#in fact i like the way ive written all the wicked games characters

[evansbby]

actually i really think my fav character i’ve ever written is wicked games steve 🥺🥺🥺

[ask-art-student-prussia]

Creativity and Dreams: An Essay by Leon Rekjavik

A few things ticked me off with what the “professional-writer” anon wrote, namely the undermining of artists, the act of crushing dreams and just the fact ‘you can’t do this anymore because I’m saying your not talented/ qualified enough’. Whilst this mean writer-rant was directed at Mun, I feel that a lot of the things this person said has generally offended and angered a lot of people. The way this person went around the subject was hardly professional, and if I had to be honest, unhelpful. Whilst Mun has shown no interest in taking writing professionally, say if she had. This ask would completely crush her, and leave her with no advice that could’ve pointed her in the right direction.

So I’m going to do something I’ve not done… for over a year now. An essay-like piece, that covers; why writing and art are hardly that different, why such an interest is allowed to be taken up by anyone at any level, the idea of creativity, what a dream is and why it isn’t necessarily as impossible as it looks, and why you can do anything.

Writing is not something talent based, it’s an art form and a way of expression- something that comes straight from the soul. Writing a description about a setting is no different from painting it, and creating a character in your written piece is no different from sketching one. Both writer and artist are two sides of the same coin, and practically go hand in hand with one another- so for an anon to differentiate the two, to create a border, a thick black line, with “you writing folk” is quite shocking and unbelievable.

Writing is a difficult profession to have, understandably. The market is competitive, and everyone wants their fantasy universe out on a shelf for someone to read. Sure, some of these pieces are good, others not so good, but everyone has the right to try, to improve, and to learn.

And that’s not just with having writing as a profession! Believe it or not, this can be a very lovely hobby to have, dear anon. You can have private little works, some you share with friends, or on a social media platform entirely for free. You don’t need to make writing a career just do it.

No one should take away the right to creativity- it has no bounds, no rules, no restrictions… and that’s what makes it so brilliant. Why do people love sandbox games? Because you can do anything in them, and the same principles apply with creativity- writing, drawing, composing, designing, flowers arranging, embroidery, cooking… the list really goes on.

I appreciate warning younger teens and kids that perhaps some dreams and desires can sometimes transport into a crazy utopia where everything is always right, nothing is ever wrong, what we pursued was great and we’re doing fantastic because of it… but that’s why it is called a dream. Dreams are our fantasies, what we wish a thousand times over to happen, to get. But weirdly enough, fantasies do sometimes become realities.

Quick story.

When my Grandfather was just a boy, he came from a family where no one had gone into higher education like university even once in their lives. Most had done a little bit of school, incomplete often, and that was pretty much it. They quickly went and joined the farming business, and that’s it, never trying to do anything different.

Then comes my Grandfather.

He went to school, and he didn’t want to become a farmer like everyone else. So, he tried, he worked hard, and did his best. He had a dream, to become someone, to be somebody.

His family discouraged him from thinking big, he never listened. He’d read his textbooks late into the night, from the moonlight. There were blackouts frequently at the time period he lived, so they didn’t always have electricity to rely on.

A few decades later, he became a renowned physician, a loving and respectful husband, a good father and an inspiration to many. He became somebody, like he always wanted to, and he was able to help provide for his family, and ensure all of his children had the opportunity to do something with their lives.

He did die, unfortunately very young, but not really. Everyone in my household knows for a fact he’s not really dead. Decades after his death, people still remembered him, for his kindness, his achievements, his hardworking nature. With how often people talked so much about him, you’d think he was still here, beaming brightly, telling great jokes, still having that loving look in his russet eyes.

With the amount of lives he saved, he didn’t just leave as somebody, but as a hero.

Sorry if that was a bit long, but this is living proof, that if you have a dream, it can still become a reality. If you put enough effort in it, anything is possible, and I don’t care about the amount of cheese that statement has, because it’s true.

You can become an amazing artist, a praised author, a masterful cook, a wicked mathematician, a brave fireman, ANYONE.

You don’t need anyone’s stamp of approval to do it. Everyone starts small, not everyone’s perfect, but with a little polish and hard work, you can reach those dreams.

Don’t let anyone tell you that you can’t do something!

-leonrekjavik

P.S

I can’t believe I just spent nearly an hour writing this… But dreams and creativity are really important, so I guess it was an hour well spent!

Sorry if there were any mistakes, I didn’t really proofread it very well, haha.

mun starts speaking here:

hhHoly shit dude im literally speechless. okay i look up to leon so much everyone please read this!! also ive grown up my entire life in this field, i know what ive signed up for and im willing to take the risk. and yeah, hobbies are important to have, and writing and art isnt an exclusive club for people who “do it right”. youll just be that asshole standing in front of a painting looking at it and telling other people staring at it that theyre not doing it right. 

fuckin enjoy yourselves. 

[deansdirtylittlesecretsblog]

CYOSTODA: Sam Picks Truth

Title:  CYOSTODA: Sam Picks Truth

Characters: Dean, Leah, Sam and Reader

Location: Motel room, Crappsville, USA.

Word Count: 1060

Summary: The three of you celebrate the 1 year anniversary of you joining the Winchesters, and not dying, with fun and games.

Warnings: language, drinking, sexual innuendos, mentions of sex with another person, flirting at a whole new level

Link to the Choose Your Own Supernatural Truth or Dare Adventure MasterMess moderated by the amazing @littlegreenplasticsoldier

Part 1:  The Set Up by @littlegreenplasticsoldier

Part 2:  Dean Picks Dare by @eyes-of-a-disney-princess

Part 3:  Leah Picks Dare by @impalasutra

Sam passed you the bottle, making a point of keeping his eyes on your face.  Dean, on the other hand, was not quite the gentleman his brother was pretending to be and you felt his eyes roaming over your body as you poured yourself another glass of whisky.  “Alright, it’s not like you’ve never seen a naked woman before,” you grumbled as you started to feel the last round of alcohol hit your system.  “Let’s keep this game moving.”

Leah took that as her cue and turned her gaze on Sam, a wicked glint in her eye.  “Truth or dare, Sammy?”

You watched Sam carefully, not realizing you were holding your breath until you felt the burn in your chest. You took a breath, blinking rapidly. Sam was starting to look a little blurry.

“Wait!” Dean interjected. “I thought we were gonna hear what happened in the bathroom?” He stared earnestly at first you, than Leah, silently pleading with both of you to tell him what had happened behind that closed bathroom door.

“Later,” Leah smirked, dropping a wink over her shoulder at him. “Maybe when it’s your turn again.”

Dean sat back, looking like a deflated party balloon, a definite pout on his face. You couldn’t help but giggle. You took another drink from your full glass of whiskey, the room tipping on its axis just a little. You kind of liked it.

Leah turned her attention back to Sam. “Come on, Sam, truth or dare?”

You thought he might say dare, somehow keep the game going in the direction it seemed to logically be headed. You wouldn’t mind that at all, especially if it meant you might get to continue that kiss with Leah that had been interrupted. You were interested to see where that might go. You sat forward, forgetting your nakedness and the fact that Dean couldn’t take his eyes off of you, anxious to hear Sam’s choice.

“Truth,” he smirked.

“Fuck me,” Dean grumbled, sitting back, his shoulders slumping in disappointment.

Leah smiled at him, planted her hands on the floor, and slid closer to the center of the circle until she was sitting right beside you, her knee leaning against yours, her hand resting on your calf. You wished you didn’t still have on your jeans, because you would really love to feel her soft skin against yours again.

“What’s the kinkiest thing you’ve ever done?” she whispered. “In detail.”

One side of Sam’s mouth tipped up in a smirk reminiscent of his brother’s. He lifted his glass to his mouth and took a slow drink. He shot a glance at his brother, rested his arm on his raised knee, the glass dangling from his long fingers, his eyes drifting slowly over you.

“Sex in a public place,” he smirked.

“No way,” you shook your head. “Dean, maybe, but not you.”

“Hey,” Dean protested.

Sam rolled his eyes. “You think my brother is the only one that does stuff like that? Oh, you have so much to learn, Y/N. So much. You see, we were in this club and one of the dancers -”

“So you were in a strip club?” Leah interrupted.

“Yeah,” Sam answered, eyes narrowed. “Okay, we were in a strip club and one of the dancers came over to our table. She was flirting, a lot, hand on my shoulder, running through my hair, making it pretty obvious what she was after. Dean made himself scarce and the next thing I know, she’s in the booth beside me, her lips on my neck, her hand down the front of my pants.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Sammy, TMI,” you groaned. “T. M. I.”

Before you could blink, Sam was right next to you, sliding one leg behind your back, the other bent at the knee, tucked up against you, as close to you as he could possibly get, his face just inches from yours. “Oh, but Y/N, it was so good.”

He was so close to you and his voice was so low that it was like the two of you were the only people in the room. You licked your lips, nodding at him to continue, the movement making your head spin a little. He put his hand, his huge hand, on your waist, leaning impossibly closer, the whiskey scent of his breath blowing across your face. For a second you thought he was going to kiss you, but his lips just grazed the edge of your jaw as he moved to press his lips to your ear.

His fingers drew circles on your bare back as he spoke, soft, easy, like he touched you intimately all the time. His voice was raspy, thick with the alcohol he’d drank, barely a whisper. “She crawled in my lap, Y/N, right there in the back of the club, people all around us. She pulled my hand between her legs and begged me to touch her.”

You closed your eyes and swallowed, heat pulsing through you. “Sam -” you murmured.

But he didn’t stop, his hand sliding up your back and into your hair, his fingers twisting in the strands. “She was so wet and oh, Christ, was she tight. Then she wrapped her legs around me, put her hands in my hair, and she pulled it, just like this -”

Sam’s fingers tightened noticeably in your hair and he tugged, just hard enough to draw a groan from you. His hair was tickling your cheek, warm breath against your cheek, close enough to kiss. You turned your head, just a little, but it was enough for your lips to brush against his in an almost kiss.

Sam pulled harder on your hair, tipping your head back enough that you could look into his hazel green eyes, the black of his pupils blown wide. There was a flush of pink to his cheeks and his lips were wet with saliva. You wanted to kiss him.

You’d forgotten Leah was sitting right beside you, forgotten about her hand on your leg, forgotten about everything, your entire focus narrowed in on Sam. You jumped when she squeezed your leg and cleared her throat.

“That doesn’t count, Sam,” Leah frowned and shook her head. “I wanted detail.”

“It counts, Leah,” you whispered, unable to look away from Sam’s mesmerizing gaze. “Trust me, it counts.”

“Truth or dare, Y/N?” Sam murmured.

Y/N picks Dare to be written by @klaineaholic

Y/N picks Truth written by @revwinchester

CYOSTODA Crew tag:  @winchesterswoonathon @saenalife @inkiestdawn @curliesallovertheplace @kreborn17 @winchester-writes @kayteonline @aprofoundbondwithdean @moonlitskinwalker @rizlow1 @sunriserose1023 @eyes-of-a-disney-princess @sammit-janet @revwinchester @notnaturalanahi, @babypieandwhiskey @klaineaholic @winchesterprincessbride @ilostmyshoe-79 @mamalinda09 @butiaintgonnaloveem @kittenofdoomage @deandoesthingstome @skybinx-blog @gemini75eeyore @ive-been-told-that-im-fangirling @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid

[idolizerp]

LOADING INFORMATION ON NIGHTMARE’S VOCAL, DANCE NAM YURA...

IDOL DETAILS

STAGENAME: N/A CURRENT AGE: 25 DEBUT AGE: 23 TRAINEE SINCE AGE: 22 COMPANY: Koala T. SECONDARY SKILL: N/A

IDOL PROFILE

NICKNAME(S): N/A INSPIRATION: None other but the old man himself for raising her with an impeccable work ethic, even if he hates the line of work his only daughter is involved in. It’s managed to get her this far, and if that isn’t something, she doesn’t know what is.   SPECIAL TALENTS:

Can shove her whole fist into her mouth.

Take perfectly angled selfies with her feet.

Demonstrate various taekwondo moves.

NOTABLE FACTS:

Her father is a high ranking officer of the ROK Air Force. 

Particularly skilled in sports as a child: Yura received her first rank black belt at the age of 15; outside of her martial arts focus, she dabbled in track and field as well as basketball.

Graduated from the Korea National Sport University with a Physical Education degree in 2015.

Knows a couple of the well-touted members of the performance demo group, K-Tigers. 

Has her motorcycle license.

IDOL GOALS

SHORT-TERM GOALS:

Increased exposure of Nightmare as a whole through their sub-units. They’re not her cup of tea, but at this point, it’s no brainer that KTM is sharpshooting in hopes that something, anything, will stick and hit bullseye. Once it does, there’ll be relief in going back to the original game plan because that’s what Yura has become comfortable with. She’s been going with the flow since debut, and has no plans of going against the current for now.

Quit sittin’ pretty, because the rest of her members are beginning to make moves into other areas, while she has nothing more but Nightmare activities on her repertoire. Insecure? Hardly, when it only guarantees more free time, but the job description says girl idol, not girl idle, and she signed up for this to do something different, and not nothing at all. Can girl group members moonlight as stuntswomen? She’s beginning to consider it more by the day lately.

LONG-TERM GOALS:

To ride out Nightmare’s name until she has nothing more but her own to rely on, then fade out into the blissful obscurity that is life away from the stage. Being an idol has never been her first, center, or last resort, not when she’d accepted the offer only as a chance to weasel her way out from a restricted, rigid sort of life for however long she can. The idea of eventually being billed as an “action star” down the road started off as a joke-to-self, but with her athletic abilities and with her idol lookalike now cushy in the Chungmuro film industry, maybe it can amount to something a little more serious than that. Safe to say though Yura hasn’t decided just yet, and if all else fails, there’s no problem in working up to finally receiving her 9th rank in taekwondo and / or marrying the model air force officer Daddy Dearest will pick out for her.  

IDOL IMAGE

Knifelike. That’s a good word. The proper word. Down to the teeth of something animal, the line of her jaw, to how her gaze can cut through crowds. Precision, glint, and edge all wrapped into two syllables. Being raised by a military man did her well in that respect, discipline with the square shoulders and a straight spine. Smoke and mirrors are nonexistent in the face of the cold, cold metal. She prefers to leave that up to the other members anyway, as the oldest, and the most unconcerned.

This translates on-stage to: a piercing gaze, sharp moves, a woman unsettled rather than some soft, wicked thing. Power and aggression in each pulse that is impossible to look away from. At the same time, it’s intimidation in spades that can create a sharp divide between themselves and the ones they want to draw in. Which is why show performances and variety appearances are two vastly different rodeos. It’s during the latter, free from dark makeup and costumes, when the comments resurface ( “From that idol group-” “You look just like her, she’s beautiful-” ), which, eerie sense of impostor syndrome aside, she takes without question. For the questions that are raised her way however, Yura keeps things pointed and to the point. Nothing more, nothing less, not because she’s shy, but she knows action always speaks louder than words. So where they cease to exist, she goes above and beyond in being a doer, be it through physical stunts or her avid participation in activities ( no matter how ridiculous ) without complaint.

Off-stage, there isn’t a lot of deviation. She talks little, works more, cruises the most. Doesn’t actively seek people, but takes initiative in leaving some bite of an impression, then doesn’t do much to keep them around. Desperation, hunger, for any of these things the others strive for ( fame, attention, money, love ) feel terribly insignificant; more distractions than direct pathways to a solid destination. Coming from a girl who’s only here for a good time, and not a long one, she’s fairly content with simply seeing this to the very end.

Some noted characters quirks include: Being inactive on social media ( to the point where even their manager has to remind her to post things come promotion time ), never seen to slouch or soften up, and seemingly having an odd aversion to skirts.

IDOL HISTORY

I.

There’s little to life but family. Correction: family is all there is to it. Appa, oppa and baby girl in their well-to-do house in a well-to-do neighborhood in Haeundae-gu, contained and without contempt in the countless ways they mean the world to each other. Ironic, what with a wide ocean view from their windows and a patriarch who’d made a living solely off of flight, but one’s scope is always small from the start. Lullabies, plucked strings, film reels, none of these are woven into Yura’s childhood. Square and center in all early memories sits a round table made of dark elm. As plates were passed along, so were lessons. Shoulders level. Hands crossed over the lap. Chin at that angle. That’s my girl.

II.

A fine line exists between control and discipline. At first, she only learns this because she has to, but soon embraces it in body, mind and spirit. For over a decade, athletics is the forefront of her focus—not dream, mind you—and with the way she pushed forward, the chances of it becoming a formidable future were high. Pressure mounted, never all at once, but just enough for her to feel it with each passing year. Apparently love and passion is supposed to be part of the picture, but all Yura ever feels at the end of each match is the hard pounding in her ears and the wet sheen of sweat at her brow as gold is pressed into her hands. Devotion is practically sewn into every nerve and muscle, but it’s all it ever is. Skin-deep. Physical.

With age, the word “beauty” remains skin-deep as well. Puberty and good genes does wonders, but the pool of pretty people is only so wide. Overlap is expected in hindsight, then, but she doesn’t expect it to include her. The first time someone tells her, Yura admits she doesn’t think the same. The second, that she’s heard that before. It only multiplies and expands from there, with a dash of sweet talk and awe, to the point where it’s deemed fact for her. And of course, there’s the staring. Little does she know that this is  only prep-work for what it’s going to be like all the time.

III.

Inertia stays for as long as one allows it to. Physics allows that much. A uniform, routinely life is fine for the first ten, fifteen, and even twenty years, but somewhere the monotony of it all brings out the first swell of exhaustion. Family, school, sports, then family again; with each rotation, the impulse is harder to fight. Indifference to losses by the first year. A switch to the Phys Ed. department by her second. Trysts found a dime a dozen by her third, through people, places. Positions. An early existential crisis, or a belated attempt at teenage rebellion? Neither actually, not even close. She just wants to move differently, feel what it’s like because it’s all starting to get a little old and she craves a change of pace. It’s that simple.

Luckily for her, the first opportunity wasn’t anything less questionable but a recruiting offer from Koala.T, who’d seen her face on the street in her post-graduated state and conjured the same thought that countless others have made. Of course, making an impulsive decision is always the easy part. Explaining it later that night would be the uphill battle none of the Nams would have seen coming.

IV.

No, she’s not the best. The important thing here is that she’s not entirely the worst, either—for someone who doesn’t have a single artistically inclined bone in her body, that’s not too shabby. Having physical strength, agility, and reflexes has its positives; channeling those assets into dancing, then continuing to improve with time has her getting favorable marks during trainee evaluations eventually. Singing ( to this day ) remains passably decent—so long her voice stays well within its lower range.

It helps that she’s not here to win, not when she’s led a whole twenty-something years dedicated to the idea. It also helps there’s no sweat in being watched, criticized with every blink of an eye. She’s been there too. Despite it all being intense and laborious like trainee life is touted to be, it’s the newness of it Yura marvels at. Everything else is only a matter of adjustment.

V.

When the concept is first introduced, it’s perhaps the most emotion anyone has seen on her face because it’s so damn pretentious. Sopretentious Yura couldn’t help the small snicker that had escaped her lips at the time, incredulous. That this won’t sell is practically written all over, plain as day; then again, she’s not really here to sell anything, really, remember? Instead, she merely bites her tongue and simply goes along with it, because the code of conduct is to be grateful for even a sliver of the spotlight at all, irregardless of one’s intentions. She didn’t expect to come to this point, and not certainly this soon. So let’s take what we can get and make something out of it, shall we?