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roseychains · 8 months ago

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Wet n Wild ~

A/n: sorry this took a minute. Been busy again plus today was a really rough day. I’ve been on the verge of vomiting just being emotionally grossed out(send me a dm before I go crazy)

C/w: written by a minor!, CNC(with pre-established safe word in place), bondage, light praise, degradation for like less than 3 lines, oral(m!reciving), fingering, p in v, aftercare cuz I feel shitty and selfish today, roleplay? Shower sex

“Hm, what’s this?” Suguru questioned as he shuffled through your package, finding a pair of water proof handcuffs. The kind that suction to the wall or the shower. You giggled, “great isn’t it?” He smiled, holding the pair in his fingers, “I’m sure you have something in mind.” You grinned, lustful thoughts circling in your head as you recall what you had planned to ask him. “Do you even need me to explain it?” He placed the cuffs down, bringing a hand up to caress your face and grab you grin. “Yea, or else I won’t know what to do. So use your words, love.”

You began exposing to him what you had been fantasizing about for the past 2 weeks. Him play the intruder, you play the victim. You’d be showering all alone, when he would sneak in with you and cover your mouth, and tell you what he was going to do to you-

Your thought was cut off as you realized how much you had already said. You sat still for a moment, until he finally spoke. “Your such a freak, baby. But I’m down for whatever makes my pretty girl happy, did you want to try it tonight?” You nodded your head, shaking with excitement. “Then I’ll see you later,” he brought down his face to kiss you on the forehead.

Your day went on as normal, you were giddy with excitement. Thinking about what he might do to you, you couldn’t help but feel on edge all day, in the best way possible.

Finally, time came that you were ready to get in the shower. You didn’t have to say it, he knew. You made your way to the bathroom, starting the water before slowly stripping of all your clothes, and stepping in. The hot water felt nice on your muscles, but that was the last thing on your mind right now. At any moment, your husband, your intruder would step in and have his way with you.

After a little while of soaping down your body and basking in the warm water, you heard the door creaking open. Before you could even register what was happening, he was behind you, naked. One hand cupping your mouth, the other around your waist pulling you body flush against his. “Shhh. Don’t scream. Are you going to be a good girl for me and do as I say?” You silently nod your head, underneath his hand you were grinning with excitement. He smiled, “good. Now, get on your knees.” He helped you to your knees, where you dropped your hands to the shower floor, hot water hitting your back.

His hand combed your hair, gently pulling it to make you look up at him, “you know what to do, don’t you? Go on, and don’t you dare fucking bite.” You slowly opened your mouth, as he stroked his cock a few times, then rubbing it on your face and gently tapping it on your check before aligning it with your awaiting mouth.

He let you take his tip into your mouth, but then suddenly his hand on your head moved to the back of your head, grabbing it roughly and forcing his cock down your throat. Drool pooled at the corners of your mouth as you choked on his length, whining against him. He started bobbing your head up and down, using your mouth as his own personal fuck toy. “Your too good at this. If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were expecting me hm?”

You couldn’t respond, your mouth occupied and being used by him. “Who am I kidding, of course you did. Sluts like you fucking love this shit don’t you?” He mocked, watching as you struggled to take him. He speed up, nearing his orgasm, “I’m gonna cum, your gonna swallow it f’me okay?” You desperately tried to nod, but with one last thrust he held your head down at the base of his cock, filling up your throat was his cum, that you willingly swallowed down.

He stroked your hair, praising you, “such a good girl, we’re not done yet tho, stand up.” You rose to your feet, only to be roughly flipped around, once again with your back facing him, and your arms pinned above your head right next to the toy you received earlier this morning. “Handcuffs for the shower? What a slut~” he purred into your ear, taking this as a sign to restrain both your hands in the respective cuffs. So here you where, back to him, restrained and dripping with need.

He let one of his hands up to your breasts, stroking and tugging at you sensitive buds while the other snakes down to your cunt where you needed him the most. He used his leg to nudge yours open, giving him a clear view of your wetness. His fingers stroked your clit a little bit before shoving both of them in your cunt, curling them up perfectly to hit your g-spot. “Mmph!~” you moaned, enjoying the way his finger skillfully worked in your cunt, stretching you out.

Finally, he pulled his fingers out and aligned his cock head with your entrance, while simultaneously taking his hand that was on your breast up to your mouth, shoving his fingers inside and hooking open your cheek, making it impossible to close your mouth, you whined at the intrusion, but your whine was quickly replaced with a moan of pleasure as he bottomed out inside you, his cock perfectly hitting all the right spots stretching you out. “Mmm fuck~ so good..” he groaned, starting to fuck into you.

His hand that was previously fingering you, now on your hip slid down to rub rough, quick circles on your clit. At the same time, he also began speeding up, pounding into you roughly. “Is’ too much!” You whined around his fingers, hardly coherent. “Be.” Thrust “quiet” thrust “and” thrust “take it.” The overwhelming stimulation of his thrusts, fingers on your clit and his words all became too much, and you felt your own orgasm coming soon. “Mmm gonna~!” He smirked, “gonna cum for me princess? Go on, cum on my cock. Show me how much you fucking love it.”

That was all it took for you to spasm around his length, as he fucked you through your orgasm, his own approaching as well. “Gonna breed this pussy full. Fuck take it take it!~” he moaned, finally spilling his cum inside you. After riding own his own, he eventually pulled out, quickly reaching up to undo the cuffs on your hand and pull your body in close, embarrassing you and kissing your forehead. “Did so good for me,” he praised as the water fell on you both.

After finishing your shower together, him sliding into boxers and you in a lose tank top and panties, you crawled into bed together, him spooning you, cradling you in his arms. “Did I do it right?” He questioned, “yes, thank you I loved it.” You giggled, gently squeezing his arm. “Did you like it? I didn’t make you uncomfortable trying out one of my weird fetishes right?..”

“Yes, I loved it. And no, you did not make me uncomfortable. I had just as much fun as you, and I’d love to hear more about your cute fantasy’s in the future.” You smiled, leaning back into his broad arms entrapping your smaller figure. “Mmm okay. Well goodnight Sugu’ I love you” he kissed the back of your head, “love you more.”

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incorrectfmaquotes · 1 year ago

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Today marks 6 years since I started this blog!

Thank you all for following! Whether you followed back in October 2017 or earlier today, I appreciate every single one of you.

And for some other things I wanna say, which I don't think affects anyone and isn't exactly news, especially to anyone who might be paying attention, but more just me acknowledging it: I haven't really been attending to this blog that much in the past couple of years, but especially this one. I've largely just let the queue run and fill it up with older quotes every couple of months. I made this blog when I was in high school and had more free time; I am now something that somewhat resembles an actual adult (if you squint maybe) with more Adult Responsibilities and Situations (but as I have unfortunately realized, adulthood does not erase feeling teenage emotions all that much). I've had less time and frankly less bandwidth to devote more time to this blog - especially to create quotes at the rate I did the first 3 years. And something that has hindered me even more in attending to this blog and is in part why I started to do so was that starting around 2020, a lot of times, I could not open my inbox, direct messages, or activity page on this site. I don't know if the culprit of that was my browser, my old laptop, or our famously well-functioning website Tumblr, but this would frequently happen and would do so for weeks at a time. I'm not saying this was the only reason why there have been unanswered asks and submissions for years (see above: increasing Adult Situations and the Toll they have taken on me), but that certainly played a heavy hand.

I'm in some new circumstances and over the past couple weeks, they have been a bit more stable and consistent - I've actually made about 85 new incorrect quotes and have put them in the queue, an amount I don't think I've been able to manage since the early months of 2020 before quarantine. Opening the inbox and DMs seem to be less of a problem lately, so I've also put in the queue a good amount of those submissions I've had sitting in my inbox for a while and will try to do more, though unfortunately some of the blogs that have submitted quotes have since been deactivated. I'm going to try to answer some asks in the coming days, but again, a lot of these are months and years old, and a part of me feels a bit awkward only just responding now and I'm wondering if it's respectful at all, but I still wanna do it.

That is to say, even though I am in a more manageable situation, I'm not promising that I am now going to attend to this blog like I did in the beginning, or even that much more than I have the past few years. I have learned that circumstances can change with no notice at all. I'm also not saying there's no guarantee that I'll be even less present here or won't stop running this blog altogether when the current queue runs out - not that I'm planning on it, but I can't completely rule that out as a possibility. But even if I ever stop attending to this blog, I don't think I'll ever delete it altogether, if you're worried about that.

So, thank you for sticking around with this blog for the past 6 years! And for sticking with this post that got a lot longer than I thought it would be. This post probably sounds like a whole lot of nothing, but I still wanted to say it, and I thank you for putting up with it. Hope you have a good day! 💕💕💕

#rosie speaks #not fma

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vaya-writes · 2 months ago

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Serving the Serpent -AITA 2

A series of joke AITA posts that are about some of the antagonists in the Serving the Serpent universe. These are prompts and drabbles written for fun that reveal some key details of character back stories that might not otherwise be mentioned in the canon story.

This is a joke post. An "Am I The Asshole" post written to help me understand some of the antagonists in Serving the Serpent, and I honestly just had fun with it as a prompt. But it's from the POV of a biggot and as such there is a LOT of language that is gross and potentially triggering. Please be mindful of tags.

Content Warnings: slurs and exaggerated ableist language used regarding a child with mutism. Casual misogyny and objectification of a child. 460 words. Divider by firefly-graphics.

You are welcome to DM me if you want particulars before you read. I worry that the tone of this piece might be triggering, even if it’s supposed to be a bit of a parody.

Previous (part one is not posted yet due to StS spoilers, this link just takes you to a detailed explanation)

AITA for asking my sister to disown her adopted daughter?

Hey everyone. Some of you wanted an update about my situation. Particularly with the kid and how she’s settling in with my sister? I’m kind of glad you asked, it gives me a chance to vent a little and get this off my chest.

(As always, names replaced with professions and titles)

The kid had some severe bruising around her throat and couldn’t initially speak. At first we thought that ‘Healer’ wasn’t doing a good enough job. Two weeks went by and she hadn’t made any progress towards speaking again – we assumed she was in too much pain. Then before we know it, a month has passed and the kid still isn’t even trying to speak. ‘Healer’ tells us that that the kid is dumb, and that the issue is a mental one.

Since she can’t speak, we don’t have to worry about her blaspheming or asking stupid questions. She also won’t be able to seduce any men or talk to any of the Others. But it’s still embarrassing having a mute in the house. For now, everyone knows she’s not a blood relative. I’m just worried that if she stays with us for a few years, people will start to forget. A generation could go by and the next thing you know, the young'uns could start thinking that ‘Sister’ birthed the kid, and that a defect like that is in our family line.

‘Sister’ was really broken up about it at first. Everyone was sympathetic too, that she ended up adopting a mute. We told her that nobody would blame her for ousting the child or sending her to the sharehouse, but ‘Sister’ got really defensive at that, and insisted on keeping the kid. Probably assumed that it'd start talking eventually.

It’s been two months now, and it’s pretty clear that the kid isn’t going to talk. 'Sister’ had to come up with a whole charades game just to get the kid to respond to anything. It’s frustrating as hell.

I reminded ‘Sister’ again that it’s okay to ditch the mute, that we could send her to the sharehouse. ‘Sister’ just got upset again. Said that she is happy to finally have a child, to have somebody to talk to and look after.

I really don’t get it. It’s not like the kid will ever amount to anything? I’m assuming it’s just 'Sisters’’ womanly instincts flaring up or something. I don’t know.

Does anybody else get where I’m coming from? I am torn. I don’t want to upset my sister too much. But I really think she should drop the child, I don’t want it associated with us. Is that such a bad thing?

#vaya writes #serving the serpent #thank you for your patience #actually working on like three things simultaneously rn #and this one came out first #now i have to write enough StS proper to justify posting part one

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abiiors · 2 years ago

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Just Let Me // M.H.

I got so carried away with this, my god. It’s best friends to lovers??? (read: idiots to maybe lovers). I am so proud of how this turned out and I genuinely hope you like it <3 (reblogs and feedback are very much appreciated)

I’ve kinda tried an omniscient POV in this so I hope it works. It’s mostly angst but there’s a happy-ish end. A positive one at least.

WC: 3.2k (my longest yet)

Warnings - Reader is struggling with mental health, a whole lot of crying in this one, yelling too. And quite a lot of swearing

Masterlist // Series Masterlist // Drabbles

Your phone buzzes with another notification in your hands and you stifle another groan. That makes it ten now.

All you want to do is put on the saddest movie you can find, have a good cry about your day, week, month and then curl up under a million weighted blankets. You simply want to forget about your life for just an hour or two but Matty (or rather, fate) has different plans.

Normally, when he sends you useless memes and silly reels, you make sure to reply to all of them. You even send him stupid stuff in return but all you’ve managed today is to leave him on read.

It takes too much energy to open DMs, to respond to them—the energy that you simply do not have today. It’s one of those days. Lately, it’s always one of those days. They might as well be the norm now.

Are you ignoring me now?

His message makes your phone buzz again and you wonder if flushing it down the toilet is a good idea.

Are you ignoring him? No, yes, maybe a little. But only because he’s just so intuitive when it comes to you. You sigh, open the text chain and start typing up a response. But it’s already too late.

Your phone is buzzing again; this time with an incoming call.

You consider pressing decline or just letting it go to voicemail but he won’t give up until he’s sure he hasn’t done another stupid thing to make you mad. So you simply send a quick prayer out into the universe and press Accept.

‘Hello…’ you try so hard to make your voice sound as neutral as possible. But it cracks on the last syllable anyway.

There’s a small pause at the other end of the line and you know he’s analysing that voice break. The sound in the background slowly grows distant and fades away as you realise that he’s moved to some quieter location.

‘So…’ he hesitates a bit and you can instantly sense the suspicion in that one tiny word. ‘Are you home?’

‘Yeah,’ you quietly try to clear your throat, ‘yeah, just got in.’

‘And how was your day?’

Shitty!

‘It was fine,’ you move around a few things on the dresser, hope that the noise is enough to distract him from the shift in your tone. But he’s smarter than you give him credit for.

‘You’re lying to me.’ It’s not a question, it’s a statement.

‘I’m not—’

‘Come on, sweetheart,’ he interrupts, ‘I am not as stupid as you think I am.’

‘You sure about that?’ you try lamely but it lacks any of the usual laughter in your voice.

‘Rude! And don’t even try that with me right now,’ his voice holds a rare sternness. It’s not that he’s wrong. He did correctly call you out on that lie. The fact that you’ve known each other for close to seven years now makes it so much harder to lie to him. You contemplate dropping the act. You contemplate telling him everything, all about how life has been so difficult to handle lately; how you constantly feel like you’ve bit off more than you can chew.

But he’s so busy… And you don’t want to trouble him.

Their new album is set to release in just a bit over a month and there are a plethora of last-minute things to do; thousands of special edition CDs to sign and finalising the last details of various interviews, finalising the details of the tours.

‘I’m just a bit more tired than usual, I promise you,’ you bite your lip to keep it from wobbling and hope that it’s enough to convince him.

‘I’ll see you in a bit.’ There’s no protesting the finality in his tone. Not like you have the chance to because he instantly hangs up after that.

As much as it is not his fault, it feels like this phone call has leached out the last of your energy. All you want to do is curl up in a ball on the hardwood floor. So that’s exactly what you do. Five minutes turn to ten, turn to fifteen until you lose track of time. Your eyes burn from all the unshed tears and it’s hard to keep them open anymore but you cannot stop staring at the little pink stain on the rug.

You remember how Matty messed around your house that summer, spilt nail polish on your (then) new rug. How you painted his nails in all the neon colours you owned as revenge. You remember him saying how the stain was his way of making sure you’d never forget about him.

As if…

A few sounds manage to break through the buzzing in your ears. There’s the sound of tyres pulling in your driveway, the sound of a car door opening and closing. And at last, the jangling of keys as someone tries to open your front door.

You instantly know who it is. You’ve had each other’s house keys for a good few years now and today, for the first time, you wish he didn’t have them. You wish he wasn’t here at all. You wish you had never picked up his call.

In a minute, he’s going to walk in here and find you curled up on the floor like a lunatic. He’s going to think you’ve finally lost the last shred of sanity.

In a minute, you’re going to look at him and find him looking back at you with barely concealed pity.

In a minute he’s—

‘What…’ he interrupts your train of thought and you make the barest of effort to peek at him through the curtain of hair that’s fallen over your face.

Matty’s not alone; or rather, he’s not empty-handed. He’s holding the prettiest bunch of daisies you’ve ever seen as well as a giant Tesco bag. You don’t have to ask him to know that he’s bought all your favourite junk food and that sugary ice tea you love so much. You also hear a few wine bottles clinking in there.

It’s too much, all of it. He’s being so considerate, so nice. And you have no strength left in you tonight to conceal the feelings that bubble up in the face of this niceness. It’s supposed to be priceless, this gesture yet all it manages to do is be the last fucking straw.

The restraint snaps and your eyes flood with tears and now they can’t stop flooding with tears. When before your eyes burned from unshed tears, now they can’t stop shedding them. And you cannot control the gasps and sobs that are being torn out of you.

He swears softly and then chucks everything in his hands on the settee. He wastes no time running to you, wrapping his arms around you as he tries to pull you into a sitting position.

‘Sweetheart, hey,’ he’s trying to be soothing which only makes you cry harder. ‘Why didn’t you call me?’

‘I just got in,’ you blubber through the tears. It’s such a shitty excuse too but he doesn’t push it.

‘I’m here,’ he says; repeats it over and over again like a mantra.

His fingers caress your spine softly, almost lovingly but you refuse to think of it that way. What’s the point in romanticising simple comfort when it will only lead to more heartbreak?

‘Talk to me,’ he urges after a bit.

‘There’s nothing to talk about,’ you shrug your shoulders, look anywhere but at him. ‘Everything is a bit overwhelming lately, that’s all.’

He softly touches your chin, tries to make you look at him but you won’t budge.

‘You’re doing it again…’

‘Doing what again?’ If playing dumb is what gets him off your back then so be it.

‘This…’ you see him point at you from your peripheral vision. ‘You’re pretending like it’s not a big deal.’

‘That’s because it’s not a big deal,’ you mumble. Your eyes snag on the photo on the wall. It’s Matty and Hann pointing at some graffiti on the Berlin Wall and making goofy faces and it almost makes you smile. You have fond memories of this trip, maybe even the last time you felt truly happy.

His gaze follows yours and rests on the photograph.

‘Remember how you kept butchering the lyrics to 99 Luftballons?’ The smile in his voice is evident and you know he’s thinking of the same memories that you are.

‘I didn’t butcher them!’ you say begrudgingly. In truth, you absolutely did but that was a carefree version of you. That was a different person who did not mind screaming the wrong lyrics at the top of their lungs, who laughed at the stupidest of jokes and cracked even worse ones.

‘I haven’t heard you sing in a long time,’ he confesses.

‘I just haven’t found scream-worthy songs in a long time,’ you deflect.

He shakes his head because he realises that you’re intent on being difficult tonight. He has to take a different approach to this.

‘Let’s go back,’ he suggests, ‘maybe even go to Italy this time.’

It’s such a ludicrous suggestion really that you snap your gaze back at him. He’s looking right at you, he’s never stopped looking right at you.

‘What’s the point in making these plans,’ you laugh bitterly, ‘you’ll be gone in a month anyway.’

‘Then come with me.’

He says it so softly that you’re unsure if he even said it in the first place. He seems to come to the same realisation because he clears his throat.

‘Come with me.’

Go with him…

‘You think it’s so easy,’ you scoff and wipe at your eyes furiously.

‘Isn’t it?’

It’s these two simple words that cut through all your barely-there calm.

Isn’t it?

‘And what about my job? My responsibilities? I can’t just run from everything!’ You muster up all the strength left in you as you yell at him.

It’s as if it has opened up a dam inside you and now you can’t stop the flood of words.

‘Not all of us have the luxury of doing what we love and travelling and fucking around. Some of us have to SURVIVE! Not all of us can just pause everything at the drop of a fucking hat.’

By the time you’re done, you’re sobbing so hard that you’re certain your heart’s about to crack in two. Any minute now…

But then his warm hands are grabbing your face. ‘Hey, hey,’ he’s whispering, forcing you to look at him, ‘hey, I need you to calm down a bit okay? Okay?’

The tears make his face look blurry and unclear but the concern in his voice is unmistakable. You can almost imagine the deep crease between his brows right now; how his mouth would be tilted downward. Still, the sobs don’t subside.

‘Please, please,’ he’s begging almost, ‘will you take some deep breaths for me? Please…’

You are trying, you have been trying. All this time you have only been trying to make it from one deep breath to the next.

‘Please…’ his voice cracks.

Gently, so gently he picks up your hand in his, observes the red half-moons formed on the palm because of how hard you’ve been digging your nails into it, and swipes a thumb over it. It takes him a second or two before he manages to control the tremble in his own hands. It’s only when you touch the soft cotton of his t-shirt, that you realise that he’s holding your hand over his heart.

The fog clears just a smidge as you feel his strong heartbeat under your palm. Compared to his, yours feels like a galloping horse.

‘I’m sorry,’ you sob once you’ve come to your senses. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.’

‘Stop…’

‘I know you work hard,’ you close your eyes tightly, let a few more tears escape, ‘I know your job isn’t easy.’

‘It’s not,’ he confirms. ‘I know you think I’ve no reason to complain.’

‘You’re misunderstanding me—’

‘And I know I’m so lucky to be doing what I do,’ he continues as if you haven’t spoken at all.

‘That’s not—’

‘And I know you take your responsibilities much more seriously than I do…’

‘Listen to me—’ you try to interrupt again but he’s having none of it.

‘No, you listen to me. Take a sabbatical, quit your fucking job for all I care. It’s not making you happy, it’s never made you happy. I’ll take care of you. You know I will.’

You roll your eyes and try not to scoff at his words but that just fuels him even more.

‘Fuck, why won’t you let me! You took care of me when I needed it the most or have you forgotten about that? Have you forgotten how you held my hand as I checked into rehab?’

His voice chokes on the last word but he does not waver, he never wavers.

‘Let me b—fuck, let me be there for you,’ he pleads.

You grasp at straws, try to come up with even one reason why he shouldn’t be here right now.

‘You already have a million other things to take care of.’

‘And they are all secondary to you.’ He wastes no time in answering. All this time that you’ve spent not looking at him, all that resolve crumbles in an instant as you finally turn to him. His hand twitches to wipe away the few tears that have slipped out but he stays put.

‘Please stop…’ you whisper—beg—through the lump in your throat. ‘Please stop saying things like that.’

‘And why should I?’ he challenges.

Because you’re only saying them to make me feel better.

Because you just want this pity party to end.

Because you are just fulfilling your obligation as my friend…

‘Because you don’t mean them…’ you breathe.

You might as well have slapped him in the face. That’s how hard he flinches away. In fact, he would much rather you slap him in the face than hear you accuse him of that.

Your entire body goes cold when he stands up, tries to put distance between you. And you have to grab the arm of the settee to make yourself get up. The spot on the floor where you were curled up should have been warm by now. Instead, it feels ice cold.

‘I don’t mean them?’ His voice is so soft, so lifeless.

‘No, that’s not what I mean—’

‘You think I’m here to score some brownie points?’

He’s getting riled up now. That was the last straw for him and now you’ve finally managed to step over the boundary. You’ve finally crossed that invisible line.

‘Tell me why I’m here,’ he demands.

‘I don’t—’

‘I need you to tell me why you think I’m here.’

‘Because you’re my fr—’

‘Don’t you fucking say that word,’ he shouts, ‘Don’t you dare say that word.’

You feel hollow sitting there; like a husk of a person. There’s no point to this conversation anymore but he’s not giving up.

‘Ask me why I’m here,’ he shouts again and this time you can’t hold it in any longer.

Your head pounds inside your skull and your patience is wearing thin. You’ve tried apologising, you’ve tried deflecting but nothing has worked.

‘Fuck!’ you yell back, ‘Why ARE you here?’

‘BECAUSE I FUCKING LOVE YOU!’

The silence that follows is the loudest silence you’ve ever heard.

He staggers back—eyes wide and mouth agape—and almost crashes into your TV. He can’t believe he’s just let that slip out. That was supposed to be his one secret.

And you can’t ignore the way your heart simply stops.

Because how long have you waited for him to say those words? How long have you imagined whispered I love yous in the dead of the night in Matty’s voice? How long have you yearned?

He’s made up his mind now. He can’t take the words back, he doesn’t want to take them back so he squares his shoulders and looks you dead in the eyes.

‘Because I fucking love you, okay?’

This silent confession, a confirmation that the first one was not a fluke, nearly brings you to your knees. You beg your legs to hold you up as you take a small step toward him.

‘You do?’

‘I have been in love with you for as long as I have known you.’ The exasperation in his voice is clear, so is the undercurrent of regret.

For as long as I’ve known you…

Seven years…

Seven years that you could have had with him

‘It’s okay if you…’ he has to swallow a few times to stop himself from getting choked up. He has to blink a few times. ‘It’s okay if you don’t feel the same.’

Words cannot do justice to what you feel.

Seven years…

This evening has gone from difficult to damn near impossible and there’s simply not enough air in the room.

Seven years that you’ve wasted, you can’t let yourself waste another second.

You stagger toward him and he’s instantly there to catch you, to hold you so close. He wastes no time tilting your chin up because he will die if he doesn’t do it now. And he will never find peace if he doesn’t know the taste of your lips.

This kiss is unlike any other you’ve ever had in your life. There’s no elegance to it, no softness. Your teeth clash against each other multiple times in the first few seconds. It tastes like tears and stale cigarettes. It tastes like longing and yearning and hope. Best of all…it tastes like him

And it is, without a doubt, the best kiss you’ve ever had in your life.

It’s the best because it’s him. It’s always been him and now you finally get to have him.

‘I’m an idiot,’ you mumble against his lips.

‘A proper imbecile,’ he confirms and you slap his arm lightly.

‘You’re an idiot too!’

‘At least I had the courage to confess,’ he challenges.

You bury your face in his chest, breathe in his familiar scent, listen to his racing heart to calm yours down. Time is irrelevant in this moment. It could have been aeons or it could have been seconds, the only thing that truly matters is his body pressed up against yours.

He knows he’s probably holding you tighter than he should but he’s held himself together—all alone—for so long that if he lets go now, he will crumble.

‘So what happens now?’ you speak into the silence that surrounds you.

‘Now I spend a lifetime making up for the last seven years.’

There’s no hesitation there, only determination.

A fresh wave of tears gathers in your eyes. You know he can feel them dampening his t-shirt but he simply holds you tighter.

‘I’ve got you, my love,’ he shushes, starts rocking back and forth and presses his lips to your hair, ‘I’ve always got you. And I’m never letting go.’

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(If you caught the one lyric reference, ilysm)

#matty healy x reader #matty healy x you

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 1 year ago

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AITA for getting someone removed from a TTRPG group and not telling them why? This happened about a week ago, and I feel awful. I (17ftm), and my 3 friends are a fairly close-knit TTRPG group. We recently lost a player due to scheduling issues, and thought we'd like to find a new player so our game could have 4 players instead of 3. The DM (21m) and I interviewed a few people, until we found C (23f).

To note, I am the youngest of the group by four years, and the only minor. The rest of the group are fairly protective of me due to this and some severe trauma I went through before we met. I have trouble voicing my opinions and discomfort because of said trauma.

When C joined the group, she seemed wonderful! The only thing of note was that she said she wanted to flirt with the campaign BBEG, a well-known vampire lord in the module. This was fine, and the DM's partner (21f) gave her okay.

However, when I began to post art of my character, C started acting odd. My character is a very nervous vampire, and he's the youngest and shortest of the group (though he is an adult). Apparently, C found him attractive, and whenever I drew him or brought him up C would say how she wanted her bard to flirt with him, or how she "has to ship him" because he was slightly Rapunzel-inspired. She also seemed to like how sheltered he was, and his relative innocence, talking about how he wouldn't understand flirting and not giving up even when him being uninterested in romance was flat out stated.

We also found out that she had been tracing art, and routinely said she couldn't come to sessions less than an hour before, with no other warning.

Where I might be TA is that I was made very uncomfortable, but didn't speak out. The DM asked me multiple times if I wanted her gone, but I didn't want to just boot her with no big reason.. Eventually I confided that she was making me dread playing our game, and later that day the DM told me he had removed her. He didn't respond to her asking why, and she reached out to me to ask, but also said she wanted to draw my character, which made me very nervous due to how she talked about him and the art she'd done before, which involved... very little clothing. I haven't responded to her and I don't know if I should, but I feel I'm TA for not at least seeing how she was in game before telling the DM.

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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employee052 · 9 months ago

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A Date With Narry WINNERS

The "Date with Narry" event is now over!

Thank you so so so so much to everyone who participated! I didn't expect that there would be more than a handful of submissions, so seeing all of them as the event ends is amazing to me. I can't thank you all enough for participating if you did, whether by asks, or by liking the posts if they came across your dash.

And thank you to everyone new who found @mrthenarrator's blog thanks to this event!

breaking character as the mod of The Narrator's Blog for a bit: I'm so glad everyone was willing to interact with him as a character! I'm not an expert on RP, and this is the first-ever "event/competition" ive hosted, so this event taught me a lot both in hosting, as well as challenged me in terms of roleplay! Plus, thank you for letting me indulge my inner Narry by having him respond to your submissions. Getting to RP as him for the event was incredibly fun and rewarding, and seeing everyones submissions come in through the week was amazing and I loved getting to see all of them appear in the inbox (as well as seeing some of your reactions to his reactions! I do look thru the notes and rbs and i love seeing all your comments to narry's shenanigans) I hope that, even if you didn't win a drawing today, just know that all your submissions and contributions to the event hold a place in my heart, thank you all so so much for participating and I will be perpetually thanking you into the far future for letting me do a little silly event sdkjfgjhg. I hope I can set up more in the future, and hopefully, they won't be centred around getting narry a date /lh

AND NOW ONTO THE WINNERS:

These winners are in no particular order! And, because I am an indecisive little monster, I ended up with FOUR winners instead of Three.

(All of them were so hard to choose it's why this took so long 😭😭😭😭)

@bucketfan427

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@crowzzznest (and @superaurora16 too, since your submission was a joint effort/has both of your characters)

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@give-soup-please

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@notmefoina

----

For the winners, feel free to send me a DM on this blog of pictures/picrews/whatever you have on hand of your Characters/Sonas for reference, as well as an idea of what might happen on the date you and the Narrator might be! (We can also fit some other characters/sonas into the drawing if you want. it doesn't have to be just one)

Your idea can be as vague or as detailed as you want, and you don't have it all laid out at first if you can't think of anything. We can always bounce ideas around and find one that you like the most for me to draw.

And if you don't want a drawing, that's fine too! Just let me know in DMs so I can know! (and I promise I won't be upset if you don't want one /gen, I'm going back to uni classes next week so I'll be busy trying to get all the drawings done in my free time. which isn't a lot, so I'll just thank you for the millionth time again for participating and let you move on with your day kjsadhf /lh)

Thanks again to everyone who participated in this event! Hope you all have a good night

#A Date with Narry #adwn #tsp #tspud #tsp narrator #the narrator #tspud narrator #the stanley parable #the stanley parable ultra deluxe #stanley parable #thanks again for everyone who participated #and im so sorry this took so long to announce #I FORGOT THAT IM HELLA INDECISIVE WHEN ORGANISING THIS EVENT IM SORRUY KISJHDF

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poisonedspider · 20 days ago

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Small little announcement for what to expect the upcoming weeks or two. You won't notice a difference most likely because, you know, me having a constantly running queue. If anything, you'll be relieved because less ooc posts.

I'm having surgery on Thursday. To think that it's like two days away is both exciting but also terrifying. Surgery doesn't scare me, I've had to have two in the past year, but. There's always a fear that things can happen, and I've heard some horror stories, so.

That being said, tonight is the last night I will actively be online. Wednesday morning I work at 8 AM which means early bed for me, and Wednesday night will be early bed since my surgery is at 7 the next morning. After I get home, I obviously won't be around. I'll be sleeping and on oxy and unless y'all want to hear some possibly really weird shit....I'll be avoiding the dash. And then I'll be going from there.

I have three weeks off work, which is stressing me out financially since I don't get PTO. That's why I'm selling stuff on my ko-fi shop to try and earn some extra bucks. But that being said, my plan is to be around a lot. Normally I'm only ACTIVELY online at night (I say actively because I am all day but I'm working so shhh), so now I'll be around much more frequently depending on exhaustion levels, etc. They're saying that overall the recovery is 6-8 weeks. Meaning I'll be down for the count for the two major holidays coming up.

Who knows, maybe I'll sleep all three weeks and you guys won't see me at all. The queue will be running the whole time, but if you are wondering why I haven't responded to you in awhile or why I might be ignoring your DMs, that's why.

I've also had a few people reach out and ask if they could send me something to cheer me up (which is so sweet like?? The fuck??) I'm not a private person (whoops, I should be), so honestly if any of you ask for my address I don't mind giving it to you. There's always ways to find out, so it is what it is to me. I trust you guys. I love you guys. Maybe that will bite me in the ass one day like the last fandom I was in, but eh.

So that's that. Going to try to get through as much as I can tonight before I sleep, because the rest of the week is going to be pretty much non-existent.

#ooc: i am too sober for this;;

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horseimagebarn · 1 year ago

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hello and welcome to the horseimagebarn weekly interaction recap where every friday i respond to all the fun reblogs and comments and such from the past week

first off another bit of housekeeping which is that if you mention me somewhere or tag me or comment or something it is likely you will not receive a response because i do not like to clutter my blogs feed with public responses so i wont reply to every single thing as i feel it takes away from the purpose of this account which is horse images and also i cannot comment as this is a secondary blog so if you wish to contact me and receive a response please dm me whatever you want to as my dms are always open or use the ask function if it is a question or statement you think is humorous or suitable to be published to my blog and if you are not comfortable with this that is okay because rest assured i read every single notification i receive and i wordlessly appreciate each one

apologies to continue the trend of a little announcement at the top this is something that has been plaguing me as i dont want anyone to think i am ignoring them or did not see that they were thinking of me as i always do see it and am always honored to be on the minds of others

i will also now be responding to asks here that i deemed not essential or didnt answer because i didnt want to spam so now is a time of excitement and joy

but i think they like it

i stand by the belief that no man could conjure up the idea of a horse without any prior knowledge of one they are fully unique and real and are unable to be made up just because of the broadness of their concept

one might say there is something morally reprehensible about humans tearing down environments to create spaces of inside where only humans and their chosen pet creatures are permitted and anything else is considered a pest or intruder that is to say i believe horses should be allowed inside if they want to go inside

though i know taste is subjective and that all fruits of nature are beautiful and deserving of enjoyment and that i ought to keep my personal opinions to myself on the horseimagebarn account i will stand by my statement that apples are in fact yummy specifically red delicious apples are my favorite

redraws or edits or anything of the images i post are always permitted as i do not claim ownership of any image i post as i am not the original photographer of any of the images though i wish i was because what a life it would be to live taking so many humorous pictures of horses

i do not have autism i think but i appreciate you friend

i can assure you i do exist in the real world i am not just a tumblr bound entity however i would prefer a hug over a kiss as i am already spoken for

this comment is from the picture of the horse with its head stuck in a tree and i can reassure you dear viewer that the horse is not dead according to multiple articles reporting on the incident

i see many people comment on this so fun fact the neighhhh tag i use only for the horse images i post so that when perusing my account or archive if you wish to only see the horse images and not any reblogs or asks or similar non-horse image things you may sort via the neighhhh tag and also if you were not aware the reason the horses are often tagged with a strange word or emotion is because the horses are sorted based on 10 emotions being love friendship sloth lament anger cursed indulgence whimsy intelligence and joy so you can more easily find the emotion youre looking for when on the hunt for specific horse images

shoutout dalton

#horse #horses #horseimagebarn weekly recap

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girldragongizzard · 2 months ago

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Chapter 7: Ptarmigan’s folly

Saturday isn’t the best day to start work on your own name change, but it’s the seventh of September and I have a fresh SSI deposit in my bank and no rent I need to pay. So, after the morning song, which I manage to initiate by starting just a smidge early, I settle down in the coffee shop with my tablet to learn about how to do it, and maybe pay the fees to get it started.

It looks like the procedure is pretty easy in Washington state, but there are two little snags.

It’s expensive. I can afford it, because I’m not paying rent. Kind of. That money is ideally going to go toward food now, though. But I can supplement my diet with seagulls if I have to.

And, I need more identification than just my enhanced state ID. Like, my birth certificate. And that’s in the stuff that’s supposedly been boxed up and sent to Nathan’s place to put in his garage. When Joel crashed through my apartment wall and trashed the place, I got evicted and trespassed. So, we’d arranged for that, and Nathan says it all seems to have arrived safely, but I haven’t had a chance to go through it all because he lives in another dragon’s territory.

I double check my Discord server for whose it is.

Ah, the individual I’d nicknamed Godzilla, who on my server is going by gronk_lizard.

I shoot him a DM asking if I may have permission to visit Nathan’s garage and look through my stuff that’s stored there. And then fret about the response, which doesn’t come immediately, or for a while.

OK, there’s a third and fourth snag in the name change process, but I’ve already talked about those, and plan to just deal with them when they come up. If I have to, I can send a human emissary to get permission from Waits to enter their territory to go to court. And there’s got to be some kind of concession for altered appearances with a photo ID, especially since other trans folk exist and go through this in their own way. Maybe that’s what the birth certificate is for.

I’m really hoping that asking permission with other dragons is going to work for visiting their areas of the city. This is so new, and I don’t think we’ve really tested this before. But, I think I’d be pretty reasonably chill myself if another dragon asked me, especially after my encounter with Astraia.

Gotta try it someday, why not today?

And I did. And I’m fretting, because gronk_lizard isn’t returning my message yet. He’s not even online, though.

As I take a moment drink my coffee, I realize that I’m hyperfocusing on this because maybe I feel the need to get back into, or establish, a mundane daily routine. I’m trying to ground myself in my identity, which is fair. But now that I’ve done what I can for the day and hit a hurry-up-and-wait snag, it kind of hurts.

The events of the last week, finishing off with that conversation yesterday, have been a bit much.

Especially that conversation. Especially the idea that I might be an Artist.

The idea feels absurd to me.

I don’t have an Art. Not that I know of. I don’t draw or write. Though I’m definitely thinking about writing! But I have no practice in it. I don’t do music. I don’t program. All I’ve ever really done is watch movies, read books, and daydream about being a dragon.

A lot of daydreaming about that. Especially as my chronic fatigue set in and I couldn’t do much else. Which.

I don’t have chronic fatigue anymore and it turns out I’m actually a dragon. So, what do I do?

I fucking go flying, eat seagulls, fight other dragons, and get in a turf war with the biggest, richest wizard in town, apparently!

Or, am I?

Is David Säure an Artist?

Or, did I misunderstand what Ptarmigan was saying?

I think about the main points of yesterday’s conversation, and realize that so much of what was said by both Ptarmigan and Chapman could be interpreted several different ways. And Chapman’s been talking like that since I met hir.

When Kimberly asked Ptarmigan her age, and Ptarmigan responded with “forty-nine”, she didn’t specific of what. Forty-nine years? Seconds? Eons? Heck, she didn’t even say, “I am”, so it might not even have been an answer. Just, “Forty-nine, I think.” Like, “I’m thinking of the number forty-nine.”

And, the reason this sticks with me is because I caught when Kimberly asked more directly if Ptarmigan was forty-nine years old, and Ptarmigan said, “No.”

I take a glance around the coffee shop and the street outside through the windows, and don’t see anyone I know well besides Nathan and Cerce behind the counter.

For some reason, my thoughts feel more private knowing I’m basically alone, and I continue puzzling this.

Maybe Ptarmigan was just saying that Daniel Säure’s involvement in local dragon politics is due to the work of an Artist, not that he was one.

I don’t want to give a billionaire any benefit of the doubt, but I’ve gotta concede I don’t know anything about him. Not even why he’s gone personally reclusive lately. And he could just be this hapless human being with way too much money and way too much interest in local politics.

The part where Ptarmigan was painfully honest and transparent, though, was when she admitted that she didn’t know if I was an Artist, only that it was a guess, and that she’d used divination to find the center of the global metamorphosis and it was apparently me.

Either she was outright lying there, or I was the center of it for some reason.

So, like, we’ve got this pair of immortal beings, supposedly. Or people pretending to be immortal beings, but they can definitely do magic of some sort. And they both have this habit of telling partial truths, or phrases that might as well be partial truths, to mislead or hide the actual truth. It creates this precedent of communication where I guess I expect them to keep up that habit.

So, when one of them then goes, “I don’t actually know. That was a guess. But what I found is that you’re at the center of this dragon event,” well, it stands out. It’s not the same pattern of communication.

What does that mean?

This is going to give me main character syndrome if I think about it too much.

If I take Ptarmigan’s report at face value, does that mean that my dream that night, in which I tore off my human disguise, was indicative of something bigger?

If I’m an Artist and don’t know about it, would that have been me subconsciously practicing my Art? Does dreaming count as an Art?

Or, maybe it’s transformation that’s the Art, but dreaming was my expression of it at the time.

If I had paper and could write this down, I feel like it would make sense on it. But, emotionally, it’s not clicking with me. I just feel numb and disconnected with it when I think about the idea that my own transformation, my own personal desires made manifest, actually affected the entire rest of the planet.

It’s just too much.

But I lift my chin and tilt my head like that one meme, and think that transformation would be a pretty fucking fantastic Art to have. Phenomenally powerful.

If I could somehow do that, transform myself or other people or things, I could use that Art to smooth out so many problems the, uh, global dracomorphosis is causing. At least locally, I think.

And trying it would either confirm or debunk Ptarmigan’s claims.

I could maybe get into that.

I’m honestly at a loss for what else to do, besides to continue networking with my new friends and trying to build a local coalition of dragons while some billionaire tries to ship us one by one out of the county.

There’s been no helicopter for the past two nights, though, that I know of, so it seems like we’ve got a bit of a reprieve. And I should probably take advantage of that.

Networking should only take a couple hours each day, at most, ideally. So the rest of the day I can use for planning, scheming, processing the idea of being somehow immortal or something myself, and experimenting.

Doing that might even keep me out of trouble with my neighboring dragons. You know, by mostly keeping to myself.

Except, I do want to move forward on this name change thing, and that is going to take some leg work. Or wing work.

Well.

I drink some more coffee, and focus on the process of doing that. Like eating, it's also pleasant, if nothing like what I used to do with a human mouth.

The best part of it for me, now, is tasting the air above the coffee before drinking it. There’s just so much detail to the aroma of the steam, so many volatiles lifting away in it. Each one is a different note of flavor. It's almost like I can taste each individual molecule as it alights on my tongue.

But, then, bathing my tongue in the liquid is a totally different beautiful experience, too. There's even more flavor there, but it all blends and swirls around my taste buds as I immerse my chin deep enough into the bowl to function as kind of a ladle, and lick.

Three licks and swallows with snout in bowl gives me a sense of drinking sips kind of like before. And then I lift my head up and back to swallow the gulp of fluid in the bottom of my mouth.

A huff and my tongue is swathed in the warmth of coffee breath and a whole other set of flavors, and I feel like I’ve permeated myself with the myriad of fascinating chemicals that make up the hot extract of coffee beans. Head high, eyes closing, I allow myself to float on the sensations and the memories they bring of doing this almost every morning since I awoke to my true self.

I hear the front door bell chime and jingle and have to stop myself from imitating the noise in response. I close my eyes tighter to distance myself from it.

After a couple of seconds, I hear Ptarmigan speaking to me her desert thunder of a voice.

“We should go for a walk,” she says. “Or, if you know some place private, that would be better. I want to work with you on something, if you’re up for it.”

I open my eyes and look at her in the collarbone. She’s dressed in exactly the same clothes as yesterday.

I’m not done with my coffee yet, so then I look at it, and then look back up at her.

“I’m sorry. You can take your time. I mean, I would like to meet with you some time today, if possible,” she says. “Can you? Will you? Do you have a good place for that?”

“Yes. Okay. Stay,” I say, without pulling out my tablet. Then I go for another mouthful of coffee and make a demonstration of it.

I don’t exactly dislike Ptarmigan. I’m intrigued by her. But I feel like she has disrupted my life just as thoroughly as Joel did when he crashed through my wall. And I do not trust her.

That lack of trust seems more important than anything.

And what she’s revealed to me has damaged my trust in Chapman, too, and I am not grateful for that.

I find that I don’t really want to do anything with Ptarmigan without Rhoda by my side. But she does have her own life, and she’s not here right now.

After sitting with the fumes of my last gulp of coffee for long enough that I feel I’ve made my point, I pull out my tablet and ask a simple question with it.

“What?” I inquire.

“I want to help you explore what I talked about yesterday,” Ptarmigan says. “Privacy would be good so that you don’t feel so self conscious about it. I like going for walks, but I understand your territory is smaller these days. Maybe your roof would work?”

Unfortunately, that’s exactly what I’m in the mood for doing right now. I’m so anxious today, I think I’m done with my coffee, despite how I’ve been trying to wallow in it.

I may not trust Ptarmigan, and I’m not exactly confident in my own decision making skills lately. But I’ve been really great at learning new stuff from my mistakes, and I’m desperate to be doing something productive and new.

I put my tablet away again and stand up, saying, “Okay. Go.” And then I walk out the door and lead the way to the fire escape.

It’s got one of those sets of stairs that only lower when weight is put on them, but I can reach that easily and pull it down, which I do. I climb partway up that and then wait for Ptarmigan to follow. And then we both climb to the top floor.

Leaping up to grab the roof from there is much easier than the last time I did it, and I’m sure I’ve grown a bit in length now.

Once up and in my new home, the rooftop, I turn around and watch Ptarmigan to see if she has any manner of getting up here herself.

She just watches me back, passively.

OK.

My haunches and tail are heavier than my front, so I figure I can help her up while using my hips as a fulcrum. I keep my wings folded and held as far back as possible while I walk to place my hind claws near the edge of the roof. Then I crouch and lean down and offer Ptarmigan my foreclaws, my tail rising in the air and arching behind me.

Then, when she grabs my foreclaws, I flap my wings furiously and lift with my legs to pull us both back up.

She walks up the side of the building with her feet and it all works pretty well.

I allow myself to be pleased with my feat of balance and strength.

Then we make our way to the center of the roof. And as I flap my wings a few times to stretch them again after working them for our ascent, her duster billows.

I find that I wish she was wearing a pair of dark black rimmed wrap around sunglasses, but she’s not.

“OK,” she says. “We can go about this a couple of different ways. We should try both. What are your hobbies? Do you do anything creative?”

“No,” I say. I hesitate for a moment to let that sink in, but then I pull out my tablet, and she watches me as I turn it on and make sure my app is open. “I used to read,” I take the time to say. “I used to daydream.”

“What do you do now?” she asks.

“Know Artists. Fight. Be dragon. Eat seagull. And fly,” I say, completely deadpan as usual.

I’m being subtly funny, but it’s also basically the truth. Ever since my metamorphosis, I’ve been so content in a way I’ve never been before, despite all the stressors, that my usual coping mechanisms haven’t had any draw to me.

“Huh. OK,” my oblique reference to a meme seems to go right over her head. “What were you doing the night of the metamorphosis?”

“Dreaming,” I reply. “Woke up dragon.”

“Right. What was your dream about?”

“Removing human disguise.”

She points at me.

I figured as much.

“That’s it.” Then she sits down on the black tar roof, and says, “Now, describe that dream in detail, please. I’ll wait.”

I huff and look at the sky.

Then I oblige. This dream has stuck with me strongly since that night. I remember it as if I lived it while awake. And I’ve described it before, but it’s worth reviewing it.

I dreamt that I was back in school, college specifically, and it was one of those naked dreams. I spent about half the day interacting with professors and classmates before I really noticed, and I was in just my tighty whities, which is better than being completely naked, but not by much. What I hated more, in the dream as in real life, was my hairy chest and arms, the stubble of my beard, and the obvious bulge in my underwear. These were things that had been plaguing me since puberty, but I never felt like I could do anything about them. If I’d been willing to upend my whole life by admitting that I was a trans woman, which I absolutely never wanted to be (thank you internalized transmisogyny), I wouldn’t have been able to afford transition anyway.

Of course, with the Affordable Care Act, Washington State made it so that Medicaid and Medicare would cover transitional healthcare, including surgery if I’d wanted it. But, for some reason, I just couldn’t bring myself to come out. Not even after I’d lost the last attempt at a job I’d ever had, and settled into the Magnolia apartments friendless and hopeless and exhausted beyond belief. I didn’t have anything to lose anymore, but I couldn’t see how embarrassing myself by publicly transitioning would make my life any better. I was doing everything I needed by living as a woman online, I thought.

That history followed me into my dream, of course. And it colored everything and made me feel even worse and more desperate. I couldn’t believe I was back in school when I had such severe chronic fatigue, and I couldn’t even answer emails or voice messages anymore due to my C-PTSD.

And then, in the dream, one of my classmates, someone I’d made the mistake of considering a friend at the time, asked me why I’d decided not to wear any clothes.

And I turned to him and said, “Because dragons don’t need clothes.”

And then I ripped off my human disguise and woke up.

I simplify this considerably for Ptarmigan, condensing my personal history down to, “I’m trans. Was male in dream. Am female.”

She nods, and scratches at the stubble on her chin.

“Yeah, that shit sucks,” she says. “I’ve dealt with my own dysphoria in some terrible ways. I wish I could have done what you did.”

“You are Artist. You incarnate. Don’t you choose?” I ask.

“I’m not the Poet,” she says. “Sometimes I use words badly. But also, my existence is contradictory. I suspect yours is, too, if you look close or deep enough.”

“Explain.” I’ve decided I’m not putting up with any more vague bullshit from Artists. “Make me understand.”

“Yeah,” she says. Then she walks over to the southern edge of the building and looks out over the sound. “Being trans is part of my nature when I live as a human. I can’t stop from being it. All Artists are queer or neurodivergent or deviant in some way. This is one of my ways. It comes with the Art. In my case, I’ll choose one sex or another, and end up being a different gender from it. Kids these days would say that my sex is defined by my gender, and I like that. But I can’t explain what happens to me with those words because I’m not exactly born. So I’m not assigned the wrong sex at birth.” She looks back at me. “I choose, but then my choice is taken from me, by my own nature. But it’s even more absurd to me, because the whole gender thing as it is today is a construct of white supremacy. It should be irrelevant.”

That last comment seems like a confirmation to me that she’s Indigenous. But I don’t really know. The right thing to do is wait for her to share that information directly. And, she’s an Artist, not a human. Ethnicity may be irrelevant to her, too. There are more important things to consider at the moment.

“What’s your Art?” I ask.

She grins for the first time I’ve seen yet. It’s an awkward thing, full of ruefulness and stilted self consciousness, but her eyes twinkle.

“Nightmares,” she says.

I think about that for a moment, and she lets me, so I ask, “Did you cause mine?”

“No, I don’t cause nightmares,” she says. “Well. Not all nightmares. I navigate them. I find them. I dig into them. I pull them apart. And I learn from them. Or try. The world is full of so many of them, I’ll never read them all. Ever. But, similar to how Chapman’s Art works, it also turns out to be a pretty good way for making divinations. Which is how I found you.”

“What’s Chapman’s Art?”

“Physics,” she replies. “Sie is the Physicist. I’m the Nightmarist. And I’m trying to figure out what you are.”

“What if not Artist?” I ask.

“Then I’m thinking you’re something even more interesting, and I think you’ll want to know that as much as I do,” she says. “Your dream is definitely a big huge clue, too.”

“What is Säure?”

“A billionaire and an asshole who hides behind his carbon offset credits and social clout,” Ptarmigan says. “But I haven’t really taken a good look at him yet. I don’t know more than that. We’re going to have to find out. Chances are pretty good he’s just human, though. Most people are.”

“Yes,” I agree.

“Humans aren’t to be underestimated, though. They make tempting playthings for us Artists. And probably look tasty to you dragons sometimes. But they collectively control everything right now. And their short lives make some of them really bloody minded and rash.”

I don’t say anything to that. I’m not sure what to make of it. I agree with a lot of the words, but the sentiments are weird to me. A little off.

When it comes to my humans, at least, I just can’t bring myself to be that cynical.

“OK,” she says. “I think I want you to try daydreaming first. That will probably be the easiest test. I expect nothing from it, except maybe to be able to do a divination off of it if you daydream the right thing. But it’s the least amount of effort right off the bat. Are you up for it?”

“What about?” I ask.

“If my hypothesis that you’re the Artist of Transformations, or something like that, is correct, then that’s what you should daydream about. Try to recreate something like that dream you had, but while you’re awake.” She nods. “The next step is to put you to sleep and have you dream a nightmare like that for real, but that’s more invasive and more work. I’d rather not do it. Maybe if I learn the right things from this, we can try something else.”

“Okay,” I say, and then start pacing around the roof, looking at things, and thinking about what I should daydream about. What kind of transformation I should envision. And maybe what kind of nightmare scenario that transformation would solve.

Well, I’ve got a ready made scenario, at least. Säure’s next attack.

And my immediate emotional response is that I want to be bigger and tougher and able to withstand bullets. And to breathe fire indefinitely.

So, sure. I sit on my haunches near where Ptarmigan is standing and daydream about what that battle would be like. And about what it would be like to change my body into that greater draconic form.

While I do this, Ptarmigan pulls out a tiny sketchbook and a pen and starts scribbling in it while occasionally looking up at me. She sits down cross legged beside me after a few moments, and really gets lost in her work, flipping pages to work on new ones when the old one becomes too full of ink. And as she’s doing this, I feel a constant soft hum in the fabric of reality that has a harmonic in one of my nerves, like a slowed down and quieter version of the shift I get from Chapman when sie uses hir art.

In my mind, I’m taking to the sky and flying so high that it’s almost like I’m in orbit. And I’m so big and so impervious to everything that I can’t help but imagine that as being a form of intangible existence, like a spirit or a celestial being of some sort. A dragon made of starlight and lightning.

Bullets of any caliber are useless and helicopters go down in flames.

“Yeah. No. That would have been too easy,” the Artist of Nightmares says.

I break my revery and look over at my tablet before walking to it and tapping the screen for a bit, “Not work?”

“Oh, I read you just fine. You’re just not the Artist of Transformation,” she reports. “From what I can see, you’re just a dragon. It’s bewildering, frankly.”

“Told you,” I say.

“Sure,” she says. “Good solid nightmare visions, though. Thank you.”

I don’t have anything else to say to her at the moment. I’m once again at a loss myself. But, as I watch her, her eyes narrow.

“What?” I ask.

“Yeah, I’m definitely not done with you,” she says.

Whatever, I think to myself. At least I’ve made some personal psychological progress today. I now have something I can reliably daydream about when I want to relax.

“Done today,” I say. “Please go.”

“Sure,” she says again. “I need to think about this, anyway. Thank you for working with me.”

“Okay,” I say.

“Take care,” she says, then wanders over to where the fire escape is and lowers herself onto it carefully and disappears down the stairs.

I huff and look out over the water again. I have some more thinking to do of my own.

#dragon #writeblr #transformation #transgender #original fiction #serial fiction

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callibones · 2 months ago

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hello!!! 🩸🟪 again. sorry for asking so early in the morning--i know you said you timed your last poast so i would see it so i feel bad for changing my hours but i had some extra free time. in the future you don't have to time your responses if you dont wanna. i peruse your blog at least once a week or so so ill probably find things ! and i dont wanna bother you first thing, thank you SO MUCH for that injoke guide! i'm like lvl 500 autistic so i had trouble figuring them out naturally. this makes things sm easier.

second thing... you have a bill cipher fictive? that's inch resting. i think i might also be plural too but i'm kinda off and on about it. but when u said that i looked back at the post they made and it was tagged with a #👁️? and then i looked at your other posts and there's a few tagged with a #👑. and your posts are usually tagged with #callie.txt.exe. so i thought hm. so i don't make any mistakes--what's your bill cipher fictive's name? how many people are there? is callie around the majority of the time? this is probably invasive so you don't need to respond to any of this JKHJBGVFCDXRCFGVHBJKNHBGVFCDXCGHBJKNHJBGVFCDGFVHBJ. also ive definitely Won and have obtained zero shelled feelings ever absolutely.

third. I LOVED OIL AND WATER!!! thank you sm. i haven't finished reading through all the other fics you reblogged though so when i do ill send you my thoughts on all of them in a different ask. you are so Based but not in a weird way in like a cool awesome way. fourth. i.. do rlly wanna dm you but my main thing is that i kind of Lost access to my main account a bit ago? idk how i was just stupid and Forgor

so ive been slowly trying to rebuild it on this new one. problem is, it's not Done yet. i'm worried im going to dm you and it will be Incomplete and you will forever perceive me as a Flawed, Unfinished version of myself. it would simply tarnish the wonderful 🩸🟪 brand, you know?

so i think.. if i do dm you, it'll be in a little while. i'll probably create a dedicated sideblog for the occasion when i do, ok? i do wanna hear you yap in a more controlled environment.

last thing i swear. so this actually has NOTHING to do with anything else you said but im like freaking out. so i checked your youtube channel and i noticed your description.

television for a head.

this is cool and all and your sona is SO AWESOME but this also Sucks for me because this ENTIRE TIME i've been drawing you as a computer! i have so much callibones fanart of you as a fucking desktop where it's like nested so your monitor has a little desktop assistant that is also you and it goes on forever and ever and ever with even smaller callies and that idea was WRONG!! i shouldve known from the antennae but i thought that was a bug thing not a tv thing (which, by the way, excellent choice on your part. when i'm not an assembly of shapes, i do enjoy being an insect.) but i was a FOOL!!!

so this makes me realize hey wait what else am i getting wrong? this thing is colored differently in this image than all the other images. what's the correct thing to do? and i came to the conclusion that i need to just ASK YOU! (wow who could've guessed. you're so smart.) yeah! i am! the smartest in the whole world even

if you happen to have any, i need reference sheets of your sona. if you have reference sheets of the alternate variants (or are those headmates? i saw one was called calliope and i think there was a bill cipher one so is that the fictive? i don't know but i want to draw them) those would be appreciated too. i have made a grave error and i must resolve it immediately.

with that. um. thank you for humoring me, id like to thank all our sponsors for getting me to write this ask, i will join the discord servers and message you one day because i am Not Afraid of Anything in the Whole Wide World. toodles

HELLO 🩸🟪! hope i didnt keep you waiting too long.... wanted to finish my ref first! PLUS i got a whoooole buncha busy goin on so im SUPER occupied.... but now i got time just for YOU! i definitely didnt time this one im just postin it now that i Can.... but im sure you can use the tag and your weekly browsing skills to find your way back here. hehehehe.

SECOND: very observant! yes, while we haven't made an official post for it, calliope uses the crown emoji and calcifer uses the eye emoji! that's his name, by the way. in fact, here's the whole gang, labeled with NAMES & PRONOUNS!

("who the fuck" is me, sorry. hehehehe.) (putting the id on this one out here so its easier. from left to right, you got:

the commissariat (she/they) in red, in a fancy longcoat with a jacket makin a serious pose

me, callie (it/fae/she) in green, in my usual "have a rotten day" top that shows my bra a lil and my short skirt

calliope (she/thon) in purple, wearing thons over-the-top storm supervillain dress

calcifer (he/she/it/they and it insisted on including "calcifae/calcifaer" as well) in yellow, with a suit, a shorter skirt than mine, a sword, and the bill cipher triangle-eye pose

and callyris (she/it) in pink, with short-shorts and a crop top fully showin its maintenance panel.

i'm around the majority of the time, but there's five of us includin' me and Calcifer! he's more than just bill cipher, btw. he's he/him lesbian bill cipher! hehehehe. he's also like genuinely growing as a person and i'm REALLY proud of him. also it's okay i have shelled one feelings too. calcifer says you're probably pretty easy to take advantage of and should call her.

THIRD: YAY! cedardivine, who made that peanutiel story, JUST made a separate post the other day with all thons blaseball writing. so GO CHECK THAT OUT! i sure plan to. :-D

FOURTH: cmon you dont gotta brand. EVERYONES flawed and unfinished! including me! im fucked upppp dont put me on a pedestal. im incomplete too!!!!

FIFTH HERES MY REF!!!! i made it just for you (genuinely!) so you GOTTA show me your fanart now because omg? omg???? omg???????? you made fanart of me? sobbing and crying??

also youre KINDA right about the desktop assistant thing! i fuckin love the nestedness so much and theres definitely some stuff where i imply that! but thats because.... so the actual sona is a desktop assistant virus thing. but fae takes on the appearance of a tv-head bot! so when fae's in The Real World fae uses a Made Physical version of that same cartoony self to walk around in. and on that robot's an OS running... the actual desktop assistant! so while it's not infinitely nested, you're right that my reality is Layered. i wonder if it could go deeper than that....

theres not a lotta art of the others YET but heres SOME FUCKIN AWESOME ART MY WONDERFUL FRIEND OF RIGORMARCY DREW OF THON so lookat that.

and here's calcifer's never-before-posted discord pfp, just for you:

calcifer sez: THERE'S MY CARD! GIMME A RING IF YOU'RE LOOKING FOR A NEW DEITY TO CHAT UP. THE SHELLED ONE MAY BE DEAD, BUT I'M AROUND FOREVER! FOREVER.

so. do what you will with this information.

IN CONCLUSION please send me your fanart if you wanna and feel like it because thats SO AWESOME that you made some... literally misty eyed.... ill look forward to your next correspondence whether i know you as 🩸🟪 or as whatever your name is on whatever platform you wanna reach me with! feel free to shoot me a friend request on discord if tumblr aint workin for ya. tell em 🩸🟪 sent ya! because that's you. and you can send you. But not in the mail, unfortunately. 1984.

UNTIL NEXT TIME GOOBY!!!!

#🩸🟪

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