#just a thousand commas

[justadumbasskid]

RimWorld Writing | Valley Station 1

She had been in here all day. Every day for the past four days, at least. Mei, the group’s resident combat Mechanitor, and a damn fine one at that. During the time of the First Factory, she had commanded two militors, two bellicors, one omicron, two knights, two centipede blasters, and a War Queen. All had eventually been scrapped to make way for their successors, or had been sold along with the First Factory, but still, an impressive resume. Now, in the time of Valley Station, she crouched low in front of a huge Archotech pylon. One of four towers on the North, East, South, and West surrounding a great Archotech structure in the middle. The cluster of Archotech artifacts emitted a constant psychic pulse that tugged on the seams of any psychically-tuned brain nearby. Volz was particularly sensitive to its influence, and suppressed a groan as a headache bloomed inside her skull.

“Mei,” Volz called from the sunlit slate doorway of their great temple, Mei was pulled from her musings and turned her eyes away from the glowing Archotech structure to her companion. Volz held a packaged survival meal in her hand and beckoned for Mei to take it. “You’ve been spending too much time here, Mei, even you need to eat sometime.”

Mei clutched at the plackart of her marine-issue power armor, and looked away, “I’m not hungry…” A common response from her, as she’s equipped with a miniturized nuclear reactor instead of a stomach. Volz shook a canteen in her other hand as a response.

“Water, then. I can hear your dehydration.” Volz’s lips crooked into what she hoped was a reassuring smile as she rolled her Archotech eyes playfully. With the popping crackle of stiff bones (they really needed to get bionic legs sometime) Mei stood, and gratefully accepted the offered water. She drank deeply, and summoned the courage to turn her attention away from their collective object of worship to speak to Volz.

“I just…does it not intrigue any of you? The mystery of its use to the Archotechs? How it relates to the great Archonexus? I can’t focus on anything else for long, I always find my mind wandering back to it. It calls to me. Please, tell me you’ve heard it!” Mei babbled just barely-coherently. She’s an intimidating figure with her power armor and Mechcommander helmet, but she appears weak as a kitten compared to the glorious Archotech artifact standing tall above her. Volz placed a reassuring hand onto Mei’s armored shoulder, hopefully calming the volatile mechanitor. 

“We’ve all heard it,” Volz assures, guiding Mei’s head so she can only focus on her pair of artificial eyes, “We didn’t build this temple around it to hide its influence from us, such a feat would be impossible, and pointless. We built this because it told us to, it commands our respect and attention. We built this temple to revere the glory of the Archonexus, and all this artifact represents.” 

“But..?” Mei whispered, guessing Volz’s next line of speech. Volz nodded.

“But, we’re of no use to the Archonexus when we’re starving, dehydrated, and dead. I’m not saying that there are more important things going on right now than our holy mission, but we need to focus on the basics regardless.” Volz pressed the crinkling paper packaged meal into Mei’s limp hands, forcing her to hold it, “Eat, drink, and sleep. The Archonexus favors us enough that it has provided these opportunities to us, we would be wise to make use of them while we can.” Mei looked down at the parcel in her hands before taking Volz into a hug. Her exoskeleton-enhanced strength threatens to crush Volz’s just under-enhanced body, but soon relents before breathing becomes difficult. She moves past Volz and out into the fleeting sunlight of dusk.

“Thank you, Volz. Perhaps the greatest boon the Archonexus gave unto us is your wisdom.” Mei tears into the package soon after, and leaves Volz alone in the temple. 

An aching throb in her skull pulls her attention back to the huge glowing greenish-yellow structure before her, and the intricate circuitboard-like patterns of pale yellow etched onto the sleek lime surface. Volz inches closer to the humming Archotech structure, and with her enhanced Archotech eyes, she imagines that she can almost see the individual packets of light traveling through the atto-thin wires.

Volz thinks to herself for a moment…her chores are done, she has eaten dinner, surely she can spare an hour or two of study before bed. 

So she travels past the Western Pylon, and takes a kneeling position above the Northern pylon. Pressing her organic hand against the lime structure, she begins to meditate. Opening her mind, and inviting Archotech wisdom to enter it.

------------------------------Buffer ---------------------------

A little writing based on the colony from this post, and all of my RimWorld posts before that one, relating to the current playthrough.

[gothiclit]

like quite frankly if i had a friend/partner die on me i'd be killing myself for real this time

[vicsdeangelis]

How short are you

I'll go first I'm 5 feet 2 inches and so that you don't think I'm trash, I do use the metric system for most things just not for human height so 157.5 cm and also because cm is technically not SI unit, 1.575 m

i'm around 1.63. i refuse to use feet and inches, so y'all figure it out how tall that is

[polaroidcats]

I spent the last few days co-writing an article about anti-trans violence & trans solidarity with my crush and their ex (lol, classic #queer culture moment) and now that we've submitted the article I feel like idk what to do with my time?? It's that lull after being stressed out where you don't really know what to do with yourself suddenly.

[burialrite]

I can still see the corpse of that fawn wrapped in the wire fence; cross-hatched, spots still showing on the side of her body, facing the train. She was standing, vertical, unnatural, head dipped down toward the ground and little else in sight. I blinked, and she was gone, faster than I knew how to mourn.

Ten minutes down the track, a fire burned along the same wire, tearing through blackberry brambles and dried summer grass. No one had spotted it yet at the end of the road, where the tar dripped off into dirt and the buildings were all coated in rusted iron. It burned unfettered for as long as I could see it, around the bend, and then it was gone.

A week ago, I drove home near midnight. Expecting to be lonely and without a care in the world, CD-1 circling and then booming through the car, I turned onto the ten-minute stretch I drive every day. I think, because it was so much later than usual, no other cars on the road, I noticed the bump lying in the street faster than I would've otherwise. And I corrected what I could, only aware of the danger of running something over on six-year-old tires, before I looked into the possum's unseeing eyes, and blinked, and he was gone.

The music wasn't needed after that.

The fawn you found drowned in the water this week, near the dogs, near gatherings of loving friends and family, I'm sure; the possum we passed stretched out on the median, too far away to really look at on the way there but a handful of feet away on the way back, intestines spilling out and flies filling the air; the smell of unexpected smoke pouring thick through my window and the sounds of shrieking laughter in the street as fireworks were lit over and over, the litany of drunken words shouted out windows and amongst strangers;

I don't wish that it were different. I don't wish that my heart was harder. I only wish to be able to know the moments before more intimately than I know the last.

[squishiifishrose]

Another oc story retcon:

So in an older post about A Title (That's just what this thing is getting called until I finally figure out a better title), that was mostly about Jordan's Anti-CER radicalization, I said that in the far future United States that Zail is in, the government has been replaced by a board of representatives that are all companies. However now I have it that a surpreme court ruling gave judicial persons (aka corporations) the right to run for office and sit in the surpreme court, so long as said judicial has a representative to actually fill the role.

And because corporations have way more money to fund a campaign than if the candidate ran alone, people looking to get into politics tend to look towards getting hired as a representative for a company, and many voters see more commercials and ads in favor of these corporate candidates than for other candidates.

And generally, there are less non-corprate candidates than corporate candidates due to the fact that corporations treat their representatives in elections like celebrities, while it can be a struggle to even get a little bit of funding for non-corprate candidates. Since the ruling, the number of candidates that weren't representing a corporation had been slowly lowering.

The right for judicial persons to go into office is generally called Corporate Election Rights (CER), but the actual term is Judicial Persons Election Rights (JPER)

[redflannelsheets]

Though I try to remind myself that what you’re doing/thinking/feeling is none of my business, I do wonder sometimes if you think I can justify being mean to them [singular specific], or if I stand by it, or if I have zero remorse. And if I could tell you directly: I feel bad about that, genuinely, for a few reasons. 1) there’s no reason for me to feel superior about aesthetics and physical attributes other people can’t help, just as I shouldn’t feel inferior. Physicality is what it is. 2) obviously, because they are a person too, and I wouldn’t feel terrific about being shit-talked either (not that being kind is simply a case of “do unto others,” but y’know, there’s something to be said for that concept, especially when lack of knowledge makes it relatively easy to demonize instead of empathize). 3) because I should have asked you how you were feeling (about everything) and tried to talk to you gently about the discomfort I often felt about being in that role, but I was doing what I thought at the time would make you happy, and I’ve learned in the time I’ve had to reflect since that the easiest route isn’t always the best idea. I was cowardly a lot that way, reluctant to speak truth or ask honest questions in case I was told to mind my business or worse, that if I wasn’t good-giving-game *all* the time that I would be dismissed. That being said, if I’m being completely honest sometimes it feels good to be “awful” and y’know, trash together and such. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that I like that two-against-the-world feeling of trust, of privately shared snark and sass. I just wish it had been more general and less specific in that way (more in the “i hate everyone/everything today except coffee, [specific valued thing], and you” fashion) but alas, what has been done and said can’t necessarily be undone or unsaid. But I can take responsibility and apologize for it, and if ever we were to speak again you have my word that I won’t repeat that behavior, even if asked or urged to. There were reasons (beyond my being a subby li’l bitch) that I tried to direct trash talk towards myself at times, or at least put the spotlight on us together as something real and genuine, but I own my words and behavior, for better or for worse. And THAT having been said, do i think we were terrible, irredeemable, evil? No. We’re human. Humans shit talk and say stupid things and carry notions too far to entertain and please each other. It’s forgivable. It’s not black or white, it’s all of those marvelous shades of grey that make it hard to see certain things in the moment. It doesn’t require a lifetime of hair-shirting, just some sincere reflection and care for the future.

Tbh I’m not sure what I’m writing this for. I can’t see you ever visiting this specific space again. But I suppose I leave my missives here just in case. This is a safe place for you always, as is any room with me in it, whether or not you dare enter—and it’s okay if you can’t quite believe me. I have never meant you (or anyone around you) harm, nor ever wanted to, and that is a double pinky promise always. 💜

[valeriehalla]

actual writing advice

1. Use the passive voice.

What? What are you talking about, “don’t use the passive voice”? Are you feeling okay? Who told you that? Come on, let’s you and me go to their house and beat them with golf clubs. It’s just grammar. English is full of grammar: you should go ahead and use all of it whenever you want, on account of English is the language you’re writing in.

2. Use adverbs.

Now hang on. What are you even saying to me? Don’t use adverbs? My guy, that is an entire part of speech. That’s, like—that’s gotta be at least 20% of the dictionary. I don’t know who told you not to use adverbs, but you should definitely throw them into the Columbia river.

3. There’s no such thing as “filler”.

Buddy, “filler” is what we called the episodes of Dragon Ball Z where Goku wasn’t blasting Frieza because the anime was in production before Akira Toriyama had written the part where Goku blasts Frieza. Outside of this extremely specific context, “filler” does not exist. Just because a scene wouldn’t make it into the Wikipedia synopsis of your story’s plot doesn’t mean it isn’t important to your story. This is why “plot” and “story” are different words!

4. okay, now that I’ve snared you in my trap—and I know you don’t want to hear this—but orthography actually does kind of matter

First of all, a lot of what you think of as “grammar” is actually orthography. Should I put a comma here? How do I spell this word in this context? These are questions of orthography (which is a fancy Greek word meaning “correct-writing”). In fact, most of the “grammar questions” you’ll see posted online pertain to orthography; this number probably doubles in spaces for writers specifically.

If you’re a native speaker of English, your grammar is probably flawless and unremarkable for the purposes of writing prose. Instead, orthography refers to the set rules governing spelling, punctuation, and whitespace. There are a few things you should know about orthography:

English has no single orthography. You already know spelling and punctuation differ from country to country, but did you know it can even differ from publisher to publisher? Some newspapers will set parenthetical statements apart with em dashes—like this, with no spaces—while others will use slightly shorter dashes – like this, with spaces – to name just one example.

Orthography is boring, and nobody cares about it or knows what it is. For most readers, orthography is “invisible”. Readers pay attention to the words on a page, not the paper itself; in much the same way, readers pay attention to the meaning of a text and not the orthography, which exists only to convey that meaning.

That doesn’t mean it’s not important. Actually, that means it’s of the utmost importance. Because orthography can only be invisible if it meets the reader’s expectations.

You need to learn how to format dialogue into paragraphs. You need to learn when to end a quote with a comma versus a period. You need to learn how to use apostrophes, colons and semicolons. You need to learn these things not so you can win meaningless brownie points from your English teacher for having “Good Grammar”, but so that your prose looks like other prose the reader has consumed.

If you printed a novel on purple paper, you’d have the reader wondering: why purple? Then they’d be focusing on the paper and not the words on it. And you probably don’t want that! So it goes with orthography: whenever you deviate from standard practices, you force the reader to work out in their head whether that deviation was intentional or a mistake. Too much of that can destroy the flow of reading and prevent the reader from getting immersed.

You may chafe at this idea. You may think these “rules” are confusing and arbitrary. You’re correct to think that. They’re made the fuck up! What matters is that they were made the fuck up collaboratively, by thousands of writers over hundreds of years. Whether you like it or not, you are part of that collaboration: you’re not the first person to write prose, and you can’t expect yours to be the first prose your readers have ever read.

That doesn’t mean “never break the rules”, mind you. Once you’ve gotten comfortable with English orthography, then you are free to break it as you please. Knowing what’s expected gives you the power to do unexpected things on purpose. And that’s the really cool shit.

5. You’re allowed to say the boobs were big if the story is about how big the boobs were

Nobody is saying this. Only I am brave enough to say it.

Well, bye!

[fishyfishyfishtimes]

Yessir! Here's two I made today (no explanations though, hush hush)

Look at that. Are these not the most beautiful things in the world? So clear, so clean, so perfect. Data in front of your eyes!!! I admit I have a heavy preference for boxplots — who can blame me, they show everything — but eventually I will make line graphs for certain things too. With standard error added of course !!! Really looking forward to making those, but right now I'm really happy with these graphs I made, in Excel no less! (The online version is a little complicated)

I LOVE STATISTICAL ANALYSIS 😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍 (I am fully serious fully genuine) (I get to do all the statistical analysis for my trout experiment) (I was worried about the work but this is once again fun as hell) (I get to make cool pictures and compare averages and medians and see if the difference in averages are statistically significant) (this is what I was put on this earth for) (I never want to stop)

[werehamburglar]

can't believe mom of the year bridget von brandt named her daughter annabelle "worm" morgenstern after a piano playing robot with a pinocchio complex that she thought was neat

[hotchner-edu]

I was thinking about a cute scenario where Hotch misplaces his Rolex and is kinda bummed about it but reassures his girlfriend that he’ll just get another one someday. She has been saving up to get a new car but instead uses her money to surprise Aaron with a new rolax and he’s all like 🥹🥹🥹

The thought of spoiling that man consumes me.

The Watch | Aaron Hotchner

The case of the missing Rolex came to your attention before it did to Aaron's, and you were probably more devastated about it than your boyfriend was.

"Sweetheart, it's fine. I'll just get another one soon." He tries to placate you as you practically tear through his closet. Knowing Aaron, soon meant close to never due to how hectic his work life could get.

"It's not fine!" You call out from your spot on his closet floor. "A Rolex submariner going missing should qualify as an emergency situation."

You hear Aaron chuckle fondly and come up behind you, crouching down to give you a kiss on your temple, his hands moving down to stop yours before you could claw through another stack of his folded pants. "Honey, you won't find anything there. Besides, I mean it. I'll just get a new one."

Frowning, you lean back into him and sigh as he wraps his arms around your middle and drops kisses around your face. "You stress me out." You say lightheartedly, sagging in his hold.

He lets out an affectionate laugh, his chest rumbling under your back. "I love you, too."

To the misfortune of your bank account, your love for Aaron spurred you to endlessly research the variety of Rolex series available on their website. You have to fight back a grimace at every comma in the price tags.

After logging out of your bank account app (to protect your peace), you settle on purchasing the oystersteel model which resembled the one he lost.

You ended up digging into your car savings fund to purchase the watch, but you had no regret in doing so. Although it created a bit of a dent in your efforts to replace your current car, Aaron deserved to be spoiled. Plus, you’d be receiving your next paycheck soon enough.

The watch takes a little less than a week to deliver. Taking no risks, you had the delivery fully insured and tracked the package’s movements like a hawk for days.

The hard part of the entire ordeal came with having to actually give the gift to Aaron. Of course, he wasn’t above accepting gifts, but receiving gifts that cost thousands of dollars, especially on non-holiday occasions, was something else entirely for him.

One night as he’s laying beside you, watching tiktoks with you on your phone, you decide to bite the bullet.

“Honey, did you ever find your Rolex?”

He chuckles a bit sheepishly, seemingly still a bit embarrassed to have misplaced something so valuable. “No. I think I might’ve taken it off during a case somewhere and left it in the hotel.”

Nodding, you suppress an excited smile as you suddenly sit up, causing his hands to grip your waist in surprise. “Where are we off to, sweetheart?”

“I need to pee really quick.” You say smoothly, giving him a sweet kiss. "And no, you can't come this time." He gives your ass a quick slap as you crawl out of bed, causing you to shake your head playfully as he chuckles.

Locking yourself in the bathroom, you gently open one of the sink drawers containing your skincare items. Digging to the bottom, you pull out the green leather box containing the Rolex, taking a deep breath before opening the door again.

"Something wrong, sweetheart?" Aaron's voice sounds from across the room immediately, noting how fast you left the bathroom.

"I forgot something." You say and hurry toward the bed, unable to hide the giddy grin on your face.

Aaron props himself up on his arm and raises an eyebrow as you practically launch yourself back on the bed.

"For the best boyfriend in the world." You coo sweetly and extend the box toward him.

Aaron stares at you like you have three heads for a moment before frowning and carefully taking the box. "Sweetheart, you didn't have to..."

Your mood dampens a little at that and your shoulders sag. Aaron picks up on it immediately and sits up fully, eyes widened as he places the box aside and cups your face. "Thank you, really. But it must have cost a fortune, baby."

"You deserve to be spoiled, Aaron. Besides, I'm still being conscious with my money, so don't worry about it." You say, smiling when he tucks you into his chest and kisses your forehead.

"It's my job to spoil you, y'know." He grumbles playfully, squeezing your hip.

Accepting his affection, you reach for the box again and wiggle it in front of him. "Yeah, yeah, don't you want to see what I picked out for you?"

Before he opens the box, he showers you with more kisses, unable to ignore the fuzzy warmth that filled him.

"The watch, Aaron!" You protest in a fit of laughter.

He grins against your skin as he kisses your cheek. "Thanking my woman comes first."

When he finally does see the watch, he wants to just freeze time and take a picture of your expectant grin, thinking you look absolutely beautiful as you wait to see his reaction.

So while you fuss over putting the watch on for him, all he can do is stare at you lovingly and debate on whether to buy you a new car or an engagement ring first.

[ohbo-ohno]

cuckolding - simon ‘sells his sperms’ to reader and her bf who’s infertile. they can’t afford ivf so the traditional way it is but just the tip and jerking off into her pussy. that’s what was agreed anyway

simon ends up taking whatever he wants from her because how can we fuck if we aren’t properly aroused sweetheart? let’s do a few rounds to increase the chances eh? she’s so desperate for a baby that she complies. she’s secretly into it even. poor reader’s bf :( watching her make out with this stranger and take his cock in her mouth too

hello beloved. im ghoapifying this. pls forgive me

smth about johnny having kinks that he doesn't want to admit to/doesn't recognize... him subconsciously looking for a way to get those needs met...... it's delicious

thinking about you and johnny deciding you want a kid but after months and months of trying with no results, you're starting to lose a bit of hope. the both of you get your fertility checked, and johnny is pretty crushed to learn that he's shooting blanks. makes your relationship a little rocky for a while tbh bc he becomes kinda obsessed with proving his own virility to himself

when you two eventually decide (through a mix of dirty talk, pillow talk, and very emotional conversations) that you want to try ivf, you realize pretty much immediately after that you don't have the thousands upon thousands of dollars necessary just lying around. it's johnny who consoles you when you realize you won't be able to afford the treatment, and it's johnny who decides that he's going to fix the problem himself

(ghost is looking for odd jobs when he spots the listing on craigslist. smth so terribly worded that he almost thinks it's a joke, at first. there's not a single comma used properly, it seems like every other word is misspelled, but the earnestness is clear through the screen. the request was posted five minutes ago, and ghost is the eighth comment - a quick glance at the other accounts shows him that he's the youngest by at least a decade)

soap and ghost message, for a while. soap is pushy as hell, asks for pictures of ghost's face and gets a few of his cock instead. says he's not sure if ghost is the right pick, since he looks nothing like johnny, but keeps messaging him anyway. simon is pushy as hell, asks everyday when they're gonna meet up, gets pissy when johnny keeps pushing it off

(soap sends pictures of you sometimes. they start out innocent enough, pictures of your face from your instagram or your side profile when you won't catch him with his phone up. johnny finds it easy to ignore the guilt he feels when ghost says send me one of what i'll be fucking and johnny does, sends a picture of you fucked out and face down that you had no idea existed. you're limp, slick and come dripping from your hole, and johnny can't help the way he gets hard when ghost's only response is one without your useless spunk inside her. she won't have to put up with it much longer)

when you finally meet ghost, you're unaware of all of this, of course. johnny had just told you he wanted you to meet a friend of his from work, and you'd been excited to go out for a night on the town with him. you'd found simon off-putting, to be honest, but he'd already said he'd be picking up the tab, so you just indulge in a few more shots than you normally would and stay cuddled close to johnny most of the night.

johnny only tells you the real reason he introduced you two when ghost says 'm steppin out for a cigarette, i'll pull the car around for you two and lumbers off, lighter already out.

ye still want a bairn, right? johnny had said, eyes bright as he wrapped his arms around you, kept you pressed close to him. simon can give one to you, to us. he's not even gonna charge us, bonnie, how great is tha'? you'd gaped at him a little, and he'd interpreted your expression as fear. hush, naw, don't worry, lass, i'll be there the whole time. promise i won't let him hurt you, yeah? we can even hold hands, alright?

the time between you sitting in a booth with your legs thrown over your boyfriend's lap and your back flat on your bed is a blur in your mind

simon is heavy over you, both of your wrists held in one of his hands as he ruts against you. you're drunk enough that you can't focus on much but the heat between your thighs and the long kiss simon has kept you locked in. he strips you easily, forcing you high up on the bed so you can rest in the pillows, forcing your legs around his hips so he can pin you

it's only when he pulls back to undo his belt and strip himself that you finally remember johnny is in the room too.

he's bent over the edge of the bed, hardly two feet away, and you can hear the sound slick sound of him fisting his cock, can feel the way the bed shakes just a bit as he fucks his own hand. you sort of whine, reaching out for him, soothed when his free hand links with yours, his own eyes a little wet like they always are when he gets so hard that his thoughts melt away

"eyes here," ghost grunts, big hand covering one half of your face as he forces your gaze away from your boyfriend and back to him. "you don't need to look at him. he's not the one gettin you knocked up, is he?"

you and johnny moan in tandem for that, and your eyes are wide as saucers when you finally look down at the battering ram between ghost's thighs, the ruddy tip of him leaking as he strokes himself.

"you're too big," you manage to gasp, squirming back.

ghost makes a sound somewhere between a scoff and a laugh, lining himself up with your drippy hole and pushing in without warning. you nearly squeal at the stretch, digging your nails into his shoulders and pushing against his thighs with the heels of your feet. your squirming doesn't stop him, and he doesn't give you even a second to adjust as he uses his weight to sink himself to the hilt inside of you

he makes you look in the eye while he fucks you. and he talks a lot - he says more while he's inside you than he did your entire evening in the bar earlier

you feel good, huh? this the first time you ever had a real man fuck you? yeah, the brat humpin' the bed isn't enough for you. bet you always felt empty when he fucked you, but he didn't even need to stretch you out before rutting here. a hand rubbing your clit, making you nearly scream from the added pleasure as he fucks you so hard that the headboards slamming against the wall. bet my seed'll take first try he grunts into your ear, and you hear johnny moan from your left. might even give you more than one, huh? have you fat and round with my babies, make him watch you grow and take care of you, if he can even manage that.

when simon finally comes, he fills you up more than johnny ever had. makes you wait to come until he does first, too, tells you that he googled it while pinching and twisting your clit until you burst beneath him, your cunt squeezing his soft cock as your eyes roll back in your head

(johnny cuddles you, after. he tries to fuck you but ghost won't let him, holds him back by the hips and squeezes his balls until he goes soft, spits i don't want your spunk fucking with mine. you gonna waste my time like that? thought you wanted me to fuck your girl pregnant? were you lying, johnny, or you just so fuckin' desperate that you'll break our deal? and johnny whines and cries but listens, holding you close and pressing his cock against your folds but never inside of you)

((ghost doesn't leave the next morning. doesn't leave the next week, actually. he fucks you every day, even when you insist that you're not ovulating anymore, that he doesn't have to keep trying to get you pregnant. the first time he eventually lets johnny fuck you again, he holds him by the hips and stuffs a few fingers inside you along johnny's cock, says she got used to me, johnny, we'll have to give her a little extra if you want her to let you fuck her again and laughs when johnny whines.))

(((he doesn't even leave when you take your first pregnancy test and get positive results. he rubs your back as johnny scoops you up off the ground, rumbles his own quiet congratulations. a few days later you try to hint that he can leave now, that you and johnny don't need him anymore. he doesn't listen, but that's okay, because you can't quite imagine what you would do if he did leave, how you and johnny would function without his rock steadiness - you're relationship had been a rollercoaster before simon, insane highs and terrible lows, all smoothed out when ghost came into the picture and started playing referee for the two of you)))

((((when you're eight months pregnant, you lounge in a rocking chair as johnny rubs your feet and simon builds a crib.))))

[nowoyas]

Trying to make sense of the Nanowrimo statement to the best of my abilities and fuck, man. It's hard.

It's hard because it seems to me that, first and foremost, the organization itself has forgotten the fucking point.

Nanowrimo was never about the words themselves. It was never about having fifty thousand marketable words to sell to publishing companies and then to the masses. It was a challenge, and it was hard, and it is hard, and it's supposed to be. The point is that it's hard. It's hard to sit down and carve out time and create a world and create characters and turn these things into a coherent plot with themes and emotional impact and an ending that's satisfying. It's hard to go back and make changes and edit those into something likable, something that feels worth reading. It's hard to find a beautifully-written scene in your document and have to make the decision that it's beautiful but it doesn't work in the broader context. It's fucking hard.

Writing and editing are skills. You build them and you hone them. Writing the way the challenge initially encouraged--don't listen to that voice in your head that's nitpicking every word on the page, put off the criticism for a later date, for now just let go and get your thoughts out--is even a different skill from writing in general. Some people don't particularly care about refining that skill to some end goal or another, and simply want to play. Some people sit down and try to improve and improve and improve because that is meaningful to them. Some are in a weird in-between where they don't really know what they want, and some have always liked the idea of writing and wanted a place to start. The challenge was a good place for this--sit down, put your butt in a chair, open a blank document, and by the end of the month, try to put fifty thousand words in that document.

How does it make you feel to try? Your wrists ache and you don't feel like any of the words were any good, but didn't you learn something about the process? Re-reading it, don't you think it sounds better if you swap these two sentences, if you replace this word, if you take out this comma? Maybe you didn't hit 50k words. Maybe you only wrote 10k. But isn't it cool, that you wrote ten thousand words? Doesn't it feel nice that you did something? We can try again. We can keep getting better, or just throwing ourselves into it for fun or whatever, and we can do it again and again.

I guess I don't completely know where I'm going with this post. If you've followed me or many tumblr users for any amount of time, you've probably already heard a thousand times about how generative AI hurts the environment so many of us have been so desperately trying to save, about how generative AI is again and again used to exploit big authors, little authors, up-and-coming authors, first time authors, people posting on Ao3 as a hobby, people self-publishing e-books on Amazon, traditionally published authors, and everyone in between. You've probably seen the statements from developers of these "tools", things like how being required to obtain permission for everything in the database used to train the language model would destroy the tool entirely. You've seen posts about new AI tools scraping Ao3 so they can make money off someone else's hobby and putting the legality of the site itself at risk. For an organization that used to dedicate itself to making writing more accessible for people and for creating a community of writers, Nanowrimo has spent the past several years systematically cracking that community to bits, and now, it's made an official statement claiming that the exploitation of writers in its community is okay, because otherwise, someone might find it too hard to complete a challenge that's meant to be hard to begin with.

I couldn't thank Nanowrimo enough for what it did for me when I started out. I don't know how to find community in the same way. But you can bet that I've deleted my account, and I'll be finding my own path forward without it. Thanks for the fucking memories, I guess.

[bright-side-of-the-moon]

MY MAN reblogging here bc its where ch.1 is YOU CANT LEGALLY KEEP DOING THIS TO ME

fantastic work. you have indeed captivated an audience: all 3 of my braincells XD

Chiron inching towards (stereo)typical centaur behavious is WILD and not at all terrifying. i wonder if hilal- as his intern- would notice it first/ fall first victim to dark shenanigans & what she would do about it (God knows she has enough on her plate without two unhinged immortals to deal with lol)

the claiming sequence? straight fire. absolute masterpiece. the imagery was so good omg. i love the combination of the pomegranate and cerebrus, signifying the underworld in general and not just child of either hades or persephone but both and also a secret third option.

which brings me to this point: Jacks is a legacy of erebus no? wouldnt primordial gods have their own unique sign or do they just use an umbrella claiming thingy for efficiency? In this case the underworld represented by hades and seph

slightly insane will we love to see it. did someone poison the water supply? whats going on im dying to know

poor leo with the bad timing lol. darn rootin tootin has no right being this funny. what ice cream flavours did he pick?

once again im impressed by the originality of and just how far camps resident trouble makers are willing to go to pull elaborate pranks and schemes on each other. If anyone tries anything on cabin 13 or its members hilal promised shed personally feed them to cerebrus :)

The "is this random tissue in my pocket probably from 1953 clean?" dilemma is so real lol

Nico head bonks give me life.

everyone say thank u to the mind gremlins for the installment. looking forward to more! good luck at school and take care >:D

Hey? Wassup?

You know what would be cool?

Chapter two of the Demigod With Many Names >:]

Chapter 2:

I WATCH A DOG EAT A POMEGRANATE

I don't usually cry (which is a lie). But when I did, I accidentally envelope my entire surroundings in a five foot radius of pure darkness (courtesy of my literal, primordial grandpa, Erebus).

'Jacks... are you okay? You've been crying for a good ten minutes,' My wonderful -but terrible at consoling people- boyfriend from the Demeter cabin, Tyler said softly. 'Lou Ellen, and Connor are starting to get worried...' He said as he poked the edge of the darkness.

I created a small window in the Crying Void, patent pending, so I can look at him. 'Why aren't they hanging out with Will?- Or Nico. Whichever. Take a pick.'

'Funny you say that actually.' He said as he rubbed the back of his neck.

I poke my head through the hole and look around the Demeter cabin. Sure enough, Nico, Lou Ellen, Connor, and Tyler are standing around me. Nico was playing with the shadows -which, of course he was- while Tyler was trying to hide Connor and Lou Ellen's current argument.

'No! I'm not disguising you in the Mist so that way you can trick the Poseidon cabin into thinking a Siren broke in.' Lou Ellen said sternly.

'Come on! It'll be fun! Think about it, Percy's gonna freak out, then he's gonna be all super soaker mode and stuff!' Connor pleaded on the floor, slowly crawling to Lou Ellen's leg and grabbing onto it. 'Ple-e-e-e-ase?'

Nico hits him on the head. 'Enough Connor. Stop messing around. We're here for Jacks, remember?'

'Fine!' Connor sighs, holding the spot where Nico bonked him. 'But this isn't over "Louie." And you didn't need to hit me on the head so hard! For a scrawny, emo boy, you're freakishly strong.'

'Thank you.'

'That wasn't a compliment.'

Nico shrugs.

'Ahem!?' Tyler cleared his throat loudly to get their attention. 'Focusing on the wrong emo!'

'Rude,' I add in. 'But not far off. Nice job, honey.'

'Thank you.'

I sniffled, wiping my eyes and my nose with a tissue I had in my pocket. Why did I have a tissue in my pocket? Not sure. When did I get it? Again, not sure. Was it clean and unused? Surprisingly yes.

'Anyways. What are you three doing here?' I wasn't sure how I said it, but it was probably harsher than I meant it to be. 'I get Tyler being here, but not you guys.'

'Well..." Connor started.

'We heard you got suspended for not being able to deal with a patient that wasn't there,' Nico continued for him. 'I'm not entirely sure why Will would do that though...'

'He's a cool guy and all, but he's been acting strange recently.' Lou Ellen added.

'All the immortals, and some of the Half-Bloods are also acting strange.' Tyler said worriedly. 'Especially Chiron and Mr. D.'

My heart dropped, and skipped a worried beat. The shadows around me faltered, turning into a dark mist and falling to the top of my knee, not coming back up. Nico raised and eyebrow, but I think he decided not to comment on it. 'What do you mean?' I finally managed.

'Well, Chiron has been showing more... Romanic centaur behavior.' Nico replied quickly. As much as the kid (we're technically the same age) freaked me out, he was surprisingly chill. Probably because he mostly didn't care most situations, or because he wasn't sure what to do in most situations. Either way, I'm not inviting him to my funeral if I die.

'Meaning he's becoming a ruthless killing machine and eats meat?' I asked, condescending in tone.

'Shut up.' Nico glared at me, which wasn't very fun. 'But technically yes. He's becoming more erratic, sending untrained kids on extremely dangerous quests. More and more kids are disappearing due to the Harpies-'

'Wait- What?!-'

'Not important,' Nico continued as he started fidgeting with his skull ring, pacing back and forth as the plants around him started dying and took on a more brownish color. 'What's important is what's happening to Mr. D.'

'Well what's happening to Mr. D?' I asked with my hand raised.

'I will tell you how long it will be until you die. Then make it much shorter,' He threatened me calmly. 'Sorry, I didn't mean that... entirely. Just stop interrupting me.'

I put my hand down slowly.

'Anyways,' He continued. 'Mr. D has gone completely off the rails. He's turning kids into animals, mostly dolphins. He's created a camp wide mania surge that's making almost everyone paranoid and on the verge of doing a literal killer mosh pit, all while sending shipments, upon shipments of leopards and releasing them into the forest.'

'Courtesy of the amazing, wonderful Amazon workers,' Connor added, followed to a swift, loud slap to the back of the head by Lou Ellen.

'That's for calling me "Louie", dill hole.' She sneered.

I'm not sure if it was payback for earlier, and she found the perfect time to do ot, or it just registered Connor called her Louie.

'Anyways,' I say while scooting away from Connor and Lou Ellen. 'What should I do about it? There's no way I can help a missing camper, let alone a god and a horse person.'

Nico shifted uncomfortably. 'How about something smaller... Like... Will?' He said in a small voice.

I rolled my eyes, feeling my anger that I subsided for Will slowly rising up as Nico suggested that. 'And why should I?! Will fired me, took away my license, and kicked me out of my own cabin!' My eyes stung. I could feel the tears start to come up again. The shadows at my knees began to stir, becoming spikey waves in a sea of shadows. 'He was my brother! The first person I knew that would understand that I came from a different time, and would need guidance.'

Nico reached out towards me, stepping into the shadows and grabbing my arm. 'Jacks, you know what I-' He winced and pulled away, noticing my eyes were glowing. Their usual two-toned light orange and brown, replaced by a soft, glowing neon green. He got distracted by my eyes that he forgot my skin was literally ice cold to the touch.

You know when you wet your fingers and touch an ice cube you just pulled out of the freezer, and it freezes the liquid on you hand and sticks to your skin? If you haven't, try it, and come back to this chapter. Anyways, that's what it reminded Nico of.

The floor cracked open, and a hand sprung out from the ground. Not even I was expecting that. The shadows sunk into the ground, making the green glow coming from it to dim down. My eyes stopped glowing.

Unfortunately, though, the now golden glowing image of a Lyre above my head, didn't. The zombie kept crawling out of the ground, as the strings to the lyre broke. The lyre broke, the wood turning back into tree. An image of a pomegranate falls from one of the branches, hitting the "ground." A three headed dog eats the pomegranate, sitting down like a guard dog would.

Nico's eyes widen, his whole body faltering. 'You- How-' He takes a few steps back, tripping over the zombie and almost falling into the hole in the floor. Luckily, Tyler managed to make a flower with Lou Ellen making the flower as big and strong as possible using magic, and Connor bending it down so Nico could land safely on it.

'Jacks...' Nico said after complete silence. 'You just got reclaimed by- by-' He stuttered.

'Hades...' I finish his sentence.

A knock is heard on the door, and we all look over. Leo walks in holding two cartons of ice cream and two spoons. 'Hey Jacks, I heard you got fi-' Leo drops the ice cream on the ground as he looks around the cabin in shock, finally noticing what happened. 'Sorry, is this a bad time?'

'Really Leo?' The five of us say in unison. 'Does it look like a bad time?'

Leo looks at the glowing image of Cerberus above my head. 'There's a story here... not sure if I wanna know it, but darn rootin' tootin' I'm staying for it.' He says with a big grin.

And thus ends Chapter 2.

I really hope you guys like it, these are always so fun to make, and I get to deal with my mind gremlins that bug me all the time 'bout this stuff

@kindred-spirit-93

[girlwithletters]

I want it we do it again

Pairing: Jude Bellingham x femreader/ you or whoever you want

Warnings: I think 18+, vowels and consonants, commas and periods and lots of love, unprotected sex

Jude Bellingham.

The rumor mills said that he knows all the pleasures that a man can give a girl. He never asked what a woman wanted, but as soon as he finished, he understood immediately. He had power, a lot of money, not a little intelligence, and he was able to manipulate people, even his peers, into doing what he wanted.

He stood between his two friends, Vini Jr. and Trent, by a table overflowing with champagne glasses, scanning the room like a starving predator stalking its prey. He hadn't chosen it yet, but he knew that in this room was the person he would be sharing the lavender-scented bed of his suite with for the next few hours.

While the thousands of thoughts were chasing me, I took small steps among the many French lace and Lyon silk dresses rustling around me. I quickly left the couples spinning with cheerful laughter in the distance, only to retreat into a corner with a sullen expression on my face. I hated dancing and I hated that came with this masquerade ball. I sat down into a lonely chair. No one near or far, everyone on the dance floor played the role of the devil of the dance.

The minutes spent being bored almost seemed like hours. I already knew how many people were in the room, how many chandeliers illuminated the crowd with a dark aura, how many shoes tapped on the mirror-smooth marble floor. I collected a thousand uninteresting pieces of information and one or two interesting pieces of information, but even that couldn't cheer me up. I was about to stand up, kicking off my high-heeled glass shoes and hobble home, when a tall figure came into view.

- Look at me!

I was not prepared for the sight.

I caught my breath and for a few moments nothing came to mind. There was a smile hiding in the corner of the man's mouth, and the night black color of his hair was striking next to his well-defined chin. And her eyes... God have mercy on every innocent girl who looks into them! Her brown, liquid chocolate eyes were shaded by thick, black eyelashes, and her boldly lined eyebrows made her gaze even more irresistible. Her gaze was exotic, hypnotic, defiant, daring and infinitely sensual.

- Look at me!

I could only repeat myself. I wasn't prepared for Jude Bellingham.

It was difficult for me to recover from my astonishment, I felt like I couldn't breathe. Sighing slowly, I let out the air that escaped my worn lungs with a hiss. This is so unfair! They even warned me who he was and to be careful with him.

- Come with me! - My body sang when he reached out to me, a light sigh escaped my throat as his arms wrapped around my waist.

I could already feel his breath on my skin when the touch of his soft lips slowly reached mine. His long fingers slid into my locks and he gently pulled my head closer. I got goosebumps, I shuddered at this feeling.

- Come with me - his voice was soft, completely enchanted.

Jude put one hand on my shoulder, and when I tried to turn back, his other hand pinned me to the railing in the darkest corner of the huge terrace.

- Are you bored, baby? - He whispered in my ear. He grabbed my skirt with his hand on my waist and pulled it up until I could feel the cool breeze on my bottom. He grabbed my bottom and kept squeezing it, without any hesitation, firmly reaching for me. Just as I wanted. I tried to turn my head away, but he wouldn't let me. He wrapped one of his hands around my neck and pulled me to him, while I kept smelling his citrus-spicy, intoxicating scent. Then he let go of my neck, grabbed my hair and started pulling me to lean even closer to him. He nudged mine with one of his feet.

- Spread your legs! - he instructed. And I spread my legs for him voluntarily and singing.

- Please! - I moaned almost begging.

He let go of my hair and reached between my legs. My panties were already wet, my moisture running down my thighs. I was embarrassed, but I felt in my bottom that Jude liked it.

After that, he spared absolutely nothing, he didn't waste his time. He grabbed my panties and tore the delicate lace. He immediately started caressing my clit, then plugged one finger up, then another.

- Say my name!

- Jude...- When he stopped after hearing my sigh-filled moan, I began to urge him. "Please, continue!" - He moaned with satisfaction, then fingered me thoroughly while stroking and rubbing my clit more and more, and I still couldn't stand it. It was too good not to enjoy every minute of it. A few moments passed, my vision blurred, I gasped loudly. Then his hand disappeared for a moment, as if he wanted to punish me so that I wouldn't enjoy it.

The music coming from the room got louder now, but I didn't pay attention to it because I was completely focused on something else, someone else. Jude unzipped his pants and that made me lose my mind even more. With one hand, he pulled my skirt up to my back, and with the other hand, he brought his cock closer to my pussy.

- No woman has ever turned me on as much as you. I'm going to fuck you so hard you'll be begging for more.” As he managed to get it in, he kept pushing his cock deeper and deeper. "You're so tight," he moaned, his voice full of lust. I sighed heavily when his thick erection deepened

penetrated and continuously expanded. It almost hurt what he was doing, but the pleasure was more dominant. I almost cried when he let go of my dress and took my mouth as he pushed deeper and deeper. He bent down to my neck and bit the sensitive skin with his mouth, then began to suck my neck. When she finished sucking, I could feel orgasm approaching, but she continued to move actively.

- Be quiet, baby! - His hand was still on my mouth, while he could caress my clit with the other and thrust harder. Unfortunately, I couldn't stay completely quiet, but he did a great job. I made sure it echoed around the room when I yelled,

"Yes!" Very good! - The pleasure consumed my body from thrust to thrust, moan to moan, it was almost too much. I finally screamed from orgasm.

As he pushed deeper, my inner muscles tensed against his cock. I could feel him enjoying himself.

It was amazingly good.

- It was amazingly good - Jude echoed my thoughts and feelings.

When he pulled out of me, I lost my balance. He wrapped his arms around my waist and held me so I wouldn't fall. I leaned against the railing and tried to breathe evenly while my mouth was up to my ears.

- Are you okay? he asked softly.

- I'm perfectly fine - I smiled at him - I want it we do it again.

Later, I fell on my bed dizzy. I giggled and hid in the blanket and with closed eyes called up the smell of my now favorite soccer player, the memory of his touch and kiss. In a daze, I allowed my senses to be dulled, to be filled with infinite satisfaction, and I was happy that I could finally get what I had wanted for a long time.

( english isn't my first language ) - just the usual

Thanks for visiting.

[quietblueriver]

Very short thing set immediately after ep 95 because it wrecked me and I had a second to Kermit-style spew some feelings. Imogen-centric, as I am wont. Pls excuse any typos and the probably wild overuse of the comma.

-

Long moments pass, the ridge of Laudna’s nose pressing just underneath Imogen's jaw, her arms linked around Imogen’s waist as Imogen does what she can not to break in half. 

It’s second nature, to run her fingers through Laudna’s hair, a familiar action, easy, meant to soothe them both, meant to keep them grounded, together, tethered. Imogen knows exactly how much pressure to use, how to move gently to avoid hurting Laudna or coming away with a small creature’s worth of hair in her palm. She’s done it a hundred times before, a thousand, but this time, there’s a prickle in her mind and her hand slows on the second full pass as she tries to figure out what’s different, what’s wrong. Except it’s what’s right, actually. Or what would be right, if Laudna were someone else. The strands are softer, thicker, falling through her fingers easily. Almost like Laudna’s…

Imogen’s rigid as the thought takes hold, and Laudna shifts against her with a small questioning noise. It takes everything she has to try to relax, but it’s apparently enough, cool lips grazing the skin of her neck as Laudna settles again. 

Fuck. She can’t be sure, no matter how many times she lets the strands glide over her skin, whether there really is something different or whether she’s just looking for Delilah everywhere now, and she hates it, hates that her life has been so disrupted, so shaken, that even this almost mundane intimacy can’t be trusted. Her world tilts just a little more, and surely, surely, she’s finally upside-down.

The body that has helped to keep her here relaxes further into her, trusting and vulnerable, even as Imogen tries not to show her panic, tries to hide the way she keeps her breath shallow because she’s scared she’ll smell something other than earth mixed with lavender.

Fighting back the angry, screaming sob that seems to live perpetually in her throat these days, she feels, a little distantly, the cold sigh against her neck.

The exhale shifts into a phrase that Laudna has repeated more times than Imogen can count in the last half hour: “I love you.” 

There had been a momentary relief the first time Laudna said it, free of the stain of Delilah’s echo, something pure in the middle of their absolutely fucked, world-breaking conversation. Laudna, just Laudna, telling Imogen she loves her. 

But each repetition sounds less like reassurance and more like desperation, more like a plea. It’s me, it’s me, it’s me. She wants so badly for that to be true.

But Imogen has never been allowed to live in what she wants to be true.

Maybe it is still Laudna, soft and true and hers, but they’re too far gone now for Imogen to trust it.

She knows that those words are a perfect weapon for Delilah, an ideal means of self-preservation. There is no better way to keep Imogen on the line, to give Imogen–and maybe Laudna, too–hope that some part of Laudna has been preserved from Delilah's influence, than by making it seem as though she can’t touch their love. 

She almost can’t bear their corruption, but the only thing worse than hearing those words like this is not hearing them at all, so she takes them dipped in poison, feels them feed the rotten and writhing truth inside of her. It’s a truth that she has been avoiding since that night in Whitestone, and now it’s crawling beneath her skin, coiling in her stomach, refusing to be ignored any longer: 

Something is wrong. 

Laudna is wrong. 

And what is Imogen supposed to do with that? 

“I love you, too,” she whispers, and it is a truth, too, as it has always been, but, face pressed into dark hair that she’s suddenly afraid to breathe in in case it’s the thing that topples them both, Imogen has no idea how much of Laudna there is left to love.