#today's word count

[pacific-rimbaud]

Today’s word count: Fantasy Gothic: 3,607 words (2,789 in outline/notes, 818 in draft) Opening line: “It was for the sake of My Lady’s vanity that I wasn’t fitted with a hangman’s noose.” The narrative voice is not what I was expecting it to be. I don’t really want this to have any comedy in it, but she’s kind of funny and salty. I’m going with it. I love the themes, outline has me super excited, and opening scene has a ton of momentum. We are going (spooky) places.

[bioware-bard]

1.967

that's the amount of words I managed to write tonight for a project I should've started weeks ago.

I'm gonna go celebrate by hopefully writing 1.967 more.

[katarina-writes-about-jesus]

Today's word count: 1580 words.

[tcsernisauthor]

📚 Today's word count 📝

I wrote 3769 words across two of my WIPS today! ✒️

Now, I'm at 115,523 words on Greykin Valley and 167,060 words on Nosferatu 8: Renascence 📖

[letmetellyouaboutmyfeels]

OH GOD IT’S FINALLY FINISHED

At last, The Gang Plays D&D is complete! *collapses* I know a lot of people seemed excited for this one so I hope it lives up to expectations. I had a lot of fun writing this and I hope that I also was able to do it in such a way that even if you know nothing about tabletop roleplaying, you’re able to understand what’s going on with the game.

Anyway knock yourselves out! I’m going to go have a nap.

Title: Descendants of Cyrano

Rating: E

Pairing: Buck/Eddie

Words: 55,312

Summary:

People have their characters romance each other all the time while playing Dungeons & Dragons. There's deep meaningful monologues and sometimes some crying. It's normal.

"Normal" is definitely not the word for whatever Buck and Eddie are inflicting on the rest of the 118.

[rotten-dan]

very old sloppy comic i drew because I wanted to draw sibling hugs and it got out of hand ´ `) i like thinkin abt em...

[smoosnoom]

what if i wrote a quick oneshot for byler again . would anyone want that

[charmac]

Which episodes have the best Dennis and Mac ship moments?

I wouldn't necessarily say Mac and Dennis have "ship moments" that you can pick and label as the "best" (other than what would make sense as scenes for compilations/edits?) and I'll defer to @psymachine's answer to a question similar to this: don't watch this show for Macdennis moments/episodes.

I can pretty confidently say that Mac and Dennis (and the show) will be lost on whomever decides to go at it through the lens of "best ship moments". Because what is considered a good "ship moment" for something as fucked as their relationship?

Mac is canonically admittedly in love with Dennis, so it's not hard to pull a ton of "ship moments" from his relentless pursuit: you have attempted kissing, erotic dreams, baby trapping, sex doll Dennis, room trapping...all stellar attempts on Mac's side and all important aspects for their relationship (Gets Romantic being one of my favourite episodes), but those moments are almost all, in the most blatant way to put it, sexual harassment. Sexual harassment of Dennis that was essentially born and grown from Dennis' conditioning of Mac's sex life in the seasons before: making and recording sex tapes for him, teaching him the best way to get sex is through carefully orchestrated systems and schemes made up of lies and deceit, that getting off has very little to do with a second (willing) participant.

Barring their individual personalities and mental illnesses, what ends up coming from Mac heavily relies on what comes from Dennis years before, and what is eventually ongoing between both of them (reaching batshit levels of sex chicken) exists among and within that all. IMO, placing any specific "best" on a moment for them as a ship is almost impossible without reference to everything before it (and an actual understanding of it all).

That being all said, what I would call the best ship moments for the two of them are what's hidden between and underneath the hard punches of their back and forth, the subtleties that are continually ongoing (mostly the ones that lead you to understand that Dennis is in it, even when Mac is on the offensive), this shit that's impossible to pin out of context:

The way Dennis gets even stupider when he's wrapped up in an idea with Mac (Timeshare, for example) and the way he attempts to cut off his outbursts when dealing with Mac's own stupidity (see Frank Retires) (and Recession is great for both of these). The fact that Dennis will push past his own grievances for little reason other than to make Mac happy (Suburbs) and the fact that at the end of it all, he's always going to end up going home with Mac (Divorced.. mm). (For all of this in one shot: Inflates)

And for Mac, in more recent events with Dennis on the offensive, when his ever desperate vie for Dennis' attention and affection is pushed back on in favour of being the Mac Dennis truly wants. The Mac Dennis fell in love with decades ago.

[potatocrisp]

Still being very serious about elden ring

[ox-imagines]

In the Vault

Tohma Ishibashi x f!reader

2.5k words

CW: smut. sex. MINORS DNI!!

“Come with me,” your boyfriend’s voice was hushed, unusually urgent, his arm hooked tightly to yours. Tohma had asked you to meet him at Frostheim’s dorm; you’d barely made it through the door before he’d latched to you to whisk you away. He led you to the grand, icy staircase, taking you downstairs. To the Vault, you presumed. Your feet moved quickly to keep up with him down the stairs.

“Is something wrong?”

He didn’t answer, his eyes fixed ahead. Once you reached the hall at the end of the staircase, he wasted no time in pulling you through the door. As soon as the door was closed your back met the cold wall. Tohma had you caged, his steely gaze darkened and locked to yours, his chest rising and falling harder than it should’ve been. “I’m- sorry for this lapse in judgment, but…” his eyes trailed down your form before his lips met yours roughly. Your head was pressed back to the wall for a brief moment until his hand replaced the hard surface, his fingers tangling in your hair as he kissed you more insistently. Though shocked, you yielded to him, your hands running up his back as you parted your lips enough for him to slip his tongue in. He groaned into the warmth of your mouth and fully pressed his body to yours. The unmistakable bulge already tenting his pants rubbed against you and he huffed softly, his eyes fluttering closed as he pressed his hips harder against yours. When he was out of breath, he pulled away and began loosening his tie. “Here,” he panted, gesturing toward his desk.

A shiver of anticipation ran through you and you did as you were told, moving to sit on the edge of the table. 

His sharp eyes darkened predatorily and he shook his head slightly. “Oh no, love. Turn around.”

His words went straight to your core and blood pounded in your ears as you turned to face the desk. He hummed appreciatively, the sound accompanied by the soft fabric rustle of him discarding his jacket and top on one of the chairs. You expected the sound of his belt next, but instead were greeted by the warmth of him behind you. His large hand moved your hair over and his lips connected to the sensitive skin of your neck, his other hand intently fondling over your hips and breasts. He began unbuttoning your shirt, the Vault’s cold air embracing your skin as he revealed it. After a moment, he released you and stepped back. “Finish undressing.” The tone he used made it clear to you he’d be watching you do so, his voice dripping with piquant lust. 

While you did as you were told, the sound of him undoing his belt finally greeted you. You trembled, an innate, unintended reaction to the noise. You could imagine the hungry smirk on his face as he watched. Ignoring your better judgment, you stole a glance behind you at him. His pants were undone and pushed down enough to free his bulge, veins faintly trailing paths up his defined abdomen from under the edge of his boxers; his muscular forearms flexed as he removed his monocle and gloves. He caught you looking and raised an eyebrow. 

“Did I say you could turn around?” Though Tohma’s tone was soft, you knew better than to trust it. It was the voice of a shepherd addressing his flock, but you were a lamb being led to slaughter. You immediately faced away from him again and the click of his shoes against the tile drew near to you. You’d stripped down to your undergarments despite being instructed to finish undressing. Such impudence wouldn’t be permitted. Two of his fingers slipped between your skin and the fabric at your hip, drawing it away from you. “What’s this?” It was a rhetorical question; you held your tongue. He knew you knew your mistake the same way you knew not to answer the question. Behind you, he crouched slowly, sliding your underwear down your legs. A brief tap on your ankle signaled for you to step out of them. “I’ll be keeping these as payment for your little transgression until I see fit to return them.” Great. You’d be going back across campus to your dorm without underwear, then. He smirked softly at how wet the garment was, the thought of how wet you must be.

You placed your palms on the desk in front of you for support as you began to feel lightheaded. His fingers ghosted just above your spine, sending a shiver through you, then unclasped your bra with practiced ease and slid the straps from your shoulders.

“Bend over.” The statement was nothing short of a command. An ecstatic flurry of butterflies swirled in your stomach as you obeyed, leaning down onto the desk. The icy surface quickly sapped your skin’s warmth, but you didn’t mind; you were far more focused on the fire burning hot at your core. Fingers rubbed carefully between your legs, prodding, teasing, his skin cool against your heat. He didn’t provide enough pressure or depth to give you any gratification, no, only enough to further excite you. Meanwhile, his other hand slipped up your back, lightly and tauntingly, before sliding into your hair. 

All at once, his hand was gone, his torso was pressed to your back, and, consequentially from how he was now laying against you, his arousal pressed against your ass. You could feel his warmth through the fabric of his boxers, the way he was straining against the garment. “Now,” he whispered, his breath tickling your shoulder, “I wish I could take my time with you today, but unfortunately I do have other business to attend to, so we’ll have to make this quick.” As soon as his warmth had appeared over you, it was gone again. Though you missed the feeling of him blanketing you, you wouldn’t trade it for the sight of him. Long, even strides carried him around to the other side of the desk. There wasn’t a single visible sign on his lithe, confident form that would suggest he was bothered by the frigid air of the Vault; just lean, rippling muscle and that perpetual smug smirk. He knelt and opened a drawer, producing a nondescript box. You couldn’t see in it from where you were, but as he returned the box to its spot, you caught the increasingly familiar sight of a shiny square of plastic in his hand.

You stifled an anticipatory whine as you watched him circle back around the desk toward you, condom in hand. “Somebody seems quite ready, hm?” He chuckled, a warm, deep amusement in his voice that belied his usual chilled demeanor. “Don’t worry, love,” he leaned toward you once more, his lips brushing your ear and his voice dropping hair-raisingly. “I’ll give you everything you want and more.” In one swift motion, he tangled his hand back into your hair, his forearm pressing along your spine as he shoved you back down toward the desk. Your breath fogged the polished surface of his desktop. “Look at you,” he purred as he drew back, admiring you. His voice was accompanied by the crinkle and tear of the condom’s wrapper, then a soft hiss from him as he freed his cock from his boxers. You felt his warmth draw near before you even felt his touch. “We don’t have time for the prep I usually give you, love, but you’ll be fine,” his voice was like honey in your ears; thick, warm, sweet; convincing you you’d be fine, telling you you’d be fine. “You always take me so well.” 

This time you couldn’t restrain yourself from letting out a whimper, his words and tone coaxing it out of you almost willingly. 

“Good girl,” he was smiling wickedly as he stepped closer, placing his hands on your waist and lightly squeezing. He leaned closer, kissing your back, the softness of his lips turning into a subtle sting as he marked you. Fresh, purple bruises bloomed on your skin as he worked, scattered among fading yellow ones. As he leaned in to you, his cock brushed against you; it was so deliberate, everything he did was so deliberate. His level of self-control was immeasurable, you figured; how else could he possibly maintain such composure whilst so obviously aroused?

One of his hands left you, his body drawing back from yours, and you tensed in anticipation. A soft, thoughtful hum left him, then he put his hand back, lifting your hips up with ease and using his foot to slide your legs further apart. You sighed eagerly at his effortless manhandling, your eyes fluttering as you let your weight shift more onto the desk.

He set you down, one hand once again moving off of you as the other slid lower, to the side of your thigh. Then he was close again, closer this time, his tip pressing against your slick lips before pushing in. A throaty, appreciative hum escaped him as the wet-hot tightness of your walls swallowed him. Meanwhile, whimpers and whines fell from your lips at the painful sting, as if he was splitting you in half. He pressed in, stretching you, his fingers curling into your plush thigh and his other hand coming to rest on your shoulder.

The pain melted into pleasure as he filled you, a strangled gasp falling from your lips as his length pressed familiarly against your sweet spot. “Tohma,” you breathed his name out quietly as a satisfied ecstasy flooded you. You needed more, so much more, but even now you felt so full of him, and it felt so right.

“I suppose that means you’re ready then, love.” His tone was devious, corruptive; you could hear his expression, his grin and his darkened, narrowed eyes. He knew full well you’d hardly had enough time to adjust to his girth, but it didn’t matter. After all, you were on his time and under his control. Without further warning, he pulled nearly all the way out of you with a barely-audible sough, followed by a marginally louder moan as he thrusted back in, hard. You yelped, but didn’t even have time to recover as he repeated the motion again, and again, and again, setting a relentless pace.

“Such a pretty little slut for me, hm? So sweet and obedient and needy,” the mild degradation was spoken tenderly, more like an admiration even as his words sent chills up your spine and drew more whines from you. Each sentiment was punctuated with another forceful thrust.

You moaned pitifully as he fucked you into his desk without repreive. The sturdy wooden fixture bore witness to nearly every aspect of Tohma’s life with how much time he spent in the Vault nowadays, so it was only right it got to witness and participate in this scene. It supported you as it bit into your thighs, each of Tohma’s thrusts driving you harder against its polished surface, each slam of his hips sending another wave of heat through your stomach and another burst of stars behind your eyes.

His name was drawn out of you incessantly, a desperately mewled plea. By now the side of your face was pressed into his desk, the appliance and Tohma’s grip on your waist the only things holding you up now. Your knees were pressed into the front panel of the desk lest your shaky legs gave out and the top half of you was melted onto the desktop. Despite the Vault’s chill air, a sheen of sweat glistened over your body; drool pooled between the corner of your mouth and the desk as mental faculty gradually gave way to delusion. 

Like a spring being coiled tighter, tension spread through your body, each of Tohma’s thrusts somehow sending even more pleasure crashing through you than the last. “P- pleasee,” you begged to be released from the ever-increasing tautness spreading through every inch of your body, more a noise than a word.

“I know, love,” Tohma’s voice was mildly strained, his breathing ragged, but his tone was still smug, velvety. Of course he knew you were close; you were splayed tensely under him, the exertive tightness in your every muscle causing you to tremble a little more with every second that passed. The hand that had braced him against your shoulder slid down callowly, a sharp contrast to his usual deliberation. His fingers found your clit, rubbing harsh circles against it as he tried to keep the pace of his thrusts steady.

You were gasping for breath, a futile cause as the air you took in left in the form of wanton moans. Shaking uncontrollably, your walls clamped down on his length, drawing a sharp inhale and then louder groans from the ghoul. His lips were on your back again, the softness of the gesture a stunning foil to the intensity of literally every other action between you at the moment. “Good… come undone for me, yes,” he mumbled against your hot, damp skin. You had no other choice but to obey, the words breaking down your final vestiges of control.

Tohma held you as you cried out, his hand leaving your increasingly sensitive nerve bundle so he could wrap his arm around your waist. You trembled violently, clenching rhythmically around him, your hands balled into fists against the desks. Your head began to clear rather slowly, his thrusts easing up without fully stopping; moments later he bit into your back to muffle himself, his moans vibrating against your skin. Panting, he stilled. His softening cock still inside you, he laid against your back, his arms loosely wrapped around you while he calmed himself down.

“Thank you,” Tohma whispered after a long, quiet respite, lifting himself from you. “Here, love, let’s get you presentable.” He tenderly helped you stand up, picking you up once you’d faced him and gently setting you on his desk. After quickly stepping away to retrieve his pocket square from his jacket, he returned and knelt before you, carefully wiping you clean with the rich, soft piece of fabric. It was set aside while he gathered your clothes (besides your underwear, of course) and helped you into them, straightening them out caringly and fixing your hair. With you taken care of, he turned his attention to himself, removing and disposing of the condom and retrieving the pocket square to wipe himself off as well.

He tucked himself back into his boxers and re-zipped his pants, then looked up at you with a fiendish grin. “Since I have something of yours…” he tucked the damp, stained pocket square into your hand, chuckling as he turned to finish dressing. You couldn’t help but watch the way his muscles rippled under his skin as he pulled his shirt on. “Now, why don’t you go home and take a nice warm shower? Have some water or tea after.” He leaned into a sweet kiss, any hint of his domineering facade melted away as he cared for you. “If I don’t see you tonight, I’ll at least make sure to message. I love you.” With one more kiss and a faint smirk, he sent you on your way, leaving you to walk across campus sore and with nothing on under your skirt.

[murderandcoffee]

turns out that writing fake magnus archives statements is REALLY fun

anyway if anyone is interested in a flesh statement about a guy and his fashion designer wife, I'll probably be posting it either here or on ao3 within the next couple days

[skibasyndrome]

there's making your blorbo a pathetic sad little mess. and then there's writing him so heartbroken and desperate that he thinks he could die like this when he finally gets to fuck his ex again

[the-one-who-lambs]

A summary of how my writing has gone today:

-successfully wrote part of the scene i meant to finish today

-got distracted by tumblr because I wanted to make fun of them for the miscommunication I'm actively writing

-got distracted by talking to mutuals

-opened discord and got distracted by talking to mutuals and friends again

-tries to mute and deafen to finish writing the scene

-hears a YIPPEE from the soundboard and went to go see who did that

-sees that @i-eat-deodorant shared my CotL my immortal crackfic I made for april fools

-I am convinced to do a dramatic live reading of the cotl my immortal fic

-I finally accept that I am not going to finish the scene tonight.

[tangledstarlight]

let the cold come in (you'll chase it away)

clarke learns she hates the cold the hard way, bellamy keeps showing up to keep her warm. aka 5 times bellamy gives clarke something to keep her warm and the 1 time clarke gives something to bellamy. “Bellamy, seriously what—?” is all she manages before he’s letting out a small sound of success and is standing up and closing the distance between them in two quick strides. All her questions and annoyances die on her tongue as, carefully, slowly, gently, he reaches out to tug a soft hat over her head, tucking hair behind her ears and making sure it’s tugged securely over them, his fingers are chilly where they brush against her skin, calluses rough and she’ll blame the snow that’s started falling in earnest for the way she shivers and has to squeeze her eyes shut. “There,” he says softly, fingers lingering on her cheeks for a heartbeat before they’re gone. She suddenly feels colder than she was before.

bellarke | word count: 11,287 | complete | ao3

[1nsan3]

River Cartwright x Reader

I wrote this scene to go into the long River x Reader fic I'm writing but it ended up not fitting so I'm just going to post it on it's own!

Rating: G

Words: 405

River shows up at your door absolutely battered and bruised.

“God not again,” you gesture him in and out of the rain.

He smiles at you, but it’s obvious he’s in pain.

“I hope you’ll still sleep with me when I’m covered in blood.” You laugh, handing him an ice pack.

“I think I actually find you more attractive when you’re beaten to a pulp.” A brief glint shines in his eyes as he laughs before wincing in pain.

“I don’t know if that bodes well for me.” You smile and shake your head before grabbing the rubbing alcohol. “This is, um, going to hurt a bit.”

“Yeah I know. Just get it over with,” River winces when you tap the alcohol to his temple, but stays quiet otherwise.

“How’d this happen anyways?” you ask, grabbing a bandage. Tenderly you hold his face still as you bandage his wounds.

“Oh you know, the usual,” he says as he fiddles with the bandages.

“Oi! Leave ‘em alone. I might not be a good agent but I am a decent nurse. Now take this and go lie down.” You hand him some nondescript pills and point him to your couch, settling next to him.

“You’re a good agent,” 

“What?” You’re unsure if you’ve heard him correctly, his speech is mumbled by the fact that he’s clearly been punched in the mouth. 

“I said, you’re a good agent.” This time his message is clear, and it makes you blush but you resist the urge to hide your face.

“Thanks. Not sure what it means coming from you, but thanks.” 

“Oh fuck off,” River laughs. It ends in a wheeze from his bruised ribs but your smile is worth it. The meds must be kicking in because he reaches out to grab your hand, pulling you closer to him. You go willingly, the action spurring a warm feeling in your chest. River is almost never this affectionate with you. You settle your other hand on his stomach, one of the only places he’s not injured. Moving his hand up your arm he settles it at the base of your skull, pulling you to rest in the crook of his neck. You rest your forehead on his collarbone, breathing in the smell of disinfectant and his aftershave. Mostly you’re just glad that River is okay, but you can’t lie and say you aren’t reveling in the attention he’s showing you.

[what-do-you-mean-theyre-evil]

The way the HP girlies on TikTok are fighting for their lives trying to prove that Harry can beat Percy, I'm immensely pleased 🤣