#this is the aesthetically pleasing version of the list

[bravenew-what]

Tagged by @wonderous-lawnmower to post 4 albums I’ve been listening to lately!

Love Metal - HIM

Helloween - Helloween

Aurora - Daisy Jones and the Six

Neon Noir - VV

Tagging: @glennsdick @anotherhitandrun @heavymetallibrarian @80sphase @songbirds-sweet and a one else that wants to say I tagged them!

[demonslayedher]

I finished posting the unabashedly educational Sword Fic.

It includes a detailed (but hopefully beginner-friendly) explanation of all the steps of making a Nichirin blade from a sunny mountain like Mt. Youkou, a touch of swordsmith and metalworker folk lore (including demons), meta about what must make Kimetsu no Yaiba's swordsmithing methods different from real life methods, some character exploration for Haganezuka and his polishing method, vocabulary and additional resources in the chapter notes, and hopefully, an endearing, silly POV character to learn this all through.

[hal-o-ween]

Sweet Dreams <3

[wuxian-vs-wangji]

Did you buy anything fun for Prime day?

I've bought SO MUCH.

I'm buying stuff in anticipation of being able to get my own place hopefully in the next couple months (Looking for a job in another state lol), and I left a lot of my list alone specifically to wait for prime day.

I made a pretty good dent! Mostly stuff from the 'sprinkles' list left!

[margotaspen]

Sunset Residences | TS4

When I originally made this build for my series, I knew I wanted to share it eventually. I felt it had the perfect floorplan for gameplay, so here it is for all of you to enjoy. This build is from my series, Lykaia. In season three it serves as Lucian and Annisa's current residences. This rendition of it is a bit different from the series. (Personally, I prefer this one.) I've made a few adjustments for functionality and aesthetics, but ultimately it's still very similar to the one in the series. The builds are mirrored versions of each other. Same exact floor plan. Also comes with a washer and dryer in-unit. I hope you guys enjoy it and please feel free to tag me (over on @ophernelia) in your photos if you post any! As always, please be mindful of my tou. You can find all the information you need about the build and a few in-game photos below. If you don't have the packs listed, you won't miss out on much. Just a few items here and there. Download below the cut.

⊛ DOWNLOAD (PATREON FREE MEMBERS) | TOU: No Paywalls, Do not reupload and claim as your own.

! I use and have made lots of texture overrides for the plants, trees, and worlds. Therefore, some plants may look different for you in-game.

[tenpintsof-sundrop]

you don't need an AO3 app - round 2!!!

"AO3 is ugly and I hate the formatting!" -> you can download site skins. very gorgeous ones. and you can use them to change the aesthetics and visuals of AO3. just search 'AO3 skin' on Tumblr or even on google and you will be in A Whole New World. (and those searches should yeild tutorials on how to install the skins as well - it's not something I know a lot about, because I used to primarily use Quizilla and FFN, so I am more than used to Ugly Website. AO3 is very aesthetic and pretty compared to those.)

"AO3 is too bright!!! it hurts my eyes!!!" -> there is a dark mode. scroll down to the bottom. there is a heading that says 'customize'. under this heading, hit the button that says 'reversi'. that is their version of dark mode. and again, you can look for site skins that you like that have a darker background.

"I want to be able to make reading lists!" -> you can make bookmark collections on AO3. In your bookmarks, there is a button that says 'add to collection' beside each work. have fun. go ham. (Also, you can make private bookmarks if you are reading something with more controversial content that you don't really want others to know about - and please know, that any bookmark comments you make on public bookmarks can be seen by the author.)

(this last one made me laugh - because it seems like people are just coming up with bullshit excuses to 'need' an AO3 app when there is literally nothing that an app can go that AO3 can't.)

"my memory is really bad because of reasons sooo I remember to use things better by having them on my homescreen like an app!!!" -> create an AO3 shortcut on your homescreen. most mobile browsers have the capability to put a shortcut to a specific link or a specific website on your homescreen so that you can go straight there - like you would with opening an app. and it can be labelled 'the AO3 app' while simply having the icon of that browser. you can even do this with a link to a specific fic that you are in the process of reading (even down to the specific chapter that you were on). there is literally 0 reasons to have or use an AO3 app.

and remember kids!!! any and all apps with AO3 in their title are not associated with the real archiveofourown in any way, shape, or form - they are unofficial, and technically, they are illegal. and using them is putting all fanficition writers at risk legally (even if there is no active lawsuits right now) - just don't fucking use them. it is a threat to the entire fanfiction hobby just because you want 'the app experience'.

the archive is a non-profit website with 0 ads for a reason, and those apps are scummy scammers who put ads on our stories to make fast easy money when none of the people who made those stories ever consented to it.

[luxeacademia]

Brindleton Bay Taylors Version Pt. 01: Wildest Dreams Jewelry & Style Clothing Boutique by luxeacademia

So I am a big Swiftie and recently had this idea of making Brindleton Bay builds inspired by 1989 TV. Here is the first build. I have a few more planned and I am super excited about it! I also chose to photograph this build during the winter because it gave "snow on the beach' vibes. Hope you like it! -

Presenting "Wildest Dreams" and "Style" – where retail therapy meets Hamptons charm.

"Wildest Dreams" Jewelry: Discover an array of sparkling gems and accessories that will make your Sims' wildest dreams come true. From delicate necklaces to shimmering rings, this boutique is a haven for those who appreciate the finer things.

"Style" Clothing: Dive into the world of fashion at "Style," where coastal Hamptons aesthetics blend seamlessly with Taylor's 1989 era. Explore racks of chic outfits and timeless ensembles that exude sophistication and style.

Come explore our retail paradise, where Sims can indulge in shopping sprees that capture the essence of coastal luxury.

Lot Details:

Name: Wildest Dreams & Style Boutique

Value: 1,275,717

Type: Retail

Size: 20x20

World: Brindleton Bay

Location: Ragdoll Refurb

Other Info:

Thank you to all CC creators!

Enable BB.MoveObjects before placing

Please do not reupload or claim as your own

Feel free to tag me if you use it. I would love to see it!

CC list:

@pixelglam: Coastal Art | Ralph Lauren Folded Sweaters

@pinkbox-anye: Coffeeshop | Magorna | Senna | Sophie

@awingedllama: Nostalgia Living

@bbygyal123: Minimal Prints

@bergdorfverse Bags: 1- 2- 3- 4- 5 - 6

@charlypancakes: Lavish

@felixandresims: Chateau Part I. | Chateau Part. VI. | Colonial Part III. | Georgian | Grove Part II. | Paris Part I. | Paris Part II. | Paris Part III.

House of Harlix: Baysic | Orjanic Part II.

@harrie-cc: Coastal Part I. | Coastal Part II. | Coastal Part III. | Coastal Part IV. | Coastal Part VII. | Coastal Part VIII. | Spoons Part I. | Spoons Part II.

@joyceisfox: Hamptons Bar Counter | Simple Live Part II. | Summer Garden Part II.

@lilaccreative : LC Jewelers

@littledica: Letters

Max20: Poolside Lounge Pack

@peacemaker-icemaker: Seema Living | Adirondack Love Part I. | Elsie | Moroccan Cement Tiles | Hamptons Getaway | Hamptons Hideaway | Painted Brick | Splendid Narrow Paneling

@pierisimm : Davids Apartment The Bedroom | Domaine du Clos Part II. | Domaine du Clos Part III. | MCM Part I. | MCM Part II. | Oak House Part I. | The Office | Woodland Part I.

platinumluxesimsx :Dior Wicker Basket Bag | P-Luxe Stiletto Court Shoe

PralineSims: Concrete Floor

Ravasheen: Watt's Not To Love

Sims4Luxury: The Hamptons Collection

Simplistic: RH sink | RH Barstool | Luxe Dining Chair

@somik-severinkaSeverinka : Functional Champagne | Drink Tray

@sooky88: Hydrangea

@syboubou:  Sleek | Shopping | Rideaux | Paradis | Laundry | Hortensia

Ruby Red: Romantic Gazebo | Glam Bathroom

Gallery ID: luxeacademia Download on my Patreon here.

Enjoy ♡

[chiiroptereh]

[Please zoom in, there's a lot of detail! And a massive file size...ouch]

Hi guys, long time no post! Been working on Art Fight and life stuff, but I've got something kinda fun for you.

This is a compilation exploring how a mortal Bill may interact with our world if there were still some kinda Euclidean instincts buried in there. Y'know, before the Book of Bill ruins all my headcanons >:P (EDIT: IT HAS BEEN READ. YAHOOOOOO)

Also quite an experimental piece as you can probably tell. Lots of details on both said headcanons and the art stuff under the cut, but I invite you to study the colorful texture yourself beforehand and think about what it might be representative of, just for fun because I got some really cool answers from my friends when asked :]c

TL;DR: the headcanon is that Euclideans have exceptional eyes for geometry. They find things like symmetry, tessellating patterns, graphs and fractals very aesthetically pleasing. If pushed into our 3D world, they feel comforted by the familiarity flat objects/spaces bring, as well as high-contrast patterns. Shadows especially are a familiar dimensional reduction that may bring them much comfort.

Bill would surely not be happy about these inclinations, constant reminders of a past long gone, but I'm not sure he's even aware of them here :P I think his ego gets in the way to the point where he just views these interests as common sense, which, of course, us lame humans just don't understand because we aren't nearly as cool as him. Of course he likes perfectly symmetrical leaves and staring at the kitchen floor, it's called taste, look it up!

And yet, he can't seem to shake the strange sense of melancholy he gets from viewing his own shadow.

~ End of TL;DR, long version below! ~

🔺 Headcanon Development

So, the catalyst of this idea was in relation to my friend and I's AU ( @love-triangles-au ). TL;DR, Bill's brought back mortal, meets another triangle named Y.V. (it's his hand holding the paper in the piece, actually), at some point they fall in yaois together, you know how it is. And, in writing a pair of triangles (or, more broadly, writing from the perspective of a different species), something I've had to consider was that you really can't get much further removed from a human being than sentient geometry.

The anatomical aspect was mostly figured out (see my piece on Bill's eye-mouth), but I wanted to consider what psychological differences might be at play. I wanted them to be weirder, more alien, double-so for Bill. At first I explored these possibilities through the lens of Bill and Y.V.'s relationship, specifically the question "what might a triangle find appealing about another triangle?"

Well, really the only things that came to mind were straight lines and symmetry, anything related to the geometric form of such a creature. That's more-or-less where that ended until the thought struck me that there's no reason this aesthetic appreciation couldn't extend to the rest of the environment, and then further when I realized, "wait, this is a species that is designed to live in a 2D environment. Like, they should seriously be really weird. I need to push this like 200% more."

So...yeah! I did some thinking and brainstorming with others and came up with a pretty long list of things a Euclidean in our world may be inclined to enjoy or find some level of comfort in. It's worth noting again that in this piece specifically this is a mortal/powerless Bill, so he can't really escape this Earthly environment. IF he's aware of these instincts at all (and that's a big "if"; when have you last been cognizant of your own instincts let alone known where they were stemming from?) I think he'd have snuffed them out in immortality and/or purposefully gone against them; he doesn't take kindly to being told what to do.

In order from left-to-right, top-to-bottom, here's an explanation for each!:

Flat objects such as paper are something he may find particularly engaging. It's basically 2D!

Tessellations are especially fascinating, and our world has them everywhere in the form of tile floors. Symmetry and such a predictable pattern...as the infinity of the starry sky might for us, the infinite potential of tessellations might invoke a similar sense of awe in him. Add on the maximum contrast of black on white kitchen tiles and the forms are only even better defined! A sensitivity to contrast would be very helpful for a 2D being navigating their environment.

Fields are flat and open, much like Euclydia itself. Laying flat may make him feel a little more at home.

More tessellation in the honeycomb of hymenopterans (bees, wasps and friends)! It helps that pain is hilarious.

The city is an absolute treasure trove. Rectangular buildings, precise architecture, square sidewalks and straight lines abound...he may as well be looking at a rainbow or an art gallery! I think a Euclidean's brain is very fine-tuned to mathematics, especially in regards to trigonometry. What may appear to be a straight painting might appear obnoxiously crooked to him.

Zebras are high-contrast :]

Another flat surface, another relaxing space <3

I think graphs are about as high as high art gets to most Euclideans.

I've touched on shadows before, and for good reason; truly they must be something borderline magical to the Euclidean and perhaps bitterly nostalgic.

This one kinda speaks for itself. Dweeb.

🎨 The Artsy Stuff

Lately I've been trying to find ways to fit more color into my work, as color is perhaps one of my favorite things in the world. My wardrobe is rather garish; my dad jokes that you could see me from space. My fursona is obnoxiously bright for a reason -- I feel my soul is a very colorful one!

I also realized recently that I don't actually know the exact style that speaks to me. I could talk about the phenomenon of the "style crisis" that many artists have all day, but in my mind the best cure for this feeling is to go against it entirely and begin stealing as much as possible.

So, I've tried to keep an eye out for more sources of inspiration everywhere I go, physical and digital. I've tried to train my mind into making a habit of considering, "can I do anything with this?" everywhere I go, and it recently paid off!

The glittery rainbowy texture you see plastered all over Billiam is this one, a photo-manipulated set of fruit stickers. I must confess I've been obsessed with this image for the past 72 hours, and this seemed like a good excuse to try it out!

I worried throughout the process if it might be so abstract that it loops back around to being horribly deliberate, if that makes sense -- like each sparkle was not a piece of a whole but rather an object in itself -- but it seems like that hasn't been a problem, so I'm grateful for that :Dc

I hope it can dazzle and delight you as it does me, but as long as you find it fascinating at the very least then I consider it a success! I really enjoyed hearing my friends' interpretations while workshopping it, and got tons of amazing answers from opal to kaleidoscope to fossilized bone marrow! I truly believe that the best art has some room for interpretation and it really excites me to be surrounded by that kind of creative energy that follows said pieces. That definitely adds to my pride in this work. It's weird, it's colorful, it's detailed and yet ambiguous. I'm feeling pretty autistic about it

Alright, I think that's about it. Thanks for listening!

[yrqrnc]

wc: 3.8k

lee know x gn!reader

warnings: mention of alcohol, swearing, nothing too heavy.

★ : moving on didn’t mean forgetting. you knew that. but guess you’d never moved on from the boy with pretty brown eyes and an odd way of expressing love, after all.

The bright lights of the bar—though very aesthetic—hit you right in the eyes and blurred your already hazy vision.

Music blasted from the speakers from almost every side; some were dancing their hearts out to it, some were sitting in groups and gossiping away with drinks in their hands, some were making out very loudly and openly in the most random spots, and some searching for company to take home for the night.

Others were slumped against the counter, drinking their life away.

All that grief, pent up frustration, anger, regrets, every bit of emotion they did not want to feel — people drowned it away with alcohol, or at least tried their hardest to, and with it, they, too, drowned.

You wondered it they realized that.

You did.

And you were one of them today.

You were drunk out of your mind.

That should’ve knocked you out, made you forget every worry and every regret, right? That was what you had come here looking for. That was what half of the crowd had come here for.

And it had seemed to work out for many of them. Most of them.

Except, in your case, all the drinks you had just consumed seemed to have made you focus on the exact thing —or rather, the exact person—you’d wanted to wash away with the alcohol.

Fuck your mind, and your body, and your stupid dumb self for holding him so deep within you, beyond what any alcoholic drink could reach.

You missed Lee Minho out of your mind.

2 years of pining, 3 years of dating, and going out on the most perfect dates; of noticing all those little things about each other — how he liked his food a bit spicier than normal, including eggs, because you’d wake up in the morning to find him pouring bulddak sauce over it, and how you always needed a whole carton of milk next to you whenever you ate with him.

How he would start blinking rapidly when he was uncomfortable or shy, and how you’d pick on your nails whenever you’d get anxious;

Years of breaking each other’s walls and barriers down, and learning each flaw and likes and dislikes you two had; of visiting cat cafés monthly and raising your own 3 babies together; of sketching out your dream house in your heads and making bucket lists to tick off as the years came on;

Years of growing together, and watching and helping the other person become the brightest version of themselves, and falling in love with each other a little more after every argument and every fall-out.

Years of getting so used to having the other one around; blindly and confidently believing that it would go on forever; holding each other the closest to your hearts, and loving each other thinking that it would never run out.

And it hadn’t.

Not from your side, at least.

But life had always had its unexpected ways of breaking and mending and flipping things, and people, and lives, as it pleased.

As you and Minho grew, you changed too. With age and new experiences came new perspectives and new dreams and new beliefs.

You’d known that, both of you, and you’d thought you could handle it, that you could get through it together, just like you always had in the past too.

It had never affected you,

until it did.

All of a sudden, you and Minho had reached a point where you both had completely different visions of how you wanted to go on with your lives.

Fights that you’d always make up for before the night ended — turned into days of not talking; biting your tongue to refrain from spitting out words you both knew you didn’t mean and would regret later — turned to shouting it all out on each other’s faces; and never being able to find reasons to part ways turned into counting those reasons to stay.

Lee Minho was a hurricane. The prettiest one, too.

He was the strong winds, that was meant to flow to every city and every town, that urged to climb the highest of mountains and fall down through all the valleys, and whirl around again, and again, and around, till it reached every corner of the earth — never settling, never trapped, never tied down to one place.

He wanted to go beyond what his hometown held; to see the world that existed across it—just some flights, trains and rides away, could you believe that?—and meet new faces, make new friends, try new cultures, fall in love with new places and—

You hadn’t been ready for change.

You had loved that familiarity of your neighbourhood, and the streets that always smelled like the tastiest snacks of your area, and those flower shops near your house where you formed the loveliest bond with the elderly ladies selling them, who’d gift you bouquets for free sometimes as you’d pass by. You’d adored seeing those faces that you’d been seeing around for all the past years.

You’d loved being in that place that felt like home, that was filled with people of your own kind — who knew you and adored you.

You hadn’t wished for any of that to change. You had never thought it would.

You hadn’t wanted it to.

So, when Minho had started telling you that he wanted to move away, leave the city behind and look at the faces of all the different lives he could be living and loving… you hadn’t taken it well.

Both of you had tried to hold on — you really had.

But the tighter you’d held onto the rope, the more it had stung, the more you had bled, and the more it had stretched, and stretched, and stretched, until it finally got shredded into pieces that you didn’t know how to put back together.

You had loved him beyond reason, beyond words, beyond explanation, and beyond everything that fell in between.

Hell, you still did.

It was these endless thoughts of him, and those bittersweet memories of your old joys that had dragged you to this place.

People would think six months—half a year, that is—would be enough to leave an ex behind. But maybe, that was the problem—Minho had never been just a “boyfriend” to you, so neither was he just an “ex” now.

He had been your best friend, your safest haven, your comfort person and your happy place.

He had been everything.

He had been everything.

Even in those times when you guys used to fight, and you’d get upset because of something he said or did, he would still be the only person you would seek comfort from. When you would have a terrible day at work, he would be the only one whose face you wanted to see, whose voice you wished to hear and the only one who you wanted to go home to and rest in the arms of.

When you had your best day in weeks, too, he would be the one you wanted to share all that joy and excitement with.

All of life’s ups and down. You wanted to experience that rollercoaster with Minho, and just him, and no one else.

It wasn’t that you had spent these six months crying and wallowing in self-pity, missing him and weeping about him.

No, you had been continuing with your life. You’d had amazing moments without him—you had spent some of the happiest times of your life with your friends and your family, and you’d had your good days, bad days, tiring days, fun days, and life was going on just the way it always had;

The only thing that had become different was the absence of his presence, that you were not used to and didn’t want to get used to, no matter how much you denied it.

You guessed it was the thing about not being able to move on from a person— you missed him, always.

Even when you were having the best time of your life, and when you were not, too.

You missed him even when your mind didn’t whisper his name into the depths of the night.

Even if you’d go on for days without thinking of him, you’d work and pace around your kitchen one summer night, and sit down at the table to realize you’d made dinner for two when it was now just you.

And you’d feel like crying, and you’d wish he was around, still there to call your crying face ugly before he pulled you into the softest hug and held you until you were no longer drowning.

Even if you wouldn’t feel like breaking down when you looked at pictures of him or you two together anymore, you’d drive past that one restaurant you guys used to love, on a rainy afternoon, and you’d wish he was sitting beside you, making snarky comments to tease you and get a reaction out of you; telling you in his sweetest voice “Idiot! You just drove past our place! Am I that distracting? I mean… Yeah, I know I am, but you should focus when you’re driving, baby.”

And you’d threaten that you’d fasten his seatbelt like a trap around him, speed the car up heading towards a tree, and then jump out to leave him to crash — and he’d cackle in that way you’d always adored, before quickly saying, “I’ll charge you for murder thoughts and murder attempt later, come on, pull over now!”

Fuck.

You were bereft of Lee Minho.

You missed his playful kisses, and the way he’d run from you when you came to him for hugs but then pull you right back into his arms the moment you got upset and turned to leave. You missed the kisses he would press just beside your lips, on your chin and your cheeks, and your nose and quite literally everywhere else, teasing you to the very edge, before he finally pressed his sweet lips on yours; and you missed the breakfast he would make you while you would still be sleeping in his bed. You missed being able to steal his pretty shirts and sleep in them whenever he’d be away.

You missed life with him. All of it, and all of him.

You missed it.

It was like, missing him came in waves and sometimes, you didn’t even realize you were drowning until you hit rock bottom.

Living and loving had never felt the same from the moment Minho had slipped away.

And it was only these things and these thoughts that had been playing in your mind for the longest time now, so as you sat there in that bar, drunk out of your mind and yet still, thinking of nothing and no one else but him, you didn’t think as you pulled out your phone from your bag with clumsy hands, almost dropping it as you gripped it in your hands.

The light of your phone flashes on your face as it clicks open, and you scroll through every name in your contacts until you find his.

“Snowball 🫤❤️”

Right.

You’d never changed it after the break-up.

Snowball. It was an inside joke.

You’d pestered him for a whole week to watch “The Secret Life of Pets” with you, because you loved it and you wanted to watch it again, and this time, with him.

Throughout the entire movie, you’d laughed that he and that adorable evil bunny were basically the same character, and he’d grunted and scowled at you, acting all offended, but then smiled so tenderly when you weren’t looking (or so he’d thought). Since that day forth, you’d called him your own “snowball”; sometimes calling him “your cute lovely sweet munchkin bunny” in the cringiest tone you could pull, just to see him make a face and threaten you that he’d put cat piss in your drink and block you on all social media.

You’d even changed his contact’s name to it. You’d never changed it back after.

You wish you had, now.

Because as you stared at that name with a vision so blurry, —from the drinks or from your tears, you couldn’t tell— you felt the regret, and desperation, and longing that you’d been trying to hold off since so long, crawl up to your throat and claw at your insides, and it ached.

Your fingers finally moved to press on the screen, and suddenly, before you even knew it, you were ringing your ex-lover up.

Ha.

Where were all those sexy kind ladies who stopped girls from drunk-hitting their ex up when you needed them?

Perhaps it was all in your head, but in that moment, you thought the bar ran completely silent all of a sudden. It was only the ringtone that you could hear, and with it, anxiety broke in through the barriers of your alcohol and creeped in around you and within you, coiling in.

It ringed. Ringed, ringed, ringed.

Nothing.

It continued ringing; you laughed. At yourself, at him, at the wasted people in that damned bar, and at the world, for having brought you where you were right now.

Of course, he wouldn’t pick up. Why would he? Who would anyone pick up a call from someone they had ended everything with months ag—

“…Y/N?”

You stopped breathing; you didn’t blink, you didn’t move, you didn’t speak.

You couldn’t.

What if this was all a fragment of your imagination that would break the second you did anything?

“Hello?”

But it came again — that sweet voice in the softest tone, the exact one you had missed more than you’d realized.

You mustered up all you had left, and spoke up in the gentlest of volume, “Min…”

That damned nickname and that damned voice, cursed Minho in his head as he stood on the other line.

But you’d never know that, of course.

The line went quiet for a quick second, but he talked again. “Are you… drunk?”

It made you chuckle.

Even after all this time, one word from you and he knew what was up. How could you have let that go? How could you have let it all go – everything that you both had had?

“No… I mean, yes, no. I— just a little. I’m good.” you slurred out, and the boy over the phone didn’t need anything more to know you were lying.

But he stayed quiet.

And you didn’t know when or how, but that silence between you—that had always been a form of comfort and assurance—had turned into something that pained, something rather unbearable.

So, you broke it.

And you just started rambling; maybe it was the drink, or the nervousness, or the fear, or all of it actually, but you just… you couldn’t stop talking. It felt like you’d be swallowed up whole by your own thoughts if you stopped.

So you went on.

“I… I know you’re probably well and have been doing well, and I probably shouldn’t have called, because I know it would only mess us up again, but… I was just, I was here and then, I– And… I don’t know. I just– I don’t know. I really don’t know. I was– You were on my mind– I mean, no, you weren’t, what? But you– I... I don’t know. I don’t know, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called. I-”

“Y/N.”, he cut you off and you finally took a breath. “It’s– It’s fine.”

You heard him inhale sharply before he continued. “You should call someone to pick you up. Go home. It’s late, and you don’t handle alcohol well.”

He remembered that too. Of course, he did.

You wanted to smile about it, but it felt unfair for some reason.

Was he caring for you or rushing you to stop the shit you were pulling and go home?

“No.” is all you end up saying back to him after seconds.

“…Huh? What?”

“No. I... No. I will not go. I— I have to– No, I want to... I have to tell you. I mean- I don’t know. I can’t go. I won’t go.”

And you could hear the confusion in his voice as he spoke again, and if it wasn’t your mind playing games on you, you think there was the slightest hint of concern laced in it, too. “What’s wrong? What do you have to tell me?”

You tried so hard to get all those fragments of words and feelings that blurred inside your head and make them make sense for yourself, and for him.

But how was one supposed tell their person that despite having had half a year to move ahead and find new people, you hadn’t and you couldn’t and you didn’t want to? After the way it had ended, after the reason that led to it, that all made so much sense.

“I’m sorry, can you– can you just give me a minute?” and you hoped with every ability you had left in you, that he would not hang up as you requested him in a meekly voice.

There was no answer from his side, but the line hadn’t cut off yet either.

You took your chances; gathering every ounce of strength and thinking ability you had left until you formed concrete thoughts and words in your mind before you said it all aloud — real and declared.

You would never be able to take them back. And you hoped, as you put it out in the open, that you would never want to.

“It’s been months, and I know that I don’t have any right to call you up like this on a random late Monday night, but I just– I don’t think it’s working out for me, Min. This whole moving on and leaving us behind thing. It’s not working out. I can’t do it.” your body forces you to take a breath before you continued any further – your voice would’ve started to crack, otherwise.

Maybe it already had.

“I’ve tried so hard. I really have. And I thought it was working, you know? Like, I get up every morning and you’re not on my mind, and I can get through my evening coffee just fine, without thinking about how you’d usually shout from the living room at this time, asking where I’d put the cat toys. And I come home from work on Saturday nights and don’t expect to see you waiting for me on the couch anymore, and I can go on for weeks without wondering how you’re doing or where you are. I can do that, I have done that. So, I thought it was all fine.”

And there it goes, your voice started trembling in just the slightest, and Minho noticed it. Like he’d always noticed everything.

He didn’t say anything about it, though, he just listened. And you talked. Again.

“But then, I meet someone new… and–”, you chuckle but it comes out sounding more like a soft cry.

“And I realize that I try to look for you in all of them, for those things you used to do. Like, how you’d always turn the stove off before the noodles got too soft whenever you’d cook us ramen because we like them that way, or how you know that weird but cool trick of turning an inside-out shirt right as you wore it on directly, or how you’d draw stickman figures on my hand when we cuddled, and just... all those little things you used to do. I look for them. And I– I meet people and I can’t connect to them.”

Your emotions were at the verge of bleeding out now; you had tears welling up in the corner of your eyes, rapidly spreading now, ready to slip off and down your now flushed cheeks.

“It’s like I’ve forgotten how to fall in love after you, Minho.” you spat out with all honesty. “I don’t know what to do.”

And it all finally broke.

You were now sobbing hysterically, and you tried to keep the noises down and muffled as you pressed the back of your hand against your mouth but they all fell out anyway; each one fluttering all the way out till it reached the boy, who gripped his phone with knuckles that had grown white, in a shaky hand, as he stood there, just right across the screen of your phone.

If only he could reach you.

And if he had been any good with words, he would’ve told you about it all too. His lines of the story.

How he’d gone and done what he had dreamed of, what he had left everything for – he had travelled to countless countries, countless cities, met all kinds of people, tried so many types of food—all of it.

All that he had desired.

He’d also tell you about how he got stuck in his hotel room in Sweden with no toilet roll, and could not figure out, for the sake of his life, how to explain to the receptionist that he needed a new one urgently, because neither did she speak Korean, nor did he know the basics of Swedish.

That experience had taught him to never step foot on a different land than his own without knowing the basics of their language.

So, if he had been any good with words, he’d tell you all about the adventures he’d had after he’d left home with the tiniest bit of details, and that there was still so much more he wanted to see and do, and perhaps, just perhaps, he’d also tell you about how none of it all, somehow, filled that space in his heart that he’d never noticed missing.

He’d tell you that he’d explored so many of the places he’d dreamed of, but that after every travel, he’d go back to his hotel room at the end of the day and sit on the edge of his bed, fingers hovering over your name in his contacts, because there was no one else he wanted to talk about his day with; no one else whose day he wanted to hear about.

All those friends he’d made and all those strangers whose heart he had so swiftly won over — he did not want to book tickets with them together for new movies or new flights, to new places.

He wanted to do it with you.

He hated himself for having never realized it, when you had been right there with and beside him for him to have asked you to do it all.

Yes, he’d told you he wanted to go out, he’d told you about all of those dreams, but he’d never asked you to join in with him.

Why hadn’t he?

If Lee Minho had been any good with words, he’d tell you that he’d seen so much of the world the way he’d wanted to, but had felt bliss slip right through his reach when he turned and realized — that he wanted to you to be there, to be holding your hand, and taking your pictures in the prettiest views he’d ever seen.

You would’ve made it all perfect.

Everything gorgeous, and beautiful, and lovely had felt a thousand shades duller to him, and that—he’d realized—only you would’ve fixed.

He would tell you, after holding it within his heart and denying it for so long, that he did not want to see any corner of the world anymore if he wouldn’t be able to find you, hiding there to spook him and then pepper kisses all over his face with giggles and laughter and everything that he had ever loved.

But Minho was not good with words; never had been; so, he eats the silence, and speaks it, too.

You couldn’t stop the tears no matter how much you wiped them away, and you were too scared to speak because you knew your voice had given up. You would only hiccup and gasp and break further if you opened your mouth. That was for sure.

But he, on the other line, too, was not muttering a word and—

God, you felt so pathetic.

“Where are you?” he suddenly asked, voice quieter and softer than before, breaking you out of your state.

You let out a sound of confusion; unsure of what you’d heard while also not wanting to speak up in your currently poor condition.

“Where are you right now? What’s the name of the bar you’re in?” he asked once again, a little louder this time.

The gears in your mind were turning very slow, and when he heard the silence from you end again, he cut in.

“You know what, send me your location. You don’t have to say anything.”

You hear him moving around hastily, and within seconds, he’s telling you something again. “Stay there. Don’t hang up either.”

You followed his instructions, still half confused and drunk after having used up all your left energy into that emotional and embarrassing rant you’d cried out.

Very soon, followed sounds of his car keys jingling and some ruffles, then the click of a door, and you simply sat —or rather, slumped into your seat, leaning onto the table of the counter, almost dozing off— and waited as Lee Minho started his car and set off to find his way to you.

Something in you knew he would. He always had.

And maybe, if the universe was on your side this time, he’d let you find your way back to him too.

[whumpgifathon]

Hello! And welcome to my brand new whump gifmaking challenge! I'm your host @aceofwhump and I'm excited to bring a whump challenge specifically created with gifmakers and visual artists in mind.

The challenge begins August 1, 2024!

Rules:

All gifs posted must be made by you. Do not just post gifs using the gif keyboard and claim them as yours and do not repost other people’s gifs. No AI-generated content please.

Various mediums are welcome! So long as the visual art aspect is the focus you can make whatever you want. Yes this is primarily a gifmaking challenge so everything is geared towards that but any visual art is welcome. If you draw, make moodboards, edits, videos, etc you’re welcome to participate!

You can use the prompts however you like. There is no wrong way to use a prompt. Feel free to interpret them however you wish. If you think it counts as whump? It's whump! Make it! Angst, comfort, emotional whump, small things, big things, it all counts so no need to over think it.

Tag all potential triggers (things like emeto, gore, nsfw, blood, eye whump, rape/noncon, etc.) When in doubt, tag it.

Tags to use when posting so I can find your ppst: #whumpedit, #whumpgifathon, #whump gifs

Please try to include the show/movie title, character names, and episode number (if applicable) somewhere either in your tags or in the post caption. This way anyone interested in watching it can find it easily.

An example of a way you can caption your gifsets:

@whumpgifathon | Day #: "prompt description" Show/Movie title, episode number, character name

And here's the prompt list!!! I hope you guys like it and find it inspiring but not overly challenging!

Remember that this is a relaxed event!!! I just want to offer my fellow visual artists some inspiring prompts and an opportunity to have some fun. So sit back, relax, and have fun!

Text version below:

Whump Gifathon - August 2024 Prompt List

Day 1: Space Oxygen Deprivation | Time Loop | Experiment

Day 2: Feeling Sick Fever | Infection | Delirium

Day 3: Environmental Earthquake | Storm | Hypothermia

Day 4: Captivity Chains | Caged | Rescue

Day 5: Water Shipwrecked | Drowning | Waterboarding

Day 6: Skills Try out a new technique you haven’t tried before using your favorite whump trope as inspiration!

Day 7: Emotional Crying | Panic Attack| Fear

Day 8: Hospital Ambulance | Intubation | Waking Up Disoriented

Day 9: Battlefield Explosion | Gunfire | Field Medicine

Day 10: Temporary Effects Blinded | Amnesia | Poisoned

Day 11: Recovery Sling | Pain | Seeking Support

Day 12: We All Go A Little Mad Sometimes Straight Jacket | Forced Injection | Hallucinations

Day 13: Aesthetic Highlight your favorite whump aesthetic

Day 14: Sleeping Nightmares | Exhaustion | Passing Out

Day 15: Trapped Impaled | Buried Alive | Locked Inside

Day 16: Western Cauterized | Bitten | Hanged

Day 17: Comfort Hugging | Blankets | Gentle Touch

Day 18: Broken Broken Bones | Emotional Breakdown | Broken Spirit

Day 19: Relationships What is your favorite type of whumpee/caretaker relationship? Platonic? Romantic? Familial? Show me!

Day 20: Blood Bloody Hands | Bleeding Out | Covered in Blood

Day 21: Fantastical Nonhuman | Resurrection | Magical Healing

Day 22: A Knock to the Head Headache | Knocked Out | Bloody face

Day 23: Travel Gone Wrong Car Accident | Plane Crash | Train Delrailment

Day 24: Magic Magical Exhaustion | Cursed | Possession

Day 25: Period Drama Pick a time period of your choice and highlight the whump!

Day 26: Everything Hurts and I’m Dying Grief | Resuscitation | Presumed Dead

Day 27: Superheroes Overused Powers | Powers with a Side Effect | Villain

Day 28: Torture Beaten| Flogging | Choked

Day 29: Restrained Zipties| Rope Leash | Medical Restraints

Day 30: First Aid Ice Pack | Stitches | Bandages

Day 31: Colors Highlight a specific color in your art

Alternate Prompts:

"Stay With Me" Begging Heat Exhaustion Bedside Vigil Self Surgery Taser Scar Reveal Collapsing Protective Electrocution

[cinnamonest]

OMG I MISSED YOUR WRITINGS ON SCARAMOUCHE SO MUCH!!

Please I need the version with camgirl reader x incel Scaramouche 🛐

And I hope you are well !!! <3

The way I was gonna make this a fairly simple post and then I got carried away and now it's 9k words WHOOPS

Anyway YES anon, I am on the slut girl x virgin boy agenda... although since I already have a camgirl, this time I went with like an onlyf*ns/e-girl darling + college AU >:3

//noncon, cyberstalking, blackmail, harassment, misogyny, sadism, nipple/ass stuff, revenge porn/leaking, darling is portrayed as being feminine + implied to have a bf

---

You tell yourself it's just to get you through college.

That's how you convinced yourself to start the account — regular camming requires a schedule and streaming and all that, which you'd rather not do, whereas the other outlets let you sell subscriptions for photos and videos, and there was a decent market out there, so you took your best shot, did some work to advertise yourself on mainstream social sites, and hey, it worked. You soon find yourself with a steady stream of income, and all you have to do is masturbate on camera and take a few posed photos of your body.

A few years of some extra income, and then you'll be done, get a better job, and you can delete the account and scrub the internet clean of any trace of the matter. Maybe some guy out there will keep some of the photos, but it can't be that bad.

This way, you can focus on your academics, which a regular part-time job would be too time-consuming for. You don’t have to worry about scheduling classes around a work schedule, either, which allows you to be more choosy on your class schedule, ensuring you get the later classes and don’t have to wake up early each day.

Except one, where you had no choice but to take the early class, as the other sections filled up fast. It’s one of those required tech-involved ones, you just picked from the list at random — one of those big classes with hundreds of people in a huge auditorium, any degree of personalism drowned by the sheer number of people. It’s a male-dominated subject field, and the body of attending students when you walk in clearly reflects that, so you just sit down in the very back at the first unclaimed seat you can find, pausing to say good morning to the boy next to you, who only briefly looks your way in acknowledgement.

The professor goes over the generic first-day material — that yes, you need the expensive textbook, that yes, he will check attendance, and no, he will not give you extra credit at the last minute at the end of the semester, so on and so on… and—

—you’ll be working with the person next to you for the rest of the semester.

Even-numbered seats, the person to your immediate left, odd-numbered seats, to your immediate right. You turn and smile at the guy you’re thus assigned to, the same one you spoke to a few moments ago — once again, he just glances over at you and nods with some vague acknowledgement and then resumes doing what he’s been doing since the professor started, which is scrolling on his phone beneath the desk, only half-paying attention. That does not bode well for your predictions of how equally-yoked you’ll be in your work ethic… but no big deal.

It's one of those classes with a midterm and final project that you work on throughout the semester, rather than tests… which, hey, that could be fun, you tell yourself. You think you can get along. He doesn’t seem to care about what's going on around him much, which is not exactly good, but isn’t bad.

That dopey, happy demeanor… so obnoxious… ugh, you’ve got a notebook (an aesthetic, pretty one at that), and you're pulling it out on the first day of class? For what?

Except you aren’t reading him all that well at all. Unbeknownst to you, his eyes shift over to you and your activities throughout the class. And the reality is he very much does care.

That is, from the very second he lays eyes on you, you irritate him.

Then you write the class and your name at the top of the page all cutesy and artsy-looking, and then— God, now you're pulling out the multiple colors of highlighters and pens. Is that— is that one of those sparkly gel pens? Oh, it is. You’re making a little header with today’s date for your notes with it. Just kill him now. This is practically psychological torture.

Thus, while from your perspective, it feels like he barely pays you a second thought, in reality the rest of the period for him is spent just stewing in a stream of bitter, jaded thoughts.

Look at you with your… girl clothes and girl pens and girl notebook… you probably think you're so cute, spending money on dumb stuff like that… and smiling like an idiot. What are you so happy for. Why are you even taking this class when you'll just be bad at it. Why are you dressed like you put effort into it. Just pick up one of the sweatshirts laying on your bedroom floor like a reasonable person. And why do you smell so nice too.

He mulls over the negativity for the remainder of the class period, totally zoned out until people start packing up, which is the cue to leave.

Except you stop him before he can make a quick exit, holding out your phone, open to a new entry in your contacts.

Ah, since we'll need to work on the project, I can text you…

Right. That. Ugh.

The awkward discomfort of standing there and entering a name and number while you stand there with that dumb little nervous smile is only made more upsetting by the bitter realization that this will mark the first time he's ever had his number in a girl's phone before. Great, now he's going to be depressed for the rest of the day, and it's your fault.

You say thanks and smile again and your hands brush against his when you take your phone back and it makes him physically flinch in recoil — and you definitely noticed it, you mumble a little ah, sorry as if you're trying to make it even more awkward, now he's got to live with the humiliation of that too, and it's still your fault. Clearly, you are going to be nothing but a source of frustration.

And even once he's moped all the way back to the the comfort of his nice, dark apartment, he still can't escape your torment — no sooner does he flop down into bed than his phone goes off…

>Hi! Just wanted to make sure you can save my number too!

You add the little smiling emoji. It makes his eye twitch.

Trying to act all nice and sweet as if you're not only being pleasant because you're forced to work together. He knows full well you'd be all bitchy and demanding and hypersensitive in any other context, and probably all snobbish too, probably would barely pay him any mind.

Even if you are genuinely sweet, that in and of itself is still basically torturing him. Because what’s the point in you being sweet if you’re not going to give him anything more than that? With that in mind, even your niceness is just a cruel tease.

And why would you even be so happy to begin with? Doesn't being a girl suck? If he was something so weak and inferior and unintelligent, he'd be even more miserable about life, and that's really saying something. Maybe it's one of those things where you're so dumb that you lack self-awareness, so you can live a life of ignorant bliss... at the same time, the notion that you’re unaware of how inferior you are is equally frustrating. You should know, that knowledge should weigh on your mind all the time.

The frustration makes his chest feel tight, makes him grind his teeth… naturally, he has to get it out somehow, and there's a very convenient means to do so.

The imageboards he frequents almost always have a “leaked images” thread up and running, communities where they post e-girls’ nudes and revenge porn. The wrongness of it, of course, is the appeal.

Besides, they all deserve it. Some are images originally sent to boyfriends, posted as an act of revenge after cheating or dumping the guy (so it's deserved, really), others are leaked videos and photos from various pay-to-view networks and websites (also deserved, for being a whore), and finally some are just creepshots in public places (deserved once more, for dressing that way).

And the endless amount of the content and surprisingly good tagging system means that one can find any sort of content, and for the leaked porn accounts, it includes the girl's username and links to more of her, so you can see more of the same girl.

Like with this one, that just so happens to catch his eye. There's a whole page where some guy has paid for every single photo this girl has made, and put it out there for everyone to see for free. It's solo stuff, too, which is preferred — seeing couples making videos together, thereby watching the girl love on some guy, is depressing — and getting off to it is much more satisfying than any of the other girls on this thread, considering she looks like you.

…A lot, actually.

He's already memorized your annoying, pretty little face. The title of the video has the words “college girl” in it, too. Adds to the immersion, can feel like it’s really you, degrading yourself like that… of course, when it’s over, he has to deal with the reality that it isn’t, but the momentary pretending is cathartic.

And sure enough, as the first week passes, you quickly prove just as irritating as he initially suspected. You smile at him and talk to him every class, for some unknown, malicious ulterior motive. Are you trying to be belittling? Or are you trying to make him like you so that he'll do favors for you? Or is it for your own amusement?

Either way, the obvious deceit of it all is sickening. It's a commonly known female behavior. You try to come across as so sweet when in reality it's all an act, and you have some horrible reason for it. He just doesn't know what the reason is in your case yet. It would be better to be a bad person outright — the slimy underhanded fakeness of it all is what makes that type of evil so contemptible.

You, though, you’re just a bit puzzled. Normally, being nice to people works well… but this guy keeps sort of glaring at you… maybe that’s just how his face naturally is? But then, he also doesn’t talk very nice either. Not particularly mean, per se, but you can sort of sense an irritation, like you’ve done something wrong… you try to make the best of it, tell yourself you’re just imagining it. Besides, if he really didn’t like you, he wouldn’t respond when you talk to him, or would sit elsewhere, right? It’s not like you have to maintain the same seats all semester, as long as you work on the required material outside of class. So, you tell yourself, he must just be one of those people that naturally has that demeanor.

You’re not nearly as aware of it, but he makes his own observations of you too. You don’t check your phone nearly as much as he does, but every now and then, you look at something or another, and he always makes sure to subtly turn his eyes to see… it’s usually something stupid, like texts from friends, or worse, what appears to be a boyfriend, some male name you text often.

The first time you’re forced to meet outside of class, at the library per your suggestion — a very awkward interaction, but you seem to be fairly unbothered — you take a moment to check it when it vibrates. You’re sitting at an angle that makes it difficult for him to see without moving in a way that would catch your attention, but by pretending to take a swig of whatever can of liquid caffeine he has today (you had the audacity to comment how unhealthy it is), that he can tilt his head enough just to barely make out your screen without being noticed.

Your phone is open to an email.

The words flash across the screen for just a split second before you turn the screen off, but that one second is enough to make out the top of the screen. Enough time for the ‘hello, (username),’ preface to the email right beneath a very familiar blue logo to register with his brain.

He nearly chokes.

It takes every ounce of willpower to even try to hide the natural reaction — his eyes widen, he goes tense, he has to turn his torso away and pretend to fish something out of his cluttered bottomless void of a backpack whilst trying to refrain from coughing.

But then again, you put the phone away so quickly once you saw what it was… and the video from the other day…?

No. That can't be right.

There's no way. There's no way, there's no way, there's no way.

He can’t get back to his own place fast enough. Dropping the keys trying to unlock the door out of excitement, immediately whipping out his own phone, and he’s on the bookmarks tab before he can even sit down. Back to the leaks site, scrolling down to the tags where they put the girl’s username.

You’re wholly unbothered, going right back to talking to him in that overly-sweet tone, so nice, so frustrating, so torturous. You’re saying something. He has to get you to repeat yourself… no, it was just some pointless question about the homework.

To hell with that, that’s not even remotely important anymore… but he can’t voice that thought out loud, so he’s forced to tolerate the torment of waiting out the rest of your meeting until you finally say you’ll have to keep working later.

The usernames match. The one in your email was the exact same as the one now on the screen.

…

It's one of those moments where what's in front of him is so surreal, he's left so stunned, that he just sits there for a second, completely still, blinking and taking it in. Something that's too perfect to be real. This can't be actually happening, he's mistaken.

And thus he's just left perfectly still, a stupor of disbelief, sitting there in the darkness of the room with only the harsh light of phone screen shining up on his face as it slowly sinks in. It takes a minute — this is just the sort of thing that doesn't happen, it's far too perfect, he has to convince himself it isn't a dream.

And once it registers as reality, it feels exhilarating.

For one, it proves every suspicion right. He really did have a valid reason to be distrusting of your innocent girl act. To think, this whole time you were trying to fool him into believing you were good.

But all along, you were whoring out online, and basically, the fact that you're not upfront about that to someone you barely know is the same as outright lying about it.

Up until this point, life has just been so boring, so disappointing, just going through day to day… even college was just a thing to do because it's what everyone else does. But now? Now he has something exciting. A sudden sense of something meaningful, even if only as an outlet for pure, unadulterated malice.

As for you, well, you get a… well, a follower, but certainly not a fan.

The boy is a world-class hater. It's not passive hating, it's active hating. There is actual effort being put in here, and a lot of it at that.

In terms of the content itself, it's nothing you haven't seen before — some guy leaving comments and DMs calling you a whore and a slut and every nasty name one can conjure, saying you've ruined any hopes of a relationship by doing this, why would anyone ever date you when they can see you naked for a few bucks, telling you to get a real job, blah blah… fairly generic. A lot of the verbiage is certainly non-original, and more or less recycled, specific choices of words and phrases and lingo you know you’ve seen before in those pockets of the internet where certain types of men congregate.

But the sheer dedication to it is what catches you off guard. You're pretty sure this guy is more dedicated to harassing you than you are to the job itself. There's messages from all hours of the day, and you're certain after a short time that he makes multiple accounts for the sole purpose of harassing you. Not to mention he follows or adds you on everything — all the socials you've linked (you keep several associated to your account to lure in horny guys from mainstream sites), adds you on discord and any other messaging app you have (and you have no way of knowing which users are legitimate or if it's him, so you have to add them back and wait to find out each time). One of which you didn't even have listed on your page, so you realize he would have had to go through various apps and search the multiple variations of your username you use until finding you.

Telling him to fuck off accomplishes nothing, in fact he seems to derive great satisfaction from making you upset about it. Tells you that you should be glad — you wanted male attention, right? You wouldn't be posting yourself getting off and flashing your tits on camera for the world to see if you didn't, slut. He adds that insult to just about everything he says to you.

Blocking him only leads to him making new accounts (and then mocking you for trying to block him). You even reached out to a customer support team on one of your social media apps and got him permanently IP banned, which he then immediately circumvented in less than a few hours, making sure to inform you that changing one's IP is so easy and you're so dumb for thinking that would do anything.

But why you, specifically? Why decide to torment you out of every other girl doing this stuff? You don't know. You never asked for this. You never did anything wrong to anyone. You even scrolled back on your social accounts to see if you ever said anything someone could take offensively or had a negative interaction with someone, but found nothing. There's nothing to explain why this one man in particular has decided to come after you specifically, nothing you can think of at least. It feels like the universe just hates you.

It's actually kinda sad. You almost feel bad for this guy, who apparently has so much time to spare and nothing better to do than harass the same girl on the internet day in and day out. You did once shoot back a reply of don’t you have anything better to do?, which actually did make him stop… for about ten hours or so, then it was right back to it.

It's deserved, though, he thinks. E-girls are reprehensible. Taking advantage of guys’ loneliness for money.

Infuriating that you advertise something that he— well, that most guys want so bad, but don't actually give the real thing, only a simulation of it. Make them drool over you, while you hide behind the safety of the screen, far away from what those guys would do to you if they could get their hands on you.

And you know that too, don't you? You know how defenseless you are, know how much danger you'd be in if you teased without putting out like that to a guy in real life, and you do it anyway knowing you're untouchable, you must be so smug about it. Infuriating.

He's not like those simps of yours though, he finds you too morally reprehensible to be drawn to the curves of your body and the parts of you that you post and the sounds you make and how easy it is to imagine the softness of your skin and the way you feel and your warmth and the way you look directly into the camera as you moan and it feels like eye contact—

Anyway, he has standards. And self-respect.

Besides, he knows from stalking your social accounts — including your real ones with your real identity attached, separate from the others — that you have something like a boyfriend. Some guy who shows up in your pictures a lot. What a pathetic idiot. Who lets their girlfriend do this sort of thing? Even disregarding that, does this guy not know you’re meeting with him for your project too? He would never allow you to do something like that, were it him in that position. You must go after spineless guys who will let you walk all over them or something, and would only even accept boyfriends that allow you to do what you do.

That’s why, see, he would never accept something like that. Sure, there would be positives, like getting to see that sweet annoying smile and hear your happy obnoxious precious voice each and every day, and getting to touch you and be around you all the time, and you probably do really nice things for the person you’re with too, and he could always just force you to delete the accounts and never post yourself online again— but, whatever.

Point is, he’s better than stooping so low. He’ll keep living a respectable life, just like he does now — so he thinks as the phone alarm goes off, one of many set reminders to go send you more messages.

It's an awkward relationship, but you're pretty sure he doesn't hate you or anything, which is good. He's hard to read — he seems perpetually either bored or irritated, always slouched over, always maintaining that ‘I really wish I weren't here right now’ tone of voice, lots of heavy sighs or tsks scattered into his speech. Even when you agree to meet at the library to work on the homework and midterm project, he quickly establishes a pattern of being at least ten to fifteen minutes late (without any acknowledgement or apology at that), and frankly, you do the vast majority of the actual work, he just slaps his name on the corner next to yours once it's done.

The torment detracts from your sleep. You're late to your class more than once, trying to sneak in unnoticed by the professor and mumbling apologies to the students you have to slip by to get to your seat. Your partner doesn't seem to care much, at least — he just lazily glances over at you with a flat expression, then goes back to scrolling (he doesn't need to take notes, you'll just send him yours anyway).

He does step in to help when it's too difficult, you can't solve the problem yourself… which is how you realize that, in spite of being remarkably low-effort, he actually does understand the material, much better than you do at that. It's a bit embarrassing, since he makes it out to be so simple, but at least it somewhat compensates for all the work you do.

He's not particularly mean about it, he's just… not nice. The tone and choice of words tends to be not-so-subtly making you out to be dumb for not getting it, or that it's easy, or otherwise belittling.

…You really don't get that one? It's the exact same thing as the last one.

You give a sheepish smile and rub the back of your head.

Aha… sorry…

But it gets done, and that's what matters. You just walk away from each meeting feeling like an idiot, which isn't exactly a great feeling.

But even though you initially felt like the guy didn’t care for you, you quickly notice that he’s started to walk all the way back to your place after your meetings while you talk. You supposed he wouldn’t do that if he didn’t at least somewhat enjoy your company.

And you do try to make conversation. You ask about what other classes he takes…only to learn that he doesn't go to any other classes, since this is the only one where attending is required. He did the math, and he just has to do good on the finals for the other classes to pass, no need to show up for the tests and quizzes and lectures and stuff… and he did research into the professors to find ones where past students confirm they recycle the exact same tests and the past ones are posted online, and he's already got a good cheating method that's only been caught once in all the years he's used it… so there's no point in showing up, he says.

It's a very different mentality than yours, but you try to smile and refrain from saying anything negative. And you try interests and social life as topics, but quickly glean from what little he says that the guy has none of the latter and more or less just a phone and gaming addiction for the former.

Which you have no trouble believing, because good God, does the boy have a totally fried attention span. Even in your meetings, you swear he can't go five minutes without staring at his phone.

Oh, you like that too…?

That does end up helping you find a means to try and get closer. You manage to find one opening, something flash across the screen for some upcoming game. One you've been looking forward to as well.

Huh? You can’t like that thing. He likes that thing. It's not for females. It’s for people with good taste… it’s good… you can’t… someone like you would never be able to properly appreciate it… and now you’re just babbling away with that dumb smile while he’s going through a psychological crisis and rethinking every choice in life because of you. Does this put you two on the same intellectual level...? No, of course not, he has to quickly shake off any such doubts.

You were hoping to get a positive reaction, but you get silent bewilderment in his expression at first, for just a second.

Still, you’re supposed to be boring and a normie… you can’t just suddenly shatter the image of you he’s already constructed… and from the way you're talking about it, you know too much to just be pretending to like something for attention (which is the obvious automatic assumption for when females like media that's actually good and worth consuming).

Devastating. Now he has to consider the possibility that you do have interests and a personality besides being deceitfully sweet and whoring online.

But from your perspective, he just crosses his arms and shrugs.

Kind of, I guess.

And God, then you smile at him again. Every time you do that, it gives him some godawful tight-chested feeling, like you’re trying to kill him with psychic damage.

What gives you the right to be so happy right now anyway? Aren’t you supposed to be in constant distress, now? Is he not doing good enough of a job at tormenting you? You seemed upset, but clearly not upset enough, if you’re still emotionally stable enough to be nice to him. He has to break you, make you too distraught to even go on.

Online, you’re so mean, you never have anything nice to say, even though he’s not that mean to you — well, he could be worse, at least, which is basically the same thing.

Actually, he decides, how you behave in real life will be a good standard of how good he’s doing at making your life miserable. Once it starts to noticeably affect you even in real life, that means it’s sufficient.

But you prove resilient. Each day, you seem to get up, summon some resolve to still enjoy your life, and are still pleasant and friendly… or maybe you’re just really good at acting. Yes, obviously that’s it, since your whole sweetness thing is just an act in the first place.

On your end, the harassment gets worse. It comes in all hours of the day — does this guy not sleep? It’s almost hard to believe someone hates you this much, or even has the energy to keep this up… you start trying to just ignore it.

You tried threatening to report the guy for harassment, but he points out that he hasn’t threatened you with any real harm, and only targeted your public accounts, so no laws broken… and he’s already prepared by taking measures to— well, you don’t understand the spew of lingo that follows, but you gather that the jist is that it would be very difficult to trace him.

So you start to ignore it. You try your best to just not let it get to you, let the comments and messages go without acknowledgement or response. It’s actually somewhat relieving, if you just pretend it doesn’t exist. At first, when you start ignoring him, the messages get more frequent.

But then, it goes quiet for a day. Just around twenty-four hours, you don't get messages, nor comments.

It should make you feel relieved, you think, but it doesn't. Quite the opposite — you feel uneasy. Like something will happen.

He's getting bored, you see. You don't react as strongly anymore as you used to. You used to get so upset at all the messages he sent, and it was so fun to watch how you'd get all defensive and angry in your replies.

Then your replies got shorter, and now— what gives your the right to ignore him? It infuriates him. Dumb whore, treating him like you think you're so much better… or, the gut-wrenching thought passes through his mind, maybe you're busy, you’re probably visiting the guys you sleep around with, since someone like you could never be loyal to that boyfriend he's certain you have.

The only option is to progress things further. He has to think about that. He didn't really have a plan on where to go from here, but now he's started to think about the bigger picture, what he wants in the long term… and that's not going to go over well for you.

It takes some work and digging on his end, but it's worth it.

It's around three in the morning when your phone goes off. It just barely manages to wake you up. You think to yourself that you should remember to turn off the notifications for messaging apps… but for now, you sit up, groggily unlocking your phone. Seeing who the message is from, though, snaps you into full alertness.

A message that makes you go stiff, staring at your phone wide-eyed and slack-jawed, a cold knot of dread forming in your gut that quickly turns to an electrifying surge of pure panic as you read.

The name of your academic institution. The names, emails and phone numbers of your immediate family members. Your full, real name — and your address, down to the unit number.

Your heart sinks into your stomach. The glaring light hurts your tired eyes, but you can't look away.

You know he's just waiting on a response. Probably knows you're panicking, but knows you have no choice but to comply — and you're forced to give him the satisfaction of seeing you type back.

>What do you want from me?

It's only a few seconds before you get a reply.

>From now on, do what I want

>Or I ruin your life.

You hesitate a while before responding. Poor you, you must be so scared now that you're finally getting what you deserve. And even then, you just send back a ‘fine,’ even though it took you so long to respond. You were probably trying to think of how to respond, probably typed out longer potential replies, but decided on that to seem tough or something. That's actually almost endearing.

And oh, it's so, so satisfying to finally see you crumble, even if just a bit, the next day. For you to come shuffling into class for once with a downtrodden, nervous expression, making your way over to your spot without the usual greeting.

…Except that's also irritating. What makes you think you can just not say hello, now that you've established a routine of doing so every day of this class? For all you know, he's just the person you know in real life, so you're basically willingly choosing to potentially disappoint him. Not that you are disappointing him, but like, if he actually cared about your dumb little daily greeting, then he would be. He even gives you several extra seconds, and you still don't do it.

You're still fidgeting nervously, lost in thought when the mumbling directed at you pulls you out of your thoughts.

…Something wrong with you?

You seem to realize your sullen energy and attempt to fix it with a twitching, obviously forced smile.

O-oh, no, I'm just tired, haha… good morning!

He doesn't say anything back, just turns back to phone-scrolling as usual. You realize your melancholy must be showing on your face.

You're being overdramatic, too, he thinks. He didn't even give you any demands yet, since he decided it would be more fun to make you wait in suspense for a few hours or so. Seeing you squirm is funny, but really, you're acting like it's so much worse than it is. What a weakling, so sensitive.

It's just gonna be stuff you're used to anyway…

Which is somewhat true. You're used to the demand for private, custom content.

Men pay you sometimes incredible amounts of money for the stuff. Usually, the customization is about personalization — sometimes it's kind of sad, wanting you to say their name or that you love them while you look at the camera, and sometimes it's just more niche fetish stuff, like pictures of your feet or wearing a weird costume.

But everything this mystery man wants is different — the personalization has to do with the fact that it's painful, humiliating, or both. Moreover, he's never content with the first try.

Stuffing your holes with toys and sitting down on them so they go all the way in, specifically, ‘as many as you can fit’ — but even after the painful effort of getting one in each hole—

>That's not enough.

You can fit at least one more somewhere. And you're intentionally using the smaller toys, aren't you? You won't be able to do that next time, so don't try that again.

Then there's the command to get those clamps on your nipples you used in a video of yours a long time ago, the ones connected to each other by a chain, and to tighten them then pull hard enough for them to come off. You have to take a few deep breaths to summon the ability to do it, and even then, it takes a few tugs to get them to come off. By the time they do, your nipples are swollen and red and your eyes are watery from the sting, but nonetheless, a message comes through within a minute of sending the video.

>You didn't tighten them all the way first.

>Do it over.

Or the one to deep throat that one huge toy you have, the one you used in this one video a long time ago — which you now regret ever posting, since there's a reason that you never used that monstrosity again, much less in your throat. At first you're not even sure you can fit it into your mouth, but you force it somehow.

On and on the demands come. He's not paying for any of it, of course, but the premise is the same.

Still, it's not enough. Come on, you didn't even get it very far in, you have to at least get half down your throat. And you didn't hold the phone close enough, can't hear your gagging choking sounds.

>Do it again.

The timing is often terrible, shortly before or after your classes, or odd hours of the night, forcing you to stop whatever you're doing to meet the demand. Thankfully, though, at least you've never gotten a message from him during your meetups with your class partner — you're certain your distress would show on your face, and it would be hard to come up with an excuse for it.

It becomes such routine, and all happens so quickly, it feels surreal, like you're just forced to accept it and go with it. There’s no time to really process it, as you have to get back to doing your school work and going to class and trying to keep up with your regular video content, it's all so overwhelming, yet so simple, you just have to do what you have to do.

One moment you're slapping yourself in the face while you bounce up and down on a toy so long that it bruises your insides for some jerk that's blackmailing you, and running to class the next, desperately trying to rub at the marks on your face to make them go away.

You're worried that the stress is beginning to show. Your most recent quiz scores are lower than usual, you're getting less sleep. Your insides are always sore. You're paranoid and uneasy, and you know it has to be somewhat evident.

Some of the individual demands have lasting consequences, too. Once you were commanded to choke yourself with a belt on camera, specifically until it left bruises… which you begged and protested against because you had one of your class partner meet-ups scheduled for later the same day, but your tormentor said he didn't care and insisted, so you did it, forcing yourself to go through it… and sending an additional picture at the end just to show the purplish marks in detail, up close.

It wasn't the end of the world for your meeting though — the weather wasn't right for it, but you found something that covered your neck up, at least, so the bruises didn't show. That much, at least, allows you to be at ease… although your classmate seems to be in a particularly bad mood that day.

On another occasion, you find yourself laying on your side, gasping and wincing trying to force one of the larger toys you have into your ass, all the way to the base as instructed, toes curling as you pump it back and forth, in and out… only to be told you weren't supposed to touch yourself while you did it, so, predictably, you have to do it again, the ring of muscle clenching down as it's stretched — and, of course, the act leaves a remnant sensation lasting the rest of the day. You have to rush it too, or you'll be late, due to the horrible timing of the command.

You manage to get to class, but when you move to sit, an ache of pain runs up your spine from your poor abused hole, and you wince, face grimacing at the pain.

It doesn't go unnoticed. The guy next to you, ever observant to everything except the professor, casts a lazy glance over to you, looks you up and down before asking what’s the matter, albeit in a half-caring, bored tone of voice…

You give the oh, nothing, I'm fine! response, stammer out something about hurting your leg yesterday, and he merely gives you an 'ah' of acknowledgement before turning his gaze back down… he rests his chin against his hand so that his mouth is covered up, but you swear, you can detect a slight grin from the shape of his eyes. You suppose it checks out that he'd find your clumsiness amusing, even if it's a lie.

On and on it goes. All the time. Day in, day out. It starts off as once per day, but then your tormentor starts piling smaller requests on top of those. Even beyond the daily video, you get increasingly frequent messages at all times of the day — to take a picture of your tits or ass, or a short video of you fingering yourself, or some sort of angle or pose of your body, writing something on your skin, so on and so on.

He doesn't accept any delays, either. You only get a few minutes to fulfill a demand before getting an impatient follow-up asking what the hold up is. Sleep isn't an excuse either, so you're told, so you have to start turning your phone on loud at night to wake you if need be.

You sense a growing impatience. The frequency increases still, as does the intensity of the content you're forced to make. It's as if it's building up to something — surely it has to reach a limit, or he has to get bored, or he'll ditch you and find a new outlet for his sadistic thrills, you hope. You just hope it ends in a way that's positive for you… but you're afraid of the opposite. What if even after all this, he just ruins your life anyway? It's a very real possibility, one you begin considering increasingly as you think over the whole situation.

The increasing severity and number of demands makes you feel like he's getting more upset, as if you're doing something that makes him mad, even though you have no idea what that could be.

You are right, though.

He's also noticed how much more frequently he gets the urge to demand something from you. How much more the itch has grown, the compulsive need to see you hurting and degrading yourself more and more. You've long since passed the point where he has more videos and photos of you all to himself than those available online — he's been counting — but it's still not enough.

And with the realizations that he's engaging with you more, he realizes that he's also thinking about you more.

No, “more” isn't quite accurate. All the time. Constantly. You never leave his head, everything else feels like a distraction.

And that's only more infuriating. He's very self-aware, realizes it's getting worse, realizes you essentially occupy his thoughts every waking second.

Even then, the distractions aren't working. At one point he realized he literally cannot stop himself from messaging you, it's a compulsion, a need, and the realization of his own lack of self-control regarding it is maddening. He actively tried, told himself to wait until the next day, but just couldn't. Even if he plays games or watches whatever brain-rotting media he tries to consume, his thoughts keep drifting to you. Hell, ever since latching onto you, he’s stopped harassing other random women online in general, and that was pretty much one of his biggest hobbies in the past.

What gives you the right? To get inside his head like that? Make him constantly distracted and wondering about what you're doing, forcing him to keep tabs on you? What makes you think you can just come into his life and control him like this, and think you'll get away with it? You've more or less taken advantage of an innocent person who did nothing wrong to you. Used your body to exploit his weaknesses and manipulate him into doing all this.

You don't get to do that. You have to be held accountable.

You're constantly making him worry about you, what you're doing, who you're talking to, and not knowing is a maddening feeling. It feels like nausea, a sick feeling that completely consumes the mind, rendering it incapable of doing or focusing on anything else, only cycling the same obsessive rage and worry and paranoia until it becomes unbearable.

But there's a way to get rid of that, and give you what you deserve, and get what you owe him all at the same time.

He waits, only another week or so — a frustrating week, but spent planning ahead and gathering necessary stuff — but finally, given the timing, you send a text he was hoping you'd send asking about meeting up again, to finish up the project as the end of the semester approaches.

You're a bit caught off-guard by the message, not to mention how quickly he replies.

>Come over here.

You hesitate, re-reading to try and ensure that you're understanding correctly, and finally ask for clarification that he means to his place.

He says yes. Something about how he's supposed to have something delivered that he'll have to sign, and so he has to be at the apartment when that happens, so, y'know, best for you to come over.

Which is nice.

It's just… odd.

Inviting you over, even if for a required activity, feels very out of line with the person you've come to know, however surface-level said knowing may be. Then again, maybe this is the guy's way of trying to be nice. Everyone expresses appreciation differently.

You're still thinking on it when he adds another text saying that his roommate will be there, preemptively apologizes for any disturbance that will cause… well, you figure if someone else is there, it can’t be anything sinister. That helps you make up your mind, so you agree. At this point, you know each other well enough to warrant trust.

…It’s still pretty awkward, though. The apartment is about like a picture you would expect to see uploaded to the internet as a joke about male living spaces. Borderline barren, barring the computer and the bare minimum furniture and appliances needed to survive, plus some clothes and empty cans and such strewn in various places across the floor, all dark lighting and void of color.

That being said, you quickly realize the apartment is only a studio, and there’s only one bed. The roommate doesn't exist.

And something just feels wrong, in a way you can’t articulate. Like your instincts are urging you to leave. You feel uneasy. Goosebumps spread across your skin. Are you just being paranoid…?

There is something else, though, that immediately catches your attention. You notice that the wall isn’t exposed, rather, most of the room is covered with a layer of some sort of paneling, lining the wall almost as thoroughly as wallpaper. You inquire what it is.

Soundproofing.

An unpleasant answer, but he wouldn’t be so upfront about it unless it was for harmless reasons. You refrain from inquiring about the other odd things you start to notice — locks on some cabinets despite seemingly living alone, a roll of tape sitting on the desk with no discernable purpose.

As awkward as the tension is, you really have no option but to sit on the bed, as its the only surface other than the floor. You try not to contemplate how often the average college-aged boy washes bedsheets.

It occurs to you, though, that right now would be the worst possible timing for a message from your unknown harasser, and you certainly can’t take any photos or videos here… thus, just as you sit down and begin to work, you pick up your phone from where you set yours next to his, and type out a quick message, basically pleading with the unknown man to leave you along for the next few hours, because, as you explain, you literally can’t do anything for the time being.

You read it over, and hit send.

And before you can even put the phone back down, there's a vibration a mere arms-length away from you, as the other phone in the room lights up.

And there, in the notification that pops up on the screen, are the very words you just sent.

…

…

There's a few seconds where nothing happens.

Both your heads naturally turn to the sound the moment it happens, but after that, it's just… still. You’re frozen still, he’s frozen still. Both your eyes go wide, and the quiet seconds pass, processing the information before you.

And then, he sighs, body relaxing, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose, muttering as if met with some major inconvenience.

God, why do you have to make this more difficult.

Besides, he already turned the lock that locks you in from the inside, even though you probably weren’t aware of what it was, so you’re already trapped anyway. And you squeal, of course, predictably, but that’s what the soundproof panels are for.

He's not particularly worried like he would have been any other time — this was the plan now anyway, but you're throwing things off schedule. Yet another transgression to hold you accountable for.

You do try to run. You at least deserve that much credit. He was so close to considering you a genuine marvel of human evolution, with how nonfunctional your survival instincts seemed to be.

But you’re sitting with your legs folded, so, you don’t have the time required to stand any chance of hopping up and running. The moment your legs start to move to stand, he’s already got you by the arm.

You even seemed to process everything a bit quicker than he would have thought. Maybe you’re not that stupid after all, just… a little less.

You still are incredibly stupid though. He’s almost surprised you agreed to come. So naive, so dumb, so trusting.

And so loud. Squealing like a little animal caught by a predator — which, well, isn’t too far off, but it still hurts his ears.

Shut up, shut up, shut up…

You can hear the growling voice in your ear, even now that he has your face pressed into the mattress, arm latched around your waist. You’re squirming so hard too, but even fighting with all the strength you can summon, it feels like trying to push back a brick wall. He seems to notice as much as you do.

…Is that actually the best you can do?

Not the first time he’s said those words to you — though before, it was over text, mocking you into filling all those perverse desires. It feels far more biting now.

And it’s so, so, so satisfying to see you realize just how dumb you are, as you put everything together. To watch you slowly grasp everything, realize just how badly you’ve fucked up. He even flips you onto your back just to see your face go through all the stages of emotion. It’s hilarious, and adorable too. The confusion and betrayal and panic and anger.

Oh, you get so mad. It’s actually the best part. You’re practically snarling now, reaching up to try and claw at him, kicking, baring your teeth. Any traces of the sweet demeanor you once held is long gone as you lash out… and then, a purely and entirely euphoric transition to fear.

Aw. Poor thing. After you struggle so much, your breathing gets faster, the fury dissipates as your eyes well with tears. The demands to let you go turn to miserable little pleas.

Maybe you can go back and forth. Maybe if he taunts you again you’ll get angry once more, and then if he slaps you you’ll get meek and fearful again? That would be nice, to have reliable ways to switch your emotions around, as if controlling them with a button. There will be plenty of time to find out later.

But now he gets the opportunity to finally tell you how long you made him wait for this. Mocks you for how naive you were. Brings up specifics from all those videos you sent him. Did you think it would just be left at that? Did you really not realize it wouldn’t be enough? No, of course you didn’t, and that’s why you ended up coming here like the dumb little slut you are.

And look, you even wore something so easy to flip up, practically easy access. You just have no shame at all, do you. See, it goes in perfectly because you’ve been using those toys for those videos, and… ah, so that’s— that’s what it feels like… holy shit… this is what you basically robbed him of all this time? Now you’ll really have to suffer to make up for it…

Well, you wouldn’t get it. It’s about what you did subconsciously, mind games and all that. His torment was intentional on your end, and that’s what matters. Now you'll get to spend a very very long time atoning for it. You should be happy. You won't even have to worry about making money anymore.

This wouldn’t be happening to you if you didn’t do what you did to him, you know. It’s your fault. He tells you so. And when you look up at him, eyes welled with tears, stammering out a question of what he means—

What did I ever d-do to you…?

—he realizes that it’s… difficult to give that question a concrete answer.

What did you do, really...?

The only problem that remains is how you rushed things. He was at least going to wait until you finished the project, but now it’s incomplete… do professors grant extensions if your partner goes missing…?

[anchorandrope]

Hi I'm Brazilian and I saw your post about us joining and thank you 🫶🏻 I joined yesterday and I'm really lost. Could you recommend me blogs? hld exists here? Are any other updates accounts? other Brazilian larries or whatever, please I need people to follow I'm desperate 😭

hi bby!! welcome to this multiverse of madness, you will be gay here.

UAs: hldailyupdate, dailytomlinson, stylesnews - stylesarchive, hlupdate are inactive now, check them for archive purposes!

Fashion archives: fashionlouist - harryfashionarchive and louisfashionarchive are inactive now as well

Fics: this answer contains a lot

For creators: hljournal, hlcreators, hltracks

Pics & edits: tomlinsonedits, styles-edits - ltpics and hspics are also inactive rn

Gifs: stylinsongifs, lwt-gifs, hes-gifs, also inactive rn - but here are some fan blogs that make amazing gifs (remember to support their work by reblogging and not only liking! likes don't help to boost content here):

@2tiedships2 melanie is historically our gif maker, she has been doing lords work for a damn long time here, i think we all collectively thank her for her service 🫡

@bilouistomlinson logan changes his url a lot but his our purple buddy here so you will always recognise them by their icon 💜 he absolutely adores louis so if you wanna stand by your screen seeing gifs of louis being hot: their blog is a must on your list!

@delicatepointofview ingrid makes gifs with incredible quality, i sometimes find out louis appeared because i see one of her gif set before an UA, really. we appreciate the hard work 🩷

@miss-styles i think lei is not currently making gifs but her work is awesome and if you like harry you can spend ours on her tag 🕺🏻

@creulsummer lorna has plenty of gifs of different stuff, i adore her fall vibes 🍂 her aesthetic is always pleasant to see

okay now, (more) blog recommendations!! even though i may not talk to everyone here, i do love seeing them on my dash so here is a list of larries on my phone: @thechavier @robinniko @kiwikiwiandkiwi @quickpauseinconversations @larryisinlove @28cum @louisarmpits @zouisexo @wdbhgdotmp3 @louisgrayhairs @tommos @louispalooza @daisiesonafield-blog @skepticalarrie @killmymind @nunchailou @braverytattoos @thebirdtatts @handgf @fishandfrog @whatifai @itsnotreal @ishipmutualrespect @stylinsuns @harrylouis @whenyouvequitefinished @sunkissedlouis @farawaytattoo @hs1 @allmylouv @yourgoldenview @thewhitecitrus @bluewinnerangel - im sure im forgetting a lot of people, so in advance im extremely sorry my beloved moots. also feel free to tag your fave blogs in the comments or rb and i'll rb again so new accs can follow them <3

we are all kinda messy and gay, we also tend to vote for "nuanced answer/im bald/secret third option" in every poll so if you don't like that maybe consider moving to threads. its like twitter (instagram's version). the app looks like a social experiment and if the news are late to twitter, i can't imagine how late they are there so good luck

also, i cannot end this blog rec with our bestie <3 shout out to lthqofficial who made a blog here, checked us out for 3 days and left. they were like: nope! bye!! 👋🏻

anyway hope this has helped ❤️‍🩹

[ellejos]

my year of rest and relaxation without rotting and ravaging

Truth be told seeing a person with healthy habits, an organised life and a graceful personality and suggesting that this lifestyle is easy to accomplish is absolutely misleading, because it's not.

We're watching short videos of morning routines created by patrick batemans. We're reading inspirational prompts and quotes from the safety of our couch. We're scrolling through pinterest creating lists destined to dust on our profiles.

I came to the conclusion that the self improvement movement can be just as toxic as self destruction and there is a high risk for developing a depression and/or OCD (failing your goals and ambitions can push you into a downward spiral of rotting and ravaging).

» visualise activites for your relaxation

take a piece of paper and write down what is relaxing for you personally without being to critical towards yourself. If someone tells you journaling is relaxing it doesn't mean it has to be for you. Take your time and take notes whenever you are doing something that lightens your mood. If sitting on a bench and watching people is your way of relaxation suit yourself. Do not choose activites only by the appeal towards your desired aesthetic.

» stay true to yourself

Stay true to yourself and don't neglect your own personality. Self improvement is not about becoming a better version of yourself, it's about finding and refecting yourself in this abyss of modern society. Please be kind towards yourself and do not misconstrue self improvement as perfection, because that's definitely not the same. Considering self improvement as a life lesson and experience is a way healthier approach.

» resting ≠ sinning

Having a long and extended nap, as a treat. Binge watching your current favorite tv show, as a treat. Have a cheat meal, as a treat. Go on a spa day, as a treat - you get the point. Please consider that habits are only healthy if they are in balance. Don't restrict and torture yourself if you feel the need to rest. Professional athletes know, that without resting there is no rising.

» It's ok not to be okay, but it's not okay to stay that way

We all have our past, we all have our skeletons. Previous experiences that shaped our personality are like pieces of clothing that are not fitting anymore but you're afraid to throw them away because of the emotional bond. Fun fact, if your warderobe is full, ypu don't have enough room for new garments. If you cannot let go it's time to clean out your clothes. I'm recommending you to seek professional help through a therapist if your past seems overwhelming or if your feeling mentally unease.

» the sixth sense of relaxing

focus on your senses before or after they are stimulated for a long amount of time by letting them relax. Try sensory exercises (for example breathing exercises), focus on something tacticle with your hands, catch the sunrise/sunset, go into a tea shop and smell the herbs, do yoga, drink water, take a bubble bath, listen to asmr or a new album. Whatever is stimulating your senses in a positive way helps to reduce stress.

Bisous!

[ctrlsugar]

BACK BY REQUEST : MY PERSONAL SERVER TEMPLATE.

below is a guide for the channels, as well as tips and tricks for using this template and a few recommendations for bots. ( link & image heavy )

NOTE: this is an outdated template, and is not the server i currently use - if you would like to see an updated version of this ( my roleplay group or 1x1 roleplay servers, or others ), please let me know!!

GET THE SERVER | FREE ( tips appreciated !! )

BOT SUGGESTIONS.

tupperbox ( for proxying your muses for discord roleplay )

writerbot ( for writing sprints, goals & prompts )

reminder ( for reminders / birthday updates )

threadtracker ( for tracking threads on discord )

TIPS.

messletters ( for fancy text )

this entire tag by @dayslily ( for discord tips & tricks )

turn on community for the forum features ( linked to tutorial )

WELCOME CENTER.

ooc : updates / generally in large community servers you can subscribe to get updates sent to you personal server, this is a good place to send them. alternatively, you can utilize webhooks to send your tumblr notifications to your discord server in this channel. ( see tutorial here ).

ooc : emails / i use this channel to keep track of my logins for various tumblr blogs and other websites.

ooc : reminders / using a bot, i set this channel to have reminders for various things, such as personal reminders, roleplay to do list and even character & partner birthdays

ooc : todolist / you could use a bot, or just manually update this channel with your current todolist.

ooc : drafts / i will occasional leave drafts to replies here so i can come back for them at a later point

BOTS.

bot : writing / my preferred bot for this is writer bot - linked above, i use this channel to set/check my goals, set up writing sprints, and occasionally get prompts for writing.

bot : tupperbox / i like to set up all my tuppers in privacy, so i find having my own sever with a channel makes it easy to change my avatar and other tupper information quick and also to test them without spamming a group tupper channel. ( tupperbox - linked above )

bot : reminders / i will often set up a channel for reminders because i'm super forgetful and having a reminder bot helps me get to tasks in a timely manner ( when i remember to set up the bot!! lol ) ( reminder bot - linked above )

bot : tracker / i'm not sure if this tracker has the function to work cross server yet, you'd have to check with the makers on their github, but this is great for 1x1 and group servers. ( thread tracker - linked above )

DEVELOPMENT.

dev : names / a channel to store ideas for muse names, etomology, etc

dev : prompts / a channel to store ask memes, character & writing prompts, etc

dev : inspiration / a channel to store character/muse inspiration, photos, videos, posts, even just a list of words/aesthetics, etc

dev : brainstorm / a place to spitball ideas for new muses and/or plots, i like to utilize the voice message feature here and just talk out my ideas so i can listen back to them later when incorporating them into a new muse.

dev : headcanons / a channel to store headcanons ( if utilizing the community feature, you could make this a forum and separate the headcanons into posts for each muse : see image below for example ).

dev : faces / a channel to store resources for you muse face claims, i would store social media posts, photoshoots, gif set links, etc ( if utilizing the community feature, you could make this a forum and separate the faces into posts for each face claim : see image below for example ).

ROLEPLAY.

rp : masterlist / a channel to host your own character masterlist, you can format this however you like, or even use forums - you could link to other channels in the muse category.

rp : plots / a channel to post links and ideas for plots wanted for muses and roleplay groups.

rp : wishlist / a channel to post roleplay wishlist items, links, ideas, etc

rp : promotions / a channel to post links for roleplay promotions either to your own groups or groups that you'd like to keep an eye on.

rp : groups / i use this channel to store the links to my current roleplay groups, links to the main blog, any relevant sideblogs, as well as a list of muses i currently have active within them.

rp : partners / helpful for storing a list of mains (for indies), with names, pronouns, links to rules, muses, etc - or for 1x1 lists of partners.

RESOURCES.

all of these are pretty self explanatory, you can store resources you use for tumblr and other types of roleplay in these channels, gifs, icons, templates, themes, etc.

ACTIVE MUSES.

muse : name / you can basically store your muse information, biographies, links to blogs, musings, edits, and whatever else you like. ( if utilizing the community feature, you could make this a forum and separate items into posts : see image below for example )

CONNECTIONS.

ship : name • name / similarly to the muse section, you can store your ship dynamic and details here, links to you partner's blog, ship tag, edits, headcanons, etc ( if utilizing the community feature, you could make this a forum and separate items into posts : see image below for example )

[csuitebitches]

How To Build the Woman You Want to Be - 2

Please go through the first part before doing this. It’s imperative that you understand the basics.

Step Five:

We will use Pinterest to visualise your new life so that you can attain it faster. Create a new board “My Story” and start sourcing the following:

* 3 pictures of your ideal hair

* 3 pictures of your ideal body

* 5 pictures of ideal physical accessories (bags, shoes, nails, jewellery, sunglasses… whatever resonates with you)

* 5 ideal outfits you want to own (casual, underwear, red carpet, brunch, pyjamas)

* 3 ideal hobby pictures (ballet? Horses riding? Reading?

* 5 ideal life pictures (meditating, working out, attending events, getting make up/hair professionally done…. Your ideal lifestyle!)

* 5 free time pictures (how you and your friends would hang out; how you and your S/O would hang out; family, pets…)

* 7 ideal home pictures (what’s your aesthetic - minimal/ Woodsy, what would the bathrooms look like, house or apartment…)

* 3 work life pictures (if you want to work - where would you work, what position, etc)

* 5 pictures of your ideal partner (how they would look, where they would work, dress, etc)

* 3 pictures of how you would relax alone (go for a walk with your pet? Massages? Read alone? You get the gist)

* 7 pictures of your ideal vacation

* 4 pictures of your ideal meals (breakfast, lunch, snacks, dinner)

This is your visual diary. Whenever you feel down, not motivated, lazy, go through this board. This board visualises the best version of you. This is your best self (not was, or will be - this is your best self).

If you can print everything out and stick it on your wall - even better. Nothing like seeing exactly who you’re going to be everyday and claiming it!

Step 6:

It’s analysis time. This is probably going to be the most time-consuming part of the work that you have, but also the the first actual building block towards your Ideal Woman.

- Take a look at your New Story.

- As you read it, make a note (maybe write it on a piece of paper) of all the qualities that you see. Written them as keywords as bullet points. Qualities include all things belonging to your ideal personality (respected, kind, decisive…) and ideal skill set (strategic, creative….).

Ex:

• respected

• kind

• strategic

- Then read the story again and start making a separate note (with bullet points and keywords) about your material life (body type, healthy lifestyle, being clean, attending events, brunches, travelling, your hobbies…)

Ex:

• Toned body

• Clean space

• Reading

- Now read your two lists again. Put a tick mark next to the ones you think are realistic but attainable in at least 3 months. Put a heart next to the ones you feel will take more time and levelling up.

Ex:

Qualities:

• respected ❤️

• kind ✔️

• strategic✔️

Material:

• toned body ✔️

• clean space ❤️

• reading ✔️

• attending events ✔️

- The tick marked list is the list you will start working on immediately. Choose any 2 qualities and 3 material life from the tick marked list. We won’t work on all of them at once because you need to build that habit.

Ex:

• Kind

• Strategic

• Toned body

• Reading

• attending events

- For the next 3 months, you will actively work on your 5 to-dos. With your material life - let’s say for example, a certain body type - start working out from tomorrow itself. I don’t care whether it’s YouTube workouts or gym, you’re going to work on that first step. Or if it’s things like attending events - start by attending events and conferences in your industry or what interests you. Look up online for events happening in your city and go for at least one a month. Everything begins with baby steps.

- With your qualities, let’s say you want to be a good conversationalist. Start researching on the tactics of being a good conversationalist. Also search the opposite - how to recognise a bad conversationalist. Read articles, books, journals and scholarly articles. Practice on strangers when you go grocery shopping or at work. You need to put in the work.

- Not only will you work on your 5 to-dos, but you will set monthly goals for them. You will note down everything - in a journal or your notes app or maybe by taking pictures, however you feel comfortable- you need to quantify your progress.

Ex:

This Month’s Goals:

• Kind - tell my friends that I love them and that they deserve all the love

• Strategic - play brain games like chess to improve myself - play at least 2 times a week online

• toned body- work out for 20 days this month

• attending events - go to 2 conferences this month that are happening in my city or online

• Reading - finish one book this month.

- Every month you will check yourself. Only when you’ve accomplished at least 85% of the tasks will you add a new item from the tick marked list or remove an existing item that you finished.

- Every three months you need to go back to the New Story and your Pinterest board with greater detail. How close are you to your goal? If you think you’ve achieved something, give yourself a pat on the back!

The last and final part of this series will be uploaded after two days.

Part 3

[kekaki-cupcakes]

hello!! Hope you’re doing well!!

could you please do a Leo x mortal reader cafe au like the Connor stoll one? And could the reader be a Greek mythology nerd also please have a little brother who she’ll randomly quiz about the Olympian gods?

have a nice day 😚😚

heyyy i didn't get your whole request in but i got the vibe dw and also kind of made a moodpboard for it cause I loved the whole aesthetic and no one requests mood boards <3 LISTEN TO EXPRESSO BY SABRINA!

Leo Valdez x Reader--- cafe au

»»————-　★　————-««

“Hello,” you said, looking up from your screen for a millisecond, “what can I get you today?”

When whoever it was ordering didn’t respond, you raised an eyebrow, hand hovering over the digital menu. The boy frowned at the screen above your head where it listed all the different drinks. He had the nicest brown curls, you noticed, and looked back down before he caught you staring. 

He tapped his fingers quickly on the counter. Sabrina Carpenter's new song was playing over the cafe speakers. It sounded like summer.

“How many espresso shots are you legally allowed to put in one drink?” The boy asked with a crackly voice. He had dark smudges under his eyes. And on his hands. Huh. You really needed a camera to look into at times like this, for comedic effect. Like the office.

“About six,” you said, dropping your customer service voice with a shrug, and opened up a new order on the tablet, your bracelets jingling. “What can I get you today?” 

You loved your bracelets. Some were from that second hand store down the street full of goths and grandmas where you’d bought yet another version of the Odyssey yesterday, and the rest were from your little brother. 

You never admitted it to anyone, but he’d made them based on all your favorite Greek gods. The ones you were wearing today had pomegranate seed charms and antler horn patterns.  

His eyes widened considerably. They were brown. And sparkly. “What happened to your voice?”

You squinted at him. Someone else came into the cafe with three little dogs stuffed into their giant handbag. 

“That was my customer service voice.” Your brain was finally receiving enrichment in messing with this cute greasy boy. You put it on again, paired with a fake smile. “What can I get for you today?” 

He chuckled, and hitched a giant canvas tote bag over his shoulder. There was a giant inked cat with butterfly wings on it, and a long metal pipe sticking out the back. You had a feeling this boy would steal your name if he got ahold of it, or trap you in a ring of flowers deep in a forest.

“Uh,” he trailed off, and then winked, scrunching up his entire face. “Surprise me.”

You blinked at him. How entirely helpful. You watched him pull an entire fucking old fashioned pocketwatch out of his pocket to check the time. 

Medium was the most commonly ordered size of drink, so you selected that, and then a caramel latte with whipped cream. You had that knack that every person in your generation seemed to have been born with. 

Selecting random objects and flavors to match someone’s vibe precisely. You just happened to be a barista. 

For instance, this talkative sleep deprived boy was rocky road slices with peanuts in them, and torn open sugar packets, and caramel. Your coworker, Lou Ellen, who was wiping down tables behind the handbag dog man, was those butterfly shaped ice-cubes and home brewed black coffee from a saucepan and dragon fruit juices.                            And that thick book on Greek mythology she’d bought you for your birthday last year [she’d nicked it from the library and peeled the sticker off]. 

“Four dollars and sixty cents,” you said patronizingly, in your customer service voice. He grinned like you had just invented the funniest inside joke ever, and handed over five dollars in fifty cents coins.

“Keep the change.”

You printed out the receipt and reached for a medium sized cup and the ballpoint pen from a uni campus open day, after pocketing the generous tip of forty cents and a paperclip. 

What a gentleman. “Name?” 

“Leo Valdez, super sized Mcshizzle, bad boy supreme,” Leo Valdez super sized Mcshizzle bad boy supreme said happily, as one of the handbag dogs escaped the bag and started chewing on his laces. 

You desperately needed that camera to look into now. You should be the star of a sitcom at this point, with you as the tired main character dealing with silly customers while desperately longing to go home and read your books, Lou Ellen as the hilarious trashy best friend, Will [your coworker who was currently taking out the trash] as the angry bisexual lumped with the night shift crew, and your little brother, who would pop in at random times in each episode to deliver the punchline.  

Instead of letting the credits roll, unfortunately, you scribbled out an unintelligible scrawl to represent the complete nonsense you were supposed to instead. Your smile was strained this time. “I’ll call you when it’s ready.”

Leo [you assumed that was his name] beamed. “Thanks!”

It was only as you frothed the milk and tried not to burn your fingertips on the spout did you realize that the song was still going. Lou must’ve looped it, as she did with every song ever until she got sick of it and hated it. 

You nodded your head and tipped the bubbling milk into the cup, reaching for the tube of caramel sauce. “Soft skin and I perfumed it for ya, I know I Mountain Dew it for ya.” 

“That morning coffee, brewed it for ya.” You rolled your eyes to no one and tipped the extra caramel sauce into it. It was ten o'clock at night, and your shift had just started. Morning coffees meant college students rushing in at two a.m. so they could finish their projects. 

You shook up the whipped cream. “One touch and I brand-newed it for ya.” 

One of the most satisfying parts of your job, apart from spinning around and introducing yourself as the manager [you are not the manager] when someone demands to see the manager [who comes in once a month, looks around, and leaves again], is the whipped cream. The sound of it and the little pattern it makes just itches a scratch. 

You smile as you finish the swirl, which sinks into the cup of espresso shots and caramel milk. You spin around, “now he’s thinkin’ ‘bout me every night, oh…”   

“Is it that sweet? I guess so,” you hum under your breath, and ducking the spray bottle Lou Ellen launches over your head, you stick a straw in the cup and walk to the bench, where Will’s serving the man with three purse dogs a jelly donut. 

Leo’s digging through his bag while you wait, not bothering to rush him and leave the 24/7 rip off starbucks diner empty. 

You pick up the pen and take the lid off with your teeth, doodling a little cat on the blank bit of the cup. The tail comes out all wrong, and one of the whiskers slides halfway around on the plastic with a scratchy sound. 

You add rushed fairy wings to its soft looking back, and hand the cup over as Sabrina Carpenter sings about being a singer. Her voice is so pretty. Like caramel. “There you go.”

Leo grinned at you, and while you watched in absolute horror, proceeded to pour an entire monster energy drink he’d pulled from his tote bag into the perfectly made coffee. 

“Excuse me?” you whisper shrieked. 

He blinked at you owlishly, and you tried not to notice how warm his eyes looked in the vintage yellow lights of the shop that made everything seem seventies. “What?”

“That’s enough caffeine and chemicals to give a water buffalo a heart attack,” you said, pointing at his awful concoction. It started to fizz. You wondered if the building had chemical reaction insurance.

“I’ve got a lot of work to do,” Leo shrugged, and picked up his cup happily. He looked down at it, and a grin split across his face. “I got a drawing!”

»»————-　★　————-««

It was only a few days later when the bell rattled quietly by the door and you looked up to see Leo and smiled despite yourself, fingers tapping on the cup in your hand, wear the ring you’d made from that paperclip sat, did you realize what role he would play in your heart shaped ice-cubes Sabrina Carpenter soundtracked paperback books late night set ballpoint pen sitcom.

The love interest. 

»»————-　★　————-««