#en talks: writing process

[petertingle-yipyip]

pookie your last 2 posts about ocs are too real, like i can NOT watch a show without making up a little oc for it. Like whats the point of watching a show if i can't make up a silly girl in it or read some silly fanfic about it 🙂‍↕️

also off topic but i just can't stop talking about this but i just ordered some new taylor merch 🙂‍↕️

everything i watch or read, im over here making up a silly little girl that’s right there with the main characters and then im like “oh im gonna write that! but she needs a name…” and then they become a long winded x reader fic cough cough mag cough cough but now im putting out an actual OC!! even though i literally had one on wattpad years ago! also, yes, you get your merch! i bought some fancy special edition books the other day and i immediately told my mom and my sister and anyone else who was around

[mysunshinetemptress]

Patience

Alexia putellas x equestrian!reader

Warnings:rushed shitty writing, not proofread

“Vamos!” You shout arms outstretched above your head in relief and excitement as you watch the Spanish girls dance around the pitch hugging one another and thanking their Japanese opponents, your mamí wraps her arms around you tightly pulling you into a hug “Oh, Potro, eso fue increíble” You let out a small laugh hugging her tighter “Conozco a Mamí y esto es solo el principio, VAMOS ESPAÑA”

You smile watching the team happily talk to each other about the match that has just taken place before deciding to call it a night, you had one final training session before you would have to take part in the first round of the eventing on the 27th.

Your least favourite event was dressage, you hated how meticulous it was how precise, everything had to be on point, one wrong stride and you would be falling down the table, the bid for a medal slipping further away. But dressage was like a dance, a dance where your dance partner is your horse Once fuertes, you lead and he follows in time to the music.

When it’s over and you see your name sitting in first place and you don’t seem to dislike it as much, you are happy with your dance partner, with the precision of his hooves through the sand his strides perfect, of course it is you who cause the fault only a slight one but still you have raked up 16.00 penalty points.

1.5 penalty points less than your closest opponent but it’s not enough.

“Lo siento, mamá, debería haber sido mejor” you fall into your mothers arms “Potro, it was perfect, parada being so hard on yourself, tienes razón donde necesitas ser un potro, llegarás allí, solo espera.” All you can do is let out a grunt as you push off her and turn to follow your grooming team.

You don’t get a day to relax, to process your recent accomplishments instead your sitting on Once fuertes in a forest in Versailles getting ready to take part in the cross country trail for both Spain and yourself just like yesterday.

Only today is not a dance, today is a race against a nine point two minute clock and twenty eight fences/obstacles in the way. Once fuertes is big at 17.5 hands these obstacles will be nothing for him the time trial a minuscule thought for such a long strided horse like him, but it’s up to you to get him there.

You do so perfectly, you trust in him to leap over every obstacle and land ready to race towards the next and he does it without hesitation yet you don’t stop talking to him pushing him forward edging him to go faster to jump higher and it pays off. You hold your lead. You’re still number one, still in position for gold. Your first gold.

Your happier this time around, your mother can tell just from the way your hunched over Once talking to him happily “ Oh, mi chico, eres increíble, eres perfecto, podríamos hacer esto, yo y tú, once, yo y podrías ganarlo todo, oh, ese es mi sueño para ti y para mí.” Your mother pats Once happily “Bien hecho once, gracias por cuidar de mi potro” you beam down at your mother before swinging your leg over and jumping down from the thoroughbred laughing happily as your mamí pulls you in for another bone crushing hug “Dios mío, mamá I think we might actually have a chance, we might actually place on the podium me and Spain, me and Once.” Tears spring to your mothers eyes, happy tears at your growing excitement, at your accomplishments so far “I don’t think you’ll just place Potro, you will win it all, you and España and Once, you will win the gold.” You shake your head not wanting to get your hopes up just yet “Paciencia, es todo lo que tengo en este deporte.” Your mother squeezed your arms before letting you stand back as you got ready to follow your groomers again “you sound just like your Papá.”

It’s not over, far from it, you still have the eventing show jumping tomorrow, the team final and the individual qualifiers but tonight you can relax, tonight you get to watch La Rojas face off against Nigeria, tonight you get to focus back on a different race for a podium and your happy to get to switch off even just for an hour.

You sit happily in the Olympic village with your team around a table as you watch the girls battle it out, fighting for a point that never seems to come. “Uhh, no van a anotar, quiero decir, vamos, quedan diez minutos.” Your teammate Carlos shakes his head, you simply smile and shake your head “Paciencia Carlos, they will strike when they are good and ready. She will strike when she is good and ready.” The team laugh at your faith in the Spanish girls, your faith in your favourite player La Reina herself, but it is you who is laughing five minutes later when Alexia scores the only goal of the match “Mira, te lo dije, when she is good and ready.”

You look out at the castle the next morning getting ready to walk the course with your teammates insuring you know your route, your strides, when to push Once on more with your leg and when to let off, to losen the reins, this is it, you could win your first gold medal today with Spain, your first gold medal as an individual, you just have to be patient.

You must qualify in the top twenty five to reach the individual qualifiers, you must be in the top twenty five to win, you have to jump a clear round all while staying within the eighty second time period. Once has to stay calm, so you have to stay calm, Once must keep his strides precise, he can’t over stretch, he might knock a pole if he does, he might knock more than one and the penalties you have been working so hard to keep down could wrack up suddenly, but again your against the clock a time trial, you have to do this fast, he has to do this fast, you both have to do this fast and clean together, it’s the only way you will keep your spot.

And you do. You jump last for Spain, you jump clear for Spain, for your self, to qualify for the individual medal, not a single pole rocked within the cups and you stayed five seconds under the time limit, for Spain, for you and Once, you were perfect, he was perfect, now it’s a waiting game as the last five jumpers get ready to try and knock Spain off the gold position.

None of your other teammates scores are as perfect as yours but they aren’t the worst, not even middle, they are comfortably in the top twenty and so you stand in the stands to watch the final rider with bated breath.

Great Britain sit second, France sit third and with Tom McEwans for Great Britain four faults in his round he seals the deal on all three podium spots, you have done it, you’ve won a gold medal, Spain have won a gold medal, Once has won you both a gold medal and now you have to refocus to win your individual one.

Your jumping last out of the twenty five riders, you sit in first and you can’t do anything except watch how the riders ahead of you take this new course, their turns, their leg sheathed it’s on or off, how their horses react, you watch the screen as the names move up and down below the top four, the top four, four faults sit between you all, four faults is all it will take for you to drop off the podium altogether, for this to be all for nothing and as your time comes closer it seems to be the only thing swimming around your head.

But it clears, it clears as you swing your leg over Once and as your mamí squeezes your leg before turning to the thoroughbred “Enciérdala por mí, cuida a mi pequeño potro.”

Sixty seconds till your gold medal, sixty seconds till you hold a gold medal, till you and Once become Olympic champions sixty seconds and a clear round.

You don’t remember the course, you don’t remember starting the course, but the roar as Once touches the ground on the far side of the final fence, clear, two seconds under the time giving, clear, clear, he jumped clear, you jumped clear both of you together jumped clear, your an Olympic champion, Once is an Olympic champion, Spain are Olympic champions and all you can do is look towards the sky and shout.

You arrive back to the village beaming, two gold medals around your neck, a team and an individual, you won’t have time to celebrate it, not yet, the games aren’t over but for now you beam and let out quite thanks you’d as athletes pass you in the village congratulating you as they pass.

You freeze as a certain athlete stands in front of you “Guau, hace tres días y ya tienes dos medallas de oro, debes ser bueno.” Your frozen unable speak, unable to think, unable to breath. She’s gorgeous, she’s breathtaking and she’s standing right in front of you. “No, No not really.” She smiles holding out her hand to you “I’m Alexia.” You look at her hand before taking it gently, scared your hand might pass through hers “I-I am Y/n.” Alexia beams happily holding your hand for far longer than she expected but she thinks you’re gorgeous, that you’re breathtaking and so she doesn’t mind “I was going to get a go coffee, would you like to join me.” You nod before finding your words “Sí, me encantaría.”

You let out a laugh as Alexia tells you of her younger sister Alba stating that the only role she wanted in the Olympics was that of a WAG or singing in the opening ceremony.

You sit happily listening to her talk about her family, talks about them like you have known her and them forever, you want to ask about her father but decide that if she isn’t happy mentioning him to you, a complete stranger she met mere hours ago then you weren’t going to ask.

“I am here for Fútbol.” You nodded “Sí, I-I am a fan.” Alexia doesn’t react like you thought she would, her smile seems to grow “a fan, of Spain?, of Barcelona?, of me?.” You laugh “De todos ustedes, de España, de Barcelona de ustedes, la Reina- I have been in love with fútbol my entire life, I have been a culers my entire life, and I have been a fan of you since you started playing.” Alexia lets out a sigh, a content sigh. “That is good, because I don’t think I could give my phone number to a Real Madrid supporter.” You laugh again this time sliding your phone over to the older girl.

Alexia watch’s you as she types in her number, adding emojis to her name. “So you never told me what sport you’re so great at that you won both of your medals for.” You blush as the conversation turns to you, you were quite content listening to Alexia talk and now she had switched to you. “Ecuestre, this one is from the team eventing so Yo y otros tres ciclistas ganamos este.” You hold out your team gold medal for Alexia to inspect “Y entonces this one is my individual medal, but really I couldn’t have done it without Once.” You hold out your individual medal as Alexia’s eyebrows raise “what is your horses name.” You smile “Once fuertes” Alexia nods approving “eleven is a strong number alright.” You let out a giggle taking back your medals “so what does Once get.” You go to take your phone out to show her pictures of the thoroughbred “he gets a rosette, and carrots, lots of carrots.” Alexia let’s out a small oh “well that’s not fair.” You pause as you go to hand over your phone “what do you mean.” Alexia shrugs “well your job is easy, the horse does all the work, so shouldn’t he get a better prize.” You feel your face heat up and turn bright red from embarrassment, as you smile sheepishly putting your phone back in your pocket, you push your chair to get up from the table and Alexia can tell she’s said the wrong thing “Y/n.” You ignore her as you stand “Good luck for the rest of the games.” You leave immediately as Alexia shakes her head “Joder.”

Alexia tried texting you but your not answering and so she decides to see if you have any social media, with a quick google of your name Alexia feels her guilt increase ten fold “Y/n Ferré Balagueró dedicates her Olympic wins to her father.” “MIERDA”

[nightlyrequiem]

Maybe something with Valeria as mom to a very talkative baby girl? While reader is just dying of love in a corner*blink blink* (sry I'm ovulating xd)

This was so cute! :(

I love my angst and tension but I never realised how good it feels to write something that's just wholesome. It makes me wonder how Valeria would actually be if she were a mother. I think I can see her being both overprotective and one of those parents that thinks her kid should break a few bones in life. Not what I wrote here, just a little headcannon.

Tags/Warning: Mentions of Pregnancy, WLW, Tooth Rotting Fluff, Unnamed but Loved Baby

Baby Babble

Tranquility is a heavy feeling. Though it's not similar to the heaviness of hopelessness. It isn't cumbersome rather comforting. You feel weightless as you sink into the couch. Cuddled up under three blankets. After many long, serious talks with Valeria, weighing the risks of having children, you finally proceeded with the IVF process. Due to the nature of Valeria's work, she couldn't be the one to carry. It was a lengthy process with needles and vitamins and pills. Almost two years of preparing and failing. It took a while but finally your body accepted her eggs and you carried your baby girl for eight and a half months. 

Your daughter was born a little early and a little sickly but made a swift recovery. So energetic and happy. Her conception was difficult, and the beginning wasn't simple, but she turned out to be such an easy baby. Rarely fussing and as healthy as she could be. Valeria didn't carry her, but she's just as invested, if not more than you. Often being the first one to get out of bed and check on her when she cries at night. When handling her baby there is no trace of the violent criminal, instead she's just Valeria. Stripped down of all her complex layers.

A few flickering candles light the clean-living room. A few toys scattered around the open space, stuffed animals and plastic contraptions with cartoonish smiling faces.

"Come here." Valeria coos. Crouched down with her arms spread. Recently, your daughter has begun to start using her legs. Awkwardly stumbling in small bursts before tumbling down onto her knees. Your daughter smiles, her chubby cheeks looking even chubbier and that makes you smile in turn. She pushes herself onto shaky feet and takes cautious, wobbly steps towards her mother.

"Ba! buh." She babbles. A talkative thing, she is. Valeria has taken it upon herself to start teaching her the basics of Spanish. Even before she started to crawl Valeria was dutifully making flash cards. Simple words and grammar. She hasn't said her first word yet, but you believe it will be soon. 

"That's right, come here mija."

Your daughter blows raspberries and falls to her knees. Landing soundlessly on the carpet.

She gets back up and continues on. Your persistent little girl. She makes it into Valeria's arms where she's promptly lifted up.

"¡Mi niña fuerte! Estarás corriendo de un lado a otro en poco tiempo." Valeria says, voice high pitched.

"No baby talk." You remind her gently. As hard as it is, the pediatricians discouraged baby talk. It can negatively impact the development of their speech.

Valeria sighs and nuzzles her baby's nose with her own. "I know, I know." Valeria jerks her head away as your baby swings a tiny fist at her. Eliciting an amused chuckle from the both of you.

"Mmm." Your baby hums. "Mma."

"It sounds like she's saying 'ma.''" You remark, lips twitching from how precious she is.

Valeria holds her up and looks at her, smiling warmly.

"it does," She laughs. "'mama', say 'mama.'"

"Am."

"Ma-ma." Valeria walks over and sits down next to you. Adjusting the blankets over her thighs. Your baby sat on her knee with an arm holding her up. You lean against Valeria.

"Mam."

Her little voice makes your heart swell. What will she sound like when she grows into her forever voice? She blinks her big brown eyes, so much like Valeria's. 

"My beautiful family." Valeria murmurs softly. Kissing your forehead.

"Mama."

You gasp in excitement. Grabbing Valeria's arm. "She said it!"

Valeria strokes your daughter's cheek.

"You're so smart." She says thickly. "Say 'mama'. Say 'mama' sweetie."

"Mama!" Your baby squeals. Valeria's face lights up. You're overjoyed that both of you can be here for this milestone.

You yawn but fight back sleep. Wishing you could stay in this moment forever. Capture it in a little bottle to carry around with you. To hold and admire in your darkest moments. A reminder of what you have and what you're living for. Your wife, and your daughter. The two most important people in your life.

"She'll be graduating college before we know it." Valeria whispers fondly. Resting her head against yours.

"Shhh." You reply. "Don't say that. She'll be this small forever." You gently trace the curve of her nose. Trying to burn the sight into your memory.

[tpwk-formula1]

Hii, first I just have to say how much I adore your request-format! It makes the whole process so fun, and I can’t wait to read more of your writing😚❤️❤️❤️

For the order, I’m really craving a gluten-free pizza, served by Franco, with some red sauce. But I’d like it kind of both ways, so red sauce from him and red sauce from reader, if you know what I mean. Like they’re fighting for dominance, switch x switch ❤️ and are kinda mean to each other. But for vibe, I’d love sort of a teasing, intense tone, where Franco’s just really teasing, charming and cocky. So rough but not too onesided, you know!❤️

Then for toppings I’d love pepperoni, tomatoes, gorgonzola and gouda, but again sort of evenly between them. I’d love for them both to be kinda mean. ❤️

To drink I’m really craving a diet coke, diet pepsi, red bull, white claw and an Old Fashion to finish it off. (Both crying)

Also dessert would be amazing, thank you!!❤️❤️❤️

For an extra add-on, if that’s okay (otherwise just ignore this part❤️), I’d love it if he spoke some spanish to reader, not really dirty talk but some hot pet names and teasing sentences that reader doesn’t understand. Translate is fine, so don’t worry abt it having to be perfect, but if you’re not comfortable just ignore this!❤️

Thank you, I’m really looking forward to reading your fics!!❤️❤️

Lee-Lee's Pizzeria Menu

gluten-free rivals red sauce rough sex pepperoni "Be a good girl, and you'll get what you want" tomatoes "Do you enjoy pissing me off?" gorgonzola "Are you always this fucking loud?" gouda “Slow down? You just told me to speed up, make up your mind silly girl” diet coke recording kink diet pepsi biting redbull hickeys white claw crying old fashion drunk sex dessert yes served by Franco Colapinto

Franco x rival! reader

TW - switch x switch, edging, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, crying, rough, begging, unprotected sex, creampies, GOOGLE TRANSLATED SPANISH - MDNI 18+

WC - TBD

Y/N POV

"Do you guys ever get along?" I hear one of the drivers on the grid ask making Ollie groan and answer before Franco or I can answer.

"They were finding a way to fight each other even when she was promoted to F1," Ollie says making me laugh slightly.

"He just knows how to get under my skin," I saw while shrugging my shoulders not seeing how this was any of their business.

"You mean to tell me when she would be gone and we couldn't find her she was terrorizing him?" George asks. I just smile and nod my head proudly.

When I joined Mercedes at the beginning of the season and became teammates with George I still would pop my head into the F2 paddock to say hi to some of my old teammates while also finding ways to piss the Argentinian off. But when he joined mid season replacing Logan we where finally racing together again which meant messing with one another became so much easier.

As the night out progressed and the drinks kept coming Franco and I found ourselves shoved in a dark corner together.

"God you smell like tequila," I state when he gets close trying to pull me in for a kiss. I just push at his chest pulling a fake disgusted look which only had him roughly grabbing my jaw and placing a kiss on my lips.

"Been thinking about that all night," Franco admits making me pull a disgusted look at him.

"That's prety fucking domestic," I state while pulling him in closer by shirt before I release my grip on his shirt and move my hand to his neck where I gave it a good squeeze while I plant my lips back on his.

"You're a fucking whore," I whisper against his lips when he whimpers at my tight grip.

"Vas a ser la puta en un momento," Franco whispers back against my lips making me pull back slightly giving him a raised brow. He knew I didn't understand much Spanish which made moments like this that much more intense.

"Let's get out of here," Franco says while turning away and walking towards the exit which had me following a few minutes after not trying to look like I was going home with him. I knew damn well the second they realized the 2 of us missing they would put 2 and 2 together rather quickly and Ollie was never shy to expose what we really did when we where alone.

When I finally pull up to Franco's hotel I waste no time in getting up to his room and knocking on the door.

When he opens the door he instantly pulls me into his room and closes the door before he roughly shoves me against it pulling out a loud whimper.

I feel Franco move his hand to my neck choking me in the same manner I had done to him when we where in the club. I whimper when I feel his grip tighten on my neck but quick compose myself and push against his hand so I can move away from the wall where I quick use my strength to push him against the wall and pull him back for a kiss.

Franco still had his hand around my neck but due to his shock of the position change made his grip loosen slightly. But it take Franco little to no time to gather himself and move his hand from my throat to my hair where he pulls me near the bed and push me on the ground so I was on my knees with my back resting against the foot of the bed to trap me in the position.

Franco wastes no time in pulling his pants and briefs off and pushing my head near his hard length. I open my mouth and let Franco start face cum me.

"joder siempre tómalo tan bien," Franco grunts out as he pushes my head against the mattress and uses it to his advantage. With my head not being able to move anymore he pushed his length all the way down my throat making me gag and almost instantly start tearing up.

"Fuck, you're a pathetic slut," Franco grunts when he sees the tears start rolling down my cheek. When he starts fucking into my face and hitting my gag reflex each time he pushes in I start fighting back slightly. I'm pushing at his thighs trying to slow down a bit which only has him going harder.

"Jodida tómalo," Franco grunts out while still fucking my mouth.

Franco pushes my head all the way down his cock making sure I take the fuck length leaving me to gag and tear up around his cock fighting to gain some air. When he finally released my head I pull off his cock and start coughing and gasping for air trying to gather myself before I stand up and push Franco on the bed. I quickly strip out of all my clothes while Franco pulls his shirt off and climb into bed to join him.

When I get into the bed I start teasing Franco's cock with my tongue making him hiss at the stimulation to his sensitive cock. I knew after face fucking me he wouldn't last long but I didn't care, I wasn't planning to let him cum, just wanted him begging under me.

"Fuck, hermosa," Franco hisses when I start pulling his cock into my mouth while still teasing his sensitive tip with my tongue.

While still swirling my tongue around the tip of Franco's cock I move a free hand down to his balls and start squeezing them making Frnaco moan rather loudly.

"Fuck, m'not gonna last long," Franco whines out making me speed up my actions on his balls and start bobbing my head bringing him close to the edge. I could tell Franco was about to fall over the edge which had me instantly moving away from his cock to watch him start bucking his hip and whining at the loss of contact.

"Fuck, no please! I was so close, I fucking need it! Please Hermosa hazme venir," Franco whines.

"Are you always this fucking loud? Begging to cum already? Pathetic little thing," I tell him while slowly stroking his length. I loved watching the way Franco gets exceptionally more desperate and needy when he was this close to cumming.

As I was leaning down to continue my teasing Franco roughly grips into my hair and pulling me up so he can plant a kiss on my lips before flipping us over so he was now the one on top.

I feel Franco instantly push his full length into my tight pussy giving me no time to adjust before he was roughly fucking into my pussy making me cry out in a loud moan.

"Now, who's the loud one?" Franco questions back with a smirk while he continues to fuck into my pussy making me loudly moan at the pleasure coursing through me.

"Faster please," I beg which has Franco instantly fucking into my pussy at a faster pace.

"Fuck, the way you clench around me is gonna make me cum," Franco grunts out making me clench around him around.

"More, please," I beg again needing more feeling my orgasm starting to build up.

Franco speeds up into a brutal pace becoming too much almost instantly.

"Fuck Franco," I cry while cumming all over his cock. Franco continues to fuck me through my orgasm at the brutal pace making me start crying in overstimulation while begging him to slow down.

"Franco can't take it. Slow down please!"

“Slow down? You just told me to speed up, make up your mind silly girl,” Franco teases back only going at a faster pace.

I knew I was a crying mess under him again but I didn't care when I felt my orgasm starting to build deep within my pussy once again.

"Fuck, gonna cum for me again?" Franco states when he can feel my pussy throbbing around his cock in anticipation for another orgasm.

"Fuck, Franco," I cry out as I start cumming all over his cock once again. Franco helps me ride my orgasm out finally slowing his pace down to let me catch my breath. Once I've settled down I flip Franco and I over once again climbing off his dick and getting back on my knees so I can pull him into my mouth again.

"I taste amazing on your cock," I say once I've collected some of my slick. I lean up and spit directly into Franco's mouth knowing he would only be able to taste my spit, but not caring because I loved seeing him swallow like a whore.

"Fuck, Hermose, please," Franco begs which has me leaning back down to his cock to pull him deep into my throat and bobbing my head.

"Fuck," Franco manages out while bucking his hips right on the edge of cumming.

I pull back at the last second while squeezing his cock knowing it'll help him from cumming before I was ready to let him.

"Please," Franco cries out making me smirk at him at how desperate he is.

"Shut up," I tell him before pulling him back into my mouth and repeating the same process while he was under me crying and begging for his release.

"I said shut up! Do you enjoy pissing me off?" I snap at him while sending down a harsh slap on his inner thigh making him whimper at the sudden and sharp pain.

"Please! I'll be good! I'm so close, please!" Franco begs while tears start rolling down his face.

"Look like a proper whore! Crying for me like you weren't just doing the same thing to me," I tease before taking Franco back into my mouth and edging him once again.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum," Franco groans out once again making me pull away from his cock entirely to watch as it bounces against his lower tummy in search of stimulation so it could finally be put out of it's misery.

"Mierda, Please lo necesito tan malo," Franco says so lost in his pleasure he's asking in Spanish. I let Franco start to come down from the edge while I lean down and start kissing his inner thighs before I start taking small little bites of out his sink before I finally sink my teeth in and leave a little hickey on his inner thight while i repeat the process a few times letting his once bare thighs be scattered with hickeys made by me.

"Given, I don't know Spanish I'm gonna take it you want me to do it again!" I say with a smirk only resulting in Franco crying out again while thrashing his body around a bit.

"Quite it!" I say while sending down a hard slap on his inner thigh knowing it'll get him to stop squirming around under me.

I lean back down and pull Franco into my mouth again and start bobbing my head which has Franco instantly gripping at my hair trying to keep me down on his cock, but it didn't work because the second he was about to cum I use all my strength to pull my mouth away.

"No, no, no, no, I can't do it anymore," Franco cries out making me smirk before climbing into his lap and sinking down on his cock making him cum almost instantly.

"Mierda, sentirse tan bien envuelta alrededor de mi polla," Franco chants in Spanish while I ride him through his orgasm.

"Fuck, I need you still Franco please," I beg while riding his cock which had him flipping us back over so he was over me again while he starts pounding into ym pussy as if he hadn't just cum.

"FUck, Franco, not gonna last long," I cry out making him speed up.

"Fucking hold it and be a good girl, and you'll get what you want," Franco grunts back making me whimper.

"PLease, Franco can't hold it back," I whine out making Franco roll his eyes and pull his cock out right before I was about to cum.

"Franco! What the fuck," I try to shout but it comes out more like a whine making Franco smirk at me.

"I'm just giving you the same treatment," Franco replies back before plunging his cock deep into my pussy and fucking me.

“Please!” I beg once again which has Franco speeding up his actions while bringing his head down and biting my neck making me whimper while throwing me over the edge and into another orgasm.

When I finally come down from my high Franco slows his hips down and unleashes another load deep into my pussy to join the first load he gave me.

“Fuck,” Franco groans while pulling out of me slowly and climbing out of bed to clean me up.

“Im not moving from this bed for atleast 12 hours,” I joke while curling into Franco’s side and relaxing into his warm embrace.

“Sounds like 12 hours of free range to fuck you,” Franco jokes back which has me whining and clenching my thighs at the thought.

“You like that idea I see,” Franco further teases with a laugh making me burry my face in his chest and start kissing his skin before making my way to his mouth and pull him in for a kiss.

“Think your teammate would believe it if I said you’re actually pretty sweet to me sometimes,” Franco says making me laugh softly and shake my head.

“No George is convinced Im heartless,” I reply back making both of us giggle softly.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Quick world lore question; does the game ever specify what kind of potions/poisons exist in twst? Like, since it's technically a fantasy world, would things like health/stamina potions like you'd see in rpg's exist? Or would it be closer to reality, like home remedies and basic pharmaceutical stuff?

I'm only an EN player and I havent read all the pomfiore student's vignette's so if they answer this there then im sorry for the bother ; ;

Potions aren't talked about in the only Pomefiore students' vignettes! (In fact, if we're talking just strictly Labwear vignettes... Vil and Rook's don't really focus on potions at all; only Epel's sort of does.) There isn't actually a ton of lore about potions, and in the times when they do become relevant, the writing tends to focus more on the ingredients and/or the preparation process rather than what kind of potion would be produced. For example, the entire Labwear series of vignettes frequently brings up rare or dangerous plants that require the application of magic in order to safely harvest, such as the mandrake and the lantern blossom.

I wasn't able to check all vignettes (since that would be like... what, probably a few hundred at this point? If not that, then at least over 100.), but there's definitely mentions of potions with various effects. From all lab vignettes alone and combing through the main story, here's what I could glean:

transformation/transmutation potions (prologue, book 2, Beans Day, book 6, etc; this is probably the most often mentioned type of potion)

voice-changing potions (Leona Labwear vignette)

color-changing potions (Epel Labwear voice line)

plant growth potions (Epel Labwear voice line)

sleeping potions (Silver Labwear vignette)

awakening potions (Silver Labwear vignette)

magic enhancing potions (book 2)

a potion that changes one part of your body to that of an animal's (book 3)

itch-relief potion (Lost in the Book with Stitch)

potion that heals burns instantly (Jamil Labwear vignette)

On the subject of poisons, no specific kinds are mentioned as far as I'm aware. There's a Poison Refining class (Cater Labwear vignettes), but we don't really get specifics. When poisons are talked about, it's usually in reference to the Fairest Queen or the Pomefiore dorm leader being skilled in making potent poisons, or it's Kalim talking about the many attempts on his life and unnamed poison antidotes. There may be more mentioned in other places, but at this time I don't have the capacity to check every single event and vignette. If you know of any more that aren’t listed here, please let me know and I can update the list!!

It should also be noted that "potions" can also be used for other purposes. This includes creating special effects for movies (mentioned in Vil's Labwear vignettes) and enhancing the effects of skincare (book 6, Azul Ceremonial Robes, etc.).

You'll notice that the effects of these potions can also be achieved via regular spellcasting. (In fact, we see Adeuce practicing color changing magic in Floyd's Labwear vignettes + Vil using color changing magic to help himself hide from paparazzi, etc., Jack's/Malleus's/Azul's UMs also allow them to do things without the help of potions.) Because of this, I believe that potions are meant to be an alternative way of spellcasting without actually needing to use magic. This makes already prepared potions usable by mages who don't want to expend energy/build blot as well as by NON-MAGES.

Within the world of TWST, there is an occupation known as the “medical mage”, who appear to combine magic and medicine into their practice. Furthermore, what is called “Potionology” in EN is written as 魔法薬学 (literally, "magic pharmaceuticals") in JP, implying that there is, in fact, an intersection between magic and medicine. This is similar to how "technomancy" is described to be the cross between magic and technology.

In terms of a "healing potion", there are instances which show that a magic potion may heal or at least speed up the body's natural healing process. For example, in 7-68 of the main story, Baur gives Lilia something to drink to help him with the dire blow he just took. It doesn't appear to restore him to full health though, as Lilia states he still needs rest afterward. In EN, they use the term "potion" but in JP they use "薬" (kusuri), which is "medicine". Baur qualifies the character with "魔法" (maho), which is "magic", so the term he's using is "magic medicine". This is probably the closest thing to a "healing" potion that we know of in the TWST lore.

So technically, yes, TWST has "healing potions". I wouldn’t say there is one blanket cure-all potion though; based on what we know of potionology and how it’s very similar to irl chemistry classes, we can assume that there are generalized “healing potions” but that there must also be far more specialized and targeted ones, similar to medicine irl or non-enchanted or non-magic infused medicine. This is supported by Riddle mentioning a potion that instantaneously heals burns, implying that there is no “cure-all”.

I would imagine that, like transformation potions, “healing potions” would have to be highly regulated since they’re basically a drug 💀 (There would probably be OTC types too, given proper governmental approval!)

[frogs-in3-hills]

okay i’ve had most of my life to steam on the ending of princess tutu and i’m only just now peeking in on the fandom side of things. and i love all the post-canon stories where ahiru gets to be a girl again!! but there’s another side there where i think we are missing the potential comedy of fakir’s girlfriend literally just being a duck. he starts taking the train to the city outside and taking university classes to hone his writing. he doesn’t really make friends with anyone else but he seems nice enough and he sometimes likes going to watch the ballet students. he has very strong opinions on the works of drosselmeyer. he talks and dresses like he’s from the 1900s and he’s obviously never used a computer before. it’s probably because he’s from that weirdass, walled-off part of the city where nobody ever returns from. he really likes ducks. and apparently he has a girl back home but he won’t ever talk about her.

then one day he starts bringing a duck to his lectures. an actual fucking duck. well, she’s a very well-behaved duck, and fakir seems much happier when he brings her so everyone just kind of accepts it. oh yeah, fakir, that’s the duck guy. he writes about ducks and he has a duck named duck. she’s a very friendly duck, and he lets her waddle off to hang out with other groups or to swim in the fountain. sometimes she perches on his desk in class and watches him write as if she can read the words (and he still uses a feather quill and ink—in hindsight, he’s an english major, so this is maybe the least weird thing about him). sometimes after the lecture he’ll sit outside and explain everything to his duck like she could actually understand, and everybody just figures that’s how he processes, like a programmer with a rubber duck on their desk, except with a real duck instead. he writes about ducks too. lots and lots of ducks. he is, inexplicably, the duck guy.

their university has a small ballet major. anyone is free to use the practice rooms. one of the ballet students swears up and down she once saw the strangest thing through the window one night—fakir and his duck, dancing a piecemealed pas de deux in the darkness. the duck was standing on a little stool so she could reach his hand and she was on the tips of her feet, as if trying to dance en pointe. and fakir was laughing. nobody had ever really seen fakir laugh before. it was almost as weird as him dancing with a duck who had somehow gotten ballet training. the student told all of her friends about this strange sight, but nobody believed her—“that’s crazy,” they said, “you must be dreaming up fairy tales.”

fakir is mysterious and offputting and quite the loner. but everyone mostly likes him because he is the duck guy.

[ultraxavbo]

Hi Guys, I usually don’t post anything, but I wanted to give my thoughts on Tim drake being bisexual.

We all know that Tim drake it’s an super cool Robin, but I feel that the way writers are writing Tim in the comics lately it is just shitty, I fell the way they write about him coming out as bi is not natural and slow, it feels more like forced, they could have just give him his time and write his process to understand himself and his sexuality in a way that it feels more appropriate.

I know many people love it but if I’m completely honest I don’t like it. I don’t mind that his bi I just think now all his character is just him being bisexual.

They just write his bisexual like it is his personality, Tim is more than just a young bisexual men, I feel that dc and marvel en many other company’s want be supportive but this not the way.

LGBT characters have been always be part of the world of comics, but people are getting tired of the “woke” thing and I am a person that’s supports the rights of the community even tho that I’m not part of the community, we just need a good writing, that all I’m asking for.

And I’m nos just talking about Tim drake and I’m talking about Jonathan Kent (Superman son), it happens the same situation with his character. I’m just disappointed that they think this is a good what to write about a character that so importante in the dc comic world and bat-family.

Inclusion is not bad, it’s the way it is portrayed in comics, I know many people associate the word inclusion like it’s something negative or bad, the only bad thing is the way represent things.

Please don’t think that I’m a person that doesn’t like bi o gay people, I just feel the writers just wanted to give fan service but a shitty fan service.

I will like that if you want to share your thoughts on this, please do so. With respect of course.

Thank you.

Xav

[bisexual-horror-fan]

"Not What I Planned." Rusty Nail X AFAB! Reader.

Well hello! It is the amazing and fantastic @eggsandbeer birthday so, so soon! But I am meeting Matt and Skeet tomorrow and my brain is gonna be all on Billy and Stu post that, so you get this now! This is my first time writing Rusty, I watched Joy Ride 2 six times while writing this. I love Riri, she is so fucking awesome and I adored doing this. She has a more personalized version but gave the go ahead to post a reader insert version for you all! So let's go!

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Rating. Explicit. Length. 7.7K (I Know.) Rusty Nail X AFAB! Reader. She/Her Pronouns. Warnings: Customer Service Work. Asshole Customers. Murder Mentioned. Drinking. Making Out. Man Handling. Fingering. Masturbation. Blow Job. Cum Eating. Vaginal Sex. Riding. Taunting. Teasing. Dirty Talk. Praise. Pet Names.

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You hate your job, it is exhausting, mentally and physically, a total drain, but you do all you can to not let it get you down. You focus on the little things, good customer interactions, great coworkers and the times you are truly able to get away from your work. It isn’t like it’s what you wanted to do for the rest of your life anyway, far from it, in fact one of those vital lifelines that helps keep you sane is a local news internship, it gives you some good experience for what you hope to actually eventually do with your life along with giving you purpose. 

Today is not good, though, off to a less than ideal start. This is decidedly not the way you wanted to spend your birthday. Rolling into the grocery store to do a closing shift, apron in your grip and bag over your shoulder, half-hearted waves to co-workers as you strolled through towards the area you could safely stow away your stuff until you are allowed to clock out. You do just that, drop your stuff in the usual place, get your uniform situated and punch in, ready for another day of God knows what bullshit. 

Your mind was at least slightly occupied, where you work is en route to the Burning Man festival which meant that you were busy as fuck with people loading up on supplies before they arrive to their final destination, it kept you busy. As for what kept your brain whirring, your internship had tasked you with writing a piece on the crowd that is rolling through on their way, meaning you are watching and listening intently. It looks like you aren’t from the outside, hands stacking a fruit display, but ears open, all sorts of talk about events the Burners were amped up for, how much further they had to travel, what snacks were the best and would keep in the desert heat. 

You did some actual work naturally, finding yourself crouched and cleaning out a stubborn drain, the process thoroughly annoying and honestly degrading, and not in the fun way you usually liked. It was your fucking birthday, for Christ’s sake, you should be indulging in the fun kind of calve burning, not the bent over and unclogging kind. Still, you try to stay in higher spirits and certainly not show it outwardly, if someone squinted hard enough, they might be able to pick up on it. 

Later on, you had just finished making a new display, standing back and looking at the gorgeous display of apples you’d spent longer than you cared to mention on, hands on your hips. The first genuine smile that had graced your face since clocking in and wasn’t tinged with a single hint of perfectly practised customer service fakeness. This is one of those moments you felt genuine pride in your work, a glimmer of nicety in all the bullshit. 

It lasted for two whole seconds.

A customer’s cart hits you in the hip and wrist simultaneously because of how you were standing, the action both painful and shocking, completely unexpected. It makes you step to the side, grip your wrist with your other hand, the pain is throbbing and dull, it isn’t the worst thing you’ve ever experienced, but it still sucks and should have never happened in the first place. The customer doesn’t apologize. Worse still, they stride forward, pick a single apple from the middle of the display, causing half of it to tumble over. The customer scoffs with a roll of their eyes, they drop the apple into their cart to look around, seeming to notice you just now for the first time, only then acknowledging you. They give a pointed look from you to over their shoulder, a motion of their head as they criticized your work, “Not very sturdy.” 

Your mouth falls open, and they tut as they walk away, leaving you dumbfounded with fifteen some odd apples scattered on the ground that you had to clean up and a display you had to rebuild. 

Later still, you are sweeping, trying to get these damn onion skins up, but they aren’t moving. You are half focused, conversing with one of the Burners, they are asking for your opinion on what kombucha is best, and you are humouring them and getting a few questions answered along the way. 

Throughout all the regular work crap, you’d been having small conversations with people, writing brief notes for your project, and it was nice getting some serious stuff down about it, served as a half decent distraction too. 

His initial thought is that it was reminiscent of a zoo, upon greater thought while attempting to park the Peterbilt he decided swiftly that it was worse than that, a fucking circus. He manages to park and decides that getting in and out as fast as possible would be vital to maintaining his sanity. He was aware that Burning man was happening, naturally, but still the place was crowded as all Hell, more than he had been anticipating. Rusty didn’t like large crowds of people, but he needs some supplies, he needs to eat. 

It isn’t any better inside. 

He is making his way around, hat pulled low, basket in his grip, grabbing a few drinks, some favoured snacks that he knew kept well, he was passing by the produce, almost ready to get the fuck out. He goes into your department, he is grabbing bananas and thinking about getting some of those pre-cut carrot and celery sticks. Rusty is trying to be a tad more health minded, not like it would do much with how much he enjoys a good smoke but better to do something than nothing he supposed. 

His train of thought is broken when he hears a loud exclamation of, “I can’t believe how fucking stupid you are!”

Rusty’s head turns, he catches sight of you, standing there, trying to look apologetic as some older lady is verbally ripping into you, “I’m making lemon chicken LEEK stroganoff, right?”

She is looking at you expectantly, your eyes wide, and with that half customer service forced smile you nod and say through gritted teeth, “Right.” 

“So tell me, how. Am I. Supposed. To make. Lemon, chicken LEEK stroganoff without LEEKS?” The way she said it was infuriating, the halting, pausing way of it, so condensing, as if you were the cross between an idiot and a child all rolled into one. 

“I don’t know, ma’am. I guess you can’t. I’m very sorry.” You admit it reluctantly, knowing she won’t like your response, and she does not. She goes off on you, “Well I’ve had this menu planned for WEEKS, I have company coming tonight! You have to make this right!” 

Rusty was listening in, brow pinching, this woman was off her rocker, what a complete bitch. You were trying to calm her, smooth over the situation, and she was being worse and worse to you. No matter what you say, she wouldn’t stop freaking out. 

“I really am very sorry. I could call another store nearby and ask if they have any leeks?” You offer up, and she scoffed with a laugh, “So I can make ANOTHER stop? Do you not remember? I am hosting a dinner party tonight, I’m busy! I have other places to go, I can’t be here fighting with you over this all night!”

And yet she was still here, doing just that. 

He had turned, wasn’t watching quite as subtly as he was previous. You were doing your best and none of it was measuring up to this crazy, impossible standard that was being set out. He was looking at you, and he could see that you were taking it hard, your customer service face and voice were holding strong, but your eyes? They looked so sad. 

You reminded him of a kicked puppy, as the woman finally had enough of being a raging cunt and stormed off. Right after that, someone else in uniform walked by, a manager? And on their way, they said, “Happy birthday.”

You gave a small, “Thanks.” along with half a wave as they strode past. You were not only working on, but getting treated like that, on your birthday? 

It got to him, hit him square in the chest, shot to the heart. A sigh and he looks over, he makes a note of the asshole who mistreated you so, he has a little time before they check out before he can go dispose of them in the parking lot for being so unreasonable and rude to you. It might be too far for some people but not for him, people like that, there is no changing them, not at her age, some people don’t deserve to live. 

First things, first though, he saunters over to you, a small clearing of his throat before he asks, “Got a date tonight, there a drink you’d recommend?” 

You turn towards the low and smooth voice, you have to turn your head up to look at him properly, he was taller than you. The way he was standing, the angle, and how he wore his hat you couldn’t see his face, brim pulled too low, standing a few feet away.

A small inhale and your smile turned more genuine before you reply, “Oh, our Pink Champagne is my favourite. I get that on special occasions.” 

Well, how fucking perfect a find were you? Kind, respectful, hardworking, and you have good taste. 

“Thank you.” He said it easily with a wave of his hand in acknowledgement and broke away. You watch him go and think to yourself that he is cute, in that particular way that strikes you when an older guy catches your eye just so. The interaction doesn’t stick with you however, you turned and saw more fucking onion skins that needed sweeping up.

Hours later, you finally get off of work, messed up apron in one hand and looking forward to getting the hell home. You had two days off ahead, you were intent on a bath and partaking in some drinks in your fridge with a good record on when you get home. You are walking through the dark and now very empty parking lot, your mind only focused on reaching your car, sliding behind the wheel and getting home as soon as possible, when you hear a voice calling out. Your car keys are in one hand, the keys between your fingers, sticking out and ready to punch a would be attacking if you need to. 

Hearing the voice makes you put your head on a swivel, initially scared, you look and then see it is that older gentlemen you helped out earlier. You pause, and he comes a little closer, again in the dark and with that hat you can’t make out much except for the orange glow of the end of his cigarette, partially illuminating the lower half of his face. He calls out your name, following it with a question of, "-right?” 

“Hi, yeah it is.” You were still sightly on edge until he is holding up the very same bottle you suggested earlier, “Wanted to say thank you for your recommendation, properly.” 

Your brows raise up, you saw him in the store hours ago, meaning he should in theory be long gone, and you ask, “I thought you had a date?” 

“I do. I was just waitin’ for her to get off work.” Even though you couldn’t see it fully, you could hear the smile in his tone, and it makes one spread to your own face. “Oh, my apologies, I didn’t realize that was you asking me out.” 

The tone you said it in was very light, and he seemed equally amused, “Sorry bout that, terrible manners on my part, truly.”

There is a beat of silence, and you say, “I think I can find it in my heart to forgive you.” 

“So you’d be willing to join me?” He asks, you nod, you felt endeared to him very quickly, the confidence he displayed, the boldness, you were charmed and figured why not? You had the time tonight, nothing wrong with enjoying a birthday drink bought by a courteous man. 

“Where are we going to go?” You ask, and he gestured over to the large shiny black Piterbilt towards the back of the lot. “Was thinking my truck, if that’s alright with you?”

When he asks in that delicious tone of voice, you think that yes, it is very alright with you. “Lead the way.” You prompt, and he does, you fall into step beside him, apron is thrown over your shoulder, and you asked, “So you’re a truck driver?”

“How’d you ever guess?” He asked on an exhalation of his cigarette with a glance over to you. Now you can catch the half smirk on his face, unable to make out his eyes completely, but it didn’t bother you, honestly you kind of dug the mysterious kind of thing, not even fully knowing what he looked like. If anything that communicated how into him, you were, hadn’t even seen his whole face but his voice and how he carried himself was more than enough to convince you to this odd kind of unexpected date. 

“I’m real intuitive. Call it a gift.” You mused, and he liked you, even in how you joked, there was no real meanness to it, could tell that it was all in fun and that inherent niceness shone through. “Giving me gifts when it’s your birthday? Isn’t that what M’ supposed to be doing?” 

That gives you some slight pause, how in the fuck did he know that it was your birthday? Before any serious question could be made, you were next to his truck on the passenger side. You look it over and say honestly, “Nice truck.”

“Thanks, do my best to take real good care of it, s’ seen some rough times.” You look a little closer, scrutinizing, if it had, you couldn’t tell, the thing looked clean and not a scratch on it. You turn and lean against it, you realize he had gotten some cups that were also sold at your work, he holds them out, “Mind holding these while I open this?”

You nod and take them out of his outstretched hand and watch as the last remainder of his cigarette was dropped and ground under the heel of his boot. He uncorks the bottle with ease, doesn’t spill any or cause it to overflow, which mildly impresses, you hold out the cups and he fills them. The bottle is set aside on the ground and after passing him his cup he asked “Any words to share?”

“Here’s to the weekend?” You offered up after a moment’s thought, and he said, “I’ll drink to that.” He knocks yours and his cups together, and you take a sip of the sweet and familiar fizzy alcoholic drink. 

“Seriously the shift I had today was rough, so this is really nice, thank you-” Then you realize you don’t know his name, he clearly picks up on this and says, “Name’s Rusty. Rusty Nail.” 

Immediately you figure it must be his CB handle, you wonder if Rusty is his real name, but also you don’t think it matters much, you don’t press, “Well thank you, Rusty, really.” 

“S’ my pleasure. Heard how that woman was going off on you earlier, some people can be so rude.” Is that what prompted this? The total bitch who was freaking over leeks? If so, you think that maybe her being such a raging cunt wasn’t such a bad thing if it led to this. 

Little did you know that Rusty had taken care of her, she was currently stuffed in the trunk of her own car, way, way on the other side of the lot, body long since gone cold. 

The conversation then turned to you both complaining about a shared distaste for rude and unreasonable people, he let you vent about your day and previous horrible customers at your job. As the conversation went on, you find yourself enjoying his company more and more. You also find yourself standing closer to him, half the bottle gone, he’s had another smoke, and you are leaning on him much more than the truck, he doesn’t mind, you sigh to him, “I cannot believe the crap you have to put up with, it’s so unfair!” 

“Some people have some really unsavoury and outdated views on people in my line of work.” He admits with a nod, and from what he’d shared it seemed like. There are people who say the meanest shit, make horrible assumptions, treat him like dirt or worse, a feeling you know all too well at your own job. You relate to Rusty. 

You’d been talking for an hour, and it was even later, darker, and a shiver unexpectedly ran up your spine, “You cold?”

You were a little, you were in a t-shirt and after standing in one spot for so long this late the chill had somehow set in. “Yeah, surprisingly I am a bit.” 

Then he made an interesting offer. “You want to get in my truck, warm up?” 

You think you really did want that. “Yeah, that’d be great, actually.” 

He moved back then and so did you, he opened the door for you, and you looked up, Christ it was big, how were you supposed to get in while in your slightly buzzed state without looking like a total clown? You feel him against your back, he asks, “Need some help?”

You nod, unsure of what he means or how he is going to help but trusting him all the same, it’s then that you feel his hands on you. He turns you, and then those same hands find your waist with ease and grip. He lifts you like you weigh nothing, and you realize to him, you probably do, as he helps hoist you into the passenger side of the truck. Rusty sits you on your ass in the seat and your face feels much hotter, he just scooped you up and set you down so fast, one simple and fluid motion as he stepped one foot up on the running board, and then there you were. You are side-saddle, legs dangling down and far off of the ground. His hands leave you quicker than you’d like, sliding off your waist and stepping back down. You are a bit dazed, his hand touches your ankle, and you jump, he laughs at your surprised, “What?”

“You wanna get your legs in, so I can close the door?” You nod and do so, swinging your legs in, and he shuts the door. Your hand, that had been clutching your bag and apron, dropped them on the floor by your feet. You look down into your cup, you hadn’t spilled any even when he picked you up, the cup is raised, you tip it back and swallow down the remainder. A sigh and you pull the cup back, hand still clutching it, comes to rest on your thigh as your thumb on your opposite hand swipes a stray drop from the corner of your mouth. He had come around to the other side, he has the door open and is sliding in beside you into the driver's seat, he’d picked up the bottle on the way, and you were contemplating asking for more.

As if reading your mind he gestures for your cup, you lean over, holding it out, and he pours you some more, you asked him, “So before, you were talking about all the bad stuff about truck driving, but what about the stuff you do like?”

The question seems to surprise him if his tone is any indication, “The stuff I do like?” 

He has pulled the bottle back, he isn’t pouring more for himself, you respond to his question with another of your own, “Yeah, what makes the job worth it? Other than the money.” 

Rusty considers the question for a moment before he says, “I like seein’ the country, like being by myself most of the time but most of all? Probably seems obvious, but the freedom of it.” 

You nodded, it made sense and asked, “Can go anywhere, do anything?” 

“S’actly.”  

The silence is as surprisingly comfortable as the passenger seat of this truck is. The thought hits, and you say it without thinking, “I dunno how you do it.” 

“What? Truck drivin’?” He asks, and you say with a turn to him, “Yeah! Like, the actual driving it.”

He laughs, and you press on, one hand holding your cup and the other making like you are gripping a steering wheel that was comically large, pretending to turn it, “Seriously! This thing is massive, it’s a beast! How can you control it?”

“Ain’t that hard really, just gotta be the right mix of careful and confident.” He assures, and you laugh, “You make it sound so easy, I’ve never driven anything this big, that-” You point out the window to your much less impressive ride, “-is my car over there.” 

“Yeah, don’t quite measure up, does it?” He teases and you grin, “Nope. But I don’t think I could drive anything like this.”

“I think you could.” A small pause before he asks the big question, “Wanna try?” 

You nearly choke on your sip and pull the cup back, wiping at your mouth, “What? Me? Drive the behemoth? You want to write it off that bad, Rusty?” 

“You cannot be that bad a driver.” He scoffs. 

“Rusty, you barely know me, I dunno-” He insists, “C’mon, I’ll help.”

“Help?”

You were curious enough to allow it to happen, you’d not counted on his idea of help being putting you in his lap. He’d moved the seat back enough and encouraged you to climb on, emboldened by both the drink and his encouragement, you slide on into the space he made. He moves the seat forward enough to do the pedals, and he places your hands on the wheel, his hands covering yours. “You sure this is a good idea?” 

Nerves were setting in, you’d been drinking, not a lot but also all the close contact with him was getting to you, his attractiveness was apparent during your brief meeting earlier but now that you'd’ been getting to know him? He was becoming even more appealing, being sat in his lap, your back to his chest, his hands on yours, you felt flustered. Sounded by him in both touch and scent, it could be enough to make your head swim if you let it. In your current position, his voice is over your shoulder, “Positive. You’ll be fine.” 

The tone of voice he says it in, the conviction, he makes you believe it. 

One of his hands leaves yours briefly to start her up, the truck rumbles to life, and it makes you jump slightly, Christ it was loud and is vibrating like all Hell. “We’ll just do a lil’ loop, alright? M’ doing the pedals, you just steer her real easy.” 

He had to speak louder to be heard over the hum of the truck, and you pitch your own volume up to be heard, “Yeah, real easy, can do.” 

His foot comes down slowly, and he eases it forward, you grip the wheel tightly and let him lead. He talks you through the process, and it helps, you focus your eyes forward and your ears on listening to his smooth voice praising you, “Uh-huh, around the pole, use it as a guide.” You swallowed and nodded, brows knit together as he keeps talking, “Oh good job, see? You’re doing it.” 

His hands squeeze yours reassuringly, your mouth feels dry, you nod and say quieter than you should, “Thanks.”

“No need to thank me, you’re doing most of the work.” You feel that isn’t truthful but again, he talks, you believe. 

“Almost all the way around, a little further-” Both his hands leave yours, sliding down your arms and choosing to come to rest on your waist again, letting you fully be in control. It makes you tense, rushing out, “Rusty, wait-”

Another flex of his hands, another show of comfort, he says easily, drawling out, “Calm down, you’re doing it all yourself.” 

You aren’t fully convinced until you’ve made the full loop, and he lets off the gas, he turns off the car and your shoulders slump, what he says next, makes you melt, “I told you. You’re perfect.” 

That does something, makes a particular part of you break, or is it wake up? Either way, a certain section of you, somewhere aside, comes alive, and instead of wanting to run from it, you chose to grab onto the live wire of sensation with both hands. The truck has stopped, but you keep moving, the urge overcomes, and you turn in your seat and in his lap, one hand comes up, meets his cheek, feeling the rough stubble. He’d already gotten you the champagne, but you think you want more still, and you ask, “Can I be selfish?”

“S’ your birthday, be as selfish as you want to.” You take that is more than enough of an invitation. You lean up and in, push the brim of his hat up enough to give yourself the appropriate access, and you kiss him. 

He had a feeling it was going this way, but thinking and experiencing are two different things. You choosing to take the lead was better than he could have been hoping for, though. Your mouth was so fucking soft, you felt warm, he tried to take it easy, but this is the kind of thing he can’t help getting swept up in. Chances like this don’t come around often, the urge to rush is present, he manages to ignore it, preferring to savour it, or rather, savour you. He lets himself relax further into the seat, returning your affection immediately. 

The scratch of his facial hair against your skin feels better than you’d hoped it would, you let out a soft exhale, a sound on the precipice of a moan while still falling just short. His hands are still on your waist, he nudges you closer, you lean in more, your head tilts, his lips part, and he tastes more like cigarettes than he does the champagne, but it’s there. Your tongue makes the first exploration and sticky sweet fruit is unearthed from below smoke and ash. 

One of his hands slides down, a brief pass over your thigh, and you wonder where it’s going, you realize in short order when the seat you are both on moves back, giving you more space, making it, so you aren’t quite as locked up against the steering wheel. Heat is sparking inside, your hand moves from his face, slipping to rest on his neck, your other hand comes up to his shoulder, fingers grip the jacket he has on and the want becomes too much. You grind down on him. 

The shifting and adjusting allows you to feel how hard he was growing, a harsher inhale, and you begin to scramble, you want more contact, you move to be fully straddling him, no more twisting partially around like you currently were. You are seated just right soon enough, ass firmly planted, and you think fleetingly God he had some solid thighs, strong, you felt very well-supported. 

The making out was only paused briefly while you changed position, you’d gotten right back into it, your mouth slotting back against his with a hum that sounded like his name. You grind again and this time he returns it, rutting up into you, and the friction makes you actually moan this time. The taste, the feeling, and two minutes more of making out is all it takes for you to break, pulling back once his touch had gotten bolder, one having slid up your body, palming one of your tits through your work shirt easily with how large his hands were. You arch into him, breaking the kiss you beg, “Fuck, Rusty, more.”

You are close enough now that you can see his smile as opposed to just hear it, his hand moves and starts to go under your shirt, rough fingers on bare skin and steadily moving up, brushing the edge of your bra. Not quite a laugh but more than an amused releasing of air, he asks, “More?” 

A frantic nod, another squirm of your hips and he asks, “How much more? C’mon, tell me.”

He wants you to say it and you want it desperately enough that it’s no issue, far from it, if anything him making you say it, makes you want it more, makes you feel hotter. “Fuck me?”

“I like your directness.” Thank God for that. “Just have a lil more patience with me, alright?” 

When he asks in that tone, you think you’d do just about anything. A small nod and he needs to get his fill of you just a hair more. Hands explore, groping, feeling, it teases both of you, trying to get a sense of your body before the clothes come off, mind running over just how you’ll feel with nothing in the way. You remain good, you let him feel, minimal squirming on your part, even when he starts kissing your neck as the hand that isn’t up your shirt kneads your ass. Only when you feel your underwear literally plastered to you and your cunt ache incessantly do you whine his name again. 

He mercifully acquiesces, “Okay, okay, I hear you.” 

He eases up, a gesture of his head for you to move to the passenger's seat, “Gonna need you out of those clothes for what you really want.” 

You rush to comply. Once in the passenger's seat, sitting sideways, still facing him, looking at him, your hands catch the bottom hem of your shirt and as if anticipating that you intended to frantically tear it off, he stops you. One hand out and that sweet but firm tone, commanding, "Do it slowly." 

Your face feels hot, and you do as instructed, slowing your movements right down, pulling the shirt up, exposing your stomach and then your bra. Higher and higher until you have taken it off, tossing it in the direction of your bag and apron. Next you have your thumbs hooked in the waist of your pants, arching your hips you start to slide them down, you watch him, try to gauge his reaction, but it’s hard in the low lighting. He gives a nod to show he’s pleased so far, encouraging you verbally too, “Go on.” 

Shoes removed, pants follow, soon you are in just your underwear, and he speaks, a small gesture of your body, up and down, “S’ a good start but keep going.” 

You reach behind yourself, start to unhook your bra, and he is still talking, “Dying to see the rest.” 

You swear you can feel his eyes raking over every exposed inch of your skin. A small thought strikes, you follow it, slipping your arms out of the straps but holding the cups to your chest, an indulgent smile, a rise of your eyebrows, and he clicks his tongue, you play dumb and ask, “What?”

“You’re being a tease.” He states, and you ask in a tone of mock innocence, “Am I?” 

He says more seriously. “Drop it.” 

Unsure if he means your bra or the act, you chose to abandon both. You let the padded fabric slip out of your hands, a spread of your legs, you wonder if he can tell how wet you are from here. He moves too now, you weren’t expecting it, he falls to his knees in the space between your seat and his. Hands come to your hips and the sudden contact makes you jerk with a sharp inhale. His mouth catches yours in another kiss, you return it and moan, his mouth doesn’t stay on yours for long, trails down, jaw and neck, one on your shoulder and lower.

He is confident, he’s taking what he wants and you more than let him, you enjoy every rough scrape of his well worked hands, pass of his lips and nip of his teeth. His warm breath fanning over your chest is welcome, one hand has moved again, over your hip and now on your inner thigh, his thumb is close enough, and he runs it up you, swipes up your clothed slit. You sigh, eyes falling closed, relishing the contact, you are sure now he can feel how wet you are. He runs it back down and then up again, a press just right, and you moan between the friction on your clit and his mouth now on your chest. 

He found it so easily and judging by the smile you can feel against the curve of your breast, he is just as pleased. Rusty abandons the current pleasant task, fingers hooking in your underwear, “I got a feelin’ it’d be a fight to get these off you too, an’ I just can’t wait.” 

You couldn’t either, not anymore. 

Assisting with a move of your ass up, he gets them off, and now you are naked in his semi-truck. You want to jump him, but he is holding you down by your thighs, taking in the view of you unobstructed, totally bare. “Fucking gorgeous.”

A hand reaches out, catches his jacket, and you tug as you tell him, “I feel really exposed right now, you wanna lose some of these?”

“S’ only fair.” He agrees, he removes his jacket and asks, “Wanna give me a little show while I fix myself?” 

It is a request, but you take it like it’s an order. Hand between your spread legs, fingers trace up, catching ample wetness and spreading it up, circling sensitive tissue, making your thighs tense and a small moan fall from your lips. “There you go.”

The praise helps, you increase the pressure, and he hums in approval. Shirt is gone, belt is opened more and more revealed until he is in a similar state of undress. The view of him stripping all for you is insanely helpful. Pleasure is filling you easily and once he is ready he asks, “You mind if I-?”

“However you want me, please.” It leaves you needy and breathless. He steps in, he moves your hands away from yourself, and starts to adjust you to his liking. You like it, you think he can be rougher honestly, you are put on your knees, facing the passenger window, a hand on your back, adjusting you more, hips tilted up, and you feel him against you. The bump of his shaft between your thighs and over your clit is already very good. “Ready, yeah?”

A shaky nod, “Please Rusty-”

The one word and his name is all you are able to get out before he is lining up just right, you hold your breath in anticipation, he spits into his own hand, strokes himself, the extra lube as courtesy is appreciated. He slides in, and you let out a gasp, he doesn’t do it easily, taking you in one firm stroke, hand on your hips as his come to rest against your ass. He revels in you, the tight, soaked heat of you, his head tips back slightly as he soaks it before he starts to move. Pulling out halfway before driving forward, your hands scrabble for the window’s edge, you hold onto it like a lifeline as you gear up for what is already promising to be the ride of a lifetime. 

His thrusting is firm, just like him, steady and sure, a good and even pace. It leaves breathless, not caring about being overheard, not like anyone could in the empty parking lot. A heavy breath from him, “Fucks sake, you’re soaked.” 

You were moaning, incoherent pleas, along with his name, you were more than warmed up, each drag of his thick shaft in and out increasing the feeling. Fingers dig into the meat of your hips, he pulls you back as he drives forward, and you move too, rocking backwards to meet him. “Tight as Hell, can barely fit myself in here.” 

“Keep talking, never, ever stop talking.” Is the one thought in your brain as you moan dumbly. You aren’t thinking much, unable, but you are feeling. Rusty was so kind to you, was totally turning your birthday around, making you feel incredible, spoiling you, and you want to do the same. His hands are roaming and that won’t do, you need to stop him before you are fucked into total submission and wrecked. Another minute, just another minute, you tell yourself, eyes are half open and brain hazy. The glass is so fogged up you can’t see out of it, could write your name but if he asked you doubted your hands would be steady enough. Could you even spell your name right now with what he was doing to you? 

Finally, you reach back, hands on his hips, “Ru-Rusty, please, stop-”

“Something the matter?” He asked, holding deep, all the way to the hilt inside you. His hands smooth up your sides, fingers trace the curves of your chest before coming back down again, and you shiver, clenching on his shaft. 

“Gotta, fuck, do something. Pull out?” He listens, he does so, “Whatever you want, sweetheart.”  

The pet names, fucking Christ the pet names, you are forcing yourself to move. It happens quickly. You turn, and then you push him, so his back is against the seat of the driver's side. He takes the hint, sits up on the seat sideways, and then you are the one on your knees. Between his spread thighs, you lean down, a hand locks around the base of his shaft and you lick. He lets out a surprised groan, soft and sounding too good. You start to blow him in earnest, careful of your gag reflex as you work. Your hand slips up and down his slick shaft as you suck on the head, his hand comes down to your head, fingers twist in your hair, “Like tasting yourself?” 

A nod as you moan against him, tongue swirls around the tip, and he watches enraptured, his hips buck slightly, and you gag almost immediately. He inhales through his teeth, “Sorry there.”

You brush him off, a gesture that it is fine, as you redouble your efforts. He seems to be enjoying it immensely, he is encouraging you further but soon asks, “Can you handle some more?”

For him, you want to try. You nod, and he guides you, does it slowly and easily, “Breathe through it-”

You do and the pace, his voice, it somehow works, and you’re able to take him deeper, “Pretty birthday girl. Takin’ it so well.” 

All you wanted to do was please him, you continue the work for only a minute more, however because then he tells you, “I want you back up here.”

You jump at the chance. Same as before, you climb up him and straddle him, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see where this is going. “You didn’t have to do that.” He comments, and you have your hands on his biceps, currently sucking a hickey into his neck and teasing your dripping hole with the tip of his dick, “I know. I wanted to.”  

“Could tell you were into it. You always wanna taste yourself like that?” 

“Not always but it is-” You move your hips down, start to slide him inside with a moan, once he is buried inside of you again you finish the thought, “-a favourite.” 

“Dirty girl.” He coos it like a compliment, and it hits you just like one, too. You start to ride, his hands on you help along with upward rocks of his hips. You bite and suck along his throat in between broken moans, the salt of his skin is a tad too addicting, as is the stretch of him inside and the way he brushes all the right spots inside of you at this angle. 

Apparently it still isn’t good enough for him. 

He tugs you closer, presses you so that way your clit is getting friction and ground with every thrust and bounce, your moans increase in volume in pitch along with the sensation. You had no clue this is how your day would shake out, if you did, maybe your shift would have been more bearable. 

His hands are on your back, holding you close, fucking up into you as you are slamming down, and on a particularly good hit you are gasping. For two people fucking for the first time and relative strangers, you’d found a frighteningly good rhythm. Your body is moving on instinct, just chasing what feels good but still, thoughtlessly tinged with doing your best to please him, thankful for the moment that what seems to be getting him off is feeling incredible for you. It isn’t quite enough, though, and he seems to pick up on that. 

“Lean back.” His voice snaps you out of your pleasure induced stupor, and you nod, separating yourself from him, the one point of contact still remaining your ass on his thighs and him stuffed deep inside. He directs you further, his hands help, and you find yourself with one hand on his knee, the other braced on the roof of the truck, feet on the seat on either side of him and with a confident nod you start moving again. 

It’s good, you are able to hit spots inside yourself that are even deeper, using all your leg muscles as well as your hands it becomes more of a full body effort, minute adjustments can be made so too much strain is never on one part of your sweat slick frame. Soon as you are just right in the groove of it, he surprises you, why he wanted the change in position becomes all too clear. His hand is between your bodies and his thumb presses down, swirling over your clit, and it makes your pace falter, “Oh my fucking God-”

“Don’t stop now.” The way he says it makes a shiver run up your spine and again makes you clench down on him. He says it in the dominant tone of voice, but it’s light, that smug fucking half grin on his face, unable to tear his eyes away from your body. You shake your head, choking out, “Wo-won’t stop.” 

“No, course you won’t, you’re so good at listening.” The praise washes over you with another sharp jolt of ecstasy. His hand that wasn’t working your nerves into a frenzy was on your thigh, sliding up, gripping your hip, “This workin’ for you?”

Fuck, was it ever. You nod frantically, focusing on breathing and not stopping riding him, but in short order, your movements were getting increasingly sloppy. It was like he didn’t have to ask, didn’t rush it, just let you work it out and helped carry you along. You were getting dangerously close, the edge creeping up at a blinding pace, everything you’d experienced so far this night was piling up and threatening to make you break apart at the seams. There were no real words, just hurried breathing and pitched moans, head back, nails digging into the fabric of the truck cab’s roof, the sound of skin on skin and his encouragement. 

A soft call of your name, his hips moving up, grinding into you as his hand works and him asking in a mind meltingly hot tone, “I wanna see it, give it to me.”

And something about that, whether it is what he said or how he said it, causes the reaction inside to finally make it happen, like it clicks into place just right, and you go from a weak and barely audible strained whisper of, “I’m almost there!” To holy fucking shit, I’m, “-cumming!” 

Riding as much became not an option, legs almost giving out, but he takes over, grip on your hip is bruising, hip strength impressive, and he drives up into you over and over. Your hand isn’t able to stay on the roof, caught midair, body tense as your climax rockets through your body, you think your hand on his knee might be drawing blood with your nails, but you can’t stop it nor can you care. 

You jerk as it peaks, and he slips out, his fingers don’t stop until you are crying out and pushing him away, still trembling through the aftershocks. Your eyes were closed, you were panting and not even remotely down from his high when you feel the hot splatter on your tits and stomach with your name staining his tongue. Peaking back open, you see him, hand around himself, and he’d cum all over your torso. The pretty pearly white is sliding down, and his own breathing is very laboured. Your hand trails down, still shaky, skating through the mess he left, and then you're bringing those same fingers back up to taste him. 

Your body relaxes against him, you get into a more comfortable position, and after you stop shuddering so much you are telling him, “That was pretty fucking great.”

“Oh, are you all done?” He asked as he looks up at you, hands are resting lazily on your thighs, tracing patterns absentmindedly. “I mean I thought we were but are we not?”

“We don’t gotta be. I’m in no rush.” The thought of that is extremely pleasant. 

“Another drink till you’re ready to go again, old man?” You asked with a smile, and he laughs as he reaches over to where the bottle was left on the floor of his side of the truck. Thankfully it hadn’t been knocked over, “You get that one and only cuz you were so good.” 

“Only one old man joke or one joke overall? Because I was gonna make one hoping that you aren’t passingly along tetanus to me Rusty, but if you’re planning to be a buzzkill-” He shuts you up with a hand on the back of your neck and a kiss that you end up humming into. Yeah, you think this has been a pretty solid birthday. 

[aingeal98]

Idk if you wrote about it in the past, but thoughts about a potential Stephcass wedding? How it would play out, what they wear etc. With those women it could be interesting lol

I'd like to see you tackle that in a story if you wanted to, considering you write fanfiction and did a really good job imo with this ship.

OK so I actually have a detailed idea in my head of how stephcass plays out in the future that starts with them getting together, breaking up because Cass grows even more intense in her commitment to the mission once she becomes Batman, and then a year or two later Cass showing up in Steph's apartment with a kid being like hey I rescued this kid from being forced to be a child assassin but his parents are dead and idk what to do pls help.

And Steph is like we haven't talked in five months are you fucking kidding me. But she's not a monster and Cass looks way over her head so the two of them start kind of coparenting this kid because Cass understands the assassin aspect but she has no idea what school supplies a 10 year old might need. And then one thing leads to another and it turns out Cass may actually be worse at this adoption addiction than Bruce is because despite her firm belief that she is not capable of being a good mother she is also unwilling to Not help any child assassin she meets. And often that includes adoption because there is no other family uniquely capable of understanding the trauma these kids are going through.

(Cass meets an alarming amount of child assassins. She doesn't adopt ALL of them because they don't all need that specific type of help. Steph is still mildly concerned and not just because her apartment is getting way too full even though all the kids technically live at the manor and Steph is just a family friend.)

So in my mind they do everything backwards. They're exes then they're coparents then they're kind of rekindling things and then five years after Cass adopts the first kid she's like hey do you want to have a baby together because I didn't think I'd be a good mom but I actually really love helping these kids and I really like doing this with you and I think I'm actually ready to be both Batman and the mother of a baby. I get why Bruce was scared but I'm built different so I simply won't die and this kid will grow up happy and loved and I'll teach it everything I know and you can teach it important life stuff like what the settings on the washing machine actually mean and why certain clothes need dry cleaning.

And Steph is like woah that's a lot to process but Cass babe you have to ask me on a date first. And Cass is like have we not already been dating for a few years now? And Steph is like no showing up on my doorstep with a kid who needs a good meal, a shower and medical attention is not actually a date. Neither is attending those little league games together or patrolling together. If you're going to ask me to have a baby I'm going to need a ring on this finger and you're going to have to work for it.

So they date, and then they get married, and they have a bunch more kids most of whom are adopted or fostered. By the time Cass is forty she has five kids, the oldest of whom she adopted as a 10 year old and is now 21. And she and Steph have been married for five years technically but have been coparenting for eleven.

The wedding itself would be pretty straightforward, if more extravagant than normal. Cass wears a suit and is mildly uncomfortable with having to talk about her feelings in front of an entire audience. Steph wears a dress and can't stop smiling because god she loves this woman so much even though she can be a dumbass sometimes. Especially because she can be a dumbass sometimes actually.

The whole family is there. Bruce cries. Crystal makes snide but deserved comments at him the entire time. Tim was asked by both women to be their best man and almost spiraled into another self destructive slump from trying to process all the emotions he felt about that. In the end Cass takes Babs with Bruce walking her up the aisle and Steph takes Tim, who still looks mildly terrified throughout the entire ceremony, like one wrong move from him is going to bring the entire building down on top of them.

Two of Cass's enemies do show up to try and ruin the wedding but unfortunately for them they end up making it so much better instead because Cass gets to kiss her wife AND punch some bad guys in the face all in the same event. She's having the time of her life. What the hell was Bruce so afraid of this marriage thing is EASY.

(It's not easy. Cass is able to balance the mission and her family better than Bruce but that doesn't mean problems don't exist. The kids are used to at least one fight every six months where Steph basically yells at Cass for all the ways she's been letting Batman responsibilities come between them and Cass is like psh I don't know what you're talking about and then gets her act together because she does in fact know what Steph is talking about. She takes Steph to Themyscira on a vacation as an apology. She doesn't repeat her mistakes but she does make new ones because it turns out there are infinite ways you can mess up when raising kids especially when your work is being Batman and you're never going to stop. Steph messes up too although her mistakes are less to do with work life balance and more to do with hurtful comments made during arguments that she regrets. It's never anything bad enough to break them up again, and for the most part they're shockingly the most healthy and well adjusted pairing of the family. Damian takes great joy in reminding Tim of this fact.)

I've basically just written an abridged version of a very long fanfic idea that exists in my head haha but thank you very much for giving me the opportunity to ramble about this!

[kerubimcrepin]

Liveblog: Wakfu Season 2 (episodes 13-16)

Episode 13 - The Night of the Thirsters

Proof Amalia and Joris are not close friends number 829342345: if she knew the alcohol he drinks and what he considers "a clean environment to live in" she'd get scared.

WoT twitter would kill Amalia.

I know it's more likely that both alcoholic and non-alcoholic bamboo milk exists, but the thought of everyone being a-ok with Yugo underage drinking makes me giggle for some reason. Ruel would fucking do that.

Are your villains 1. indestructible, 2. want to consume something that could theoretically fix them, 3. in the process, inflict a fate worse than death upon their victim, who 4. becomes one of them?

...Necromes were a missed opportunity. Shoulda called them Wakfu Thirsters instead.

Episode 14 - The Voice Thief

It's always sad to see the way the world has been devastated by Ogrest's Chaos.

FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

...This says:

Her singing is so cute!

She is now fully bamboo milk-pilled. GOOD.

New Krosmoz music lore: We already know that vinyls and their players exist, as well as the fact that rock music exists (due to the fact that The Blues of a Hypermage (parody of the IRL song The Blues of a Buisinessman) exists).

Now we have the confirmation that metal bands are real.

Also, electric guitars are also real.

Mics are also real. (I am totally not noting all of this down because I want to write a "Joris, Kerubim, and Atcham go to karaoke" scene in one of my fics in the future, nuh-uh...)

Hummina hummina hummina bazooooooooing! eyes pop out AROOOOOOOOGA! jaw drops tongue rolls out WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF.

It's very rare to see, within the show, characters who differ from their usual class skin and hair colours, which is a shame. (I am 99% sure this is an iop due to his clothes and his hair pointing upwards)

Text behind Eva: rien ne sert de payer il faut en fuir / there is no point in paying, you have to run away

Text behind Amalia is too shielded to transcribe fully.

This is written in Brakmarian. It says:

This means that, metal music is stereotypically a Brakmarian form of music (big news: spoon found in kitchen)

I usually don't point this sort of stuff out but, man, this tavern is really well off. Not only is there a lot of food, there are also huge hot baths...

Also, once again, canalization and running water are real in this setting.

I choose to believe that this bubble thing is the Krosmoz equivalent of vaping because it's funny.

[blushing] Would!

Jpop is real in this setting, and someday, I will be able to prove to you, that Joris is a fan of it, using some proof besides "well ecaflips are kind of japanese-coded sometimes" and "it just makes sense."

Good rooms in taverns like these not only have hot baths but also fruit, candles, and drinks... [starts writing down "Joris, Kerubim and Atcham go to an expensive tavern and start talking about some convoluted topic, with vivid descriptions of delicious fruit-eating, how good the wine is, and how soft the bubbles in the bath are" in my fic self-indulgent scene ideas document. I can live my vacation fantasies vicariously through those three men]

Of course metal music from Brakmar is about the fact that the apocalypse caused inflation and that it's Good.

This says:

ourse

olle

m al

venu

Episode 15 - Wabbit Island

Hhh she is a very good artist.

[guy who is insane voice] This means that if I ever want to use the expression "canary in a coalmine" in a fic it'll be "tofu in a coalmine" instead.

The word Sayonara exists in Krosmoz which implies that some sort of fantasy Japanese is real. Big win.

Episode 16 - The Cursed Fountain

:(

While I usually talk a lot about character parallels between Yugo and Joris (these men who had to grow up far too fast will someday commit acts which no human being can be forgiven for in the name of goodness—-) there is a lot to be said about parallels betwen Eva and Joris.

They're both artistic, kind people who try to appear logic-driven (and sadly, they are both basically the wranglers/babysitters of their entire adventuring groups).

[theharellan]

My rough thoughts/interpretation/reflection of Solas and his relationship with Mythal after a first playthrough. It's subject to change on future playthroughs, but probably by inches (if I can ever get my audio fixed). Note that while I am trying to base all of this on canon, there is reinterpretation involved, as I do feel Mythal/Flemythal/Morrimythal was neutered somewhat in the writing process.

Spoilers for the whole of DA: The Veilguard.

When I roleplayed Solas I mostly played the relationship as benign, in large part due to her being another character whose role in Solas's life was gestured at but never defined. Which in some ways, is still true, but I think at this point it's impossible to deny she had a negative impact on him (to say the least). Since moving into fic writing I started to lean into the darker implications of their relationship, and while for the sake of rp I'm adaptable, I do still want to talk about my feelings regarding them.

I believe Solas, by aiding her, is culpable in many of the crimes they committed together- make no mistake of that, but he is also a victim of her. She says at the end she used his wisdom as a weapon, but she also used her benevolence as a tool to manipulate him, appealing to his knowledge of her nature to get what she wanted.

Her coaxing him to take a body after he states outright that "he has no wish to live as humans do" (I'm going to ignore the confusing implication that humans were around) is but the first betrayal she subjects him to, and imo the greatest crime she commits against him, specifically. At least in canon, the game skirts around the issue of vallaslin, but if the "he didn't want a body but she asked him to come" is true, then it would follow that the follow-up, "he left a scar when he burned her off her face" would also be true.

The second would be rising to the heights of the gods, and calling him the traitor for rebellion. Morrigan calls Mythal corrupted 'Retribution,' and that may be true of Mythal after her murder, but I believe long before that her benevolence had gone awry. From what I can tell, we have no concrete timeline for Elvhenan and what the gods did before and after her death, and therefore no idea what Mythal even means by tempering the other evanuris. Slavery almost certainly existed, which honestly is enough for me to say she was doing a bad job. Past codices indicate that her punishments were not just so much as exact:

"Mythal, in her wisdom, interceded in an argument between Elgar'nan and Falon'Din. With clever words, she convinced them to settle their grievance through a battle of their champions. Elgar'nan and Falon'Din agreed, and set their champions against each other rather than declare war among the gods. May those knights long be remembered, and Mythal's wisdom be praised." (x)

This and the codex describing Mythal's judgment characterise her tenure as a god as being far from bloodless.

There are also indications that not all had as much faith in Mythal's ability to see reason or cede power:

"Solas always thought" is the key phrase for me in this note. Not "we," but "Solas."

What this all means for Solas is that Mythal someone he has a deep, ancient connection to, but also someone who has hurt him deeply, violated him, used him.

And he doesn't want to face that.

Solas is quite capable of admitting his mistakes, even as he is moving onto the next one literally in the same breath... but Mythal's mistakes are never addressed by him, even at the finish, when he is holding the pommel of the knife out for her taking.

I think Solas navigates around the wrongs committed against him throughout the course of their knowing each other. His rage against the mages who forced Wisdom to take a body, to kill, may lead him to murdering them, but he never directs such anger at Mythal. He can't. The regrets he has about her literally flake and dry upon the walls of the Lighthouse because he can't. He can't face her remnant in the FadeAnd it's only at the end where he receives any catharsis in the matter, any admittance of wrongdoing against him (albeit without apology).

So in most interactions with Mythal, Solas will be very close with her, at best brushing up against the sides of where there relationship chafes. Always willing to believe the best of her, and her death granting him the mercy of being able to persist in that belief.

I do also believe their relationship was entirely platonic, albeit at such an intensity (on his part at least) that I'm certain there was talk. Luckily, I've spent ten years with Thora and Solas doing the ground work for Solas having deeply intense platonic relationships that match his romantic ones for their dedication and devotion.

[petertingle-yipyip]

okay bestie I have an actual question for you about writing, because I always just have so many ideas but don't know where to start/never complete them. so like how do you start do you plot everything out and then start writing or are you writing and figure it out during? and like how do you keep motivated writing every chapter? omg and what do you do when something you had in mind doesn't work out with the plot? help pls

hi bestie!! i talk a lot so imma put a break for others to scroll past lol

so, ideas. inspiration. motivation. plot. it comes and goes. movies, music, random quotes, plot ideas/requests come from like anywhere for me. what i tend to do is name the project, write a basic summary and what character it’s for, and see what happens. i don’t force myself to finish any one project (hence the abandoned SOUR miniseries and recently revisited sin miedo). that’s in part why WCS and MAG have been such long running sagas here, bc i don’t force myself to write anymore.

when i did, i produced content that i didn’t love. i was posting stories that i wasn’t confident in and that i read and am embarrassed to have put that out.

typically, it starts with a bit of dialogue that comes to me in the shower or when i’m daydreaming at work. from there, i kinda work backwards. how’d they get to that conversation? what are the implications? what’s the setting? what do they know? all that world building fills itself in and sometimes i pick stuff for the fun of it.

when something doesn’t work, i change something. for example, mag s1 has some stuff that doesn’t match the canon timeline bc one, i didn’t plan on extending the series so far so i was nitpicking what i wanted and two i didn’t have the episodes in front of me bc i wasn’t planning a whole canon journey. i took out some relationships (matt x claire for example) bc it didn’t serve my plot.

i’ve also rewritten plots bc i just didn’t like them. i have a project where the reader is matt’s gf and is meeting foggy/karen but matt has the idea for a game where they just flirt with each other till his friends figure it out. initially i had it to where foggy starts flirting with her and introduces her and she plays along till matt gets too jealous but i didn’t like the way it was turning out. so i scrapped it and started over.

a big part of writing, in my opinion, is drafts and edits. ultimately, whatever your writing, it’s your universe. it’s your project. if something isn’t working, you are well within your rights to change it. it’s not canon until you post it so rewrite it as many times as you have to. no one said you have to immediately post what you write. it’s a little different with mag since i’ve established her entire dd canon and hinted her punisher canon so i have to fill the gaps of what ive already made so i have to keep referencing what ive posted to make sure she’s consistent but that’s it own thing.

lastly, let’s talk motivation. girly pop, it’s gonna come and go. i take so many breaks in posting or writing just bc im at a part that i don’t wanna write but i have to for plot purposes. sometimes i hate the exposition of a piece but i just wanna do the actual important scenes. so i lag and avoid it until im like ‘yknow what, let’s just do it’ and this is where the edits and drafts come in. usually, it’s just a ‘let’s throw some words on the page and come back to it’ situation. sometimes i rewrite all of it, sometimes i don’t, other times it’s just a few edits here or there.

the base of writing as i understand it is trusting yourself and your ideas. some stuff is gonna take off, like woman, others will fall flat like dirty thoughts (i think that’s what i called it, a marc spector piece). it’s also your blog so as long as it feels genuine to you and your abilities, go for it :)

[seyaryminamoto]

Fic-to-Art #38: Ozai carries Azula to the physicians' wing

This has been done for A WHILE now, but I didn't post it because the past days have been chaotic and not just on a personal level. For one thing, I really wasn't eager to drop this when people were losing their shit massively over the liveaction and its recontextualization of Azula and Ozai's dynamics, I didn't look forward to releasing this just to be told that whatever I've done in my story is somehow wrong, sooooooooo... that held me back, for a few days.

Then? The AI-Tumblr deal started to be talked about and I may or may not have freaked out about that too. Sooo... this is the first glazed and nightshaded piece of my creation, as consequence. The original, clean and proper version is available in my Patreon. Is this me being a dick to Tumblr-only people? Unfortunately, it very much isn't, I'm not trying to say that if you want the best iterations of my art, you should pay me for it... this is squarely, entirely, at staff/the CEO's feet. Obviously, there's the insecure side of me that goes "what makes you think they'd steal YOUR art when there are so many better artists out there!" but ultimately? AI is about taking everything en masse. It isn't a matter of developing a criteria about who makes the better art... it's just taking EVERYTHING and trying to repurpose it in whatever twisted way it needs to. Therefore? I think my choice is more of a matter of caution than anything else. Once AI bullshit dies out (and I really hope it does), we may just return to the same level of quality across all my accounts. For now, it is what it is.

ANYWAY! Point is this artwork is very much what my Patrons happened to vote for this month, a very shocking scene where Ozai reacted in the least foreseen way to Azula being attacked. Azula's confusion/terror comes from a place of not knowing what to do and being powerless to stop her father even if she doesn't feel comfortable with his help... but for once, Ozai isn't making a dreadful choice that will only devastate his daughter. He's actually worried about her health... and feeling genuine guilt over what landed her in the situation where she was in danger in the first place. Yes. I like me my complex Ozai who finally learned actions have consequences. He bores me to death otherwise :') if anyone STILL doesn't know that this whole situation is Gladiator-specific, then I shall clarify fully: this is artwork based on my fic. It's about a story that has been developing these characters for ALMOST ELEVEN YEARS now. It has nothing to do with whatever's going on in canon or in the liveaction, the scene in question was written almost two years ago and the artwork proposed and voted for several days before the liveaction aired. Ergo: there is no connection between this and that. Nor am I saying through this piece that Ozai is a good father. He is not. He can still be an interesting character to work with on a narrative level anyway :')

Alright. With that out of the way, hope you guys like this piece! The big one I haven't posted is ALSO finished, also glazed and nightshaded, but I think I might just end up posting it on the 26th if I don't have time to do anything big for our eleventh anniversary... yep, I'm so busy I don't even have a huge project in mind this time. Also? I have a lot to write and I'm finally happily writing it, and I would like to continue doing that...

Anyway! If you would like to be part of the creative process behind this piece, as well as see it in its proper, OG, less color-bleeding clunky version? A $1 Patreon pledge gives you the chance to join in suggesting prompts, voting for them and reading Gladiator snippets 6 days before a new chapter is released!

[approximateknowledge]

the magus situation, or, "ak remembers log horizon exists and it exacerbates the brainrot"

(gonna be a long one)

so to the surprise of absolutely nobody i did in fact watch log horizon at one point in the past, and also tried reading the light novel but never ended up finishing it. my opinion on it is mostly "solid and had good potential, with some unfortunate quirks to how it's written". the anime is better than sao's, but the novel is worse

this isn't what this post is about

it's instead about a certain *spinoff manga*

the fuckign west wind brigade manga in all its janky beauty. it's a story that takes place in parallel with (and overlaps with) the main story while focusing on different parts of the world and a completely different cast of main characters. it tends to be somewhat more light-hearted than the main story (but not by a lot)

it's also technically a harem story, but in the same way UQ holder is, which is to say that soujirou seta has that touta konoe charm that makes me go "yeah i fully get it this guy is impossible to hate"; he's more the guild dog than the guild leader half the time (affectionate)

*anyway*

spoilers for the west wind brigade manga incoming

so the afformentioned soujirou seta (middle character on the manga cover) is in fact the very first person to die after the catastrophe, and in the process he proved that even after the world became real, *respawning was still a thing*

which suddenly made the prospect of pk'ing much less ethically daunting, leading to a massive explosion in guilds of bored disillusioned trapped people with nothing better to do starting to kill and loot en masse, as was already a massive plotpoint in log horizon proper. some are big guilds, some are smaller

and some are technically solo

which brings us, finally, to magus

*fucking magus* (affectionate?)

edgelord in a longcoat with the cringy speeches

but it's not exactly sincere is it? it's all forced, constantly like he's talking as much to himself as to his "audience"

like he really *wants* to believe what he's saying

"it's all a game anyway, i can do whatever i want! definitely! right? RIGHT?"

it is, in fact, a coping mechanism

because to admit it's real would mean it matters. would mean you're not actually hidden away anymore. no walls to hide behind. no mask

because it's all mask

it was the whole time

because it's easier that way

the persona and the longcoat an the fancy explanations for why it's totally correct and real, trust me! definitely not fucking desperate over here, no sirree!

it's the beater again. there's a beater in log horizon but you never meet them in the main story. because for this beater, the game doesn't end because it's over. but because they finally admit to themself it was never a game to begin with. which was of course the only way out, because log horizon doesn't have a win condition

if you can't "win", you need to stop playing

but that's not quite the whole story, is it?

because you know how it is with beaters

there's always a little footnote at the end

this funny little common thread that all examples ive found so far seem to share

yeah there's a massive very explicit gender angle to all of this because it's just part of the package at this point

and that is how magus' redemption arc also has her turning into a girl

it's frankly amazing, the thematic parallels write themselves, it's so delightfully on the nose!

this whole thing is in fact one giant transgender allegory that's barely an allegory at all

the "edgy longcoat-wearer with terrible coping mechanisms" to "cute akward goth girl" pipeline is real

[beauty-and-passion]

No pressure as always, but I’m curious if you saw Thomas’ Year in Review. He talks a lot about his struggles with Sanders Sides and why the creative process has taken so long (at least, he gives his own take on the situation.)

If you saw it, I’m very curious about your thoughts! Because I honestly don’t believe that this video discredits any criticism, especially your criticism, but I’m curious if any of your opinions changed after watching it regardless. And no judgement either way, I just love hearing your thoughts ^.^

My dear, it's always a pleasure to reply to your asks! It might take me some time, but in the end, the answer will always come.

Thank you very much for telling me about the video because, if it wasn't for you, I would've probably never watched it and missed out a lot. Extra kudos for that.

So I watched it. And I read your post about it too (HERE because more people need to read it): it was very well made and I agree with you wholeheartedly.

However, I also took a lot of notes while watching Mr Sanders' video and there are a lot of other things I want to say in addition to the ones you already said. So I will gladly expand my thoughts and feelings here.

(It might be longer than expected, so I'll put it under a "read more")

Accepting criticism

Thomas admitted he easily internalizes negative criticism

He said that people are allowed to write everything/to criticize and that he doesn't want others to get mad over SaSi criticism

First of all, I am proud of him for showing this self-awareness. From what I saw of him, Thomas looks like a very prideful person, so it probably took him a lot of time and courage to admit his faulty behaviour.

But in the end, he did it. He showed some of the maturity I've always wanted to see coming from him and he deserves recognition for that: good job, Thomas. I know it wasn't easy because it sucks to admit we're not good at something, but it was a great proof of adulthood coming from you.

However, I would like to point out that he doesn't internalize just negative criticism. What the ts critics noticed (and you can find several proofs in the #ts_criticism tag), is that Thomas tends to reply with a lot of passive-aggressiveness not just to people offending him, but also to simple and harmless questions like "Hey, where is the SaSi finale?". Which are not negative, not criticism and even less negative criticism.

So it's not that he just internalizes bad criticism: he internalizes every single question regarding the SaSi finale which is not a compliment towards him or a "take your time, bro". And he internalizes it as something bad, which is not great, nor fair.

With this video, he took a step in the right direction and showed some self-awareness, which is very good. But now he needs to learn how to distinguish between different kinds of criticism - as well as recognizing that asking him questions isn’t criticism. It’s just asking questions.

(I also hope that some people won’t follow his mentality of “saying anything that isn’t a compliment = criticism”, because this can lead to a dangerous, distorted vision of the world.)

And since we’re talking about criticism, I wish that by saying "please do not get angry over criticism" Thomas finally put an end to the stupid idea that “people are not allowed to criticize”.

I know some people don't like to hear this, but criticism is inherent to the nature of every single work. Everything that exists in this world is allowed to be criticized. Heck, it's exactly because these creations are criticized, that they exist. Do you know what work isn't criticized? The one people don't talk about.

And no, despite what the opposers of criticism think, when people criticize something it's not because they hate the product: it's because they care a lot about said product. It's because they saw something good in it and they're disappointed the product wasn't as good as it promised. It's because they are so invested, that every mistake frustrates them.

In the end, it's not criticism that kills a product: it's indifference. It's not talking about it anymore. When you don't care, the product is dead.

So the opponents of criticism should be happy people are talking about SaSi with such passion, throwing ideas, suggestions and calling Thomas out. It's because, despite the empty promises, they still give a fuck about this project and want to see it succeed.

Maybe, thanks to Thomas' works, more people will not ban every criticism as "bad" Because Yes. Heck, they might even read a couple of posts and find out that the criticism tag isn't made of hateful people: just of people who care like them.

And maybe this will also discourage pathetic losers like the anon @softestvirgil mentioned in their last post. An anon who is so strong and brave, to say they would hire a hitman to kill another person just because they criticize something the anon likes. Very mature, very clever and very bold, coming from a coward who doesn't even have the balls to show their face, while saying this.

_______________________

The difficulty of writing

Thomas said he got overwhelmed by the public's reaction to SaSi "in the most wonderful and intimidating way"

When Joan left, Thomas felt the overwhelming weight of the series all on himself. He couldn't see himself doing SaSi without Joan

Roleslaying was a breath of fresh air, since it was a series with no stakes

Thomas realized he was doing his best with videos that didn't require him to write

Thomas said there have been moments when he despised everything he was writing. He spent whole days on a single interaction between two characters, only to hate everything and wonder how Joan would write them/what the viewers would think.

As always, I am a prophet. What did I say in these last years?

Thomas doesn't know how to handle this series? He admitted he couldn't see himself doing it without Joan.

Thomas prefers Roleslaying and shorter, more carefree videos because they're easier and they don't require him to write? He admitted he did his best with videos that didn't require him to write.

Thomas isn't able to write the series? He had struggles and hated what he was writing.

So, what was the result, if not Thomas postponing and focusing on other projects - thus ending up with characterization errors, mistakes and things he completely forgot? Just like I said?

But even if I'm right, I am glad Thomas FINALLY talked about it. One thing is deduce what's going on, one thing is the author himself admitting it.

So yes, I really, really appreciate him doing it. Again, it was probably very hard for him to say it out loud, but he did and deserves recognition for that.

I particularly felt for him, when he said he spent days on a single interaction, only to hate everything he was writing. I empathize with him a lot because that's exactly what I felt while writing the prologue of my story, multiple times. I spent days writing the same two paragraphs, over and over, trying to find the right way to do it, the right rhythm, the right words. And I ended up deleting everything, only to start again and try again and delete everything again, over and over in a neverending loop.

I know it must've been hard for Thomas, because it is hard. Because you feel like shit. Because you ask yourself how can you not write this right, what are you doing wrong? Maybe you did everything wrong from the start, maybe the entire thing is wrong, maybe you're just too stupid to do it - and you see other stories and other writings and they're all so good and you suck so much and you feel like an even bigger loser.

And now you may ask: how can you break this loop? How can you move forward?

We will talk about Thomas' solution in a bit.

_______________________

The lack of an outline

Thomas admitted he lost connection with his characters

He said he was feeling bad for letting people down

He said he's writing the outline of the season finale by referring to notes left by Joan

He finished 3 drafts out of 4 parts. And they're still reviewed

Wow, it looks like the lack of a proper, full outline leads to characterization errors, forgetting things and taking a lot of time. Jeez, I wonder who said all of this since like, idk, forever?

As I imagined, there is still no outline at all and Thomas isn't even working on a full outline for season 3: he's working on an outline for the season 2 finale. Which means season 3 is still stuck in a limbo.

And yes, I know they're not great news, but at least they're real news. Real fucking news about the finale, not just "finished draft 3" or "worked for 8 hours" or "it will come out this year maybe yes maybe not". We finally have real news and we know how much Thomas did and what he's currently working on and how much is still left to do. So, again, he deserves recognition for finally talking about it.

Does that mean the writing is good now? Heck no, this isn't a proper way to write and my previous post still stands: the writing is still taking too long, the lack of an outline is still a problem, part 4 and the review will probably take another two years minimum and a competent writer would've helped A LOT to make the writing smoother and faster.

However, I better understand now why Thomas didn't hire one: he probably wanted to do everything by himself to not disappoint everyone and was too prideful to ask for help - considering he didn't tell anyone about his struggles either.

But what did it lead to? The outline is still missing (with all the expected consequences) and Thomas suffered for the huge weight of expectation he put on himself.

_______________________

The importance of not escaping criticism

Thomas' resolutions for this year are:

to be more open and honest about his struggles

to stay away from criticism (he doesn't even want to be tagged in it)

Those are great resolutions, especially the first one. Considering he kept everything by himself and didn't tell anyone about his struggles, being more open and honest about them is a very good decision.

And staying away from negative criticism is good too, considering that 1) it's good for mental health in general and 2) he just admitted he internalizes criticism, so staying away from it can only be helpful.

However, as said before, Thomas sees as “negative criticism" everything, including people asking him about the finale. So if he escapes from all kinds of criticism, he will also escape from harmless fans who just want an update from him.

Besides, it’s never good to escape from all kinds of criticism. Criticism is essential for writing, especially constructive criticism. Sure, you might find the 12-year-old who says "You stink and your work sucks because my headcanon is not here!", but you may also find the expert who will explain some technicalities of writing. Or just someone who can offer a deeper insight into a character. Or just an interesting idea to develop into a plot point.

Also, considering how Thomas tends to label every little critic as "negative", people who want to show their love might end up feeling "forced" to use just compliments, in hopes that Thomas will notice them/know they love SaSi. Which isn’t good either, because... well, people would be forced to censor themselves and suffocate their rightful questions just to make him happy.

_______________________

How to escape the neverending loop of hate-writing

Thomas said he wants to rediscover his joy in writing by working on more Asides/other projects to "stretch his brain"

He also expressed his love for short-form creation

Thomas' solution is a good one. Doing other things, focusing on other stuff, letting SaSi in the back to write different stories: this is all good and valid, I’m sure it will help Thomas’ mental health a lot.

However, writing small stuff with no stakes is also what Thomas wrote for most of his life. So by doing that, he basically reverts to something he’s already used to. And of course he loves it, it’s his comfort zone: it’s very understandable he feels at ease inside it.

Still, this is not a bad thing: it’s good to do it once in a while and it's even necessary for your wellbeing. But you can understand by yourself that this doesn’t help solve the problem. This just postpones the problem. Maybe it won’t come back now, maybe not today or tomorrow or during the season 2 finale. But the problem will eventually come back.

Why? Because SaSi still lacks an outline. Because the story should still move in a more mature, complex direction. Because there are still a lot of threads to develop and close. Because the characters still need mature development.

How do I think Thomas can solve the problem? Sure, detaching himself from it is good for a while, but he cannot do just that and escape into his comfort zone. He needs to face the problem and he can do it only by learning how to write.

And if it’s hard to do (because it is), then the best solution would be to hire a competent writer. Not because the writer will replace him, not at all. The writer will help Thomas to learn and understand the technicalities of writing especially for a project as big as SaSi: like how to develop an outline, how to connect all threads, how to move from a simple to a more complex plot, how to keep a continuative plot throughout several episodes without destroying the stakes. The writer will be an assistant for the writing of SaSi and a teacher from whom Thomas can learn everything he needs.

So, if Thomas really wants to give himself some grace this year as he said, I suggest he shares his writing responsibilities with someone competent and bias-free. A real writer from whom he can learn not just for SaSi, but for his future projects too. Not only this will benefit him in the long run, but it will also give him a more humble and mature approach to writing in general, by recognizing and accepting his limits and doing actual work to improve himself.

But this is just my suggestion. If he wants, Thomas can keep doing what he’s doing now, i.e. working on smaller stuff into his comfort zone and stepping out a little bit when he feels more confident.

Again, this isn’t a bad solution, but the problem is that it takes a lot of time. But, like, A LOT. You need to regain confidence from inside your comfort zone, then step out again to face a bigger problem - a problem you still don’t know how to face, because you don’t know how to write and you don’t even have an outline or a plan to tackle it. And what if you lose confidence again? Will you come back into your comfort zone and wait again to gain enough confidence to step out once more?

I know you will never read this post, Thomas, but let me tell you this: I also lost the spark with my characters several times in the past. The first time, it was because I still didn’t know how to write, so I was frustrated by the writing itself and how everything was dull. Then I lost my spark because the plot kept getting stuck and I had no idea how to improve it.

Both times, I left the project in the back and focused on other smaller stories, smaller projects and books to read.

After the first time, it took me a couple of years to get back on this project. But do you know how long it took me the second time? This year, it will be 8 years. The last time I wrote that project was 2016. And only now, after 8 years, I think I found the solution I was searching for.I could do that, because I never showed this story to anyone. It has always been my personal, secret project. But can you do the same? Can you really afford to spend 8+ years, doing everything by yourself? As I said in my previous post, unfortunately Sanders Sides has your face. And you cannot revert the biological clock forever.

_______________________

In conclusion

Do I appreciate Thomas a little more after this video? Definitely. He still didn't apologize for his lack of organization and his take on criticism is a bit questionable, but he's improving. He showed more maturity than he did in the past three years and I appreciate that. He has my respect for doing it, for admitting his mistakes and for opening up.

Does that mean he can take forever for the finale? Heck no. I still want to see the finale before the end of time and I still want to get more frequent, honest updates coming from him. And, no that doesn’t mean he has to do 20-minute-long videos every time: even just a simple, clear tweet is enough. Just to let us know how the work is going.

I also hope he will develop better communication with his team, improve the organization and, most importantly, hire a competent writer from whom he can learn more about writing in general (and regarding SaSi).

While for the fandom, I wish we would be nicer too. It doesn't make sense for us to fight over a simple series, when there are bigger problems out there. Let's enjoy our time together instead, let's criticize if we want to, let's do fanart and write fanfictions and let's fight over silly stuff only, like which ship is the best and which Orange is the best Orange. Even if the second doesn’t even need a debate, because we all know pirate!Orange is the best ;P

[canonical-transformation]

hi! i adore all of ur fics but especially seven prayers to seven archons it's definitely my favourite genshin fanfic ever asdjfk as someone who's attempting to do something similar but for reverse 1999, could u please give some tips on characterization?? thank you!!

Thank you so much! Characterisation is something I spend a lot of time on and take a lot of pride in, and I am immensely proud of fics like Seven Prayers and Lynette in Repose and (spoilers!) the final act of No Bird an Island. I don't have a formal process for how I do characterisation but my recommendation is focusing on character voice.

Not voice as in "how do they talk"?, but voice as in "how do they think"?. (I tend to write from within their POV.)

What mental habits come so naturally to the character that they don't notice it half the time? (Perhaps Sonetto filters everything through "what would Vertin do?". Perhaps Lisa Minci measures every decision by how much time she spends standing. Perhaps Kaeya is constantly evaluating "am I safe with these people?".)

What's their baggage? What do their thoughts constantly drift back to despite their best efforts? (Is Kazuha haunted by his "failure" to save Tomo? Is Ningguang haunted by her painful childhood?)

What do they value?

What do they think common sense is?

This isn't the whole picture for characterisation. At best it's, like, 30% of it. But it's a good foundation to start from, because it tells you a lot about how they think, how they talk, how they decide.

Reading in-game dialogue or writing from that character helps a lot. Ditto listening to voice acting — although for R1999 the EN VAs often sound like Elder Scrolls NPCs (derogatory) so I'm not sure they're given much extra insight to work with.

If @fishareglorious ever releases their damned website then that will surely be a good resource :3