#hate xx moodboard

[y-urios]

₊　✺⠀⠀　ᶻ 𝗓ᵎ　　₍ᐢ..ᐢ₎　🍑

₊　✺⠀⠀　ᶻ 𝗓ᵎ　　₍ᐢ..ᐢ₎　🌷

[stegulus]

all our time has come

As he turns, he catches a last glimpse of Regulus out of the corner of his eye, bent down to pick his books up off of the floor. As if he could somehow feel James’ gaze on him, he looks up. James feels a shiver run down his spine, a spark of lightning from Regulus’ scowl, from their eyes meeting. Sirius tugs at his arm, the crowd dispersing to their next class. He turns away.

hogwarts, a summer, a war, and a time loop to bring them together

regulus black / james potter

words: 30,603 ; chapters: 3/18

updates every week

read on ao3 / a lily & bas project

[twslug]

mentor and mentee

Pluto Projector Rex Orange County / the origin of "il predestinato" Carlo Vanzini / Infinite Jest David Foster Wallace / Interview with Charles Leclerc La Stampa / The Secret History Donna Tartt / Vettel offers Leclerc sympathy over Paul Ricard crash RaceFans / "To Charles, you are the most talented driver I came across in 15 years of F1. Don't waste it. But be sure whatever you do to be happy and smile. Thanks for everything!" Sebastian Vettel

[wonysugar]

puff, puff and pass | ot4 aespa

♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬ ﾟ. high for this — the weeknd

synopsis : your dream blunt rotation, except you’re the blunt.

pairing : yoo jimin, ning yizhuo, aeri uchinaga, kim minjeong x fem!reader

genre : smut, porn without plot (sorry)

tags : high sex, aespa kind of gangbang reader to be quite honest—, objectification, reader is referred to as ‘it’ like once, oral sex, vaginal penetration, joint rolling tutorial included brought to you by jiminjeong xx, i’m joking, don’t do drugs yall

warnings : heavy use of drugs, like, they’re all high as hell help (more specifically marijuana) both fem!reader and aespa are intoxicated in this

word count : 1,4k(??)

a/n : the fact that i was basically finished with writing thisa while ago and the only thing stopping me from posting it was the fuckass moodboard.. AND EVEN THEN IT ISN’T EVEN ALL THAT I HATE ITTFJHHFJEJF anyways, here’s some food MWAHH love you sugarcubes<33

“come on, you’ve been at it for ages— pass it already.” complained ning, her voice all whiny. 

from those words alone, a normal individual would think that the five girls in the room, including you, were doing a blunt rotation of some sort. or perhaps you all were just participating in a chill activity that consisted of passing around an object for entertainment, nothing harmless.. right?

well.. yes! you’d be right in assuming that it was, in fact, a blunt being passed around originally. that is, until the other girls (intoxication clearly having taken over the good parts of their brains) thought it would be a great idea to pass something else, another object, one that’d cure their boredom in the middle of fucking nowhere. 

that said object turned out to be your very own body.

“ohh my god shut up—” was what aeri moaned, sharply inhaling air through her teeth as she fucked her cock deep into your mouth, the tip touching the back of your throat with every thrusting motion she made. you were on all fours in front of her, fitting all of her into your mouth, watching your head bob up and down her long shaft effortlessly as you took all of her rigid length like the good slut you are, it made her lose control of her senses. “fuck y/n i’m so fucking close—“

then, to both you and aeri’s surprise, right as she was about to finish all over your mouth, your hair was suddenly pulled on from behind. “ah-ah, too late, it’s my turn now.” was what you heard ning say from behind you in a singing tone, visualizing the kind of annoying smile she had on her face whilst saying that to aeri. 

you winced at the sharp pain you felt on your scalp from such a tug, which was then immediately replaced by the overwhelming sensation by the feeling of ning’s dick sliding up and down your wet slit, teasing your entrance with her tip. 

in response to having you pulled away from her at the moment of her sweet release, you saw as aeri’s face contorted from one of pleasure to one of frustration very quickly, despite her seemingly sleepy eyes due to the ridiculous amount of cannabis she ingested, and keeps ingesting. “i wasn’t done, asshole.” exclaimed the half-japanese girl, clearly upset that the chance to cum all over your pretty face got taken away from her and delayed for another short period of time.

ning simply laughed at her before swiftly sliding her cock into your wet, wet cunt. you moaned loudly, as being in a situation such as this one while simultaneously being high just made you feel everything way more than you usually would. it was like all five of your senses were invaded with different, filthy things, and all of those things contributed to making you feel so, so good. you felt mindless, only present to please those that were freely using your body.

you loved every single second, as dehumanizing as it was. perhaps that’s what made it so arousing.

“please— i’m doing her a favor. she knows this dick fucks her the best, right, doll?” you looked back at her with hooded eyes, unsure what to respond.

while yes, ning knows how to use her length, you were quite frankly blinded by the drugs at that moment.

all you really wanted was dick, regardless of how you got it.

so, you mindlessly nodded, “stick to jerking off and watching how it’s done, ‘kay?” is what added ning, earning another annoyed groan from the other girl in response, before the latter sat down on the couch before you. with that, each second that passed was an increase in speed for the girl on top of you, your back to her stomach.

“can you guys stop bickering already? it’s like, ruining the vibe.” said what sounded like jimin, her words were slow, clear and enunciated.

that’s when you caught a glance of her and minjeong, sitting on the other corner of the dark room. they, on their side of things, were rolling yet another blunt, minjeong was focused on intricately filling the folded paper with the marijuana whilst jimin held the filter for her, aligning its edges perfectly with the edges of the paper before rolling it, twisting the end of the joint and eventually lighting the latter. 

“and can you roll that shit quicker? it’s getting boring having ning do everything.” snapped back aeri, a bit louder so that the two relevant girls could hear her above the music, clearly annoyed. obviously, ning heard and grinned at her mockingly, earning an eye roll from her.

“we’re working on it, be fucking patient, girl.” replied minjeong.

what differed her ways to handle you and ning’s was mostly the gentleness that was employed with you; aeri was rough, sure, but she also prioritized your comfort above everything else when you were sucking her cock. ning, on the other hand, was fucking you like she had a point to prove, she’d thrust into you in an almost animalistic way, also making sure that she could hear every single dirty noise that came out of your mouth. 

not like that was hard to do anyways, with how loud and shamelessly lewd you were being for her. 

with that being said, you weren’t exactly surprised when you felt her fingers lock your jaw into a tight grip, making you face the couch aeri was sitting on. the chinese girl dug into your skin with her long, pretty acrylic nails, leaving very visible red scratches on your stomach as she got closer and closer to her climax.

“you’re so tight, baby..” said ning with a groan, huffing and puffing into your ear with each pump of her dick into your walls, all of it causing you to moan out incoherent words. “oh fuck, i think i could do you for hours on end—”

when you actually concentrated on the girl in front of you, you noticed how no longer upset she seemed about being denied her orgasm, but more so impatient to have you all to herself again. she watched you attentively as she stroked her own dick, wishing she was the one to stretch your pussy out instead of it being done by the annoying and cocky girl that was behind you, ning. 

those two are very close, so it’s very natural for them to take basically everything as a competition.

then, as if to prevent you from looking anywhere else other than her, aeri quickly stood up in front of you and grabbed ahold of your hair, rougher than usual, before impatiently teasing your already agape mouth with the head of her cock, slapping it against your desperate lips before bucking her hips into your mouth, inserting it effortlessly. ning was still behind you, pounding you just as mercilessly as she’s been doing this entire time.

you came, repeatedly, at that. what else could you have done when you were being fucked stupid by two different dicks at once, both at different speeds and intensities? obviously, it didn’t take long before they came inside of you, too. aeri’s warm juices filled the entirety of your throat, forcing you to swallow every drop of it as she pushed her cock down deeper, while the chinese girl's dick was buried deep into your wet, swollen cunt, the perfect view of your spread ass obviously playing a huge part in her orgasm.

teamwork at its finest! especially when the two other girls are finally walking their way towards you, stumbling in their steps, all giggly and jittery from the weed, clearly excited to make you take a puff out of their freshly rolled and lit-up joint. too fucked out to have at least one remotely coherent thought, you let them ruffle your hair and get a tight grip on it to make you face minjeong’s pale hand, holding the blunt in between her fingertips.

still recovering from aeri’s thick load in your throat, you didn’t even notice how jimin had her phone camera above you, filming you from practically every angle before locking your jaw in a tight grip, laughing and caressing your lips with her thumb.

“come on, pretty slut,” she said, her voice just above a whisper, “take a hit.”

and you did, you took multiple, even. you felt yourself lose every ounce of sobriety left in your body with every inhale you took of the joint, if you even had any. so much so that you weren’t even fazed by sometimes having it suddenly replaced by one of the girls’ dicks at times and even forgetting that all of that was getting recorded by jimin. 

once that blunt was finished, they simply thought it’d be funny to have you crawl around on the floor like a desperate little whore that’s trying to get her throat used like it deserves to be, you took them, turn by turn, getting their mixed loads all over your mouth and throat, turn by turn. 

unfortunately for you, you couldn’t remember what it was that happened afterwards, all you know now is that your head hurts like a bitch and that your legs feel like you went to the gym for a week straight with no breaks. 

with that information, it was needless to say that you definitely got passed and used around by the other girls like you wanted for the rest of that long and hazy night.

[netherfeildren]

Someone's Wife in the Boat of Someone's Husband .1

Series Masterlist : Moodboard

(Joel Miller x F!Reader)

Summary: What do you do when you meet a woman, have a child, get married, and then find the love of your life?

-OR- 

A Joel infidelity AU

Content Warnings: Discussions of alcoholism and parent death.

Rating: Explicit 18+

A/N: Hi, everyone. Welcome to the new story. 

Disclaimer to begin with. Joel is married in this, but it is, and always has been, a marriage of convenience. There has never been any sort of emotional or physical intimacy between him and his wife apart from when Sarah was conceived. 

Like always, I promise there will be a happy ending, and that there will be lots of other fun :) stuff to make up for the occasional tears. 

I appreciate you all so much. Happy (lol I guess) reading. xx 

Art is The pain that keeps on giving, Noelia Towers, (2018-2019). Title of the story comes from this film.

Word Count: 6.8K

Read on AO3

.1

Life changes in the instant. The ordinary instant.

Joan Didion, The Year of Magical Thinking 

The first time you’d fucked, it was like you’d never been touched by a man before. The first time he’d looked at you, like you’d never been seen, in the entirety of your existence, prior to that moment. Every other time after that, every touch, every look, was the same – a rebirth of sorts. And a devastation. Something not to be understood or conceptualized, only experienced. 

Taking that into account, it’s no surprise that things unfolded as they did – ended as they did. 

-

“Please, please, come with us,” Gerri drags the vowels out and hits you with the puppy dog eyes. You shake your head at her, smiling, packing up your supplies from tonight’s lesson. “It’s going to be so fun, I promise. Tommy’s sister-in-law hates my guts, I know, what-fucking-ever, but my sister and her girlfriend will be there, and my best friend’s planning on coming too. And there’s an extra bedroom, it’ll be perfect, I swear.”

“Yeah, I remember the sister-in-law from Easter.” Of course you remember her from that day. Gerri had invited you to their family barbecue, and the woman had pitched a fit that Tommy’s girlfriend, somehow posed as an insult, had dared invite someone without asking her permission first. It was also the first time you’d met him. And he was, by far and large, the reason you’d stayed away and evaded all subsequent invitations since then. Even if his wife had unapologetically said to your face that she found it crazy that people still party crashed, no matter that that hadn’t been what you’d meant to do, hadn’t known you were party crashing. She’d also thrown away the bunny cake you’d stayed up the entire night before making. No gluten in the house or something, even though the hamburger and hot dog buns had all been regular. 

“Oh my fucking God, Easter. Don’t even remind me. I know, I know.” She gives you a pointed look and you huff a laugh at her. “But that was months ago. Her and Joel were on the outs then, or… had just gotten back together… I can’t ever keep up. And well… they’re still on the outs now–” She scrunches up her face into the cutest little frown. You love Gerri so much. From the first moment she’d shown up for your Tuesday night ceramics class at the community college, she’d immediately decided that not only were you going to propel her into the upper echelons of the great sculptors of the world, the greater Austin area – her words, not yours, but she’d also immediately decided that you were going to be friends, and no, you did not have a choice in the matter. 

“But they’re always on the outs. And things haven’t been as bad recently – according to Tommy. But honestly the fuck does he know about all that anyways. My poor baby is so clueless – but still, please, please please,” she begs, pouts your name over and over again. “Please, come with us?” She brings her clasped hands up under her chin in a pleading gesture, hits you with the puppy dog eyes again. 

You were so grateful for her. Despite your recalcitrance, it’d always been hard for you to make friends. A byproduct of who your mother was, being an only child, a largely solitary upbringing, et cetera, et cetera. You’d needed Gerri’s tenacious spark and kindness to pull you out of your shell. She wanted you to join her, her boyfriend Tommy, and their friends and family at a house they’d rented on Lake Austin for the weekend as a sort of end of summer farewell. And you did – you wanted to go, bunny cake murdering sister-in-law and all, but there was the issue of him.

You were… there was not a single phrase for what it was your mind turned into when that man and his name and his face invaded your psyche. So you’d done your best to avoid him in your mind and in real life, at all costs. He was – he was not something you were capable of considering. 

“I’m not sure if I can, Ger–” you say slowly, wracking your brain for an excuse. “There was– one of the other teachers at the elementary school–” Your day job, when you weren’t teaching night class ceramics, was as an elementary school art teacher, “Asked if I’d cover for them on Friday – summer school.” Stupid excuse, you roll your eyes at yourself. 

“Oh, shut up. The summer camp classes end early – you told me that last time! You could drive up after.” She sidles up to you now, rests her curly haired head on your shoulder. “Please, you’ve said no to everything I’ve invited you to since Easter. You aren’t avoiding me because of the shitshow that was, are you?” 

“No, of course not.” Yes, yes you were. Just not for the reason she thought. “I would just hate to impose–”

“You wouldn’t! I swear you wouldn’t be!”

“You all already have your plan, and I–”

“No! No. My sister’s the one renting the house, and she said I could invite whoever I wanted. So, no one can say anything,” she sticks her tongue out, rolling her eyes. “And Joel said I should invite you too. I’m pretty sure he still feels badly about last time also.” Fucking hell, you did not want him feeling bad for you. At all. Ever. You did not want him ever thinking about you ever, ever, ever. 

-

You stand over the kitchen trash bin, staring at your destroyed cake. Your grandmother used to make it every Easter. Four separate cake loaves all cut into the shapes for a face, two big pointy ears, and a cute little bow tie, with a pineapple filling, and all covered in little flakes of coconut and your homemade vanilla frosting. You used jelly beans to make the eyes and nose and dark frosting out of a piping bag for the whiskers and mouth. It was your favorite cake, one of your favorite memories, one of the only good ones. 

“Fucking Christ, she did not throw it away. Please, don’t tell me that’s the cake you brought.” Large hand gently placed between the wings of your shoulder blades to peer around you, not touching, but still there, still very close, and yes, that’s it, you’ve gotta get the fuck out of there now, away from this man.

“Oh, no. It’s okay – I– I mean– I should’ve asked before. I didn’t know you all were gluten free. I should’ve asked…”

“What? Glu–” he frowns. You knew his wife, Eva, had made that up. You step away from him, from his large warm palm that feels like it’s burning through your clothes and skin. He was really, really and truly the most unfairly gorgeous man you’d ever seen. He fucking terrified you. “Oh, yeah. The gluten.” He went along with the lie, passing the offending palm over his mouth, the wiry scruff of his beard rasping softly against what you imagined to be work roughened skin. He’d said he was a contractor. 

Gerri had invited you to her boyfriend's brother’s house for the Easter holiday. It was the first invitation to something you’d gotten since you’d moved to Austin six months ago, and you’d been so, so happy that she’d asked, had felt so sad you’d not have anyone to share your cake with. You’d planned to take it to work with you to leave in the teacher’s lounge for everyone to share. The thought had made the back of your eyes pinch, for some reason. 

“It’s alright. I actually need to head out. Could you let Gerri know? I– I’m–” you couldn’t think of a lie, and he was staring at you like he knew you had no real excuse – like he knew you were uncomfortable and out of place and were just looking for an excuse to leave. Embarrassment burned in your cheeks. 

“Don’t go, please. Stay for a while longer. I’m – fuck– I apologize about the cake–”

“No, no– really it’s–” you held out a staying hand, but he’d cut off your false appeasement.

“Please, stay.” He’d taken a step forward, closer to your retreating form, and you’d felt almost faint, dizzy at the image of him stepping closer to you. He was so tall, huge really, broad chest, thick arms, dark, lush curls and a scruffy jaw, a peek of chest hair covering the tantalizing golden skin at the opened button of his shirt. Sexy, deep Southern twang. The loveliest, warmest eyes you think you’d ever probably seen. You were going to try and mix the exact color of them when you got home, even though you knew you shouldn’t. You hadn’t been interested in a man in months, maybe longer, couldn’t remember the last time you’d had a crush, an anything on anyone, and now this man. Suddenly, blindingly, out of fucking nowhere – so damn attractive. Your eyes had fluttered shut for a second and you’d swallowed, trying to regain your balance – you’d known him for all of two hours and he already made you feel unbalanced. You needed to leave.

“Really, Joel,” his name on your tongue almost had a taste, “It’s okay.”

-

“He– He did?” you stutter. “He shouldn’t feel bad – he has nothing to feel bad about, it was nothing.” Lie – lie, lie, lie. Meeting him that day had been – it had been everything. You’d thought about it, him, for months afterwards. The sight of him with his three year old daughter, Sarah, the sweetest little thing you’d ever seen. Helping her hunt for the Easter eggs he’d hidden around their backyard, letting her crack the bright confetti filled shells over his head. His excitement for her when she’d finally found the basket he’d made up for her. He was a good father. 

“Yeah, and Tommy said he’d like to see you again too. And I told my sister about you, and she thinks all my pottery’s fucking amazing, by the way, and she wants to meet you too, and she’s even thinking of enrolling in the class next semester so really, really you’re obligated to come.” Fucking menace – she smiles sweetly. 

“Oh, fine. Fine, fine. I’ll come.” You’re putting away the last of your tools. “I’ll drive up Friday afternoon when I’m done at the school.” 

Immediate hopping squeals, and this is why you love her. She’s so happy, so open and silly, friendly and funny. All the things opposite to your restrained quiet, shy to the point of aggravation, sometimes. You didn’t want your constant refusals to alienate her. You could see him again, it would be fine. You’d met him once for Christ’s sake. It meant nothing. It had probably been nothing that day, heat exhaustion or a stomach ache or something. Nothing to fawn and stress over. You’d just be polite, cordial, keep your distance – especially from his wife. You did not, did not want to provoke her greater dislike. You’d keep your unwanted baking to yourself this time. It would all be fine. You wanted these people to like you, if you were being honest. A little desperately. Gerri and Tommy, her sister you hadn’t yet met – you wanted to be part of their group, one of their friends. They were all so kind, welcoming and fun, you couldn’t ruin this for yourself. 

Gerri had spilled the beans on the marriage over one afternoon of too many Mexican martini’s, an Austin specialty, and chips and salsa. They’d gotten married three years ago after Eva had gotten unexpectedly pregnant. Joel was traditional, he’d asked and eventually she’d agreed. They were both older than you, he’d just turned forty recently, and you guessed it’d made sense for them, at the time, but she’d left them soon after Sarah had been born. The marriage, the baby, hadn’t been in her plans, too much for her, Gerri said. They’d been separated for about a year and a half until she’d come back. They seemed to be trying to work it out now. Gerri claimed they were both miserable. You’d only met them the once – well, you’d seen Joel a few weeks ago, from a distance, when Tommy’d come to drop something off for Gerri before class, sitting in their truck. You don’t think he’d seen you – but you thought that their misery was very obviously apparent in that way that was easily recognizable to someone who, at one point, had existed in a house made only of misery. It breaks your heart for them all, in different ways, to recognize that singular brand of dissatisfaction that comes with living in a home where no happiness resided with you. 

But the reality of his marriage made you all the more terrified of him. To ever see him again. You wanted no part of that. Didn’t even want to exist in the same vicinity as someone who was experiencing something of that nature. You’d had enough of unhappy marriages and painful households in your own childhood. You never wanted to deal with that again. 

-

You’d read once that infidelity was a hereditary trait. Studies had shown that if you’d had a parent or even a sibling, someone in your household during your development, who’d been unfaithful, you were then more likely to also be unfaithful yourself. Something about that sort of childhood trauma inciting a propensity in the offspring to find it difficult to later on trust romantic partners, to incite trust themselves. Trust issues, emotional unavailability, baggage, blah, blah. Sometimes nature versus nurture was a real bitch, in your opinion. 

But as much as you wanted to call bullshit, the thought, the possibility of that being true, filled you with such an intense fear — debilitating, paralyzing, life altering. You found yourself with an immense inability to trust yourself, more than anything. Your greatest fear, the thing that scared you the most in all the world, was that you would be the perpetrator, that you would be the one to commit that sin. That you’d lose control, self awareness, morality, yourself. It wasn’t something your mind could even come to terms with, the possibility of hurting another person that way, betraying them in that manner. It seemed like the worst possible thing in the entire world that you could ever do to someone. After all, you’d watched your mother do it to your father, over and over again, your entire life, up until the point that she’d up and left the both of you. For many years, after her fateful abandoning, you’d watched him drink himself into a stupor and then into a grave. Years of waiting for her to come back, in love with a ghost or a figment of his imagination, for the woman he’d made her out to be, within the ever forgiving and naive confines of his love, had never existed. Something you could see, even through the lenses of your child eyes. 

She was an eternally flawed woman. Selfish, vain, manipulative, deceitful, but there was good in her too. She was eccentric and beautiful, and she could be kind, so funny, and immensely intelligent, her mind and wit, always sharp as a whip. It was, you thought, what made her so talented at deceiving others, at getting her way. She outsmarted everyone she came into contact with. But she was also weak and self serving, had never met anyone, in all her life, who she loved more than she loved herself. Not even you. Sometimes, you thought, especially not you. For you were the living reminder of all she’d lost and been forced to give up. It was a difficult, complicated, painful relationship you had with her, even now, all these years later. 

After she’d left, she’d kept in contact with you sparingly. The occasional call or birthday card. It had taken her three years to feel like seeing you again after she’d left when you were ten. The pains and awkwardness of puberty long started, endured on your own, before she’d even had the foresight to remember she had a daughter who might need her. It was an exceedingly painful and lonely time for a young girl to survive on her own, but you bore it, as you did the entirety of the fallout that came with her leaving. 

Your father was another story entirely. He’d fallen to pieces, completely, the day she’d left and had never had the strength of will to ever pull himself together again. It was a strange sort of existence the two of you had lived in those years, keeping each other company. Physically, he was there, but he was never present, never sentient. He drowned, for years and years, in a sea of pain and liquor, and he never resurfaced. You watched him sink, a young girl incapable of comprehending or acting in a way that could’ve helped him, as much as you wanted to or even tried, all of it was futile. Eventually he hit the bottom of the ocean and died there, and you were left more alone than ever. 

You remember there’d only been four people, in total, at his funeral. You and two men from the shithole bar he liked to lose himself at every week and the priest. It was a terribly painful thing to live through on your own. Humiliating in a very specific and acute way, for some reason. To know that this sad, pathetic specimen of a human being had had a hand in creating you, to know that he was your father and that you loved him, despite his weakness, his vices, his lack of care for you, you loved him. And you felt interminably sorry for the creature he’d been turned into at the hands of an uncaring and poisonous love. You hadn’t been able to tell her for ten months, after he’d been dead in the ground, that he’d passed. She’d not called, didn’t like giving you her number, said she was too busy to have to worry about you calling her at all hours of the day, as if you’d asked her for a single thing in the decade since she’d left. 

And you loved your mother, even after it all, you did, but it was a poignantly devastating moment, the day you realized she was not just your mother, but her own person, as well. The day that childlike naivety, unconscious self centeredness, was cast away to realize that she was savagely flawed and human, and that she did bad things that hurt good people. And still, and still she was your mother and you loved her. Your greatest influence, the hand that shaped you, and you loved her despite everything. It was only that, after the rose tinted glasses had been ripped away, and she was only then herself, nothing more – pedestal forsaken – she was just a flawed woman who sometimes made mistakes, made the wrong choices, hurt you and your father and fractured your family. That was a hard thing to come to terms with as a young girl. 

You realized now, with the lifetime of experience she’d inherited to you, that motherhood built a pedestal and a grave, all at once, over and over again. A woman could vacillate between being the Madonna and the whore, and the cycle was inescapable and destructive and enticing, all at the same time. It was something that one could try to avoid or run away from, but many times, it caught up to most, hooked its claws in you and dragged you away from the things you would’ve wanted or done otherwise. You realized this was what had happened to her. She’d never been built for motherhood, for the responsibility of raising a child, so she’d desecrated the altar of it, taken a sledgehammer to it and freed herself in the only way she saw she could, collateral damage be damned.

And so you’d isolated yourself, for the thought of doing the same thing to someone that you might have loved or someone that loved you, was soul destroying. And that was the saddest part of this whole overly cliché tragedy – that you were sure that, at a certain point in her life, she’d loved your father, as well. Perhaps not enough, not enough to change who she was, what she really wanted, but she had loved him in her own way, nevertheless.

Parallel to the tragedy was the ironic reality that in some very safely guarded part of you, you longed so, so desperately for your own chance at a happy family, love, children. How could you not? When you’d never experienced it for yourself during your own childhood. Always having to make your own meals, get yourself ready for school, alone at ten years old, walking to the bus unaccompanied, no one ever waiting for you, expecting you, watching over you. Alone, alone, always alone. How could you not want to build your own normal, loving, happy family for yourself? You wanted it very badly. 

But there was also no part of you that felt, in the most vital ways, capable of showing your underbelly in such a vulnerable way. You had always been too sensitive, a weeper from a long line of weepers, and the second thing you were most terrified of, after turning into your own mother, was being left again, abandoned to another derelict and lonely childhood. So your aloneness suited you, for now. At least, in terms of your romantic life. Your isolation kept you safe, guarded from those that would savage the sensitive and salted battleground that was your heart.

 That, however, did not mean that you were immune to wanting, to the disease of yearning, of desire, and so you found it most unfortunate, cosmically laughable and cruel, that it would be this man, this married,  beautiful, entirely unattainable man, that would have reminded you of that desire again, after it had lain dormant for so long: Joel. 

-

Joel tried to think of you only in the moments when he was feeling particularly strong. It was a challenge he’d set for himself from that day, all those months ago, when you’d appeared at his house on Easter. Like a fucking angel or a creature out of a fairy book. Soft and luminous and so fucking pretty. No, Joel tried very, very hard not to think of you. 

He failed often, though. He’d not forgotten you since that day. Had tried to fish, as subtly as possible, through Tommy, for information. See if he’d heard anything about you from Gerri. Any new details or gossip about the pretty little art teacher. Tommy was a terrible goddamn gossip, like a clucking hen. And Joel knew, he knew empirically, that thinking of you was wrong. That he had a wife that he needed to be respectful of, even if she was never respectful of him, fucking her coworker – or had been… still was — he couldn’t keep track anymore – didn’t really care, if he was being honest. But you, you were the one small, private thing he kept for himself. The thought of you, the image of you in his mind, you were only for his moments of great necessity. You’d been so sweet that afternoon, walking into his home with your bunny cake. That fucking cake haunted him – the look in your eyes as he watched you stand over the trashcan staring at it. He’d been so scared you’d start crying, that he’d have to comfort you, that he’d be able to take you into his arms. He’d been terrified of what would become of him if he’d gotten the opportunity to feel you like that. But no, you’d left. Made up some weak excuse he knew you could see he didn’t buy, and had quietly left, not even saying goodbye to the others. He’d had a terrible one-sided argument with Eva that night. Told her she’d been unnecessarily rude and cruel, doing that to a complete stranger who was just trying to be nice. She hadn’t batted a single eyelash, all his frustration going in one ear and out the other. 

He could, to a certain degree, understand where her behavior came from. He knew she was unhappy, he knew she hated their life together. That it was nothing like what she’d ever envisioned for herself, and so she acted out sometimes. At his age, he found now, that you couldn’t ever really fault a person for not being what they’d never been meant to be. He understood this, had accepted that his marriage would never be of the happy or intimate sort. That Eva had never wanted to be a mother, but had felt trapped by circumstance. He dealt with it. Or ignored it. Avoided looking directly at the ugly reality of it, more like. He had Sarah and work and Tommy, and now that his brother was with Gerri things had gotten a little better, happier for the family. She was a good addition – kind and spunky. She was good for his brother, and he was happy for them. 

But the day he’d met you – it had made a savage claw of want gouge through his entrails. He’d not remembered the last time he’d wanted something the way he did when he watched you walk out into the backyard long hair shimmering in the sun, and a nervous flush sweeping over the apples of your cheeks. And even if he’d been unattached, free to pursue you like he liked to dream about sometimes, you were so young – much too young and pretty for an old, washed up, has-been like him. But he could imagine it, like he’d said, only when he was feeling particularly strong. Or maybe particularly weak. He couldn’t keep track of which was safer anymore. When the years and work and responsibilities and grief and loneliness surged up too high and overwhelming for him to bear, he liked to think of you in that little yellow sundress. Wonder what it’d be like to be a younger man, to have met you first. A bad, selfish, terrible thought to have. But just in the quiet privacy of his mind, when he needed a small something to make him feel just a little better – he liked to think of you. 

The only other time he’d seen you, once when Tommy’d had to drop something for Gerri at the college, he’d insisted on tagging along. Hoping he’d maybe be lucky enough to get a glimpse of you, and oh, he’d been so, so rewarded. You’d been carrying a stack of supplies from your car into the building, one of those spiky things women wore twisted in your hair to keep it up, wisps of your long, heavy locks escaping the knot, and a little, red, spaghetti strapped top. The thin of it on your shoulder had slipped off the delicate wing of your clavicle as you balanced everything you’d carried in your arms and tried to kick your car door closed at the same time. It’d taken everything in him, all the self control he possessed, not to sprint over to you and offer to help you, to fall to his knees at your feet. You’d blown a strand of your hair out of your face, the cutest expression of frustration scrunching your brow. His gut had twisted almost painfully with yearning. He hadn’t even known he was capable of fucking yearning, but he sure as hell did now. He felt it sharply, piercingly, like a knife to the gut. He’d met you once for Christ’s sake, seen you in person only twice, but you plagued him, you plagued him. 

He knew it was probably partially a symptom of how alone he was. Lonely to his very core. His marriage had never been a real one, no closeness, no intimacy. A byproduct born of one drunken night, and Joel’s need to do the right thing, give his child a stable home with two parents and all the love he could give her. And Sarah, Sarah was the greatest gift that he’d ever been given. This perfect little person that he still, three years later, could not believe had come from a piece of him. 

He’d told Eva that he’d do whatever she wanted, would accept whatever she’d chosen when she’d first realized she was pregnant. She’d refused the alternative route vehemently, and so he’d never suggested it again. If he was being honest, he’d been happy when he’d found out, in some small way. The situation wasn’t ideal, of course, they’d been veritable strangers at that point, but he’d been thirty seven, at the time, and he liked the idea of children. Eva was attractive and intelligent. He’d proposed immediately, gone out and gotten a ring and gotten down on one knee. He’d naively thought that perhaps, eventually, with time, they might grow closer. That idea was squashed quickly. She’d made it clear that she’d never wanted to marry him, but she also didn’t want to go at it alone, knew he was responsible and reliable, and so she’d accepted. And perhaps, he should have tried harder to win her over afterwards, but if he was being as honest as he could be, he wasn’t very interested either, didn’t really mind the lack of intimacy with her. They just weren’t a good match.

She’d left a few months after she’d given birth. Ran off with some guy she’d met – only a note left saying she couldn’t do it anymore. He hadn’t tried to go after her, hadn’t tried to bring her back or look for her. A better man probably would have, would have fought for his wife, for the mother of his child. But he’d never loved her, not even close, and so he’d taken care of his baby girl, had tried to be everything she needed and worked as hard as he could so that she’d never want for anything. Eva had come back after about a year and a half – her affair had run its course, and she’d said she wanted to try again with Sarah, that she’d made a mistake, wanted to be part of her daughter’s life. Of course he’d let her come back. He wanted Sarah to have a mother that was present, to have everything a child should have. And afterall, it was no hardship for him personally. She didn’t want a relationship with him, only Sarah. And so they’d settled into this strange agreement of co-parents slash roommates who just happened to be married. Eva liked to keep pretenses up, so they did the occasional family thing together. Especially now that Tommy was with Gerri, she liked to pretend at the double date thing, occasionally. Even though Eva couldn’t stand the poor girl. It was a pieced together sort of life, but it was better than what some had, and Sarah had her mother. He couldn’t complain.

But he did like to imagine a sort of alternative sometimes – something different, less lonely. He could tell she was going to leave again soon, more unsatisfied and frustrated and restless than ever. He couldn’t even find it in himself to resent her for it, it only hurt him for Sarah’s sake, for he didn’t think she’d be coming back this time. 

-

It hadn’t been such a bad idea to come after all, you think, as you lounge on the dock by the lake. The sun is strong but not burning – warm and soothing. It feels like there are ghost fingers stroking all along the bare skin of your arms and legs. Gerri had made a pitcher of sangria and you were slightly tipsy off it now. A light weight, through and through. 

The house they’d rented was gorgeous. All exposed wood and big glass windows right on the lakefront. Gerri’s sister was a doctor – a spine surgeon or something really fancy. She’d rented the house and invited all of you – no chance for Joel’s wife to be pissed off that you’d tagged along. 

There were large boxes of the loveliest white hydrangeas along one side of the dock. The sweet scent of them drifting around you as you lounged on the chair you’d planted yourself in with your sangria. Yes, this was a good idea. You’d managed to evade Joel and his wife in the hours you’d been here. Gerri and Tommy were great as always and her sister and her partner were so nice. You’d talked about the pottery class, she wanted to pick up a new hobby, trying out the whole work-life-balance thing, and she’d thought pottery’d be a good fit for her. She was planning on signing up for the next semester. 

You’re slightly dozing now. The warm sun and sweet alcohol making you languorous and drowsy and all fizzy on the inside. You think you might be able to hear the breeze sliding through each individual blade of grass on the bank, whistling over the surface of the water, and you can’t stop picturing his arms in your mind, but you’re pretending to ignore that, or pretending the bulging, mouth-watering muscles, prominent veins running under the surface of his tan skin, dusted with a light coating of golden brown hair belonged to someone who was not him. He has the largest hands you’ve ever seen, and you wonder what one of them wrapped around your throat would feel like. Bad, inappropriate thoughts. 

You have one arm slung above your head, resting at the crown of your scalp to partially shield the sensitive skin there from the strong sun when you feel a sudden piercing pain, right to the center of your palm. You shriek, jolting violently, glass of sangria falling and shattering on the deck and stumbling up out of your chair, sending it flying back topside. A wasp buzzes menacingly around you, and you shriek again, cracked and painful. The thing had stung you right in the center of your tender palm. You hear the quick paced steps of someone approaching, too distracted trying to evade the horrible thing when you hear Joel’s voice. “Stay still, it’s okay. I’ll get it.”

Your hand really, really hurts. You stop your swatting and feel the back of your eyes pinch, hot tears pooling in the corners. Not only is the sting incredibly painful, but you really hate bees, wasps, all the ugly mean things that buzz and sting. You can feel the slight tremble of your frame begin to take over as you try to patiently wait for him to get rid of it. 

He comes closer, “It’s okay, he’s gone. Did it get you? C’mere, lemme see.”

You clutch the injured hand to your chest, try and scoot away from him shaking your head, but you get too near to the edge, and his hand shoots out to cup your elbow, other hand coming to circle your waist and turn you so you’re standing in the center, and he’s closer to the edge. 

“No, no, it’s okay. It got you, lemme see it–” he gently circles his big rough palm on the thin of your wrist, and now you’re really shaking.

“It’s o–okay,” you hitch, you feel a tear slide down your cheek. Fucking embarrassing. “I’m okay, really. It’s nothing.” You try and pull your limb out of his grasp, but he pulls you closer. He says your name then, not necessarily sharply, but in the way of a rubber band snapping against your skin, a slightly jarring crack followed by a tingle, something that reverberates through your entire body.

Then gentle: “Just come here,” and coaxing. How could anyone ever say no to a voice like that. So deep, so patient. “Lemme see, it’s okay. No, don’t be scared. Lemme see, open your hand for me, sweetheart. I’ll be gentle, it’s okay,” his soothing voice over and over. Coaxing you into capitulation, into following his orders. He smooths his rough thumb gently, gently over the sides of your palm, coaxing your fingers to uncurl and let him see the hurt. “Oh, it’s alright. None of that trembling, sweet girl.” And then he brings your hand up to his hot, wet mouth and presses his lips to the wound, gently sucking. You can feel the wet of his tongue pass over it once, slowly sucking the venom out of your palm. You feel everything below your belly button go hot and liquid at the feel of his tongue on your skin. Oh, God, you want to feel that mouth everywhere, between your legs. 

You think you let a jagged whimper claw its way out your throat, for his eyes flit to yours, a flash of heat igniting them. He pulls his mouth away, turns to spit, thumb gently brushing over the tender inside of your wrist. He says your name so softly. “That’s better. You’re okay. No tears.” 

His large hands completely engulf yours. His fingers are thick and long, his nails clipped short and neat. Beautiful, masculine hands. Working hands. He doesn’t wear a ring. “We can get a clove of garlic on this,” he’s still cradling your limb, “Heard that’s good for stings.”

This is bad, bad, bad, bad. Not part of your plan to stay away from him at all. He’s staring at your cradled hand, his gaze trained on the way his own palm dwarfs yours. You feel his touch tighten for just a second, he brings his eyes back to yours, and you watch as a swallow passes through the strong column of his throat. 

He called you sweetheart. 

There are so many reasons why you know he’s dangerous to you, why you should stay away from him: his kindness, how competent he is — the way it seems like, no matter what in life could ever present itself to him, he’d be able to take it in, take care of it, fix it. He could handle anything. How fucking gorgeous he is, his hands, his face, his body, the dark curls, the slightest hint of silver threads beginning to appear through them, the deep dark eyes, but most of all, more than any other reason, the way he says your name — like the worst thing you’ve ever heard in your entire life, and also the loveliest. So soft and deep and soothing. A voice that could get a person to do anything, capitulate to anything, commit any crime. 

And what was it about wanting something you should not want, could never have, that made you want it all the more? Rebellion of the highest order calls your name. 

“Thank you,” you say quietly. He still has you clutched in his grasp, is staring at you almost in shock. You try to pull away and his grip tightens for one second, like he can’t bear the thought of letting you go, and then releases you, lets you pull your injured hand back into your chest. 

“Alright?”

And you’re so disoriented by him, by his touch that you instinctively reply: “Yes. Are you?”

 He looks confused for a second, shakes his head a little and then laughs, “Yeah – yeah, I’m okay, sweetheart.” He shouldn’t be calling you that, but it sounds so lovely coming out of his mouth. You’ll tell him to stop next time. It’s okay. Next time he says it you’ll tell him not to call you that anymore. Embarrassment burns your cheeks. 

You shake your head, “Sorry, I–”

“It’s alright. No need to apologize. Let’s get you inside. Get somethin’ on that hand.”

You take a step back from him, and he matches it with one step of his own forward, like he isn’t planning on letting you run away. It makes the speed of your heart kick up a notch, a hummingbird fluttering within the confines of your chest. “No, really, it’s okay. I’ll ice it or something. I’m fine, honestly. Thank you for– for your help.” You feel like you’re blinking a hundred times a minute, the sun suddenly scorching, when just a moment ago it had been soft and warm. 

You need to get away from him.

“Rubbin’ a garlic clove on it’s good for stings. There’s some in the kitchen, I’ll get it for you.” He reaches a hand out as if to take hold of you again, and you take two more steps away. This time he does not follow, you see the muscle of his jaw flutter. 

“Really, Joel. It’s okay.” You feel like you’ve said these words to him before, like all your short acquaintanceship has consisted of, is you apologizing and running away, bowing out before it gets too scary or complicated or threatening. He probably thinks you’re an idiot. “Th– thank you for your help. I’m just gonna –” you hitch your thumb back towards the house, “I’m just going to go back inside. Sorry.” 

He only nods, frozen on the dock as you walk away from him.

Chapter .2

Netherfeildren Masterlist

[y-vna]

y-vna 3.5k - the ult Halloween special 👻

Woah ok. 3.5k is a crazy number huh? I've never really thought about what would happen if 3.5k people followed me for a silly thing, but now it feels kinda surreal. Idk!!! I've never really been good at much, and everything I was good in, I was never the best at. Maybe the middle of the pack? It's still that way, but this community kinda got me through some ugly times, and now things are much better. I love the friends I made, they're honestly the best and I can't imagine never meeting them. I don't know what else to say but thank you!!

Okay now ok everyone is gonna skip to the face rev calm down bozo.

This is a photo dump shit post idk I refuse to not be extra af when I'm exposing myself to the internet. THIS POST WILL PROABBLY BE DELETED AND REBLOGGED ON A PERSONAL ACC BEFAUSE I HATE CREEPSSSSS!!! old men dniiiiiii

ALSO DONT REPOST OR USE ANY OF MY IMAGES THATS WEIRD SND CREEPY AND INVASION OF PRIVACY AND JUST DONT!!!

++ IM JOT AS YOUNG AS I LOOK I JST HAVE BABYFACE A BIT. IM ALMOST 15 GUYS..😿😿

These were the images I blurred out on my spoiler post!

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Tan AF in this lighting right?? This is me with freshly washed hair. 🤡

Sweaty hair after hours of trick or treating! (Komi can't communicate costume) 🍬🏫🎒🌸👔

Dying walking room from school photos! 🍃🍂

Yeah...that's me! Hi internet. This is who is behind the scenes suffering to make moodboards with my lakcing talenttttt. I hope you won't see me any different after this lmfao

Thank you for everything!!! Much much love and kisses to everyone truly.

xx y-vna, aka Ari

[taisgf]

TAISGF NAV📍

reqs currently: open 6/8, semi hiatus

masterlist read before requesting fandoms ↓

game of thrones, yellowjackets, house of the dragon, the bear, south park (aged up!), arcane, the boys, the walking dead, the last of us, succession, stardew valley, heartbreak high + more to be added! ☀️

*please request. please. i beg. wip’s below cut!

IN THE WORKS:

rq. mari x introverted reader (yj)

rq. yellowjackets x school comittee reader

ellie williams post-parole drabble

rq. arcane girls w brothel worker

ch1 : marble & mud, roman roy series

rq. hexstrap hcs.....

rq. sevika drabble + hcs

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

8teen, just4fun, my posting schedule is shite because motivation is noexistent but im trying... australian xx my name’s ellie (NOT after ellie williams fuck everyone who says that i hate u all) and tbh i’m just here cause im bored and wanna improve my writing… love to my mooties id die for yall

OTHER:

if i dont have any ideas for a req I might just delete it sorry... all borders, dividers, everything you see on my page is made by me, and i’m totally cool with anyone else using them. all photos found on pintrest, and aren’t mine! same goes for any moodboards i make, however i do make the dividers and gifs x header is from the movie ‘the song of sway lake’

[firewalkwithmme]

hello lovelies!

♤ a little bit about me

my name is brooke, i'm 20, i go by she/her

i'm from canada

i'm really interested in film, music, art, literature, and fashion

i'm a sucker for dark academia and any related aesthetics

♧ my hobbies

reading, writing, drawing, painting, journaling/scrapbooking, photography, bracelet making

travelling -> i want to live in england some day. or maybe france.

♢ my studies

i am currently working towards a bachelor of arts!

right now i am studying film and media, art history, psychology and economics

i am also trying to teach myself several different languages on the side, including russian, polish, dutch, and french. i also want to learn italian, spanish, and german. be friends with me on duolingo !

♡ my favourites

my fav shows right now are twin peaks, the x-files, and m*a*s*h

some of my fav movies are possession (1981), blue velvet, donnie darko, it happened one night, and notting hill, but this changes almost daily! check out my letterboxd

my fav books are the secret history by donna tartt, the idiot by elif batuman, and normal people by sally rooney. i also have a soft spot for the perks of being a wallflower

i listen to a lot of rock and alternative music, and its hard to choose a favourite decade, i love them all! right now, i have been listening to a lot of 90s music. my fav band of all time though is arctic monkeys

just for fun: my fav season is autumn and my fav colour is either burgundy or emerald green

♤ about the blog

i will be logging my study journey on here, since i am trying to become more productive and motivated. if anyone needs a studyblr mutual to help motivate each other, i'm here! everything i post will be under the tag #my studies

i'll also post aesthetic content/moodboards, some of it my own photos, and stuff about film, literature, and art

i may post some of my journal/scrapbook spreads!

my dms and asks are always open! please reach out to me if you want to talk about common interests, or ask me any questions you like, i love answering asks!

this is a safe space for everybody and no hate will be tolerated!

thanks for reading, have a lovely day! xx

dividers by @anitalenia , photos from pinterest

[almostfoxglove]

🌟 requests page is now live!

hi pals! I have some new faces here, so I thought I'd whip up a little requests page with some general guidelines for requests, in case anyone is interested in sending any in :-) you can check it out here!

requests I take:

🎨 graphics (moodboards, headers for fics, whatever you’re in the mood for! sorry, I do not currently make gifs) 📓 one shots & drabbles

my graphics requests are currently closed, but my one shot requests are open! before you send one in via ask, here are some guidelines to help you out:

I can’t promise I’ll deliver on every request. if something doesn’t speak to me, I’d hate to force it and make something neither of us are happy with!

I can’t guarantee any timelines for delivering on requests. if I think it might be a little bit of a wait, I’ll reach out to you to let you know I’ve seen it and plan to get to it in the future, so you aren’t left hanging 💗

my blog & fics are all 18+, so if you send a request (whether explicit or not), please have your age in your bio.

I don't accept requests that include anything from the list below

I am not the right writer for fics / requests containing the following subject matter. 

there are lots of amazing writers who do write for these sorts of tropes / subjects, so don’t worry - if you poke around in tags, you’ll find someone, I’m sure!! if you see something on this list you love writing and reading, don’t worry - I don’t mean to yuck anyone's yums. this is just what I’m not comfortable writing personally 💗

I do not accept requests for:

dub con / non con

large age gaps (20+ year gaps and up)

dark!characters (I love heavy angst, but any big power imbalances, obsessive or abusive behavior, etc is not my specialty)

pregnancy and / or childbirth for readers (secondary characters is totally cool)

alpha / beta / omega

okay, that's all, love you! — freya xx

[mosviqu]

could u assign ur moots as a particular fic you’ve written??

ANON this is the most fun mutual game ive ever recieved thank u 😋

@csenke is definitely how we make sunny days. her vibe is very much sweet and calming and very very comforting. this fic is very golden hour late autumn vibes which fits her a lot hhh. but also i feel like i should say liebestraum bc....duh.. 🙄

@zzoguri is sympathy subtraction. and mon now, this fic is special to me. but i somehow think you have the same comforting vibe but also you and your work kind of radiate the same longing as this fic does?? also u are a really great friend to me and u kind of fit the vibe of vernon in this fic but also the whole friendgroup.. idk it just fits okay

@satoruly is annoying (derogatory) and listen NOT because you're annoying because youre NOT! but i rlly enjoy the vibe of this fic and somehow i think it fits you...? its kinda fun but also kinda silly but also kinda sweet and i think thats a perfect mix for you

@sungbeam is potential. i dont even know why ?? maybe its the dynamic of the friendgroup and also yn and chenle that kind of reminds me of beam. there is a lot of care in the relationship they share and also a lot of identity crisis in chenle that reminds me of u beam NOT IN A BAD WAY THO its just that i see you as a very complex and interesting person and i think chenle in this has a lot of depth. also just fyi this fic is my top 5 ever and i adore beam a lot so

@decembermoonskz is i'm not angry anymore (well, sometimes i am) for the band vibes idk TT but also there's something about the time i wrote this fic in that reminds me of you. it's my comfort fic in a way and you izzy are my comfort person too

@flowerjun is you're not the only one !! this fic is somehow wholesome but also bittersweetingly sad and something about that is very kyuzu to me :,) also kyu i miss u and i love u. this fic has little sister vibes and thats you to me.

@injangism is all is on my side. a lot of love and longing and missing someone went into this fic and the way mc and jeno love is the type of love we have to each other - never ending, selfless and pure (in my opinion... idk if it shines through in the fic haha). ily sm xx

@kimsohn is sweet like candy :p cool but lovely vibes, very much maya. mc of this has your vibes in my opinion?? also this fic was very fun to write and i always have fun when i talk w u !!!:pp

@winterchimez is the storm's fury and now do NOT ask me why... it's literally league lore...? TT but again the vibes kinda fit and it's one of my only fantasy fics and i think this genre kind of radiates your vibes for some odd reason

@heemingyu is lee felix's guide to hating you. idk i wrote this fic a LONG time ago but i remember it as being very fun but also kind of personal to me ?? i don't really have much reasoning for this becuase sometimes i speak vibes only but if this fic had a trailer/moodboard/something it would be sana vibes for sure

@justalildumpling is just saying NO ARGUING idk for some reason j gives me yangyang vibes in this fic especially. very real, very fun, very self-aware, very silly and very adorably delusional (that fits you as a sunwoo stan). altho i will say you are cooler than yang AHAHA.

[evvasblog]

Hey, I started following your blog recently, and I love all your moodboards because they all have their own specific look and vibe (duh) ! I hate adding to your probably endless list of requests, but could you do one for a Taurus Sun & Moon with Libra Ascendant? 🙏🏻

Hi! I'm so glad you like my moodboards!

I've already done one with the same big3, here it is👉

[gelertrook]

Rook ▫️ 23 y/o ▫️ AuDHD and Anxiety ▫️ TransMasc/Agender - Bi - Poly

In a polyam/open relationship (@loser-xx + @killer-pervert)

▫️ Druidic Pagan and Alchemist ▫️Alterhuman ▫️ Lycan, Selkie, Angel ▫️ Fic-Kin ▫️

Specifically I look most like an Alaskan Gray/Tundra wolf and a harbour seal. I was an Archangel/Throne (Orifiel, Guardian of the Natural Wilderness). I'm also otherhearted with rabbits and donkies. I have a lot of fickins but my main IDs right now are Elrond Peredhel (Tolkienverse), John Watson (2009 Sherlock + Original Source) The Judge/Deputy (Far Cry 5), Garrett Hawke (DA2 Purple/Blue+Rogue), Lavellan Inquistor/Non-Canon Companion (DA:I) and Fiddleford McGucket (Gravity Falls).

I have tons of interests and hobbies! I'm an artist, I love making dozens of original characters from all kinds of media's. I also play lots of video games (PS4), bake and ride horses. My favorites are Dragon Age, Lord of the Rings/The Hobbit,  Pacific Rim, Avatar: The Last Airbender, ABC Lost, Once Upon a Time, Wolfblood, Minecraft, Stardew Valley, Overwatch, Hades Game, Slasher Horror Movies, the Band Ghost etc. etc. etc...

I don't have DNI's (besides the obvious, I don't tolerate any kind of hate, bigotry or gatekeepers). I usually reblog aesthetic posts, shitposts and fanart. I do reblog suggestive or adult content sometimes (you can PM me for my NSFW sideblog if you're +18). They will be tagged accordingly but I'm not comfortable with minors following. Be smart and be safe kids. Anyone else though, please feel free to interact. I love asks, replies, reblogs, art trades and moodboard requests. If you need me to tag anything for blacklisting purposes please let me know too; I'm usually too lazy to tag things.

[loaksky]

you are such a talented writer! i’m taking a creative writing class this summer and i wanna start writing my own fics, do you have any writing tips? like ur process and how tf you pull such wonderful imagery and feeling out of a story?? thank you! xx

hi babes ! sorry it took me a bit to get around to answering this ! thank you so much for such a sweet message AHHH ! i actually took creative writing my senior year of college as an elective and it was SO fun so hopefully you have a blast taking it ! also so excited that you're getting into writing your own fics, it can definitely be a gratifying experience. even though i feel like i'm not qualified to give writer advice, some thoughts are under the cut LMAO <3

my initial thought is gonna sound so unhelpful, but i read this quote / saying somewhere and it's stuck with me since: just write and keep writing after, even if you hate what you write. and the reasoning that came with the quote is that you already have 100 percent more to work with than if you were to write, hate what you produce, and then stop until you feel 'good enough' to go again. you can always revise, you can always edit, you can always delete and rewrite, but you'll have something to work with. this is something i really struggled with in high school when i was really getting into writing.

obviously you don't want to push yourself into a state where you develop an unhealthy relationship with it, but it's just a little encouragement or motivation that i used to remind myself of when i would get in a funk.

some random technical (?) advice in no particular order:

use pinterest for writing prompts, templates (for world building, character building, plot structuring), creating moodboards for your projects, etc. pinterest is my holy grail for writing both fanfiction and regular fiction / personal projects. possibilities are endless with miss pinterest.

said and says can get repetitive, yes, but they are still very useful. if you try to swap out said and says with too many alternatives, you run the risk of compromising reading flow and sounding a little too wordy.

in that same vein, try out different word choices, but be careful with which ones you choose! sometimes (like with said and says), writers will use a thesaurus and pick the 'smartest' sounding word and then it ends up throwing off the way the sentence reads...if that makes sense...i'm rambling now lmaooo

in regards to your specific question about my process:

i'm literally so all over the place. sometimes i'll think of a really cool title and then just run with that.

other times, i'll think of a conflict and craft a plot around the conflict and build outwards.

sometimes i'll already have my ending in mind and backtrack all the way to the beginning. then i'll the time to flesh out the foundation.

i also listen to a lot of music. if you go through my masterlist, you'll probably peep a lot of song titles hahaha. i usually use music as a way to feel out a vibe or write using inspiration from the lyrics.

as mentioned above, i love making moodboards and perusing pinterest !

also, this may sound lowkey crazy, but i love writing as if i'm describing scenes in a movie. or maybe directing a movie? i'm a very sensory person, so i try to make sure i include most, if not all, of the senses when constructing these 'scenes'.

and finally!

just have fun! in both the creative writing class and online, don't let outside pressures like your peers, numbers, or other things get in the way of you creating what you love and being apart of a community. it can be difficult and a little isolating at times, but no matter what, just remember what you went into your endeavors looking for!

ik i was a little all over the place, but this is what i can think of for now because my brain is absolutely fried lmaooo. if you have anymore specific questions: lmk, i love talking n chatting hehe

best of luck to you in your class and i hope you enjoy the journey of writing fanfiction as well! <3

[fetch-theboltcutters]

i know it’s over.

[bbysamu]

TW: Discourse / Plagiarism

Hi everyone, sorry but in lieu of a headcanon/fic tonight, i have to make this important post . It’s been brought to my attention that user @/torus-princess has plagiarized my “Haikyuu boys when you tell them you need to go to the hospital for a stupid reason”.

!! do NOT send her any hate !! If possible, please help me report her and spread this message. 

I’ve tried to resolve this matter privately and my mutuals have as well (thank you @boo-marie​​, @kiyoalex​​), but i’ve now been blocked by her and to my understanding, she still has not taken down her post. 

I’ve debated on making this post because I don’t want to bring further discourse into the community. I literally don’t know why I keep on getting involved in these discussions. I really didn’t want to say anything, but the fact that her repost has gotten 100+ notes makes me feel kind of sick.

Once again, please do not send her any hate or spread any animosity. Spreading the message & reporting her post is already more than enough.

Thank you to @justanotherhaikyuusimp as well as all the kind-hearted anons who notified me about the matter. I apologize for not responding to your inbox personally, I was hoping to solve the issue privately and not bring the discourse onto my blog.

Thank you guys in advance for reading through everything and understanding about my lack of post tonight. I’ll be re-opening my 700 celebration event BUT only the first option! It will be closed again tomorrow. Previous example here.

If you’d like a moodboard + couple’s outfit for your selfship, please don’t hesitate to slide into my mailbox. Making mood boards really helps me relax so don’t be shy!

thank you xx

[its-tea-time-darling]

I miss your Thomesa posts. You also made a pretty collage with them once. Hope you make another one someday. Have a nice day xx.

ohh that‘s so sweet 🥺🖤

they still are the one and only in my heart, even though i slut through all possible pairings and settings 🏄🏻‍♀️ but no one‘s ever gonna make me feel like they do. the one big love story of maze runner. my heart.

if you‘re looking for thomesa creations, check out @thomesa-week-2022 . it took place in january, so it‘s long since over, but it‘s a wonderful archive of creations (edits, moodboards, fics) for them 🥺🖤

i wrote 7 fics for that week, and among them are some of my most favorite fics i ever wrote:

A Story

- a canon compliant fever code teresa pov fic. i did make myself cry writing it, but it was Worth It.

Peace

- a many-sided exploration of mental health and friendships as much as it is a story about thomas and teresa

and finally the light hearted:

You Belong With Me ft. Thomas (Idiot) (Affectionate)

- a first person pov exploring thomas being an absolute awkward mess, it’s got major bi feelings and is about the beauty of pride, and it has what i hope is a heartwarming exploration of a thomas and teresa childhood friends to lovers

and then my darling swift does have thomesa content as well. don’t know which profile to link so i‘ll go

her main: @moobrvoobl-moobmoob-oobmpoobroom

her tmr blog: @nice-to-meet-ya-shank

her creations blog (where i think she puts fics and moodboards, also for thomesa): @swift-creates

actually i don’t even know if you read fanfic, bc you only mention moodboards, but i feel i cannot make a catch-up post about thomesa without mentioning my One Big Fic. it started spinning in my mind in the days after i‘d finished watching tdc, and i was helpless to not write it. i wrote it over the course of 6 months, and during that time period made friends in this fandom that i‘ve kept until today. anyway, here goes:

I May Do No Harm

from my author‘s notes: Here's my try for how it could have gone if Teresa had survived, and how Thomas and her maybe could have had a happy ending - littered though it would have to be by hate, mistrust and hard work.

and finally, thanks for sending that ask anon! i was 😍 to get thomesa asks!!!!

my stupid little heart just loves them too much 💙💜💖

hope you have a nice day!