking it over for a few seconds, you checked the box. how bad could it honestly be ? you were now due for a tongue piercing and a tattoo on your inner thigh and under boob. it was much more than what you had planned but since you were here now, you’d deal with all the pain now too. 

you honestly had no idea what to get, hoping that the man who would paint your body with ink had an idea. you looked at mingi who was typing away on a mac on his desk. “mingi, i’m done with the paperwork.” you said. he looked up at you with a bright smile, grabbing the paperwork and giving you a small card with a number on it. “alright, you go in as soon as your number is called, okay ?” 

-

the wait wasn’t very long. it was a sunday night and people had to be places the next morning so you didn’t expect a rush either. the second your number was called, you walked into a room lit with purple and blue neon lights. framed artwork and piercings of previous clients lined up along the wall, all the work was insanely neat. your artist for tonight had his back turned to you. he wore a muscle tee that exposed his ribs and arms, paired with dark, skinny ripped jeans. his dark hair was cut short and tattoos lined his nape and arms. 

you hadn’t seen his face but you doubted that there would be any flaws. a snap of gloves against his veiny wrists brought you back to attention. he was facing you now, eyes staring venom into your poor soul. his eyelids were painted with dark eyeshadow and his lips were a rosy hue. there was metal going through all parts of his face; nose, lips, ears and eyebrow all decorated with pretty minimalistic metal. the small gleam of his nostril piercing shined against the cold hues of the room, a complete contrast to what you were feeling; hot. 

“well, are you just gonna stand there ? i’ve other clients to get to.” he snapped. you now knew what the other boys meant by san being a little mean. you didn’t mind it, though. maybe you did feel like crying because of his shitty attitude but you didn’t wanna piss him off. god, what if he messed up your tattoo ?? yeah, there was no way you’d argue with him over anything. not only that, he seemed more intimidating than any of the other boys. his room was dark compared to when you passed by wooyoung and yunho’s. yunho’s was fillied with plants and video game posters while wooyoungs had plushies lying around. 

san had various equipment, framed artwork, neon lights, lava lamps and several vape pens lying around. there was also the faint smell of weed that was masked by the scent of dettol. san was surely an impressionable character. his looks said everything about his personality so far. 

you walked towards the dark leather chair in front of you, laying down and choosing to let him talk first. which he did with zero hesitation. “your name is y/n and you’re here for two tattoos and a tongue piercing ?” he started to laugh. “you a masochist or something, princess ? just looking for a world of pain in one night, huh ?” he clicked his jaw while pulling a couple materials together. your cheeks burned with his shameless comments. “uhm, yes that’s me.” you squeaked. 

“you scared or some shit ? speak up.” he snarked once again. if you weren’t expecting his snarky response, you would’ve jolted. “y-yeah, that’s me. two tattoos and a piercing.” you didn’t deny that you were, in fact, a masochist. “have you decided on what you want ?” he asked. you were scared to hear his response, he just seemed like the type to get irritated if you didn’t know what you wanted. 

“uh, no. i was hoping you’d have an idea..” you squirmed. hechuckled in response, “it’s your body, doll. why would i have any ideas ?” right... your face heated up for the nth time that night. “i like the artwork on your walls, did you do it ?” you asked. he stared up at the picture frames surrounding you too. his response to your question was calm and collected. “every single one of them.” 

your eyes widened a bit. a little shy that you had someone as talented as him with you in the room, alone. “well, anything that seems cool is fine, to be honest. as long as you don’t write something dumb on me, anything goes.” he seemed like he knew what he was doing, so you gave him what he’d always wanted to do on someone; the option to do what he wants.

a devilish smile graced his features, as if he had something dark cooking. it honestly should have scared you but it didn’t. as he turned to grab some more materials and equipment, you were reminded that you’d have to lift your shirt up and spread your legs for him to tattoo you the way you wanted. it make your mind go into places it shouldn’t have.. but you honestly couldn’t help it. 

“where do you want the first tattoo ?” he asked, nonchalantly. you were shy to answer, “uh, underboob ?” you said. he chuckled, “you sound as if you’re asking and not stating. where do you want the second one ?” once again, you replied while your soul felt like dying inside you. “my- my inner thigh.” san’s jaw clenched, eyebrow arched as he sighed. “you just keep surprising me tonight, huh ?” he turned again, this time towards you. “which one do you want first ? thigh or under boob ?” he said. you pointed towards your chest and immediately, he pushed you down by the shoulders. he lifted up your shirt, not bothering to ask for your permission. 

“it’s gonna hurt, baby. you ready ?” he whispered. you nodded frantically, subconsciously placing your hand on his shoulder and squeezing. it was a bit of a intimate gesture considering the position you were in. he could see the band of your bra and your mid-riff was fully exposed for him to touch. if he moved up just a little bit, he would be in contact with your chest. 

the iron in his hand began to click and he got to work. the first touch of pain made your nails dig into his shoulder as you gasped. san paused for just a second to stare at you, the dirty thoughts swimming in his head endlessly. “i’m giving you a tattoo, not fucking you. chill out.” you could’ve gotten whiplash from how fast you turned your head to stare at him. shock evident on your face. “what ? did i say something ?” he questioned innocently. 

-

both tattoos had gone by with much tension in the air. he was still in between your legs wrapping plastic film around your thigh. you didn’t miss the way he would caress your thighs. lingering touches here and there and the constant dart of his tongue to wet his lips. he looked so good. hair hanging over his eyes while his biceps bulged as he worked. you could’ve sworn he was perfect. the tension between you and the inked male was high. all you could hear was ‘’what you need’’ playing in the back and the buzz of his equipment. 

the heavenly sighs that left his lips made you stare at him for longer, wanting to take him in. his hands gripped your thigh closer as he finished up what he was doing. san had moved up your body now, pushing your torso down and bordering on the verge of touching your chest. if you didn’t want him so close, you would’ve pushed him away. it was hard to admit but it was beginning to get difficult to hide your need for him. 

the final move was when he was pushing two fingers into your mouth with a gloved hand. he was preparing to pierce your tongue and his harsh rubbery fingers pushing your tongue down was too much for you to handle. a loud whimper made its way past your lips. you were practically choking on your own saliva as it dripped down your chin. you could see the smirk on his face, clear that he knew what he was doing to you. he spread your thighs and slotted himself in between. 

“you look so good like this, baby” he whispered. “i could take you right now.” his words rang in your ears, your eyes were droopy and a pretty blush fainted across your cheeks. you couldn’t help but moan around his gloved fingers. “s-san please.” you choked out. he giggled innocently, as if he wasn’t grinding his hard-on against your clothed cunt. “please what, pretty girl ? use your words, come on now.” 

his teasing voice was going to be the end of you. you didn’t know how to ask him for what you wanted so you simply locked your legs around his waist to pull him closer. however, that didn’t seem to be good enough for san because he pulled away, shaking his head. “i thought i said to use your words. don’t be a dumb little bitch now. i thought you were smarter than that.” tears pooled in your eyes from his degrading words and the frustration that was building up in you. 

“please, san. i want you to fuck me. please, sir.” your face burned as you voiced your needs to him. it made him happy, though, because he pushed you down and began to kiss you all over, starting at your thighs and leading up until he could pull your flimsy skirt down. he chuckled at the wet spot that had formed on your underwear, finding it heavily amusing. “didn’t know you could be such a dirty girl for me, princess.” he whispered as he kissed along your inner thighs, slotting his face right in front of your core. he took two gloved hands and pulled your underwear side, eager to see what awaited him. 

he wasn’t disappointed though, because the second the cool air hit your cunt, he chuckled and dove straight into you. his tongue lapped messily at your folds, eager to drink in all that you had to provide. his movements were messy and desperate, as if he had been holding back. your hands had found purchase in his dark hair, pulling him closer and grinding against his tongue. san’s nose grazed your clit as his tongue fucked into you. “s-san please, please i’m gonna cum-” you whined as he kept on going. 

he was pussy drunk, refusing to let go of your thighs and continuing even when the knot in your stomach had snapped. your thighs squeezed him closer, unable to let go. eventually, you tried to pull away from his menacing lips, begging for a break. “s-san please, it’s too much. i can’t take it anymore.” but instead of listening to your pleas, he slapped your thigh hard. giving you a sharp glare from between your legs. 

“stop fuckin’ whining.” he growled. it wasn’t until four full orgasms later than he pulled away. your legs were shaking on the long reclined chair and the leather beneath you was a mess of your cum and arousal. the bottom half of san’s face was shining with cum while his eyes were glazed over with lust. you couldn’t believe how ethereal he looked. 

you couldn’t believe when he pulled you close and kissed you. a hand gripping your waist and another wrapped around your neck. you couldn’t breathe with his hand restricting you of oxygen and it only caused more dizziness in you. feeling more drunk and out of touch with his lips against yours. he tasted so good, like mint and dark chocolate. it was a sweet combination, one that you could never complain about. 

your hands wrapped themselves in his hair, tugging against his scalp. san let out a low moan, whimpering as you grinded harder against his restricted cock. you two were practically dry humping, leaving no space between you two. it seemed like san was beginning to get impatient because he was reaching for the hem of your crop top. he peeled it off your sweaty body, hands immediately fondling your breasts. sans greedy hands unclipped your bra with one hand and pulled it off you, throwing it somewhere in the dark studio. 

he was desperate, wanting to feel you around his as soon as possible. he couldn’t lie to himself; you were the prettiest girl he had seen in a while. it almost made him upset when you told him that you were hesitant to come to him. he had heard all the other guys advising you to go to jongho instead of him and he honestly would not have cared, but having you a mess in front of him made his mind change. he would be upset again and again if you weren’t next to him. 

he pushed you down against the seat, instructing you to lay back. san stood at the front, slotted between your legs. he pushed your cum stained panties to the side and rubbed two fingers up and down your slick folds. he sucked in a breath seeing your hole clench around nothing. san unbuckled his belt, quickly pulling his jeans down along with his boxers. his cock throbbed in his hands, thick and heavy with precum dripping from the trip. he moaned a bit as he gliding his tip between your folds, breathing getting more and more erratic. 

you couldn’t believe how good he looked, sweat shining on his face and eyelids heavy. you couldn’t help but place your hand over your mouth when he pushed himself in. he wasted no time and bottomed out quickly, leaving you gasping for breath. you felt so incredibly full of him that your mouth was hanging open as your eyes glazed over. “san- fuck !” you yelled. you were trying hard to keep your moans to a minimum, knowing damn well that all the other boys were probably outside. he made it difficult, though. pulling your hand away and nipping at your collarbone. 

“come on, baby. let them hear you.” he growled against your ear. “especially wooyoung. i just know how mad he would be that i got to fuck you before him.” he said with a light chuckle. his words sent a tingle straight to your core, making you clench around him. your body’s reaction didnt got unnoticed him, he teased you back almost immediately. “you like when i talk to you like that, huh ? dirty fucking girl. bet you love being defiled.” you moaned in response, once again choking against his fingers in your mouth. “you’re so pretty like this, baby. quiet down a bit or ‘m gonna cum inside you.” 

you made more noises, refusing to obey him any longer. as he noticed your small act of rebellion, his hips snapped against yours even faster, knocking the breath out of you. your moans got louder as your nails scratched along his back. he felt so incredibly good, his tip hitting your cervix with every thrust. it hurt but it was nothing compared to the pleasure and the hot open mouthed kisses he was leaving on your body. 

“g-gonna cum, san. please let me cum.” you whined. and he smirked back, letting his thumb graze over your clit as you got closer and closer. your body was shaking as your orgasm washed over you. unable to handle the treatment any longer, and it seemed san felt the same way due to his thrusts that were getting sloppier and inconsistent. “come for me, sannie.” you whined. it was the only trigger he needed to spill himself right into you, hips still bucking into you desperately as he tried to ride out his orgasm. “fuck- you feel so good, y/n” he moaned. 

as his orgasm ended and you became a bit more in touch with reality, he pulled out of you. tucking his dick back into his boxers as he pulled his jeans up. he cleaned you up with paper towels as you lay there tired. unable to even blink right. your hair was a mess and body tired and aching, surely you’d see bruises in the shape of sans fingers by tomorrow morning. you couldn’t help the small feeling of sadness that you felt now that you had to leave him. 

the tongue piercing was forgotten about and the two tattoo’s on your body ached. you could finally feel the searing pain on your inner thigh and torso. “fuck- it hurts.” you whined. san cooed at you, leaning to press a soft kiss close to the tattooed areas. “it’ll heal in a few weeks, baby. be sure to come back and get it checked out, alright ? if it itches, please don’t fucking scratch it. i’ll never tattoo you again.” he handed you a small folder with a set of papers and a satin bag containing what you assumed was items to help you take care of your tattoos. 

you looked down at the designs on you. a fragment of his imagination was etched onto your body permanently. you’d remember this forever. “they’re beautiful.” you whispered. sna smiled, pulling you close and kissing the top of your head. “i’m glad you like them, princess.” the nickname made your stomach explode with butterflies. he was such a contrast to how he was when you first came in. he seemed almost like a nice guy now, a great difference from when you first walked in and you thought he was gonna kill you. as he helped you put your shirt back on, he pressed another kiss to your forehead, leading you off the chair. your legs were wobbly, which was expected considering the fucking he had just gave you in his workplace.  

when you walked out, all the boys were scattered around the lobby. you saw three new faces who you assumed were jongho, yeosang and seonghwa from their name tags. they were just as handsome as the rest of the workers. they were all oddly quiet, not doing much but going on their phones the second you and san stepped out of his room. they had probably heard you both... it wasn’t difficult to see the very visible tents in their pants. it made your face burn that they had all heard you and san go at it. hongjoong avoided your gaze as you walked by, muttering a quiet “come back soon.” the only person who wasn’t shy to approach you was wooyoung. 

you were lucky the parlor was empty besides the eight other men surrounding you, because you would’ve collapsed if he said this with anyone else around. “nice little show you put on for us, princess.” he said as he grabbed your chin. san stood next to you awkwardly, unsure of what to do. it’s not like he really wanted to tell wooyoung to back off anyway. wooyoung pulled your chin down, inspecting your tongue with a close eye. 

with a nonchalant grin, he said, “no tongue piercing ? hm, i guess i’ll have to take care of that one next time. come back soon, yeah ?” 

© tohokuu. do not steal or plagiarize.

[i-mybrunettelady]

Hi, this will be a bit of a positivity PSA for all my mutuals who struggle with some kind of creating, be it drawing or writing or making music or whatever it is.

I am learning how to draw, I used to draw a lot when I was younger but then I found myself in writing and never left it since, but sometimes I still feel the urge to draw. I'm not hopeless with it by any means - I like to compare this point in my journey to art to being an awkward teenager. It's not hopeless, but also has ways to go. And sometimes I'm overly critical because I see all the fandom artists and think my art sucks because it's not on their level.

And then I remember they've been practicing for years and just like with writing (though that process was something I was a lot less cognizant of before it reached a level I liked) I have to go through it again, for drawing, aware of every step of the way. And it becomes fine. It becomes great, even. It becomes just right.

I drew this tonight. I am not entirely pleased with it, it doesn't quite match the character in my head, but that's okay. I can try again tomorrow. There was an empty, white sheet of paper and in a span of about 2 hours, there was a coloured face on it. Is it a perfect face? No. I am always open for advice and directions. But I watched the process of white paper becoming this and I joyfully thought how I did this. Me, my hand, I.

And it's only getting better from here.

So here it is, for anyone struggling with a similar issue, the message of this whole post - you made something where there was nothing. Faulty as it may be, you made something. Not everyone can do that! Remember that! A lot of people can't draw, write, etc! And you made something like a badass legend you are!

Thus, from your local writer who's trying to branch out, keep up the good work.

[storiesforallfandoms]

inspiration ~ dominic fike

word count: 1486

request?: yes!

“hey luv can you do a dominic fike smut!! it’s fine if you can’t but yeh”

description: in which she’s having trouble writing her verse for their song so he decides to give her some inspiration

pairing: dominic fike x female!reader

warnings: swearing, smut

masterlist (one, two)

I groaned as I balled up yet another sheet of paper I was trying to write on and threw it into the nearly overflowing trash bin. Dominic looked up at me, amusement on his face. “Any luck, hun?”

“Why does the label want a stupid sex song from us?” I asked. “I can write music about literally anything, but I can’t write a song about being intimate with my own fucking boyfriend.”

I knew the answer to that. It was because Dominic and I were dating and had yet to do a song together. Instead of another sickly sweet love song performed by two artists that were dating, the label wanted a steamy song from the two of us. After all, sex sells.

Except for me it doesn’t. I had never written an intimate song before. It just wasn’t my style; I didn’t feel comfortable writing about my personal, intimate moments. Dominic had no problem, though. He wrote his verse, and had an idea for the chorus, in roughly 10 minutes flat.

“Is our sex life that boring?” Dominic teased.

I shot him a playful look before throwing my pen at him. He chuckled as he caught it, effortlessly. “You know it’s far from boring. I just don’t like sharing those aspects of my personal life. I can’t write a song about our private sex life knowing that millions of people are going to hear it.”

I sighed and put my head down on the soundboard in front of me, where I had been desperately trying to write my verse for the past hour and a half. I was starting to admit defeat and give up on this whole song.

“What did you write about?” I asked, my voice mostly muffled.

“About you giving me head.”

My head shot up so fast as I felt my face beginning to heat up. Dominic laughed at the look on my face - which definitely had to be a sight for him to see at that moment.

“I - I - ” I stuttered, trying to find a way to respond to that.

Dominic smirked as he reached for his own songwriting notebook and passed it to me. I read through the verse he had already written, finding it full of innuendos and sweet words to describe how “heavenly” it felt when I gave him head.

I had no idea he felt this strongly about our oral sex. I mean, I knew I made him feel good. He made sure to vocalize that every time I had my lips wrapped around him, but I didn’t know he loved it so much that it was easy for him to write an entire verse about me giving him head. Just reading his verse made my panties become a bit more wet.

I crossed my legs in an attempt to subdue the ache between my legs, trying not to be so obvious. It was no use, though, as Dominic was giving me a knowing look before his eyes glanced down at my crossed legs.

“Why don’t I give you some inspiration for your verse, then?” he asked.

My eyes widened as his hand moved to push my legs apart. “Here? We can’t. What if someone catches us?”

“We have the studio booked out for another hour, we won’t be caught,” he assured me.

His hands made their way up my legs as he began leaning towards me. His lips were just inches from mine as his fingers looped around the belt loops of my jeans. While my mind was telling me this was a bad idea, and anyone could possibly catch us, my body was aching to see exactly how Dominic was going to give me this “inspiration” he was promising.

I giggled as he pulled me to stand and immediately started kissing my neck. One of his hands found its way between us, unbuttoning my jeans effortlessly before dipping below the waistband. I gasped as his fingers pressed against my clit, feeling myself becoming wetter by the second.

My head lulled back as I moaned from his touch, which Dominic took advantage of as he began to kiss over more of my neck. He began to rub my clit, slow at first but then began to speed up just a little. He pressed his fingers hard against my clit, send shivers of pleasure up my spine. I was trembling against him already, and couldn’t help but whine when he pulled his hand away from between us.

In one swift motion, Dominic pulled both my pants and my underwear down so they pooled around my ankles. He pushed me back until I was pressed against the soundboard, then lifted me up so I was sitting on it. He positioned himself between my legs and began to kiss over my thighs painfully slow, dragging it out in order to tease me.

I kept glancing up at the door every now and then, making sure no one was passing by or looking in at us. From where we were positioned, anyone who happened to glance through the window on the door would have a full view of what was happening between us. However, my worries about being caught were immediately forgotten when I felt Dominic’s tongue against my clit.

I ran one hand through his short hair before resting it on the back of his head, holding him in place as he began to lick long strokes up my clit. With the other, I clutched the edge of the soundboard so tightly my knuckles were turning white. I threw my head back and moaned Dominic’s name so loud, although I could care less about anyone hearing us.

His tongue felt like heaven and the pleasure building up inside of me was the best feeling I had ever experienced. I had to stop myself from trying to grind against his tongue, but it was hard when I was so desperate for him to speed up with his lapping.

The tip of his tongue teased my clit a moment before it started to go down further. Dominic pulled my hips out slightly, giving himself more access to my dripping pussy. I gasped as I felt the tip of his tongue against my opening, then cried out when I felt it push past my folds.

“Fuck Dominic!” I moaned in pleasure.

I pulled his head more, which pushed his tongue into me more. My body vibrated as he chuckled against me, sending a new type of pleasure coursing through my body.

I was in pure ecstasy as Dominic started bobbing his head. My legs started shaking, then the trembling continued to the rest of my body. My back arched and I felt the pleasure building up inside of me. I dug my nails into the edge of the soundboard, trying to hold back my orgasm but struggling to do so.

“Are you close, baby?” Dominic asked, looking up at me with those eyes that I loved so much. My brain was so foggy with pleasure that I couldn’t respond. I only managed a nod. He smiled and said, “Cum in my mouth, (Y/N).”

He placed his tongue against me again and began to lick broader strokes against my opening. Unable to hold it back much longer, I threw my head back and screamed in pleasure as I felt my climax rip through me. Dominic took hold of my hips, holding me close to him as I trembled with pleasure.

When he pulled away, I could still see my juices coating his chin. He wiped it off with the sleeve of his shirt as if it were nothing and helped me to stand. I stumbled a little, still trying to regain myself. I reached for his pants, wanting to return the favor, but he caught my wrist before I could.

“I want to return the favor,” I told him.

“You don’t need to return anything. I wanted to make you feel good, that’s enough for me,” he said. He took my face in his hands and kissed my forehead before kissing my lips. I could still taste myself on him, which started to turn me on again.

He dipped down to pull my pants and panties back up. I buttoned my jeans and fixed them so it didn’t look quite so obvious what had just happened.

“Was that enough inspiration for you?” he asked, a cheeky grin on his face.

I smiled back at him and kissed him again. “I definitely think so. Although, you may have to give me a little more inspiration later on. Not sure if I’ll be able to complete my verse and my chorus today.”

Dominic’s grin brightened more as I said this. We kissed one last time, then finally managed to pull away from one another so I could go back to my songwriting.

Surprisingly, it wasn’t too hard to write a verse after that.