#so many similes for how I am feeling

[smalltimidbean]

I don't know if I have placebo'd myself into it, but I am feeling

An Effect

Mainly the fact, I am trembling like a wet chihuahua and my jaw is clacky-clack-clack-clacking like I'm a set of wind up teeth

I feel like a weasel ball

[teaandspite]

The Great Goodreads Diss List (Part 1)

Context: For many years now, I have been collecting funny lines from Goodreads reviews to share with my coworkers. (I do collection development, reader's advisory, and weeding at a public library, so I read a LOT of reviews)

Are some of these, perhaps, rather mean? Yes, but they are also very funny, and come from a place of honest frustration. In the tradition of Bargepole threads and lists everywhere, names and titles have been censored.

"First, I want to say that I understand how hard it is to write a book and how amazing it is when it is actually published. Congrats to the author for that accomplishment. That said--"

"Warning: This review will be lengthy due to pure hatred."

"I found myself feeling really, really annoyed with the world that this book is allowed to exist. We live in a universe where the passenger pigeon is extinct but this book goes along merrily being read by unsuspecting lovers of words and ideas and stories? It just seems like too much, you know?"

"Don't do it. Don't spring the cash for the hardcover. Instead, eat an entire bag of Twizzlers, spend some money you don't have at a high-end department store, look up on Facebook the shady college boyfriend that made you cry, research the current value of your home or 401K and then read all about how the big hedge fund managers are faring during the economic crisis. You'll feel about the same stomach pain if you waste your time reading this book."

"This wretched novel begins with the mugging of an old lady and it appears I may be in the process of repeating that loathsome crime as [author] was 78 when she wrote it. It is not nice to put the boot into such a poor defenseless old creature lying there with only a damehood, a Booker Prize and a few million quid. It’s a nasty job but somebody has to do it."

"I think this is the way dead people would write, if they could."

"I am considering setting up SPABB: Society for the Protection of Accurate Book Blurb. This blurb appears to have been written by someone from the publishers who met [the author] the night before, got very drunk, lost his notes and then constructed something in a fug of hangover the next morning."

"I congratulate [the author] on the early half of his book, which was thoroughly fun and made me laugh and think. I congratulate [the author] on the second half of his book, for finishing it. It reads like that was difficult."

"…a woman whose taste in contemporary literature has roughly the same batting average as a pitcher in the National League."

"The author is a pompous windbag."

"Recommends it for: No one. Recommended to me by: A friend who apparently wished to cause me great suffering."

"Makes me wonder: is it possible to obtain similes at a volume discount?"

"The repeated phrases made me want to mail a thesaurus to the author."

"I'm disappointed in myself for finishing this book."

"if the author described [character's] eyes as "obsidian" one more time I was tempted to write her and ask if her thesaurus broke."

"They say that an infinite number of monkeys with an infinite number of typewriters would, if given infinite time, eventually produce the complete works of William Shakespeare. [This book], on the other hand, would probably take the average monkey just under two hours."

"I can't imagine what the author had to do to get this nadir of Western literature printed on innocent trees, but he does seem to know a LOT about being well-connected in New York."

"This book is so bad it is almost worth reading just to make you appreciate the other books you are reading."

"Reads like it was written by a brilliant author, the night before it was due."

"raises interesting questions, like: can a book be so bad as to constitute an act of terrorism"

"has this author ever spoken to a human woman"

"This acorn has fallen so far from the tree that it can’t even see the forest."

"I’m guessing they are touted as ‘beach reads’ because no one will care if they get dropped into the ocean."

"This book begins with all the energy of a hand vacuum near the end of its battery life, and the pace doesn't quicken much from there."

"At least everybody’s eyes stayed the same color this time around.”

Part 2

Part 3

[nikosaki]

“I want to use specific names for colours/shades but I don’t know many!” Hahaha sakira has got you! If you want to add colour to the objects or stuff in your writing you shouldn’t just write it like this

“Her dress was red” “His eyes were purple”

That makes your writing bland, it dumbs down the readers imagination during reading. Instead describe the colour like this

“Her dress was like a cup of Rooibos tea under a sunlit day”

“His eyes could be compared to that of a raven’s deep violet eyes”

(tip: amethyst is an overused word, there’s a list of other purple words below you should check out)

You can describe colours using objects because it will give shape to the sentence but don’t always go too detailed. If you make one sentence with a lot of adjectives and everything then don’t over use it in the other sentence that’s is.

But remember to use a simile like “as” or “like” if you do use objects.

I already wrote “Her dress was like a cup of Rooibos tea under a sunlit day” so next time when I mention the dress’s colour again I am going to write something like this

“Her garnet dress flowed in the wind”

Why? Because simple sentenced always enchance the writing and gives reader a feeling.

now that we are done with how to write colours let’s see some synonyms!!

white- bleached , colourless , pearly , milky , snowy, ivory , salt , Lacey , linen , frosty, daisy parchment , porcelain, cotton , rice bone

black- ebony, midnight, jade , spider , coal , pitch black, void , empty, sooty , obsidian , metal, onyx , ink , crow

grey- shadow, ash , graphite , foggy, dove , silver , dull, cloud ,slate, iron, smoke, pebble

red- garnet, blush , Merlot , cherry , crimson, rose, sangria, bloody, berry , currant, terracotta, jam , merlot

orange- tangerine , ginger , apricot, autumn , spice , amber, rust, marmalade, pumpkin , carrot , clay, golden , copper , ochre

yellow- gold, canary , light , butterscotches, dandelion, honey , blonde, corn, saffron , ocher, buttermilk

green- beryl , viridescent , olive , emerald , pickle, leafy , sage , lime , pear , mint, mignonette, glaucous

blue- ocean , aqua , cobalt, navy , sapphire, admiral, denim , cerulean, indigo , lapis , peacock, aegean, azure , turquoise, cyan , arctic

purple - amethyst , raven , violet ,lilac , lavender, plum , magenta ,orchid , mulberry, heather, raisin, amaranthine , eggplant , iris , periwinkle

pink- blush , cherry blossom , taffy , peach, flamingo , rosey , salmon , fuscia, rosewood , pale red

IMPORTANT : remember to do GOOD research on shades!! You need to know which one you can use as an adjective and which one is a noun. If it’s a noun turn it into adjective, if it cannot be turned into an adjective then use a simile.

There’s more and if you know put it in the reblogs

[amyispxnk]

My Sunshine

Summary - Things are getting bad again and you know Joel would be there to help you in the blink of an eye, but you can't help but feel guilty for even feeling this way - so burdening him with your emotions is out of the question. You try to hide how you feel from him, but you know you can't. He knows you too well.

A/N: SO. i am positively struggling at the moment. with life and just everything. and my lonely ass is in need of some comfort, especially when i feel like.. yk, shit. and feeling like doing shit to myself which is not very good 😊. but i could not find a single comforting fic about self harm, and i get that it’s a very sensitive subject - but my god i need this comfort so please let me indulge for a moment.

And going back to how self harm is a very sensitive subject - please heed the warnings and tread carefully. this entire thing is about self harm and comfort when struggling with it, so please be cautious.

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader (could possibly be read as gn but I've used things like sweet girl and his girl so)

Word count: 2.1k

Warnings: self harm (not explicitly described or anything, but reader struggles with it), fluff, comfort, established relationship, angst, one mention of drugs (i used it as a.. simile, or whatever, nobody’s taking or has taken any drugs!), crying, kisses, pet names, bad thoughts, questioning the purpose of life, brief perspective change, INCREDIBLY BRIEF MENTION OF SMUT (one word.)

DO NOT COPY THIS FIC IN ANY WAY PLS AND TY.

Joel opens the door with a sigh, toeing off his boots and calling out your name as he walks into the living room, wanting nothing more than to wrap his arms around you, breathe in your comforting scent and bask in your equally comforting embrace after a hard day of work. Normally you’d be in the living room, watching TV, maybe reading a book, or in the kitchen, cooking dinner, baking something new you’d found on the internet. But you weren’t today. It’s eerily quiet and he calls out your name again, breaking the silence with his loud voice as he walks up the stairs.

“Dariln’?” He asks as he pushes open the door to your bedroom; you’re not there either. He’s ready to start panicking since he’s checked just about every room of the house when he hears your voice coming from the bathroom.

“Just a minute!” You say, and he exhales with relief when you walk out of the room and up to him, giving him a small smile. It’s one of those smiles which doesn’t make your face look brighter or your eyes crinkle at the corners, no, it’s one of those smiles which you offer to him quickly to reassure him that everything’s okay, please don’t worry about me when you’re probably so stressed already.

“How was work?” You ask as your arms come around his neck and you hug him, breathing him in, holding him a little tighter than usual.

“Was a little tiring today, our supplier messed up the size of the headers and- Sorry, probably don’t mean nothin’ to ya.” He trailed off with a sheepish smile as his right hand came to the back of your neck, tilting your head back a bit so he could kiss you.

You melted into the kiss, eyes fluttering closed as you lost yourself in it. No matter how many times you kissed him, you’d never get enough of the feeling that came with it. Joel's kiss was like a drug, and you were addicted.

His hands skim up your sides but you pull back abruptly, wrinkling your nose. “You smell, Joel. Go shower.” You chuckle weakly and hit him playfully on the chest.

“Mm, I thought you like ‘em a little dirty?” He teased, making you scoff and shake your head as a smirk crept onto your lips.

“Not today. Get.” You told him sternly, still smiling nonetheless as he walked past you to go shower. The smile slipping from your face with ease as the door slides shut behind you.

A few hours later, showers have been taken, dinner made and eaten, and the both of you are now sat on the couch. Joel decided it was a good idea to watch a movie, putting on his favourite - Curtis and Viper 2 - much to your dismay. You swore that you’ve seen this damn movie so many times you’d be able to quote the entire thing word for word, but he still put it on, insisting that it was a classic and it wasn’t like you had any better ideas anyway.

You'd both come to learn that during movie nights, you'd always end up either falling asleep on his shoulder or you were both fucking before even the halfway mark.

Tonight you were curled into Joel's side, silently watching the movie with him. Well, not really watching the movie, just kind of watching the screen. Staring at the pixels and letting the sounds of the film and the world around you in through one ear, out the other.

You were lost in your thoughts, that was happening more often nowadays, mindlessly picking at your nails as you pondered on questions that were far too heavy to ponder this late at night. What's the point of life if we're all going to die one day? Why am I always so hopeless? Why can I never find the purpose in anything? Why am I getting worse at hiding these bad feelings? What if I get too miserable one day and Joel stops loving me? What if I'm just a burden to him?

The final two questions hit you hard, making you do a sharp inhale as you suddenly sit up, startling Joel in the process.

He turns to face you wearily, eyebrows furrowed. “Baby? What's wrong?” He asks quietly, arm coming around you and pulling you back into his side as he kisses your hair.

“‘s nothing. Sorry. Just tired- I think I'm gonna go to sleep.” You mumble, gently extracting yourself from his hold.

He frowns deeper. “Y’ don't wanna stay with me and finish the movie? Even though I know you weren't watching.” He attempts to tease lightly, wanting to lift the mood.

“No, um- you stay and watch it, that's okay. I'm gonna go to sleep now. Goodnight.” You say hurriedly, forgetting to even give him a goodnight kiss before you're up the stairs and in the bedroom, closing the door a little too quickly and praying the slam of it didn't further his concern.

Your back is pressed against the door as you grip the handle tight, eyes squeezing shut as you try to slow your breathing. It's not working, and you just want it to stop. You don't want to be upset, you don't want to feel like you're drowning in your own emotions again, you don't want Joel to find you crying upstairs in your room.

And the only thing you can think of doing is harming yourself. It's been on your mind a lot recently, as your sadness starts to get a little bit too much and you can't find any way to extinguish it. It feels like it's consuming you and you can only think about the last time things got like this. About how you dealt with it.

It would be so easy. You knew how to do it. But you couldn't bring yourself to. You'd be failing him, you saw how upset he was when he found out what you were doing last time and you didn't want to make him feel bad ever again.

You just didn't want to be a burden.

The door slams upstairs and Joel’s frown deepens. His hand goes for the remote, turning off the TV. He's seen this movie enough times, he thinks.

He slowly goes up the stairs and makes his way to your bedroom, wanting to make sure everything's okay.

You were definitely a little off tonight, zoning out and not being as talkative as you normally were, giving him a reason to already be a little concerned. Then you practically ran upstairs a minute ago, seeming panicked and making him worry even more.

He's at the door now, gently coaxing it open, and he's met with darkness. Darkness and silence.

He whispers your name, closing the door behind him as he flicks the light switch on, jumping slightly when he sees that you're right there, sat on the edge of the bed.

You turn to face him and he immediately notices how your face is wet with tears, eyes swollen and red, hair slightly dishevelled.

His heart effectively breaks at the sight of you.

“Baby- what's wrong?” He asks, concerned as ever, as he rushes over to you.

You rub at your eyes furiously, blinking back any further tears as you swallow.

“Nothing- nothing's wrong, Joel-” Your voice wavers as you speak and there's clearly something wrong - why you try so hard to hide it from him is beyond him.

He gently pulls your hands away from your face and holds them together in your lap.

“There's somethin’ wrong, sweetheart. I can see it.” He says softly, his thumb brushing away another tear that’s slowly trailing down your cheek.

You're completely silent, lip quivering.

You don't want to be a burden. If you tell him, he'll get upset and then he'll try to help you, even though you feel like nobody can. You'll just end up being a burden.

You shake your head, squeezing his hand as you do.

“Baby please. Talk to me.” He pleads with you, cupping your cheek and looking at you with so much care and worry that it makes you want to sob all over again.

“I just feel like shit.” You mumble so quietly he almost missed it. “I-” you start, but you just sigh frustratedly, digging your nails into your palms. “I feel.. really bad, again. It almost feels worse this time and it just makes me want to hurt myself. To make it all stop.” You say through clenched teeth, upset and afraid and so, so angry with yourself for admitting how you feel. You do it so much easier now but only because you and Joel had worked so hard to get rid of these defensive walls you'd built around yourself, walls that forced you to conceal your feelings and bottle your emotions.

“Oh, sweet girl.” He frowns, sitting on the bed and turning you to face him a little more. You don't want to look at him. You don't want to see him getting upset and worrying about you. You can't bear it.

So you keep your eyes clamped shut and continue talking. “My thoughts were just getting so.. so loud. And I don't know how to make it stop, and I almost- I just thought it would help.” You're shaking, he can feel it. Little shivers across your entire body, making your breath tremble as you exhale and inhale shakily. “I'm so sorry, Joel. I'm sorry.” You start to sob and he feels like doing the same, because he hates seeing you like this. If he could take all the pain away, force it onto himself so you didn't have to bear it, he would.

He pulls you closer to him, into his lap as he cradles you and rocks you slightly, pressing soft kisses to your forehead and resting his head there.

“Baby, please stop apologisin’. You aren't doin’ anything wrong and.. I know it's hard. It's hard to stop yourself from relapsin’, but you've done so well. ‘m so damn proud of ya, because you've gone so long without hurtin’ yourself. And it's doin’ good for ya; you might not realise it but I do. You’re so much happier now without it, ya like a fuckin’ ball of sunshine.” He teases, making you let out a watery chuckle. He pauses for a moment to brush away your tears, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. “I love you. So so much. And I don't want to see you in pain like that ever again. I don't want my sunshine to go away, and I don't think you want her to either.”

You nod slowly, rubbing at your face as the final tears slip past your eyelids, looking up at Joel again.

He held you and you both talked for what must have been hours after that. You discussed what was really bothering you, how you could try make it better. Distractions helped, you decided. Joel proved to be a good distraction, as you ended the night listening to him talk about just about anything from the new diner that opened up in town to that one story from his childhood which made you snort with laughter every time (one which consisted of little Joel falling ‘head over heels in love’ with a girl when he was in elementary school, deciding to profess his love to her by writing a sappy poem for her and reading it to her in front of quite a large group of people.. only to be turned down. Naturally, he would've been, considering she was a fucking 16 year-old!)

He knew that that story would be the one to make you crack a smile, even if it was a small one, he just wanted to make his girl happy again.

You did a little more than smile, giggling so much you went red because that story never really gets old.

“There she is.” He murmured affectionately, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear and kissing the tip of your nose, then your cheek, then your lips.

It was a brief, yet loving, one, as he pulled back from the kiss and stroked your hair as your eyes fluttered shut.

Joel pulled you closer to him, your head now resting on his chest as your eyes fluttered closed from his soothing touch.

“G’night, babygirl.” He murmured, unsurprised when you didn't answer since you had already fallen asleep.

He stares up at the ceiling and he feels happy despite everything that happened tonight, because he feels good knowing that he can give you that solace and comfort that you just need so desperately sometimes, just like he gave you in the hours that passed. He'd do it a million times and more if it was for you.

Thank you sm for reading, I hope you.. enjoyed? Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated and requests are open. 💞

Note: My heart really goes out to you if you struggle with self harm. It's not easy to deal with and even harder to stop doing it once you've started, but you're not alone. Even if you feel like you have no one to talk to, there are countless places and websites you can look at which offer things like helplines and anonymous chats if you're struggling, and also give healthy solutions and alternatives etc. to self harm. You're so loved. Things might seem impossible but never give up. It will get better one day.

[229zmi]

ACADEMIC WEAPON

PAIRING: Bokuto Kōtarō/Reader

CONTENT: 4+1 things (4 times bokuto failed a quiz + the 1 time he passed), reader is referred to with they/them pronouns, reader tutors bokuto, bokuto requests the reader to shut the window on his head at one point, overuse of silly metaphors and similes #Sorry

WORD COUNT: 5.0k

(I.)

Bokuto was many things, but an academic weapon was certainly not one of them. Perhaps, he thought, an academic victim would be more fitting.

After all, marked by a large 7/100 circled in red pen for his surrounding deskmates to see (Thanks a lot, Mrs. Ishida!, he sulked), things were looking bleak for him. It was only a few days into the new term, yet he had already failed his first quiz; and honestly, he wasn’t sure if Akaashi’s biweekly tutoring sessions would be enough to pull him through the rest of the school year with a passing grade, especially with the volleyball summer camp coming up — it was all he could think about as of lately.

He needed a plan. Desperately.

“Desperately?”

Bokuto jolted in his seat. Ah, he must’ve let his internal monologue slip out again. That tended to happen a lot whenever he got too carried away in his pondering— got too in his head about something. Pouting for no particular reason, he hastened to answer Akaashi’s question with a nod before an idea suddenly materialised in his brain.

“Change your tutoring sessions to be weekly! Pretty please?” he added somewhat sheepishly, twiddling his fingers for the effect of what was supposed to be humbleness.

“Weekly?” Akaashi stared at him with a slow blink, taking a bite of his apple. He seemed to be thinking about it, which kindled a small flame of hope within Bokuto.

“Yeah! Or— or how about twice a week? Three times a week? Four—“

“I’m sorry, but I don’t have time for that,” he cut in with a dead expression, but at least his tone sounded sort of apologetic. But it was true: he was in the volleyball club and the literature club at school, and being a part of two clubs did take a considerable chunk of what would’ve been free time after school, hence why his tutoring sessions were scheduled so sparsely.

His eyes lingered on Bokuto’s hair, which was beginning to look deflated, and he was sure his best friend was about to enter one of his moods if he didn’t find some way to cheer him up.

“Bokuto-san,” he started, pausing for a moment to think again, “I know someone from literature club who might be willing to tutor you.”

Bokuto lifted the side of his head from off the table. A newfound hope miraculously found him and bled through his expression as he smiled and propelled himself closer to the black-haired boy as if he was listening in on some juicy yet confidential gossip, hitting the palms of his hands against the table with an embarrassingly loud slap that rang throughout the classroom.

“Really?!”

Akaashi nodded. “[L/n] [Y/n] from class 3-6 is one of the smartest people I know, and I heard they’ve been looking to make some money so—“

“I gotta go,” Bokuto quickly said. Watching him rush out the classroom, Akaashi had a feeling it wasn’t to the bathroom.

(i.)

Bokuto was many things. Shameless was one of them.

“I am looking for [Y/n]!”

Heads turned toward him, including yours, although your reaction was paired with creased eyebrows and a warmth in your face that felt a lot like embarrassment. You weren’t sure who he was to be shouting out your name like that in front of everyone, but whoever he was, you were livid. Even more so after hearing your classmates whisper among themselves, questioning if that strong-looking, handsome guy was your boyfriend and adding on that you didn’t seem like type to date.

“Is there a [Y/n] in this class?” No one spoke up, so he stepped back outside the classroom for a moment, checking the sign above the door to make sure this was the right class. Class 3-6, it read. He frowned. Maybe you had decided to spend your lunch period elsewhere.

Before he started to walk back to his classroom so he could complain to Akaashi about this unfortunate outcome, however, he felt a sharp yank against the collar of his shirt, pulling him backward and then up against the wall. He blinked, and a humourless face came into vision. Unsure of where to look, he settled for staring hard at the space in between the face’s furrowed eyebrows, wondering if this stranger was about to ask for his lunchbox or something like the bullies in stereotypical American high school movies.

“Name,” you demanded. Stunned by how you were acting like some kind of military drill sergeant, Bokuto could only keep staring. Eventually, he noticed the name tag on your blazer— [L/n] [Y/n], class 3-6!

He smiled. Just the person he was looking for.

You were growing impatient. Why was he smiling? Did he find your embarrassment funny? Tensely, you repeated, “What’s your name? Hellooo?”

“Bokuto Kōtarō, a friend of Akaashi Keiji!” he blurted out. “You know him, right? Black hair, blue eyes—“

“I know who that is.”

“Great! I have a favour to ask you.”

Awkwardly, he gestured for you to back up. You did so, albeit eyeing him sceptically as he proceeded to bow down, low enough to the point where the tips of his hair met the tiled floor. It was just your luck that a few of your classmates decided to leave the classroom at this moment, stopping when they noticed the scene before shuffling away. You heard them giggling to themselves yet again, probably ecstatic at having found another topic to gossip about.

“Get up, what the hell are you doing.” Gripping onto his broad shoulders, you frantically tried pulling him up to a normal standing position before any other witnesses could walk in on you and add on to your humiliation, but he didn’t budge.

“Hold on— please tutor me!”

“That wasn’t asking me a favour. Now, stand. Up.”

“I’m failing most of my classes, and the ones that I’m not, I’m barely passing by like a couple points! I’ll pay you and everything, just please— I really need someone to tutor me, and Akaashi said you were super duper smart and nice and cool and everything!”

“Get up. Please.” You couldn’t help sounding desperate by this point. “People are staring.”

Much to your annoyance, your words went through one of Bokuto’s ears and out the other, as if there was nothing in between.

“Can you tutor me? Please?”

“Alright, fine. But only if you stop bowing down to me.” You sighed and then stuck your hand out, holding your phone. “Give me your number. I’ll text you the dates and times I’ll be available.”

He shot right up and visibly brightened, his hair sticking up even more than before, like he’d just stuck a fork into an electrical outlet. You weren’t sure how that was logically possible, but whatever. “Of course! Here.”

After letting him type in his number, you added it as a contact.

“What’s your name again?” you asked.

“Bokuto Kōtarō.”

“Spell it for me.”

“Okay! B as in Bokuto. O as in Okuto. K as in Kuto…“

You shut your eyes and pinched the bridge of your nose.

(II.)

bok:

hey……………..

ahaha

[image]

The image showed Bokuto’s most recent calculus quiz, tear-stained and appearing as if it was crumpled up but then flattened back out out of guilt. A red 7/100 was marked at the top.

[y/n] the super nice super cool tutor:

ok

i am available after school tomorrow

we can meet up at the library if that’s ok

bok:

YIPPEE!!!!!!!!!!!!! thanks [y/n] :p

(ii.)

Bokuto was certain now as he stared aimlessly out the window that the universe was against him in some way and that time had purposely slowed down just to spite him. It wasn’t that he wasn’t grateful for your help — he couldn’t be more appreciative of the fact that you were taking the time out of your day to tutor him despite the two of you being strangers until recently — but after just an hour and a half of going over notes and countless practice worksheets, he was ready to stop, drop, and roll into bed.

Even Akaashi, as monotonous as he was, wasn’t this bad during tutoring. Plus, his sessions were biweekly, whereas and Bokuto had agreed on twice a week: Wednesdays and Fridays. This was only the third tutoring session with you.

“Hey,” your voice cut through his thoughts, and with a start, he realised you’d finally returned from your brief excursion to the restroom, “did you finish the homework?”

Like a giraffe or a particularly nosy next-door neighbour, you craned your neck over the table that separated you and the boy with the two-toned hair. With the backs of his ears stained vermillion, Bokuto immediately slammed his folded arms onto the table, shielding the contents of the paper from your line of sight.

“Yes,” he said stiffly. “I am— I did finish. The homework.”

Bokuto was many things. A good liar was not one of them.

You blinked, dumbfounded. “The fuck was that for?”

He roleplayed confusion by inclining his head to the side. His words came out light and airy, sounding as though he’d just sucked in helium. “What ever do you mean?”

“You know what I’m talking about.”

“Perchance.”

“Huh?”

“I mean, no I don’t! I’ve got no clue what you’re saying.”

Your eyebrows pinched together as your eyes flitted between his mock-innocent expression and the worksheet peeking out from underneath his toned forearms, before lunging forward and grabbing onto the piece of paper when he least expected it.

However, Bokuto was a little quicker. With fast reflexes, he pressed down on the paper even more, now using more of his body weight to keep you from taking it away from him. You were suddenly reminded that the guy in front of you was not just some clown who was very bad at both integrals and remembering to bring a pencil, but a better-than-average athlete at the very least.

“The element of surprise,” he stated through a tight-lipped smile, “you’re good at that.”

“Let go,” you commanded, still trying to pry it from his arms.

“Why?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, I need to see it so I can check your answers and see how much progress you’ve made.” You paused for a moment. “And also ‘cause I don’t believe you. You were only on question two when I left, there’s no way you’re done.”

Bokuto gasped with a dramatic drop of his jaw. “After all we’ve been through?!”

He may as well have sounded an airhorn into a microphone, then proceeded to throw the microphone out a window. You rushed to shush him, placing an index finger on your lips with a look of disapproval across your features. “Quiet down. This is a library.”

He stuck his tongue out. “Bossy-pants.”

Your face soured like a pair of wet socks. What kind of playground insult was that?

“I am not,” you told him. “That was a perfectly reasonable request, not just for me but also for the other people around you, who would probably appreciate some peace and quiet around here.”

He laughed in your face. You swore you were going to pop a blood vessel at this rate.

“Wow, you would make a great librarian. Ever thought about working here?” Teasingly, he kicked your foot from under the table.

“Don’t do that.” You physically recoiled at the smug grin that settled on his face. Not knowing how else to retaliate, you settled for a simple, “Shut up,” which really wasn’t any better, but once more, you’d realised that too late after the words fully left your mouth.

“I didn’t say anything!” Bokuto protested.

“I don’t care. Now, let go of the paper.”

“Only if you say pretty please.” He tilted his chin up defiantly in a way that, although perhaps unintentional for the most part, effectively grated on your nerves. You glowered at him, but before you could say anything else, you first heard a faint rip, and after one more particularly harsh tug, you found yourself flung backwards into your chair all of a sudden, which then tipped over and toppled onto the ground along with you.

You winced, feeling the immediate stinging pain subside to a dull ache in your back.

“Oh,” Bokuto said, before tentatively creeping over to you. All humour in his voice and face vanished without a trace. “You okay?”

Your face felt hot, though you weren’t sure if it was from frustration or embarrassment or a secret third thing as you stared up at his hand that was outstretched to you. Ignoring it, you pushed yourself up and then stared down at the paper in your hand— or rather, the half that was still there. The other half laid on the table. Crumpled up.

You sucked in a huge breath of air. Of course, only two out of ten problems on the homework assignment was done, and the rest were left blank. You’d be less upset if he had at least tried. Was he even taking this seriously?

“I think we are done for today.”

(III.)

“Oh, he hates me for sure. I just know it.”

Akaashi couldn’t see the point of this conversation.

“You’re telling me this because…?”

With restrained effort, you whacked the back of his head with a rolled up notebook, yet he barely even appeared fazed, like this was a normal occurrence in your friendship. (It was.)

“‘Cause you’re, like, his best friend in the whole wide world, and I need your advice, dingus,” you complained. “He even introduced himself as Bokuto, a friend of Akaashi Keiji.”

“Of course he did,” Akaashi muttered, somewhat amused by your poorly done impression of his best friend’s voice. He placed a hand on his chin to contemplate. “If you really want to know what I think about you and him, I don’t believe last Friday was as horrible as you think it was. He called me and told me all about it on his way home.”

Suddenly, you grabbed him by the shoulders. Taken aback, he stared up at you with the typical unsettling, blue-eyed gaze, just a little more wide-eyed than usual.

“What did he say?” This was serious business — you had to know.

“Nothing too bad,” he quickly answered, patting your arm as if you were some wild animal to be tamed. “Said you were kind of boring and went through some of the topics too fast, but he appreciated your efforts. He also felt bad for lying to you and for calling you bossy, even though you were— his words, not mine.”

“I am not bossy,” you said haughtily.

Akaashi rolled his eyes, then smiled. “That’s some defense you got there.”

“No, really. He’s totally being dramatic!”

“I’ll be sure to tell him that. Or, even better, you talk to him yourself.”

“No way!” You buried your face into your hands.

“I already told you, Bokuto doesn’t hate you at all. Just… try being a little more understanding next time you see him.” He motioned his hands vaguely, trying to further explain his point. “Nicer, you know? But” — you sensed that what came next would be a big but — “still be yourself. Don’t want you frying your brain over trying to act like someone else. Okay?”

You dismissed his advice with a wave of your hand. Now he sounded too much like a school counsellor for your liking. “Yeah, okay. Thanks.”

Just as the teacher walked in and Akaashi left to return to his classroom, your phone pinged. You glanced down to see what it was.

No surprise it was a text from Bokuto.

bok:

[image]

failed my calc quiz :(( again :(((

There was a circled 3/100 in red ink in the upper right corner of the paper.

Unable to contain a scoff of disbelief, you weren’t even sure how it was possible. Nonetheless, you began to type out a response, something along the lines of a dry ‘ok’ followed by a specific time for you to meet up, but then Akaashi’s wise words of wisdom rang through your mind.

[y/n] the super nice super cool tutor:

does 5pm this wednesday work for u?! ^-^

Typing that almost physically hurt you, but you persisted regardless like the brave soldier you were.

bok:

??? YEAHHH

[y/n] the super nice super cool tutor:

alright!!!! see u then!!!! :))))

[bok liked your message.]

(iii.)

There was something off about you. Bokuto could tell, though he couldn’t quite place a finger on it.

He thought maybe it was the stress of the upcoming volleyball summer camp that was making him see things he wasn’t actually seeing. Or maybe you had changed up your appearance a bit today. But as he observed you while you were explaining a homework problem he was particularly stuck on, you looked the same. Still you, except… brighter? You looked like you were in a better mood today and, actually, this past week now that he thought about it, recalling your texts.

You were nicer, that’s what it was. Or it was more that you seemed more engaged in today’s tutoring session than you had in all three of the previous ones. From the start, you’d sat down next to him, instead of across from him on the opposite side of the table. You went through each topic much more thoroughly, refusing to move on until he fully understood the material, which you made sure of by asking him questions every now and then. And, he swore, you were even smiling a little whenever he got an answer correct on his own.

It was almost uncanny, he mused to himself.

“What is?”

He snapped back to reality. “Huh?”

“You said something was ‘almost uncanny,’” you told him, eyeing him strangely.

Shit, he had spoken his internal monologue out loud yet again. And he’d been staring at you like a mindless animal for an exceedingly long time now without realising.

“Oh, don’t worry, I wasn’t talking about you.”

“Okay.”

Shaking his head at himself, he slouched over the table in an attempt to focus on his homework. After a beat, he scribbled something down, then pursed his lips as he slid his paper over to you, indicating to you that there was one thing he was either stuck on or unsure about. “Is this right?”

Wordlessly, you glanced down at his answer, and after scanning through his work to make sure it wasn’t a thing of luck, you nodded. Bokuto fist-pumped the air, although his ecstasy wasn’t just because he had gotten the answer right yet again (he was currently on a streak of six-in-a-row— the highest yet!). Rather, he found himself looking to you in the corner of his eye with hopes to catch your reaction, and there it was again: both outer edges of your mouth curled to form what he could confidently say was a smile. A small one, but it was there nevertheless.

Then, you did something else, another thing he wasn’t expecting at all: you began to grovel to him for forgiveness.

“I’m sorry for being kind of mean to you,” you mumbled.

Okay. Maybe, that was an exaggeration (a really, really extreme one). But the effect it had on him was still as explosive as if you actually were grovelling at his feet for forgiveness.

“WHAAAAT?”

A scowl made its way to your face for the first time today. “Can you not act so surprised?”

“It’s not acting if I really am surprised,” he said with a defensive tone, placing a hand on his chest. “Plus, I’d never lie to you like that… except maybe that one time. Sorry.”

“I don’t think you need to apologise for that. You weren’t very convincing anyway.”

“What do you mean? I totally had you fooled!”

“You did not.”

“I did!” Somewhere else in the library, the librarian shushed the both of you, sending weak glares in your direction. Mindful of their warning, Bokuto quieted to a stage-whisper. “If that paper hadn’t ripped, you would’ve never found out the truth.”

“Ha! In your dreams, yeah.” You rolled your eyes before begrudgingly admitting, “But while we’re still on the topic of apologies, I guess I am also sorry for being kind of overbearing. I will work on that bad habit in the future.”

“Kind of?” he echoed. There was a hint of amusement in his voice. “You sure?”

“Yes.” You shot him a glare, and he put his hands up in mock-defense.

“Hey, hey, hey, I was just asking. I forgive you and all. But for the record,” Bokuto grinned, sharp canines poking out a bit, “I like that about you anyways.”

(IV.)

bokuto:

FAILED AGAIN

BUT!!!!!!

[image]

46!!!!!! DOUBLE DIGITS!!!!!!

[y/n] the super nice super cool tutor:

revolutionary

see u tomorrow

bokuto:

CAN’T WAIT :D

(iv.)

Bokuto was dreading this next exam. It was a big one, for sure, as it was the last opportunity he had to raise his currently failing grade up to passing standard before summer break, which was slowly yet surely inching its way toward the present. With the volleyball summer camp just a week and a half away, his odds weren’t looking very high, and he wasn’t sure if even yours and Akaashi’s combined tutoring efforts would be able to save him.

“I can’t do this.” He dropped his pencil on the table and groaned in frustration, leaning back in his chair with a dejected expression directed toward the ceiling. Nothing was making sense anymore. “Can you please open the window?”

Puzzled, you furrowed your eyebrows. “Why? Do you need some fresh air?”

“No, I’m gonna stick my big, stupid head out the window, and then you can do me a favour and close it.”

“Oh! Okay.”

Logically, you decided not to do that. Instead, you grabbed one of the soft-cover workbooks laid across the table, rolled it up as Bokuto watched you curiously, and—

Thwack!

Rubbing the back of his head, Bokuto sat up straight. If you placed his back and a ruler next to each other, you wouldn’t know the difference. “What’d you do that for?”

“Did that hurt?”

“Not really.” His gaze averted between you and the book and then you again and the book again, bewildered. “But what’d you do that for? Fun?”

“No, it was because you sound totally lame right now and it’s pissing me off. Get a fucking grip on yourself. You’re not stupid, so don’t say that you are. You’re gonna ace this test and you’re gonna ace whatever sports thing you got coming up.”

“Volleyball summer camp,” he said wistfully. There were stars sparkling in his eyes now, a stark contrast to his lifeless look seconds prior, leading you to believe that you’ll have a chance at becoming a motivational speaker or something of the like in the near future.

“Yeah, that. You— you can do this. You got this. Go you or whatever.” Yeah, scratch that option. Suddenly feeling awkward, you grimaced. Maybe it was time you just stop talking. “Never mind. Keep studying.”

“Okay.” He picked up the pencil but not before sparing you one last glance and blinking rapidly for a few seconds, wondering if he was seeing things when pink hearts started to hover around your face with a dream-like, white vignette and a romantic tune began flooding his ears. “Yeah, I think I am gonna ace this test.”

(V.)

“They whacked me with a book, Akaashi.”

Akaashi couldn’t see the point of this conversation. He tended to feel that way a lot, actually, but it was a phenomenon occurring more than usual as of lately, and he had a feeling it had something to do with two of his friends spending more time with each other over these past couple of weeks. Huh, he wondered why.

“Yeah, they do that,” he said, turning the page as his eyes glided over the words. This was like a kindergartener tattling to their teacher about something a classmate did to offend them, at least in the eyes of Akaashi. Certainly, he felt like an under-compensated, stressed-out adult at the moment.

“So how do you not fall in love every time?”

Akaashi froze. Was he hearing things right?

Before he could process his upperclassman’s words, however, a sense of déjà vu washed over him as Bokuto grabbed him by the shoulders all of a sudden, donning a serious look now.

“I’m going to ask you one thing. A favour as one of my best friends in the whole wide world.”

He shut the book he was reading and set it to the side, seeing how important this seemed to Bokuto. “Okay. What is it?”

“Don’t tell [Y/n] I passed my exam. They have to think that I failed.”

With an arch in one of his eyebrows, Akaashi attempted to not sound so shocked. “You passed your test?”

“I did. 72 out of 100!” A wide grin spread across Bokuto’s face.

“That’s great news,” Akaashi replied. “Why wouldn’t you want [Y/n] to know about that? Surely, they’d be happy for you.”

“Because. If they find out I did well on my test, then that means I won’t need their help anymore and I won’t get to spend time with them anymore. And I don’t want that to happen ‘cause I like spending time with them.”

Oh, jeez. “That’s not that how that works.”

“Okay, Mr. Smart Guy, tell me how it works then.”

“No.” Akaashi reopened his book as if to seem disinterested in the topic at hand, even though he actually was and he wasn’t really reading at all by this point. “Just ask them to hang out instead asking me to lie to their face on your behalf.”

“I’m not asking you to lie, I’m just. Well. I don’t know,” Bokuto finally admitted sheepishly, fiddling with the end of his sleeve as he pouted. After several moments of well-needed silence, he pondered out loud, “Should I text them?”

“Yes.”

Pulling out his phone from his pocket, Bokuto smiled. “You’re a great friend, Akaashi. Thanks for the advice!”

bokuto:

hey! let’s hang out this weekend!!!!

i meannnnnn at the library

at our usual time not the weekend ahahah

sorry

typo

that first text was a typo

[y/n] the super nice super cool tutor:

you failed your test?

bokuto:

yYeahhhhhh

[[y/n] the super nice super cool tutor reacted ‘?’ to your message.]

(v.)

“You seem.” You observed his face suspiciously as you pulled out a notebook from your backpack. “Happy.”

“Aren’t I always happy?” For proof, he gave you the largest smile you’d ever seen in your life and leaned in close until your noses were touching. “See? This is my resting face like all the time.”

With how close he was, you settled on staring at a faint freckle above his left eyebrow, hoping that didn’t make you look cross-eyed. “Yeah, you’re just a bundle of joy. But I assumed you would be a little down considering you recently failed not just a quiz but a big exam. You won’t be able to go to that summer camp. Wasn’t that the whole point of me tutoring you?”

He shrugged, pulling himself away. “Life happens. Things happen. But I am a changed man, and I will no longer let such minister things disappoint me.”

“Minuscule things.”

“I said that. Mini-stool.”

You shook your head. Some things, you’d learned, were better to just leave as is.

But then there was a certain point where you couldn’t just not pester him about it. That point came after noticing he was answering all your questions right and breezing through the review sheets with ease. You couldn’t understand how he had failed his last exam when he was doing so well right now, same topics and everything.

A frown seeped into your expression as you stared at his work. “You… you already know everything. What if your teacher graded your test wrong? Or misplaced it with someone else’s. Because there’s no way you—”

“No, I don’t think so,” he interrupted you with a nervous laugh, sounding strained while looking everywhere but you. You side-eyed him upon being interrupted but continuing doing so as he wasn’t really acting like his usual self, as much as he wanted to insist otherwise. Weird. “I bombed that test. Trust me. Maybe you’re just my lucky charm or something.”

“What.”

He ignored your skepticism, seemingly too caught up in his head. “Maybe you should spend time with me more often so then maybe your luck can rub off on me. Maybe you should start coming to my volleyball practices. Maybe we should start hanging out over the weekends. Summer break is almost here, maybe we—“

“Bokuto Kōtarō.”

He glanced over at you — crossing your arms over your chest and clearly not believing him — and immediately threw his hands up in the air in defeat. “Okay, I lied. I passed with a 72%.”

“I figured.”

“You knew all along?!”

“No. But I could tell you weren’t telling the truth ‘cause you’re a horrible liar,” you explained as he pouted. “It gives me second-hand embarrassment seeing you look all constipated like that whenever you try to lie. Please never do that again.”

“I’m sorry. I just thought you wouldn’t wanna tutor me anymore if I told you,” he admitted. “I like hanging out with you, even if it’s just to do schoolwork. I don’t want that to end since we never really talk outside of these tutoring sessions.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay,” you said definitively.

“So cruel of you to say only that after I poured my heart out to you!”

Despite you hovering a hand over your mouth to conceal it, your laughter still saturated the air; Bokuto took in every ounce.

“I wouldn’t toss you to the curb like that,” you reassured him. “These tutoring sessions can continue until we graduate for all I care. And if you want, over summer break whenever you’re free, we can go to the movies or a café or wherever, really.”

He perked up at this. “Really?”

“Really.” You picked at the dead skin around your fingernails offhandedly. “And honestly? I like spending time with you, too, so it doesn’t matter what it is that we do. You are paying, though, if we go to a place that wants our money, since you promised to pay me back when you first asked me to tutor you.”

Bokuto was okay with that. Your presence alone was enough to make him feel over the moon like a billionaire anyway.

[gay4abby]

Scents Shared !!

or in which you and jordan walk around the candle store smelling candles.

warnings, nooone, just holiday fluff. pairings, jordan li x reader. something very short n sweet while i try to finish my other requests lol i hope u like it :)

The holiday season was something every obtuse bastard was anticipating as soon as a new year starts. Decorations littered from doorstep to doorstep, street after street (causing even more pollution than it already fucking is, like am I right?) that would have undoubtedly fed an entire town. However, the holidays aren’t the same for Supes. Many of them are either estranged from their families, killed them, or are in constant arguments so celebrating it wouldn’t even make sense. There’s many more things at play, but you get the gist.

Regardless of how it goes for other Supes, Jordan’s family never fails to make it a big ass deal. You have already met Jordan’s parents and although you were very skeptical, they warmed up to you rather quickly. Jordan themself was even surprised at how much they liked, no loved you. Always asking about your wellbeing whenever they call Jordan. “You might as well replace me for their eldest child, honestly.” They once told you when you both were visiting their parents for spring break. You told them to shut up.

With Christmas being around the corner, you both found yourselves roped into a family holiday. You didn’t mind tagging along as you didn’t really celebrate Christmas with your own folks and Jordan’s family always made it feel like a fucking Hallmark movie. I mean, come on who wouldn’t want to experience a Christmas like that? What made spending Christmas with their family better than their siblings. You knew Jordan was the oldest and you always watched him interact with his siblings in the most loving way. It always made your heart warm.

You both were walking around aimlessly hand in hand and in one of the shops at the resort Jordan’s family and you are staying at. After being with them for a total of 48 hours, you both needed some reprieve and alone time. As nice as it was a break was desperately needed. “Look at this. Snow scented candle?” You reached your hand out to waft the smell up Jordan’s nose, expression neutral. “It actually smells like snow, holy shit. How the fuck?”

“I know!” You were in disbelief at the way they managed to capture the smell into a candle. A fucking candle. You shook your head setting it down with a wide grin. It was exciting for the both of you to have this time together, it was so simple yet the intensity of the intimacy was incredible. You felt them swing your intertwined hands as they stood off to the other side picking up another candle for you to smell. “This is snickerdoodle scented,” they raised the candle to your nose after smelling it. Your eyes grew wide as you looked at them, biting your bottom lip to contain your excitement. “We have to get that. Do you know how good it’ll smell in your dorm? Jordy, I’d never leave. Do you understand me?”

Jordan looked at you with love filling their eyes, their free hand reaching out to pinch your cheek. They chuckled slightly placing the candle in the basket that was settled on the ground between the two of you. “Like I’d ever want you to leave. Is it okay if I keep you hostage when we get back to campus?”

“Oh, absolutely. I am as willing as Homelander was when he dated that nazi,” you paused looking at Jordan for a second before you both busted out laughing. “Was he willing, though?” They asked you as they pulled your arm through theirs to continue walking after picking up the basket. “I mean, they kinda had the same idealism? Right?”

“He’s a prick, I wouldn’t be surprised.” You laughed, shaking your head slightly. “Prick is nicely putting it for him.”

“Why are we talking about Homeasshole, we have to focus on the candles!”

“You’re the one that fucking brought him up!”

“As a simile! Granted a terrible one, but similar.” Jordan, completely disregarding what you say, pulls you over to the fruity scented candles, “You know how much I love mango.”

“I don’t think that’s a very Christmas-y scent,” you were sent a deadly glare, “but what do I know, right?” You said with a nervous laughter as you grabbed it from their hand to smell it. It was pleasant on your nose, rendering you to take another sniff. Without saying anything, you take the candle and place it into the basket. Jordan only eyed you with those big brown chocolate drops before pulling you along again. “What about plug ins? We can get the same scents and it’ll be like an inception.”

“I like the way you think. We’ll get those after the candles.”

“Can we get peppermint? I think I’d really like some peppermint candles.” You inquired as Jordan pulled three candles from the shelf, one being peppermint, another being sandalwood and the last being nutmeg with apple. “Hm, this one smells good.” They hold out for you to smell the nutmeg with apple, you immediately nodding. “We should get all of those and let’s add vanilla for the cliché.”

Jordan picked up a vanilla scented candle quickly depositing it into the basket before linking arms with you again. They felt their pocket vibrate, a loud groan emitting from their mouth. Pulling it out, they checked to see who it was that was cutting into their alone time, annoying them even more when they saw it was their mom. “My mom’s calling.”

“Tell her I said hello!”

“Babe, you saw her not five fucking hours ago?”

“So what! Just tell her I said fucking hi, jeez!” You both huffed, you immediately walking away to find other candles while Jordan spoke with their mom. Your heart filled with such joy at the moment. It was like having an out of body experience where you’re watching a very nostalgic moment happen before you, it feels right to be there and there’s been a longing for it to happen. You didn’t know what to name it, but you don’t think you have to.

The moment continued even when Jordan came up to you and said you guys have to hurry up since the annual hockey game was beginning and even if you’re sitting out, Jordan wanted you to be there to be their little cheerleader. “What other scents did you get?”

“Oh! This one’s called moonstruck, which is like a combo of like burning wood and cranberry. Then I found coconut and orange. I’m pretty excited about this one. Next is sugar cookies! I know you’ll love this one.”

“Oh my fucking god, give me!”

“It’s yours, baby. Don’t worry I picked up two for you.”

“Did I ever mention how much I love you today?”

“No, but make it more poetic.”

“You are the blood that runs through my veins, the compound v that keeps me going and my safe haven when all is lost in the world.”

“I love you.”

You both giggled like school girls before walking off to the plug in’s section to get matching scents for your candles before paying then heading on home.

[rmd-writes]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

thanks @liminalmemories21 @lemonlyman-dotcom for the tags! It's been a minute since I've done a version of this game

1. How many works do you have an AO3? 92

2. What's your total AO3 word count? 678,345 but that includes a bunch of collabs and co-written fics so not all of those words are mine. I never tracked my actual word count, but at a guess I'd say at least 150,000 of those words aren't my own

3. What fandoms do you write for? Red, White & Royal Blue, 911 Lone Star and, theoretically, Schitt's Creek although it's been a very long time since I've written any SC fic.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos? leaving out the multi-author collabs that I've contributed a chapter to, I am unsurprised that these are all RWRB fics:

Everybody needs good neighbours | RWRB | E | neighbours au | 14.3k

to the victor, the spoils | RWRB | E | lawyer au | 19.4k

yours for the afternoon | RWRB | T | coffee shop meet cute | 4.6k

What, like it's hard? | RWRB | E | lawyer au prequel | 65.1k

this one surprised me because I haven't actually checked my stats in ages:

Are You Screwing With Me? | RWRB | E | grindr au | 6.5k

5. Do you respond to comments? I try to! I'm not particularly punctual about it though.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? The only fic(let) I've ever written with an angsty(ish) ending hasn't been published and I'm not sure it ever will, but it's the result of @howtosingit saying something like, "whatever you do, don't imagine that the Huntington's test went the other way and the ending of Queen Charlotte."

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? all of them? idk they all have happy endings, maybe What, like it's hard? (obligatory A/N to say do not read that fic if you haven't read to the victor, the spoils first, please.)

8. Do you get hate on fics? It's not a regular thing, thankfully.

9. Do you write smut? lol (that's a yes).

Oh actually! Lil bit of railmedaddy lore: when I first started writing SC fic and chose my ao3 name (which was inspired by Dan Levy's appearance on SNL), it was meant to be a joke because railmedaddy was never ever going to write smut, didn't think she'd be capable of ever doing that, actually. That lasted all of ... maybe 6 months.

10. Do you write crossovers? The closest I've ever come is this snippet in response to an ask about how and where David, Patrick, Alex, Henry, Carlos and TK might meet.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not that I know of, I hope not!

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? Yes! Make the Yuletide Gay (Tarlos) was translated into simplified Chinese. I was honoured that anyone would want to go to the trouble of doing that!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? yes, with @welcometololaland my beloved 💖 and I love doing it because it's so much fun

Call Me (By My Name) | Tarlos | E | phone sex au | 65.5k

(Un)professional Services | Tarlos | E | lawyer/accountant au | 63.3k

I do have a bunch of other collaborations, but they're not co-written per se, in that we each wrote a chapter but didn't necessarily write the whole thing together.

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? I'm not sure that there's anything in actual WIP form with words on the page that I both want to finish and don't think I will? There are a lot of ideas that I'd like to write but don't think will ever actually happen.

16. What are your writing strengths? Someone tell me, please. Thinking about comments on my fics and the things that I actually like writing (I think my writing is better when I'm really enjoying it), it's probably banter and smut with feelings.

17. What are your writing weaknesses? World building, pretty metaphors and similes. I think my writing is repetitive so don't look too closely, especially if you read my fics in more than one fandom.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? If it's in character, then why not? The times I have included substantial Spanish dialogue, I have a native Spanish speaker look over it and help with translations because I don't want to rely on google translate.

19. First fandom you wrote for? Schitt's Creek

20. Favorite fics you've written? The collabs with Lola I linked ^^, The Grindr Toolbox: A Guide to Getting Nailed series is something that I had so much fun with and I'm very proud of, who am i if i can't carry it all aka June fic which I poured my heart and soul into, I don't think there's any other fic I've written that has so much of myself in it, this year i will fall which is my RWRB Hallmark Christmas fic.

tagging @welcometololaland @kiwiana-writes (mostly to make you compliment yourself again ily) @indestructibleheart @three-drink-amy @reyesstrand @carlos-in-glasses @heartstringsduet @orchidscript + open tag

[bittersweetresilience]

I love your writing style. Is this something you developed over time or just the way you've always written? I want to get better at writing-the technical aspect of it, anyway-and just never quite know where to begin.

AAW thank you anon i'm so glad you like it!!! HMM... before i answer, first i want to say that i feel similarly about the concept of writing styles as i do about art styles. of course many artists will have their own signature flair and they may seem recognizable but styles are always ever changing, and i think part of the joy in creation is playing around and not being locked into any sort of consistency 🥳🥳🥳

with that said... yes, i have been writing for quite some time and i'm sure many of the things that nourish my writing are just practice and experience!! and while i do tend to think about the elements that go into fic, like narrative structure and imagery and the chain of causality, i also do think to a certain degree i've just done it enough that i can't explain exactly how it happens... although you're feel to ask questions about a particular aspect of a fic and i might be able to describe my thought process, hehe.

but if you're just wanting to figure out how to start getting better at writing... then i know you've probably heard this many times before but i promise the answer really is to just start writing. write the things that make you happy. write whatever will motivate you to keep writing. just keep wandering around your documents laying down seeds until you start developing a sense for which parts are clicking for you and which ones aren't. then water the seeds that are working!

additionally, for me, one of the things i love doing the most is reading and incorporating the things i read into the things i write. i love learning from what i appreciate about other people's fic. if it made me stop in place or made me feel something, i ask, how did the author do that? was it this sentence structure? this precise placement of the flashback? this usage of diction? or do they just present this character or conflict in a really compelling way? and then i'll think about that when i'm writing my own fic.

to a certain degree, i think having some know how about the types of things you learn in english class is very helpful. it's way easier to figure out all these things and approach those technical aspects when you have a good grasp on similes and metaphors and omniscient versus limited povs and grammar, of course. BUT IN THE END... the most important thing is that you're having fun with it. there's no pressure to improve because we're all just here to share our love for these characters together. but if you do want to improve anyway, then really, the best way is just to keep at it!! and it's going to be really hard to keep at it if you're always worrying about whether it's good enough or thinking you don't match up.

there's always going to be something to love about your writing, so i genuinely do think that as long as you're loving what you make, and continuing to make it, improvement will come naturally. and know that i am cheering you on and wishing you all the best ❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛❤️

[yehsahihai]

Panivaanavan

Second collab with @harinishivaa and oh my god, there were so many butterflies while writing this

The night sky twinkled serenely like a million stars, the full moon glowing brightly. Arulmozhi Varman sighed when he saw Vanathi’s eyes in the stars and face in the moon . Why is she still haunting his thoughts?

Ever since he’d rescued her from falling into the canal, it seemed as though all streams of thought led back to her. More specifically to the way she had felt in his arms. Was this even right for a man to be feeling?

But why was it so natural with her? When he had seen her falling it seemed like the most natural thing to run to rescue her. Then why did it feel like a line had been crossed between the two of them? And then she had slid out of his arms and it had felt like there was a sudden thrum under his skin, urging him to not let her go, to keep her in his arms. It was most bizarre. 

She had been fully clothed, for heaven’s sake. 

He had never even touched her skin. 

And all he could think of now was how soft her skin was. He had touched her palm in an entirely planned fashion, and the softness of it… 

He had stayed awake many a night wondering if the rest of her was as soft as her palm as well, then mentally berated himself for thinking as such.

Just as he was thinking of getting back to his chambers, the soft voice of Vanathi reached him. She was singing some unknown tune, it seemed, as she walked into the clearing he was in. 

Vanathi had been having a difficult few days. Ever since her near-fall into the canal it seemed as though something around her had fundamentally shifted. More specifically, it felt as though something had changed in her relationship with Ponniyin Selvan.

They gravitated to touches often, and even light shoulder brushes when possible. What had changed? She had worn her night clothes, bare of jewelry and with her hair in a loose bun, she looked like some mad woman, she knew. But it wasn’t like anybody would be around to see her, she thought. 

She walked into a clearing humming, when she met the eyes of the one who held her heart in his palms. She froze as she saw him, taking in how he too seemed to be bare of any jewellery, without an upper cloth. The blush that overtook her was so hot she wondered if her colouring matched the kumkum that was given during poojas. 

Arulmozhi was frozen. What was she wearing? How had he never seen her in this? Is this what she wore to sleep? Bare shouldered and bare waisted? With a single cloth covering her chest area? Hair half open, strands of it flitting around her face? 

Ishvara, save me, he prayed, even as he took a step forward toward her. 

Vanathi felt her breath hitch as she saw him move towards her, the intensity of his gaze unfamiliar to her except for her occasional dream.

“Vanathi, Ardha raatriyil inge? (Vanathi, you are here in the middle of the night?)” he questioned her, gaze roving over her face and body, not really bothering to hide his reaction this time. Something about her glow in the full moon and stars made him bolder than usual. 

Vanathi visibly shuddered at his tone. Since when was his voice so deep? Was this a dream or reality itself? 

“I couldn’t sleep, Ilavarase,” she said shyly, well aware of his lingering gaze, but feeling completely comfortable due to the deep respect in his eyes despite the intensity that radiated from them. 

Arulmozhi’s brow furrowed as he heard her response. Was she not well? Did she get injured earlier? 

“Vanathi, is your health fine? Should I call…”

“Selvare I am perfectly fine. Just….”

“Restless”, she concluded, still looking at his face, afraid that if she looked anywhere else she would give away all the feelings jumping in tandem with her heartbeat.

“Why, is something the matter?” He felt as if she was restless for the same reason as him. 

“Not e-exactly, my Prince.” She stuttered out, trying not to turn red once again when he seemed to smirk knowingly. 

“Is that so? It seems we are sharing a similar restlessness, Devi,” his gaze darkened when his eyes fell on her bare shoulders. By the heavens, what was she thinking? 

Suddenly realsing the state of undress she was in, in front of Ponniyin Selvan no less, Vanathi’s eyes widened. Ishavara, what must he be thinking of her, looking like this? 

“What is it, Vanathi?” He asked, concerned.

“I–we- you”, Vanathi attempted to string together a coherent sentence, even as he took another step towards her, a smile playing on his lips. 

“Wonderful”, she thought. “Now I really should add lunacy to my long list of accomplishments, like he said.”

Clearing her throat, she cast her eyes downwards, determined to not let him reduce her to such a mess. 

He stepped into her personal space, itching to touch her waist, feel her soft skin. Vanathi, look at me, he pleaded in his mind. He saw as Vanathi took in a deep breath, the flush on her cheeks much more prominent now that he was closer. He mentally preened at being able to draw such a reaction out of her. 

What was he doing, why was he doing this? She tried to look at him discreetly, only to meet his eyes full on. She felt her body shiver at his nearness, yearning to sink into his arms and feel him around and in her. 

“I should go.” She nodded in affirmation. 

“Really?”

“Yes. I should go because if someone sees us here it would not be good for you, or your reputation.”

Arulmozhi cocked his head to one side as he continued studying her, causing her heart to cartwheel in her chest. Her entire body felt hot, and she wished she could take a dip in a pond or lake in the clothes she was in, but his presence stopped her. 

“My reputation? Vanathi, what about yours then?” he asked, still watching her with an intense gaze. She seemed to be blushing all over her body, and he was filled with a wish to feel the blush under his palms. He could see the blush disappear under her upper cloth and wondered if it extended till-

No. He could not go there. And yet….

“M-mine? It will be fine, my Prince,” she said. She knew her reputation of being in love with him was one many knew, and one she was proud to have. Even if he didn’t know it or trust it even if he did… 

‘That’s enough negativity, Vanathi, you idiot,’ she chided herself, looking at his now darkened eyes. Oh why did he look at her like that?

“Will it? You are alone, with a young man…”

“Said young man is respectful of me,” she retorted, annoyed that he was trying to find fault with himself. She blushed when his smirk widened at her words. 

“You are defending me to me?”

“Indeed I am, my Prince,” she said, raising her head defiantly. 

“The maiden I met at Thirunallam is back,” he said in awe, tracing her features. “Why did she disappear?”

“She thought she had made a grave error in calling the one meant to rule the three worlds as Yaanai Paaga,” she said, hoping he would read in between her words. 

“The Yaanai Paaga has only been yearning for that maiden,” he confessed, gently taking her palms in his, trying not to groan at how soft they were. He saw her shiver, but felt her palms tighten around his, and he could not help the brilliant smile that made its way to his face. 

“I am sorry, my Prince. My idiocy at running away cost us an early understanding,” whispered Vanathi. 

“I should have been better to you,” he whispered, pulling her close. “And I will, hereafter.”

“Ilavarase, are you saying what I think you are?”

“What do you think I’m saying, Vanathi?”

“That you feel for me as I do for you,” she whispered, shyness overcoming her as she ducked her head down, looking at his feet rather than his eyes. 

“I’m not quite sure I understand. After all, you did say there are so many matters to engage my mind.”

Vanathi gaped at the prince whose eyes seemed to be twinkling with mischief. Surely this could not be the same Ponnyin Selvan who, she had heard so much about. This childishness, the teasing, the laughter that he seemed to be holding back…. Where had this come from? Shaking her head, she took a step away from him, determined to not lose all sense of control. 

“Tell me, Devi.”

“If you do not know, how can I tell you, Ilavarase?”

He smirked, gently pulling her back close. “Hmmmm… I'm sure there are ways to remind you Ilavarasi”, Arulmozhi said, his skin burning at every point where her body touched his. Ishvara why did she have to be so soft, so lovely? 

Vanathi drew in a sharp breath as she felt his arm around her waist, securely holding her, until she was almost fully pressed against him. She saw the darkening of his eyes as her chest brushed his with each breath and instinctively moved to put her hands on his shoulders. She felt his breath hitch, and slowly, shy but sure, she trailed her hands down his arms, feeling his hardened warrior skin with delight.

Aulmozhi drew in a shuddering breath as he felt her hands move to trace his arms, stopping occasionally to linger or trace imaginary shapes on them. It was all too much; her doe eyes peering at him, her soft frame pressed against his, her petal like hands touching him. He could have sworn that there were actual sparks flying where her hands traced over him. Shutting his eyes tight, he prayed that she wouldn’t notice the small shiver that ran through him at her touch, even as his arms moved to encircle her waist tighter. 

She paused, thinking she had done something wrong. 

“Why did you stop, Vanathi?” he opened his eyes to meet hers, reading the worry in them. Was she thinking she did something wrong? To encourage her, he said, almost ordered, “Continue.”

Vanathi bit her lips lightly as the realisation struck her that the prince was more than a little affected by her. She touched only her fingertips to his arms, gently tracing again, trying not to laugh in sheer happiness. 

Arulmozhi shuddered as her hands resumed their journey, doing his best to not collapse where he stood. 

Vanathi, on the other hand, was starting to feel hot, for his skin, hardened with his hefting heavy swords, spears and axes like they were nothing, felt warm under her palms, his biceps rippling under her touch. She could feel his power as she traced his arms and shoulders over and over- was it even possible for someone with such power to hold this much control over himself?

Her Prince was incredibly unique. 

Vanathi dipped her head down, as a smile made its way onto her face as a sudden flash of boldness overtook her. She wanted to see how far his control went. She could see that she impacted him. Now she wanted to find out exactly how much of an impact she had on him. Tracing one hand upwards, she reached his shoulder, biting the inside of her cheek as she trailed one finger down, moving to trace his abdomen, even as she felt him clench his muscles at her touch. 

She was testing him, wasn’t she? His bold maiden… He had done his best not to react too outwardly, though it was clear Vanathi was not fooled. Her touch to his abdomen made him clench his muscles, wondering how the petal touch of a single finger made his muscles want to flex, as if to show off for her. Yet, exerting the highest restraint he could, he gazed at her, not realizing the impact of his smoldering gaze. 

Vanathi shuddered as she met his gaze, wondering if it were possible to spontaneously combust and liquiefy at the same time. “Ishvara this is unfair”, she thought. Why did he get to be so.. So perfect? How was anyone not to love him? 

Maybe now was his time…hmm. Arulmozhi moved closer and closer now, making her back away, till her back almost hit a tree, when he held her instead, softening the impact. His arms caged her against the tree, as his eyes traced her face, though alternately focusing between her plump red lips and darkened gaze, the pink on her cheeks now obvious all over her in a deeper shade. 

Vanathi stopped breathing altogether, as she realised she could feel the warmth of his body against her own, their noses brushing against each other, his lips a breath away from hers. It was the most natural thing in the world for her to whisper, “Swami-”

“Vanathi,” he whispered, now focusing completely on her beautiful eyes, brighter than the stars.

“What-What are we doing?”

“I don’t know… but with you, it feels natural,” he whispered softly, gently touching her palms with his own now, bringing them up to his lips to kiss, finally letting the ocean of love he had pushed deep within him to be released. 

Vanathi sighed happily, even as a thousand bolts seemed to strike her with his touch. Gently moving her hands out of his grip, she held her illavarase’s face, taking in a moment to just admire him. Had the universe made anything more perfect than him? Rising on her toes, she pressed her forehead to his, feeling her heart beat with his. 

Arulmozhi was sure that no other moment in his life had ever felt as exquisite as this one. She truly was made for him, he thought, noting how each contour of her body seemed to fit against his, how her eyes made him feel alive from the inside. She was his, and he was hers; he knew that with absolute certainty. And when he had accepted her as his queen…

Vanathi let out a small gasp as he dipped his head towards her, giving her the perfect access to place a kiss on his forehead, a small tear making it’s way down her cheek as she registered the significance of the move. 

Arulmozhi’s thumb instantly swept away the tear as it rolled down her face. Keeping their foreheads he smiled as he said, “En Idhaya Arasiye, unnidam endrume naan panindhavan thaan.” (Oh Queen of my heart, to you, I am always the one who bows down)

@vibishalakshman @thelekhikawrites @nspwriteups @dumdaradumdaradum @dr-scribbler @kovaipaavai @celestesinsight @thirst4light @rang-lo @thegleamingmoon @whippersnappersbookworm @chiyaanvikram @hollogramhallucination @arachneofthoughts @anushyaselvaraj @vijayasena @mounamelanoyi @nerdreader @thereader-radhika @lavanya-lakshmi @willkatfanfromasia

Please forgive me if there's someone else who should have been tagged but isn't

[way-of-love]

Mayor Que Usted (Simon 'Ghost' Riley x LatinaFem) (R-RATED) (NO MINORS) PART 3

Hey Sorry it took so long but please enjoy! And yes, there is a part 4 that I am working on as we speak or erm...read?

It took the two of them quite a while to leave the 'safe' and secluded walls of the supply closet. Thankfully, their clothes remained intact minus a few wrinkles, lipstick stains, and scent exchanging. After such a long time without the touch of another she was thankful their little dry romp allowed her that one single orgasm she's been truly needing to keep her from going after whoever she can at the next work function. And Simon, he was just glad he could feel her writhing in pleasure as he brought her to her climax rather quickly.

Amelia sat almost dazed a few days later in her office thinking back to their exchange of heated words. His promise to be better and to be more involved. To say she was excited was an understatement. She was elated.

Her daughter, Ophelia, grew up thinking her father was somehow lost coming back home to them. And Amelia didn't have the heart to tell her that she was the product of lust between two consenting adults.

Firstly, she wouldn't understand. Secondly, who would ever want to hear that from a parent? Amelia sure wouldn't.

Suddenly she was pulled from her thoughts when someone knocked on her office door. Immediately she knew right away who it was because the sudden hush of high pitched giggles was heard very clearly through her office door.

Amelia smiled and stood slowly making her way towards it," Now who could it be knock at my door at this early hour?" Another fit of excited giggles left the culprit.

The daycare had an agreement with the base allowing the children to visit their parent or guardians once a month on Friday's. And only when there aren't missions actively going on or if some teams aren't on their way back in need of assistance.

"You have to open the door and find out mama!" Oh, her sweet accented voice flowed through the door and right into Amelia's heart and she had to clutch her chest with a hand as she reached for her door and pulled it open ready to envelop her daughter into a hug and a kiss on her cheek as per their usual greeting.

But her simile immediately fell when she saw a dark presence behind her little ray of sunshine. Her dark eyes trailed up his bulky figure who's hands were bare on his jean clad hips until their eyes met. The sea of his eyes crashing into her earth. Simon immediately took her breath away with the look he was giving her- he may have hidden his expression behind that stupid painted balaclava mask but his eyes gave her everything. Poor Amelia didn't know if she should be blushing or glaring at him. Because this was not how they were supposed to introduce him to their daughter

This was not what they had agreed on.

"Mama! Mama! I met this man on my way to see you. He said he needed to see you too, so Miss Emily let me take him to you." Ophelia who's voice sounded angelic to Simons ears made him smile under his dark mask hearing how she was so bold and told her mother most of what happened between the two of them. She wasn't afraid of her mothers wrath nor was she intimidated by a scolding she might get. This was definitely his daughter.

Amelia looked down at her and went down into a crouch looking at Ophelia eye to eye with a perfectly arched brow, and took her little pale hands into her larger tan ones. "Mi corazon, I know you mean well and that you were just trying to help but you can't go off with strangers by yourself. Cuantas veces te he dicho esto, hm?"(TL: How many times have I told you this?)

Simo watched the two interacting with one another with a familiarity that he could only dream of having with his child someday. If only he gave himself that chance to feel that instead of witness it like a stranger. He wondered what would happen if he had stayed there in that small house of hers or if he even left something so she could get in contact with him. But the more 'ifs' that popped up the more 'shouldn'ts' came up. No one should have known who she was, or even know she had Ophelia. Simon 'Ghost' Riley had too many enemy's to count and if they ever found out he had a family...no. This was the best outcome.

"Pero mami. Parecia que necesitaba ayuda," (TL: But mami. He looked like he needed help.) Ophelia responded back to her in almost a whiny tone while she tilted her head to the side. Simon saw the small pout on her lips. Though despite the whininess tugging at his heart he was actually quite impressed that she spoke Spanish and English very well for her age. He had a feeling she knew the language because he noticed an accent with some of the words she said on their way here.

Still holding onto her daughters tiny hands she stood back up and confidently looked straight into the deep sea eyes of the father of her daughter. And their daughter looked back at him with that same pout.

" Alright then. Thank you, Simon for escorting Ophelia here. And," She looked down at her daughter a small smile tugging at the corners of her painted lips," thank you, Ophelia for escorting Simon here."

Immediately the small pout was gone replaced by a goofy smile revealing her missing front teeth," You're very welcome mami!"

Amelia then ushered Opehlia into her office and told her to stay put while she 'assisted' her 'patient'. Ophelia was such a well mannered girl that she understood her mothers line of work, she helped people at all hours of the day even when they were at home her mother would sometimes get calls from patients. Only if they were really sick. So she didn't make a fuss and happily went into her mother office in search for her coloring book her mother would keep in there.

Amelia crossed her arms and stood in front of the door narrowing her eyes at Simon who mirrored her actions." Explain, now."

Her tone left no room for side chatter or even a proper greeting. Releasing a tensed sigh Simon looked towards both ends of the hallway making sure the coast was clear before starting from the very beginning.

-Few minutes earlier-

Simon was on his way to the doctors office wanting to continue their conversation about meeting Ophelia, his daughter. At first he was hesitant because he never pictured himself as father material or even raising a child but again, he didn't have the honor to raise Ophelia with the woman he could barely forget.

Rinsing off and pulling on a fresh black long sleeved shirt pushing the sleeves up a bit revealing some of his tattoo. Usually he wouldn't bother revealing anything of his skin until he was in the privacy of his team or on his own but seeing Amelias reaction to his tatted arm always brought a sort of satisfaction to him.

Back in her tiny room where they both laid naked under the thin floral sheet she'd trace the lines of her tattoo asking to many questions. All of which he answered. Maybe that's what caught the young girls eye when they crossed paths in the hall way.

He just left the training room after dismissing both Gaz and Soap heading in the direction of the medical bay here on base. And Soap snickered seeing his superior making a beeline to no doubt see the esteemed heartthrob of a doctor. It didn't take long for Johnny to connect some of the dots. Hells, LT was making it pretty obvious that he had a thing for the doctor. But what else connected the two that had them so involved but so far from another, he wouldn't know. But he did have a feeling that the doctors daughter was the key to all of this. For now though, he'll let Ghost enjoy it.

Ophelia was on her way towards her mothers office when she saw him and the first thing that came to mind was the sheer size of him then the heavy lines he had that somehow were left uncolored on his arm. The mask she can get over because there was another man that she saw once wearing a similar one. Or was it the same guy?

The man in question who looked like a giant fluffy bear seemed to be getting closer and closer to them but he didn't seem to see her. And she did not like not being acknowledged so when he walked by her and her teacher Miss Emily she called out to the giant bear of a man.

"Excuse me, mister!" Her sweet voice called out to him and Simon somehow, needed to stop.

He did and he turned to look back to the person who called to him. Immediately his eyes landed on a petite blonde who looked very apologetic. "I-I'm sorry sir. We're just from the daycare-"

"Daycare? Here? Why?" His voice was cold, intimidating.

Why would the daycare personnel ever come here? Were they letting just anyone on base? Were they a museum now? Simon took a step forward ready to interrogate the young pale woman but he heard that child's voice again.

"Don't be rude. She's taking me to see my mom." There goes that sass again. And why did it sound so familiar?

Glancing down at the tiny figure next to the woman Simon felt his eyes widen a fraction. Standing there with her tiny hands on her hips with a brow raised was Ophelia, the estranged daughter he never knew about until a month or so ago. Seeing her in the flesh now giving him sass that reminded him of her mother.

"And who are you here to see, exactly?" He crossed his arms over his chest and spreading he legs further apart as if trying to intimidate the little girl but what he didn't know was that her mother taught better than to be intimidated by any man. Especially big burly men like him.

"Doctor Amelia Cruz," She mimicked the man in front of her crossing arms over her her plaid overall dress even moving her head a bit with each word that left her lips. "She's my mom."

Her hair was that of a similar color to his own but darker, probably due to the hair product used to keep her baby hairs down. Her skin was without blemish, pale, just like him with a light coat of freckles going across the bridge of her nose. And her eyes, the same color as his own but except hers were filled with life, more so than his.

While he saw much of the world and knew the bad that was in it causing the light to dull in his eyes; she just barely knew of it. And he would do all that it took to hide all of the dangerous things that would dare cause her light to go out.

Simon will kill for her. Overall, Ophelia looked exactly like her picture. And acted exactly as he thought she would act. She was raised by a single mother thus far and she did more than a wonderful job at it. Hell, Amelia was so very talented that she caught the eye of the government and offered her more than he thought was possible. She could have gone anywhere but she remained here to where she could easily get to her daughter if need be.

When Simon had some free time he pulled some strings to get her file or rather her information when they reunited in the med bay. She was clean. No criminal record, no misdemeanor's. She didn't have a single ticket and her credit score was through the roof. Better than half of the population.

"Hm. So you're the doctors daughter. Perfect. I'll escort you. Turns out I'm going to see her as well."

The little girl didn't seem bothered by his questioning nor did she mind him escorting her to see her mother. This building was huge and as scary as it was her teacher Miss Emily certainly made it even more so by how intimidated she became when entering this place. So having a big scary looking guy like him walk her to her moms office did feel like she had an unlimited hall pass.

And on they went. Simon apologized to the teacher quick and curt that almost came off as rude and very dismissive. Miss Emily was too stunned to even respond and simply pushed Ophelia forward to the giant masked man and went on her way.

Ophelia did most of the talking between the two like a five year old would, she went into such detail she had Simon impressed with how expressive she was, and how she paid attention to every bit of detail.

She must've gotten that from him. That made him feel...proud.

"What's your name?" She asked while reaching for his large hand.

"Simon." He placed a finger to his covered lips," Keep it a secret, yeah?"

And he gently took the little girls hand in his enveloping it in a fatherly warmth.

Of course he asked her questions about her life, about what she enjoyed and her favorite things to do trying to get to know her as much as possible before her mother hid her away again.

~

Amelia stood there with her mouth slightly opened and a 'I can't believe this' look on her face while Simon finished telling her about the conversation their daughter had with him on their way here. But one thing stuck out to her.

"You're such.. I don't even know what to call you right now. I agreed to keep Ophelia's identity a secret because you asked me to Simon and I was very careful-" Simon gave her a look with is eyes that made her roll hers. Amelia was careful, but her careful allowed him to find out." Okay. I was careful. The least you can do now, is not bring any kind of light to her if you don't want anyone to know," she pointed a finger at him, "Per your request."

Her voice was low enough that only Simon could hear and if he didn't he read her lips well enough to understand. Amelia purposed an idea to him that day in the training room where he was allowed to see Ophelia when and only when Amelia spoke to her about the father figure the young girl sometimes asked about. And thus far, Amelia hasn't brought it up to the girl. It was going to be sudden and quite frankly she wasn't sure how it would all play out.

Amelia hasn't seen Simons face and to say that a masked man was her dad would make her look crazy. She did tell Simon her concern and he suggested a neutral place to meet up, somewhere far from town just in case someone were to recognize him but Amelia shut that idea down. If his life was such a secret why did he spend any time with her that day on the island?

Whatever the answer was she didn't care. All she cared about was the fact that her daughter was at arms length and her father solely wanted to hide her away along with Amelia. As if tensions were high enough between them in private it was pretty noticeable in public too. She noticed the way a certain 'Soap' keeping an eye on her and on Simon.

"Amelia," He said her name in a low warning tone. One he used before when he forced her to tell him the truth and she immediately rolled her eyes breaking eye contact with him looking off to the side. She was silently trying to dismiss the warning not wanting things to escalate because she was more than ready for things to escalate.

It wasn't like he was hiding his daughter because he wanted to. He explained to Amelia after their little half-quickie in the supply closet that he had enemies. Enemies that have stepped into his home, knew his name and would no doubt use whatever they could to bring him down, even if it meant killing his child and the mother of his child.

The thought itself brought anger forth and uncertainty. Anger, because imagining someone touching a single hair on any of his girl's hair made his blood boil. Uncertainty, because he didn't know what the future may hold if they are revealed. He can't stop the future danger but he can do his best to prevent it all together. Simon wasn't prepared for his heart to be ripped out of his chest like that. Not when he just gotten both the woman and the child. He'd fucking kill anyone and everyone involved with his girls.

"I know what I said doctor. And I still stand by it but," He glanced back over Amelia's shoulder to the closed door his daughter was hidden behind. " As soon as I saw her I couldn't stay away."

Looking right back down at her he took in the way her red lips turned up a bit in a kind knowing smile and her dark chocolate eyes that seemed to liquify and warm him right up, surprised him. She always was on the defensive from the moment they met, especially after he found out about what she was trying to hide from him. She spiked up her defenses after leaving herself bare for him and he simply walked away from it. Hell, he'd build as many walls as possible to keep the opposing party out. But luckily for him Amelia wasn't like him.

"What?" He asked narrowing his eyes in suspicion.

"You already feel that fatherly connection with her. Dito Simon I'm so happy for you!" Her voice was low but she sounded like she was congratulating a friend on their achievement and he didn't like that. At all. Especially when she and him were definitely not friends. He fucked her brains out and got her pregnant. He was at least her...dare he fucking think it?

"First," He leaned down glancing down the end of the hallway making sure the coast was clear before he moved freely. He brought his hand up brushing her tanned cheek with the back of his knuckles, " Don't you ever speak to me in that tone of voice. I'm no friend of yours."

Amelia who was just trying to be kind and supportive of the father of her daughter found herself locking eyes with him the moment he touched her cheek. Immediately she felt that familiar knot start to pull down in her center. What was he trying to do? Intimidate her? Or turn her on? Whatever it was they couldn't do anything about it here. Their daughter was in the office behind her.

She licked her lips out of nervousness and spoke in a hushed voice. "Then what are you?"

Simon was no stranger to temptation or even seduction. He can withhold himself from it as many times as needed to get his job done but Amelia had this way about her that triggered this dark need within him, and he couldn't say no.

That's why his kid was behind the door she was blocking.

Leaning further down until his covered lips were only but a hair away form her lips he spoke firmly and clearly.

"I'm the one who impregnated you and gave you that sweet girl in there behind you."

"Hm. Anyone could have given her to me. Try again." Feisty.

"Want me to fuck you again and test that out?"

Their eyes never broke apart but Amelia's certainly went wide. She was actually shocked hearing his words so heated and full of promise despite their interaction to be playful. Simons eyes narrowed some and closed the gap between their lips. It was meant as a soft peck through the mask but Amelia closed her eyes and parted her lips just a bit to reciprocate an open mouthed peck.

"Be a father to Ophelia first before you become my man. Then we can talk about expanding." She opened her eyes and smiled at him. Not a sinister smile or baby trapping the man but a genuine one.

She wanted to be with Simon despite not knowing what he may have looked like beneath his mask. Pulling away he stood straight and squared his shoulders already feeling a new kind of confidence surface.

Amelia took note and snicked when she turned around to open the door but not before she felt a hand pat her rear. She stopped and looked back at Simon with a 'What the fuck are you doing?' look which he shrugged and pointed to the door.

"Go on doctor."

She sucked her teeth and pushed the door open.

Ophelia was currently sitting behind her mothers desk with different color crayons scattered around other paperwork Amelia was working on. And mother hen quickly went over to clean the mess while scolding the daughter in her native tongue.

Simon watched while closing the door behind him a small smile forming on his hidden lips. What he wouldn't give to be there from the very start.

To see Amelia pregnant and swollen with is seed, to help her throughout her pregnancy. He had always dreamed of having a wife and a few little ones when he could but the older he got the more he realized his dream of becoming a father were slim to none. And when that opportunity came he fucked it up.

Now he was watching his own daughter who was more than likely four or five arguing with her mother who seemed annoyed at this point. Maybe he should step in? Afterall he did come here for a purpose.

Stepping towards the duo he cleared his throat placing his hands on his hips. Both stopped and looked over at the masked man standing as if he had any kind of authority in this room. Amelia finished packed most of the crayons that were scattered around her desk and placed the box back inside one the drawers.

"Ophelia, I have something to tell you mi amor."

Amelia walked over to Simon and stood next to him while facing their daughter who sat behind the desk with that sweet innocence of a child. This wasn't going to be easy especially not for Amelia. Ever since Ophelia was young she would always tell her the story of the father she never met.

How sweet the man could be, how he radiated authority. He loved traveling to many different places. And the stories Simon told her she would tell Ophelia. And through that Ophelia wanted to travel too. Said she would one day grow up and travel just like her dad. Yet every time Ophelia would ask what he looked like Amelia would immediately state that she looked just like her father and then tell her about the scar he had. The only thing she remembered when she touched his face that night.

The silence was heavy and Amelia found that she couldn't do it. Simon glanced at her taking note how her eyes glossed over and how she tried to swallow whatever was in her throat. He'd never seen her like this before.

Simon took the initiative and took that weight off her shoulders. He moved forward and stood in front of the desk, before his daughter and revealed the secret that had been killing both him and her mother.

"Ophelia I'm-"

"My dad."

Simon blinked. He wasn't sure if he could be surprised again in his life but here he was. Surprised. Her little response came in way too quick.

Amelia slowly walked over to the desk just as shocked because there was never an instance when she told her that Simon, this hulking male was her father nor has she ever pointed it out to her.

"Ophelia...h-how did you?" Amelia stood beside her placing a hand on the back of her chair.

Ophelia just shrugged her shoulders childlike as she fiddled with her fingers, she always did that when she was nervous.

"Well... I remember when you told me stories of my dad and... when we came here I heard you talking to abuela saying you saw my father," She looked guilty when she looked up at her mother. She knew she wasn't supposed to listen in on adult conversations but her mother wasn't just any adult, she was her mother and her abuela was her abuela!

Ophelia started to twist her fingers," And I saw him with a skull and when I went to talk to him he said he was going to meet you mama. And he's really nice! Just like you sad! And he's British!"

Simon crossed his arms over his chest looking at Amelia as well. So, she would tell their daughter about him? He had to admit it made him feel all warm inside knowing she never gave up on him. Even if they never have met again Ophelia would have some sort of description of who he was.

"Oh, Ophelia mamita don't worry I'm not upset," Amelia took the girl int her arms lifting her up off the chair and making her way over to where Simon stood. Amelia kissed Ophelia's head before looking at the big bulk mass of a man with a smile.

"Well, cats outta the bag Simon."

Simon looked at Ophelia and gave a nod of his head while reaching out hesitantly and caressed her warm soft cheek with the back of his finger. She was so small her little head fit completely in his hand.

"Sorry it took so long to introduce myself," Both father and daughter looked into each others matching colored eyes. As if silently speaking to one another. She knew none of this was his fault and his job was very important that's why he was never there with her and her mom.

"It took you forever." Ophelia reach out and grabbed his hand held it and Amelia simply smiled at their daughter.

There was nothing in this world that could tear this moment apart. He finally, finally met his daughter as her father and he wasn't rejected. Simon feared the day he'd meet her and she would immediately cry, demand her mother take her away or even shun him. Could little girls even shun someone?

But there was one little secret he and his daughter knew that Amelia will never find out. Well, not yet anyways.

After their little reunion Simon was called back to his post, overseeing some intel Price wanted his to look over for their next big mission. Ophelia laid on her tummy coloring in her coloring book on the floor while her mother took in calls and prepared paperwork for surgery that was coming up for a wounded soldier who was doing some intel work but was caught. So they severed a limb trying to shoot and kill him.

"You know mommy, dad is really handsome."

"What makes you say that?" Amelia was surprised she started using the name for Simon. But she wasn't going to stop her. The girl had every right to call him whatever she wanted.

"Hm. Just a feeling."

Ophelia did in fact get a look of Simons face when they were making their way here. She asked him if his face was ugly and that's why he wore the mask. He was amused by her question and hid her in a corner and crouched. Simon made sure that the cameras didn't see a lick of his face when he lifted it up enough to reveal his features. He was not ugly. The giant of a man was actually very handsome!

And Ophelia took it all in. She already had a hunch that this man may have been her father because of the skull painted on his mask but the scar on his cheek confirmed her suspicions. Her mother would try and describe her father to the best of her abilities but never really gave her a full description of him. But what stuck out was the prominent scar he had on his cheek that went below the left eye down over his cheek and ended above his jaw. It looked like someone was trying to scoop out his face.

This man, was her father. Is her father. There was a rush of emotions coming through her little body. Excitement, shock, sadness and most of all fondness. Finally she could put a face to the man she one day dreamed of meeting. Maybe now that she found him her mom won't look sad anymore when she asked about him.

"You have a booboo," She lightly traced the scar under his eye being very careful not to press incase it still hurt him.

Simon smiled, his face wasn't used to smiling so it felt strange. " Just a small one."

As soon as he slipped the mask back in place he held her hand again leading her towards her mothers office, "You should show off your face more. You'll get married if you do."

[donnerpartyofone]

Even though it pains me that my expensive new phone's camera refuses to focus on an entire close-up image, even a flat one, and I am assured by many forums and reddits and the like that I'm doing it right and this camera just sucks, I will still share one of the great, sadly uncredited illos from my little old copy of Ray Bradbury's The Golden Apples of the Sun (great title stolen from a Yeats poem).

I've never read any Bradbury before, except for Fahrenheit 451 in high school which I compared so unfavorably with 1984 that I maybe didn't give it a fair try. Anyway, some of these short stories are good--or parts of them are, individually. I find him overly flowery at times, like he'll start out with a really strong description that catches my interest, but then he ruins it by continuing to add adjectives and similes just to be novel, and it's like buddy you nailed it a minute ago, what are you doing to yourself? And a lot of it is excessively sentimental in this kind of condescending way. For me the perfect example of his affect (so far) is a story where about 90% of it is just this beautiful description of a guy walking around in the suburbs on a November night, it's just captivating and the pleasure the character takes in this activity is so vividly conveyed--but then at the last minute it turns into this thing about how he's being thrown in a mental institution because he likes to go outside and read books instead of watching TV all the time, and it's just so smug and obnoxious.

There's a certain trend in science fiction, maybe it's partially his fault but it seems like a natural temptation, to congratulate the present, or even the recent past, for being so wholesome and righteous. Which is like, dystopia is a trope that I enjoy for sure, but there's a difference between saying "Humanity could be headed in a bad direction due to certain vices and imbalances," and saying "Humanity should leave everything exactly the way it is right now (or the way it was in my romanticized memories of my own childhood) because it's already perfect." It's very easy to become hyper-conservative and self-satisfied about your personal good old days. I wish I had a bunch of examples at the ready, I'm sure you can think of some or you'll notice it next time you see one, but very often the hinge issue is books. Like even as a reader and also a writer, I feel a little insulted by stories where ultimate virtue is exemplified by a character's love of reading, or villains are clearly identified because they hate books for whatever reason. OK, we get it, you're better than everybody else because you write! Good thing we're in the club too, how else could we be reading a book right now if we weren't inherently superior to the rest of the universe?

Anyway, the story this illo is from got me thinking about the notion of prescience in fiction. Like once in a while you get truly weird visions of the future (I just wrote this thing about futuristic frissons in each of the Cronenberg kids' first films), but I suspect that sometimes what seems to be a prophecy of the future is really just an acknowledgment of something inevitable. "The Murderer" takes place in a future where there is absolutely constant stimulation being broadcast from every quarter; all of life is one big billboard, there's no relief from being in constant electronic contact with everyone you know, and there's entertainment blasting out of everywhere in a continuous onslaught of overstimulation. The title character starts "murdering" all the devices, and all the stuff in his smart home, until he gets institutionalized. And on the most obvious level it's just Bradbury congratulating himself for being such a balanced and thoughtful person, again, but it's also like well, all that stuff was really coming. And did Bradbury really need to be (as they called him) the Greatest Living Science Fiction Writer in order to see it coming? Or was it just obvious, from ordinary trends in human behavior, that life would inevitably tend toward this state of constant connectivity and constant stimulation, with an eventual eradication of peace and privacy?

I used to like to listen to Damien Echols talk about all his occult learnings from his monastic existence in prison, and something he would say (he probably got this from somewhere else and I missed it) is that a prophet is not someone who predicts the future; a prophet is a person who understands the past. This made a lot of sense to me, that if you're sharp enough to see what generally happens, it's easy enough to see where things are headed. I think this is probably true of a lot of fiction we'd call prescient-- that if you look closely, it becomes clear that what it describes is sadly obvious.

[moonriserworld]

reading r.f. kuang’s babel right now and after skimming through some locked reddit threads i am so disappointed by the reception.

spoilers ahead, and disclaimer that i am only on chapter 21, but i went looking for a discussion about how their plan to cover up after lovell was a little lacking, and what i found instead were hundreds of disappointed (apparently) white readers tone policing the author. calling her a bad writer, unsophisticated, and overly simplistic. Arguments that are so profoundly rich with irony as these are nameless white readers discussing the qualifications of an asian cambridge/oxford/yale graduate, but i digress. i can easily enough dismiss these criticisms as inane and incomprehensible to anyone who values non-western intellect.

Wthe criticism i have seen over and over again though, which infuriates me to the point of hysterics is that the book is too “preachy”. again and again and again dozens of people posted and hundreds of people upvoted that kuang’s book about the evils of colonialism wasn’t subtle enough. that it’s too in your face, the characters are too aware of “modern” discussions and opinions of colonialism, and that her heavy handed, over-articulated critique shows her youth and inexperience.

i could scream.

because why should colonialism be subtle? why must people of color assuage our indignation to accommodate the feelings of our oppressor’s descendants? why must the cruel, ceaseless destruction of hundreds of world cultures be boiled down to a beautiful metaphor? why is it that books about the evils of capitalism and discrimination can be so easily understood in the fantastical dark academia pieces of white authors, but the second the discussion shifts to imperialism and white supremacy, we must speak in similes and hushed whispers?

does reading about western missionaries intentionally devastating the lives and cultures of people of color for dominance and profit feel like preaching to you? imagine how the natives feel. for monolingual, white intellectuals who base their intellect purely off of western morality and philosophy, this book may certainly feel like a lecture, but for the marginalized communities who to this day speak the languages of their colonizers, this is just reality. a reality that in upper academia is still discussed in stilted, awkward tones because it would require considering where their endowments comes from. and kuang would know that, as someone who graduated from such institutions thrice.

for those that say her character’s speak with too much modern disdain and comprehension of colonialism, these opinions are not modern. the novel takes place in the 1830s, slavery, indentured servitude, and genocide were common practices of the western empires, and i can promise you none of their victims would be upset by admitting so. to say that the cantonese protagonist, with his indian muslim and haitian best friends, the three of whom were torn from their colonized home countries and now make up 75% of the incoming class of oxford’s most prestigious college, should not hold beliefs of anti-imperialism and should not have the vocabulary to express such, is so completely absurd and insulting I can’t even dignify it a response.

make no mistake, it is not that i cannot believe the outrage, because it is so very believable, but i cannot fathom how someone can deign to call themselves a reader and so flagrantly despise learning the experiences of others.

something that was particularly fascinating to watch was when someone mentioned achebe’s things fall apart, lauding it as the faithful brother to babel’s prodigal son. in an interesting reversal of roles, this black author’s novel was presented as the model to which minority writers should aspire to. subtlety, intrigue, mysticism, a delicate string of scenes and plot points to allow the reader to internalize the profound pains of cultural oppression without pointing too many fingers at whose doing the oppressing. because it is simply ‘more powerful’ to draw a beautifully direct parallel to a rhetorical issue than to point at the true source of our real world, ongoing crisis. not only is this a deeply mischaracterized description of achebe’s novel, but is precisely the rhetoric that both novels aimed to critique.

no novel is perfect. i still have yet to finish babel, and some comments I’ve seen about dialogue and characterization choices, with which i often disagree, i see the merit and validity of such arguments. however listening to the mindless degradation of this work by self-proclaimed white academics, who offer nothing of note besides overly-intellectualized statements of cultural insecurity, frustrates me on a level i struggle to put to words in any language.

anyways back to reading! i don’t imagine my thoughts are of much note, but if i have anything interesting to say, i’ll give an impassioned key smash when i finish

[valeria-garza-enjoyer]

Your writing style is absolutely phenomenal! Wow I don't think I've ever been so engrossed in a short story before! It's amazing and I love everything you write!

TYSM !!!! i feel like a little bacteria exponentially growing bc this fic started with a little one off chapter that was kinda short and as the brainworm grew i wrote more and learned how to more efficiently use rhetoric like repetition and similes and i cant help but want to keep tinkering with previous chapters every time i write a new chapter.

its kinda why ch 4 took so long bc i had so many hurdles getting the thoughts onto my doc properly, which is also my problem again with ch 5. ch 5 is theoretically about half way done, and its hard to explain the problem im having without spoiling it, but the main chunk of what i have written just feels rushed and quick to me. Like i want to sit on it and expand the narrative but i dont feel like i could give it justice. This is also why the rape scene is kinda sorta just mentioned in ch3 and doesnt go in depth like other scenes do. I dont feel like i have the depth and true capability to give that anguish words so i tried to keep it in the same tone and almost fluffed up/poetic prose. if i could go back right now i think id try to expand it more but for my abilities i like how it came out.

so yeah thats ch5 and some other thoughts rn BUT i can say im about halfway done with the valeria/reader separate fic. idk if i said this in the last ask but it uses the headcannon of the broken rosary and her upbringing so theres that crumb if i didnt already give yall that :3 i think im leaning towards more fluff/silver lining ending which means id give it a second chapter for pacing but yeah that should be up on ao3 in the next few days if i dont forget.

i love every ask/comment i lets me know yall like what im writing and im not alone in my insane love for this collection of pixels made by infinity ward. ALSO i am planning on cross posting all of valerias florecita here one day. maybe when its done idk (i dont like saying that bc i dont like the thought of this thing being done. like wdym this behemoth of a fic is done? I spent so much time and energy on it what do i do now??)

[kyouka-supremacy]

I've always encapsulated Akutagawa's character and his beauty as being something along "pretty/inconspicuous at first, monstrous upon closer look," trope. Something something about him being the complete opposite of Rashomon (weak, frail, pretty vs strong, powerful and durable and mostly, terrifying to look at) which add onto that pretty/monstrous dynamic, because rashomon is everything he is not but wants to be. He's pretty the way a spider is pretty--all strange and long limbed, scary, and creepy to everyone else except the few people that can tolerate them longer than a few seconds. Sometimes, people are uncessarily cruel to spiders that way, too, whether or not they've done something wrong or not. He is often the spider crushed under someone's foot until it explodes, me thinks.

I don't know what I'm trying to get at here. This isn't disagreeing with you cause I think ugly describes a lot of aspects of akutagawa from his personality, insecurities, and his life (maybe not his appearance, tho, but that might just be me staring at his tiny waist and not his redflags). I also just think that man is pretty especially in the panels where he is at his most unhinged (like the where he smiles at Kyouka during the cannibalism arc). him looking like a corpse is also why I would willingly court him (thanks nagito for helping me discover my taste in men) I just may have bad taste. Banger analysis tho.

... This is terrifying, I adore it

I REALLY can see the simile with spiders– it's brilliant!!! It's such a fitting comparison. That's exactly why Atsushi can still love him. The observation on Rashomon being everything Akutagawa isn't is so incredibly spot on too!!! I have barely anything to add, this makes such an extraordinary and suitable description of Akutagawa. Thank you so much for sharing!!!

I really can't understand thinking of Akutagawa as pretty– but like, in the fun “it's amusing how peoples' brains all work differently” way!! I am baffled at the concept of that cannibalism panel being taken as example for Akutagawa being pretty: that panel is so so many things to me, but pretty is certainly not one of them. I feel that panel strongly!! After all, it's one of the very rare Akutagawa smiling panels, it's a panel I've studied up close in the past. And I, too, love it in a way: that panel is so many things. It's terrifying, at first look. It's creepy, unsettling, distressing. Then it honestly and unexpectedly starts feeling kind of endearing. His eyes are big and sparkling, he almost looks like a child who just arrived to the playground– a very creepy and unsettling child, but still. It makes Akutagawa look very young. It is a very scary, unsettling expression, but after looking at it for a while, one grows to understand that it's a moment of Akutagawa experiencing pure, sheer and honest happiness. which you come to realize is something he doesn't get to have very often. And his very happiness is dark and twisted, just like he is; but isn't it somehow still endearing to see him display such a genuine and honest emotion, for once? The fact that the only way for him to express it results deeply horrifying is only all the more emblematic of Akutagawa's character, of how even something as pure and uncorrupted as happiness will result terrifying on him. It ultimately makes him kind of pitiful, too, which I guess is another strong component of Akutagawa's character. (Note, I'm leaving aside considerations on Harukawa's art style, which honestly ends up resulting elegant and enjoyable to look at no matter who they're portraying.)

Like, if I had to choose one panel of Akutagawa being pretty it'd be... Well‚ the only chapter 88 panel that matters, c'mon– at the price of coming off as lame, but how else could I. Is there anything more pretty, more pure‚ more sacred than sacrifice itself? But really, that still stands in support of my case of Akutagawa not being pretty, because chapter 88 Akutagawa is the least Akutagawa he's ever been in the whole manga, if you know what I mean.

[peculiarbeauty]

ABOUT THE ROLEPLAYER

◈　NAME　 ⋯ 　you can call me rose !

◈　PRONOUNS　 ⋯ 　she / her / hers

◈　MOST ACTIVE MUSE(S)?　 ⋯ so my main muse will always be belle but i also write in the persona fandom. <3 i absolutely do have other blogs but they are currently inactive and i really have no idea when my activity will pick up again on them. this blog and my other most active are:

peculiarbeauty : you are here !! welcome.

fatedprincess : this is haru okumura. she is my little meow meow.

◈　RP PET PEEVES?　 ⋯ 　&.

people reblogging callouts for unjust reasoning between friend groups that really should stay within a friend group. people dogpiling one person and assuming the position of a good human being for that. people overall spreading vagueposts , gossip , and other slandering things. in my opinion , unless people are threatening your very life or are a sexual predator , you should keep drama between you and the person in question. sort it out !! stop dragging the entirety of tumblr into your feud. i only learned this big lesson about tumblr callout culture over a year ago.

burnbooks : gross behavior to make a blog centered around talking badly about people.

elitism : people who believe that they are the only one out there who can write a muse and try to slander another person who likes the muse just as much as they do.

copying people's blogs and then preaching about how people should stop stealing from you : it's gross and i just find it so so hypocritical that anyone can say that they have been stolen from when they straight up are doing it themselves. look in the mirror , please.

autoshipping and forceshipping : first of all , if i did not agree to a ship , please do not suddenly act like it's okay to ship with me. it's okay if we build up to it but instantly shipping makes me question where our threads are going. not everything is about shipping , we can write many threads together. i would like to write many threads together before we instantly ship as some muns have chemistry with their writing more than others. forceshipping is gross and being a victim of someone attempting to forceship with me pretty continuously as well as stalk and harass me for years .. i'm really really not okay with it.

◈　EXPERIENCE/HOW MANY YEARS　 ⋯ 　 i have been writing on platforms since 2008. i started on youtube back in the day ! i joined tumblr , however , back in 2015. i wrote in the disney fandom when it was CRAZY busy with blogs. i wrote for snow white very briefly around that time but had no true idea of how tumblr worked lol. it really was an experience. i remember roleplay groups were HUGE and there was one particular roleplay group in disney that was super popular. <3 i'll always remember that.

◈　FLUFF, ANGST, OR SMUT　 ⋯ 　FLUFF AND ANGST IS MY GO TO. i do not write smut.

◈　PLOTS OR MEMES　 ⋯ 　it depends on the day you ask me this question tbh. most of the time it is memes because i am a teacher and i am perpetually tired when i get home. it's hard to think after work for me. on weekends though ?? i say plots. i am in a good headspace at that time.

◈　LONG OR SHORT REPLIES　 ⋯ 　this ALSO depends. i am someone who can write a TON if the thread strikes me. like , angst ?? an ANGSTY long thread ?? i'm so there , girl. sign me up.

◈　TIME TO WRITE　 ⋯ 　i throw everything in the queue. i tend to find my writing habits existing more in the early parts of the day.

◈　ARE YOU LIKE YOUR MUSES　 ⋯ 　if i said i was like my muse , i would feel like i need to humble myself a little. belle is an amazing , empathetic , intelligent woman. she is such a wonderful human being. am i a wonderful person ?? i definitely can work on that a little more. i will tell you though that i am very close to my father like belle is with her own. i love reading , literature is everything to me which makes it easy for book talk in threads. belle and i have a similar taste in stories too. belle and i are also empathetic towards people for better or worse. we love people and try to make the best decisions for them if they need advice or help. i just try to keep it real ?? there is a lot we can learn from disney princesses about how to live. so YEAH she inspires me truly. <3

tagging : @guujies / @adversitybloomed / @revoeu + you ! tagged by : @historiavn ( thank you my love ! )

[youredreamingofroo]

Long winded rant of me talking about NSB, doing a new series, storytelling and whatever else I talked about under the cut, feel free to read it's just me rambling, I don't really care if ppl read it or not it's VERY long 😭

I've been painfully itching to start a new series, I know I'm doing NSB rn, and I do plan to at least finish the normal NSB legacy (up to Gen 9), although I might finish or take a break at around Gen 5 or 6, just because I don't wanna lose motivation and also because it takes A LOT to make some of these posts (for example, the last NSB post... took a lot out of me), and I'm only on Gen 2, almost Gen 3 rn, and I was originally planning to do all 30 or 40 Gens in the updated ver of NSB, which def doesn't seem like it'll be happening right now, because at the current rate at which I post, and how fast things in my game move, Sims 6 will be out before I even finish Gen 30 😭😭

Anyways, I don't know what the series would be about, if I were to do a new series, it would definitely be a lot more story based, if not completely story based, I don't know if I'd do/include gameplay, but I really wanna dive into more storytelling and setting up scenes, I'm not a film or theatre kid by any means, and I really don't know much about writing and setting up scenes and stuff, to be honest, i don't even know how I storytell, I guess it's just regurgitated content molded to shape the statue of my story if that makes sense lmao, I guess it's also the art of using so many fucking metaphors and similes that doing something like comparing love to drowning in a cold ocean comes sorta easy to me? I'm not grammatically inclined and don't know a lot about punctuation, my teachers all kinda gave up on me in English class, so all of my writing is basically self taught, which I guess is the case for a lot of things I do- I feel like starting a new series would help me learn how to write better, even though it seems like a lot of ppl love my writing, I still feel like I could improve so much and do so much better. I already have a couple ideas in mind for a new series, I don't think I'll say much rn just in case I decide to make them a series, but as for right now, I've got plans for Gen 3 NSB (aka Calico), and if I were to start a new series, I would not stop playing NSB, but due to how I function and shit, I would have to put NSB on hiatus, I kind of have a hard time doing two stories at once, hence why Sharkie's story got put on hiatus, because it was too stressful for me to double up, especially with how often I post (at least 3 or 4 times a week), I would like to go back and play Sharkies story and share her story up to this point where I last played her, her story is a lot more gameplay centered (for example, I am more inclined to make a blender scene for NSB, then Sharkie, for Sharkie, I'd do stuff like go to the bar and see how it plays out and take screenshots and just edit those) which I like more, but that's not to say I don't enjoy NSB, because I equally LOVE storytelling as I do gameplay.

While writing this, I did think of something I could do, which would be posting NSB every other week (so one week I do Sharkie or some other series and then the next week I do NSB, then a diff series, so on so forth), the only problem is that usually when I get an idea, and I finish that idea, I like to post it asap, I'm not good at scheduling posts lmao, but it might be worth it if people want to see another series (that is if anyone is still reading up to this point lol), I'd like to channel my storytelling into a more story based save/story, but idk! I'm just kinda doing my thing rn and I'm at a point where i wanna do something different. I especially wanna start doing more in blender, it just takes fucking forever to do some of the stuff I wanna do, and some of it means learning new stuff which is thrice as hard and takes thrice as long compared to normal posing and stuff 😭