#writing qs

[bullet-prooflove]

I need to know how you keep track of all your OCs?! Do you have a spreadsheet?! A written list?! A super big brain that remembers everything?! And how do you keep coming up with such different and complex characters?! It's wild, it's amazing..

Hi,

I love this question! Thank you for asking it!

So now I actually have a spreadsheet because I jump around different fandoms, it’s ordered by TV Show. Everytime a personal detail comes up like perfume, history, it goes into the spreadsheet. When I first started writing I did not do this and it was a struggle to remember everything esp when I was writing for so many different fandoms.

With some characters I have their details more mentally ready than others. Like Gina and Travis, I know everything to do with them by heart. Same with Alden & Lisa. Dean A & Isobel. I think it’s because I’ve done so much work on them and their stories that I feel like I know them so well, even then they still throw in surprises. (Travis’s illness, Alden’s deceased child, Isobel’s cutting.) I didn’t plan for any of that. I think when you’re a character driven writer it allows more flexibility than if you’re a plot driven one because the characters take you on a journey where anything can happen. Plot driven writers are a lot more rigid in that respect.

So when I’ve developing a character, I think of the guy I’m writing for and what kind of partner he needs or could bounce off/ or what’s they’re core value/desire. Also if they have a partner in the show, I try to write someone very different otherwise what’s the point?

An example is Dean Winchester lives a very transient, almost secretive lifestyle due to the nature of his work. He doesn’t stick around in one place for too long and is very committed to his cause and is resistant to relationships but happy to have casual engagements. However there instances in the series we see him playing house/talking about a normal life almost wistfully. At his core he wants a home but in his own head can never have that.

The kind of partner I envisioned working for him was someone very independent, who had their own life so Dean could flit in and out of it without feeling the pressure or issues that came with being in a traditional relationship. I wanted the character to have awareness of the supernatural shit but I also didn’t want to go the  another hunter route as I’d seen it done so many times and I found it boring because it’s basically the Winchester Boys +1, and it comes back to that thing about being independent.

Also I had a massive thing for Fire Towers at the time so it gave me the idea for a forest ranger who situated in this little town at the edge of a mountain/forest reserve and has to deal with all the mad normal/supernatural shit that lives in the forest. This allows Dean a place to always come back to if he wants to, a home as it were. It also gave me a little history for them. They met because they were both ‘hunting’ the same thing, collaborated and then with all that left over adrenaline sparks fly. As the town is a tourist town Harlow is used to people just ‘passing through’ so most of her relationships have been transient so she doesn’t expect anything from Dean, despite the fact he keeps coming back. Also because her family are from along line of ‘forest rangers’ who have an affiliation with the mountain, they both things in common in terms of an irregular upbringing.  

The nature of the transient relationship also adds drama esp with Dean wrestling with wanting more but not being able to give. It’s an internal battle for him when he starts to develop feelings. It gives you a lot to work with outside of the usual monster of the day plot (which is also great for drama).

All of It sort of plays off something I call cause and effect and this is what a lot of fics/characters lack in fan fiction. If you say a character does a job like an ADA or a cop, you have to think of what got them there to where they are today and how that shaped them and the choices they made because of it and also what’s going on in the current climate for a person in that position.

For example female cops really run a gauntlet in terms of sexism and misogyny. From the people they police and sometimes their coworkers. At some point in their career they are going to encounter it, so how do they handle it? Are they dealing with it now in they’re current unit? Or have they in the past? Has that created enemies? What does did it look like? Was it make the tea hun? ‘Accidental’ groping or something worse.

That’s just one job, what about ADA or a winemaker or doctor? What challenges have they faced. It’s different for every position.

It’s the same if you say someone is dyslexic or comes from foster care, you have to think how those things have shaped they’re lives, how does it affect them today, how are you going to let the audience know in a natural way.  A dyslexic person, may use colour coding to help them identify files quickly, they may voice record as opposed to write notes. Someone whose had an injury in the past is probably going to have some residual pain, so they may use a cushion, be stiff when it gets cold, or pop pain killers. It’s those extra details that add to a character and define them from anything else other people are writing.

Sorry I realise I had a massive ramble there but I get massively enthused when it comes to qs like this!

[asteraceae-blue]

20 questions for writers

Tagged by @bourbon-ontherocks, thank you friend!! ✒️📜

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

26

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

466,050, who the hell lets me talk that much?!

3. What fandoms do you write for?

GLOW, Sherlock, Stranger Things has made it in there, I was also diving into the Jurassic World fandom but got derailed. Older fandoms over on FF.net included Castle, Bones, and Crossing Jordan way back in the day

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

The Pull of My Heart to Yours

Five

Paragon

Be Prepared (co-written with the lovely @mizjoely)

Silk

5. Do you respond to comments?

I try to answer everyone! Sometimes I'll get busy and forget to respond, but I do my best to at least say thank you to everyone who comments

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

The angstiest? Probably Watching the World Burn

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I think most of my fics have overall happy endings, but the two that are borderline saccharine are That's Life and Golden Repair. I basically ended them with a joyful, romcom soundtrack 🤮

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I have had some, unfortunately. It used to get to me a lot more, because, you know, we all do this for fun and for free. Now I just delete the comments and move on with my day 🤙

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Oh yeah. Ohhhhhh yeah. Typically romantic, sometimes angsty, occasionally plot-what-plot explicit. I let the story tell me what it needs, if you will.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Have not, but I still have a prompt in my Inbox for a GLOW/Sherlock crossover that I would like to get to at some point

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Sort of - years ago I had someone leave a comment on a fic telling me I was doing a bad job with a good idea, and then they took my idea and wrote their own fic (totally fine) and blasted me in the notes (not at all fine), so... that was fun.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Not yet!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Ooh yes, @mizjoely and I have collaborated on Be Prepared and Furo and we had a blast with both. There is a (maybe?) abandoned fic with @miabicicletta that I would still love to finish if the world allows us... 🥺

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

I like them all for different reasons, but I think Mulder and Scully will always be my OTP. And I haven't even written anything for them yet! I'm scared, they intimidate me 😬

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I would really really like to finish Shelter From the Storm at some point, even though the franchise is basically done! The idea I had for it was waaaaay different than what they ended up doing in the last movie, and much, much darker. Maybe someday.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Too many ideas in my head and the audacity to think that people want to hear about them 😁

I do a decent job with keeping things in character, and having a plan for where the story is going so I can actually set things up properly. I think I have a pretty good eye for detail as well.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

If I'm having a hard time getting from one plot point to another, I get lazy and things get stilted. I'll bullshit my way through boring bits to get to the bits I really want to write.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I try, guys. I really do. I do as much homework as I can with Google Translate, but I know it's not enough to get it right. I avoid other languages if I can.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

First ever ever? Hahaha Xena: Warrior Princess. First online published I think was Crossing Jordan

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

Oh geez, that's tough - I honestly think it's a tie between Paragon and That's Life. I had the most fun writing both of those.

Tagging @miabicicletta, @mizjoely, @jomiddlemarch, and anyone else who wants to jump on this

[folklauerate]

Do you think you will still write fic for Kathony in the future ?

Not sure what you mean by the future, anon! I will admit, sometimes my inspiration can wane and the desire to write can be hard to find, but that’s for a myriad of reasons. The fandom, reception, and my general interest. I think there definitely will come a day when I’m not writing Kathony fic frequently anymore, but for right now, that day isn’t today. I have WIPs I want to finish and am committed to finishing them. The Set Up is a big one that I’d really like to finish. I don’t know if that answers your question? But if I was to stop writing entirely or remove my works or something, I’d give plenty of notice, don’t worry!

[hiskillingjar]

Strade with a clingy reader? (I apologize if someone has already asked for this)

lots of requests for this one sooooo i wrote a fic for it!! i also have a headcanon post stacked in the drafts for the other boys (gender neutral) sooooo here we go!

6000+ words, the most lovely and dubious of consent, also posted on archive of our own cus. ya know. it's long babeyyyy

It was rare that you went to Strade’s bedroom door after a nightmare.

Rarer still that he actually let you in.

When you slipped into his room, the opening and closing of his door almost silent and the slow padding of your bare feet against the carpet even quieter, his still body and slow breathing (deep and low, almost a snore but not quite) made you think, for a moment, that he was still asleep.

You wondered if you should just slink away and leave him to it. That was until he wordlessly lifted the corner of his duvet, without even opening his eyes first to greet you, in a silent invitation for you to join him. 

It's so wrong and (honestly) borderline perverse that such a small gesture made your heart swell in your chest to the point of nearly bursting out of your ribcage, but you couldn't help it. 

At least that’s what you told yourself. 

It was easier to play the victim than acknowledge that you might have been at least a little complicit in your captivity.Though you always had a way of blaming yourself for these sorts of things. 

That’s probably what a therapist would have told you, if you had one.

With a hidden smile that you hoped he'd never see (lest he possibly use it against you, and he probably would), you climbed into his bed, effortlessly slotting in next to him as he wrapped a thick arm around your middle and pulled your body close to his, like you were two pieces of a puzzle that naturally fit together without even a degree of forcefulness. His bare, hair-fuzzed chest was sweaty against your back and stuck to the thin vest that you wore in lieu of pyjamas, but the warmth was comforting and pleasant, like sleeping next to a radiator or space heater, so you didn't mind. 

It was nice to be reminded that he existed, you thought as you pressed back against his warmth with a peaceful sigh, to be reminded that this wasn't all some dream concocted by your sick, messed-up mind, desperate for a semblance of comfort and company, no matter the cost to your mental state. 

At least when he was real, you couldn't be blamed for liking the attention, the moments of sweetness, the quiet mornings where he was too tired to pull his mind games on you or hurt you.

Those moments kept you gentle and kind, and, for the most part, pliant to his whims. 

It was your only method of survival, after all, staying sweet on him in spite of it all.

"Come here, buddy," Strade murmured, still half-asleep, his slow breathing like wine, heavy and addictive, and his low voice (his accent thickened with sleep) as smooth and as comforting as velvet, suffocating and all-encompassing, like the warmth and dark of the room, like a pill bug curled up under a mossy log, like a foetus in the womb. "Come here..."

You didn't say anything as he pulled you in even closer, your hips pressed tightly together, his broad thigh wrapping around yours and caging you down against the expensive mattress. You could feel the first stirrings of arousal through his boxers against the thin gusset of your shorts, but you didn't mind, not all that much.

It was too early for worries, surely, too early to be concerned that he might take advantage of your need for comfort and closeness, and take your body as he so often did. 

His arms pulled you into him again, and though he was hot, burning hot (almost too hot, like you descending down the pits of Hell itself), he was also strong and powerful and comforting (and, and, and, you always made explanations for him) and safe. 

You couldn’t possibly resist turning to face him (at least you told yourself that you couldn’t resist), nestling your head into his soft chest, into the crook of his shoulder, and breathing in his scent, gasoline, motor oil, a little sweat (he hadn’t showered yet and you kind of hoped that he wouldn’t until later in the day), the soft musk of effortless masculinity and tan skin and thick hair.

Against your better judgement, you felt safe here.

He was strong. He made you feel small and protected and loved, in a funny sort of way. He was powerful. He was in charge of the house, the looming patriarch of your fucked up little family, like a husband with a doting wife,, and he held all the power that came with that position in a way that so naturally suited him. 

He reached a hand up to stroke through your hair, mussed and a little matted from sleep, and kissed the top of your head very lightly, grumbling lowly in satisfaction as you nestled in even closer, your arms reaching and squeezing around his middle, your legs tangled up with his as you clung like a babe did to its mother.

He was comforting. He made you feel safe.

He made you feel safe.

What a sick joke.

Had the you from three years ago been able to see you now, you had no doubt that they would have begged Strade to kill them, that fateful night in the basement.

Better dead than as a psychopath murderer’s (rapist’s) little lap dog, his little wife, his perfect little hostage.

But he was not your enemy, at least not for now.

He was merely a slumbering beast, a lion, a wolf, his chest rising slowly with each calm breath, up and down, and his eyes gazing lazily down at you as he assessed his prey with the placid and amused detachment expected from a predator.

"My, my, you're awfully clingy this morning," Strade crooned quietly with a low chuckle, the hand in your hair drifting down to your shoulders, feeling the warmth of your skin as it slid underneath your shirt (roaming over the scars that marked your skin). "What, did you have a bad dream or something?"

"Or something," You mumbled, pressing your face a little harder against his chest, trying to make him feel your weight on top of him as he so often did with you. He probably wouldn’t have noticed it much (despite your weight gain over the last three years), but you knew you were doing it, so that’s all that mattered. "I just want to feel you...feel you against me."

"Mm, promises, promises…" He said with another laugh, shaking his head as his thick fingers roamed the notches of your spine. "Normally, you'll do anything you can not to feel me, fraulein...why the change of heart, hm?"

His stubble dotted cheek grazed against yours, the bridge of his nose nestled right up against your jaw, inhaling your scent as you did him, and when you looked up (as he was gesturing for you to do), his golden eyes (so vibrant, even when the room was so dark) were half lidded (still tired) and teeth-achingly fond. 

He was always so good at showing just how fond he was of you, after all.

“What, do you feel like being a good girl for me today?”

You didn't answer his question, not properly. You couldn’t bear agreeing or disagreeing with him, not today anyway.

You didn't say anything, in fact, but you didn't stop him either as he pushed the fingers of his free hand back through your hair, cradled your skull (curling his fingers into a fist) and brought you in for a deep kiss, which you acclimated to almost instantly, clinging onto him even tighter.

It was pathetic, and at least you knew it was fucking pathetic, to admit to yourself that he was everything you wanted before all of this, that he embodied everything you fantasised and masturbated to when you couldn’t get a real person to touch you. It was probably even more pathetic to admit that you still wanted it, in spite of the psychosexual dynamic that was as close to any kind of Stockholm Syndrome as anything else (like it was a real condition anyway). 

You still felt awful and unbearably guilty, in spite of your new found honesty to yourself, that every inch of you continued to yearn for him and crave the feeling of his touch, instead of fighting for your life to be free of him. 

But you always had a way of feeling guilty about the things that you wanted.

You had no doubt that a therapist probably would have said that to you too.

The bruises that seemed to always paint your skin ached slightly, like just being near him, the fire that he was, was enough to set every nerve alight, but the sensation was addictive.

You wanted to get lost in him. 

You wanted to let him make you his, whatever the cost of that submission was.

So, instead of wallowing in your own self pity or lying to yourself (as your fellow captive was so prone to do), you let yourself wrap your arms around his neck and pull him towards yourself, deepening the kiss and letting him take you as he wanted (as he always wanted).

Understanding your need without words (since he was always so strangely attentive of that sort of thing), his kisses gradually grew rougher. 

His sharp cannibal teeth grazed your parted lips as he kissed you hungrily, sucking your tongue, biting down, making you squirm and writhe and moan. His hands roamed down the length of your body and dug into each trembling curve and slope of newly acquired fat, squeezing you so tightly and pressing your body against his so forcefully, it almost hurt. 

This was what he wanted, though, and you knew that: you losing control, giving him full access to you, your bruises, your body, hurting you. 

You were sure that he was going to tear into you one of these days, when he bit down on your lips again, a rupture of blood streaming from your mouth, staining his tongue. You were sure that he was going to make you bleed even more and glut himself on your blood completely, but you didn't care. 

You wanted him, still wanted him, in spite of all of that, in spite of his violence and hunger.

And the more you gave in to him, the more he wanted to take from you.

His mouth wandered down from your lips (his slack tongue drooling a dangerously pinkish string of spittle over your lips and down your chin) and to your neck, making you shiver and gasp even more, gripping onto him tightly, arms around his shoulders, legs tangled with his and squeezing tightly.

"I like this," He mumbled softly, pulling back from your neck (after leaving a bite in his wake)  for just a moment and rubbing his forehead against yours, a smile dimpling his features and making him look all the more sickeningly fond of you. "This attitude turn. You're normally so...brusque with me, so dismissive. It's not all that becoming of someone in your position, you know."

"You can't have minded it too much," You replied, your tone as flat as usual, though your arms tightened around his neck and your legs clung even tighter. "I'm still alive...have been for nearly three years, now."

"Mm, that's true," He agreed with a nod, one hand descending down your body, groping your hips, the soft flesh of your ass, palming the shadowed bruises that covered your flesh. "I guess you're cute enough that I can handle a shitty attitude now and then. But, this..." He laughed again before digging his teeth into his bottom lip and grinding his hips down against yours completely. "This really is too cute for words. Maybe you should keep it up, hm?"

"Maybe," You replied coyly, your own eyes flitting downwards as your hips bucked in unison to his grinding, pressing the two of you together even more.

This was the place he liked to bring you, right to the very edge of your most intimate and darkest desires. It was his way of tempting and playing with you, you guessed, an overgrown child playing with his food, playing with his favourite toy until it broke, while you begged and pleaded for him to pull you back from that edge, before it was too late and you fell over it and succumbed to them completely. 

You found that you were (often) pushed far over the edge, and had been for a while as he climbed on top of you and pinned you down to the mattress with his heavy body (pressing his weight into you), his lips against your neck, leaving kisses, bruises, bites and harsh marks on your skin.

You writhed and mewled at each burning pulse of pure shock from his teeth, his tongue, but the pain was such a sweet sensation...almost as good as the satisfaction he felt watching your skin purple and bruise, evidence of what he did for you that everyone would have the chance to see (if he ever let you leave the fucking house again).

This was just how he loved, you told yourself, because surely he must love you to have kept you around this long.

Your pain was his pleasure. It was as simple as that.

"Are you alright?" He asked you as he pulled back and looked in your hazy eyes.

"No," You rasped as you reached up to touch one of the worst bites, hissing as you felt wet oozing out of you, mingling with saliva and spittle. "I'm bleeding."

"Well, that’s hardly a concern of mine," He chuckled, evidently a little turned on by your honest answer as he leaned down to kiss your lips a little more, his strong arms bracketing your neck and shoulders as he loomed in view. . 

His tongue pressed inside your mouth, pushing past the barrier of your lips, and dragged against yours in a sleepy and slow, massaging sort of way, in spite of his violence and how much your bruises were throbbing. He had the potential to be soft and gentle with you, and displayed that potential to you readily only to take it away just as quickly. 

An overgrown child playing with his food. Playing with his favourite toy until it broke.

"I want to make you bleed more," He murmured, kissing the corner of your mouth with a slight smirk, groping hands travelling down your hips to wrangle your shorts down your legs and throw them to the side. ”I always do. That’s when you look your best, you know?”

"Mmhmm?" You hummed against his lips, threading your own groping hands through his hair and pulling him closer to you, not bearing to have him away from you for even a moment.

“Mm,” He rubbed his forehead against yours again, his breath warm on your skin as his hips slotted between yours, and you felt the heat of his erection through his underwear against your thigh. “Makes me that much crazier about you.”

You didn't stop him as he initiated another deeper kiss.

But you never stopped him.

"Mmph..." 

You groaned lowly at the back of your throat as your fingers curled into fists in his hair and pulled hard. It was the most amount of power he would ever let you have over him, you knew that, as you tethered him closer to you, to your desires, as he sucked on your mouth, his tongue delving hungrily against yours, again and again, invading you as he pushed closer to you.

You wrenched your head back, away from the kiss, with a harsh gasp (breaching the surface of the water before drowning)  as he slid his hand up between your thighs, feeling the wet heat that lay at the top of them and devling his fingers inside without even a moment of hesitation or any kind of resistance. Dripping wet, pre-cum smeared between your thighs, you were that fucking eager for him.

God, you were fucking pathetic. 

You hissed painfully as you felt him bite down on your neck again as he slowly finger-fucked you, the scruff of his stubble itching your skin as his teeth dug in deeper. You did your best to retaliate, curling your fingers tighter into his hair and pulling on it. You’d tell yourself that you were trying to get him away from you, to release yourself from the painful clamp of his jaws, but you knew that that wasn’t the truth, not really.

It still felt good to do, though. 

Strade growled lowly at the pain in his scalp, and his free hand planted itself in the middle of your chest, pinning you to the bed, holding you down like a struggling animal, stopping you from flinching too much or squirming away from him as he dug his teeth even deeper, grinding them together to make the pain that much worse.

Your mind was hazy, torn between the excruciating pain of his bite and the overwhelming pleasure of his thrusting fingers inside of you. 

Your body was so exposed, so vulnerable, to everything he wanted from you.

Strade was in full control of you, as he so often was, and you ached for it. 

"God…do you even know how much I love you?" You rasped shallowly, finally letting go of the fists of hair you were still clinging onto, as he pressed another bite against your shoulder, lighter but still painful.

“Hm?” He hummed airily against your skin, a light hearted smile gracing his features as his hazy eyes glanced upwards, eyeing you as he pressed his fingers a little deeper inside of you, rubbing against a bundle of nerves that always made you tremble.

“Ngh-!” You groaned, fisting your fingers into the bedsheets in lieu of clinging to him even more, your eyes squeezing shut as you tipped your head back. “Ahh…I do love you. I do. I shouldn't, but I do. So much I can barely stand it..."

“Hm…no wonder you’re so clingy this morning,” He replied, his voice full of good humour, as it often was, like he was telling an especially mean joke that he’d never let you in on. “You’re all loved up. How sweet~” 

He kissed you again, his body pushing down against yours, grinding into you as he slid his fingers from inside you and tucked down his boxers, finally revealing his hard cock and letting it smear a line of pre-cum against your bare skin. His hands bracketed your hips as he kissed you more forcefully, biting down again, and slid down to your thighs to part them further, spreading you open.

He sucked on your sore mouth hard enough for the stream of blood to start trickling again and delved his probing tongue back into your mouth, tasting your blood, evidently (by how hard his cock was) getting more and more turned on as it smeared on his tongue, stained his teeth, made him that much more hungry to see you writhe and tear into you.

You didn't care. 

You'd welcome him tearing into you, if he stayed this close, if he kept kissing you.

"So sweet," He murmured thickly against your lips, in something between a growl and a purr, as he pulled away from the kiss, a smear of blood painting his own lips. "So fucking desperate for it. Do you like this, liebling? Do you like me hurting you like this?" He asked, his voice husky, his breath hot, as you felt him slot his hard cock against your entrance (rubbing against your clit), ready to breach the barrier and take you, as he so often did.

"I like you kissing me," You were breathing hard, your eyes going down to try and watch as he pushed into you, though, of course, you saw nothing but his belly pressing against yours, his tan skin achingly warm (and hot). "Even if it hurts...I like that you're doing it, all the same."

"Is it painful?" He murmured, licking his lips and breathing heavily as he breached your entrance and slid inside of you, easily. “Does it hurt so much, fraulein? Can you barely even take it?”

In spite of the lack of resistance (pathetic, fucking pathetic, god, you hated that you wanted him this badly, you hated how wet you were and how ready your body was for his invasion), there was something intimately painful about the stretch. It was like your cunt was struggling to take all of him in, even though it had done this countless times before, like your body itself was rejecting the painful force behind his initial thrusts and making you clench down even tighter around him.

"Ngh!" You cried out, your back arching and your head thrown back, as his hands covered shadowed bruises painting your skin, digging in, tearing into you. "I-It's torture...the worst pain imaginable…"

"Oh, you poor thing," He murmured with a giddy, rasping little chuckle, like your admission was everything he needed to let go of any sense of composure that he might have had before (if he ever had any). "But there's nothing you can do, is there? No, no, nothing at all."

“Mph,” You whined, your shaking hands going up to cover your sweating face as he gripped your hips tighter and slid even deeper inside of you.

“And I don’t think you want to do anything, either.” He continued, his eyes that of a predator, wide awake and ready to tear into his prey. “You want to be taken like this, forever. Hmm…” He laughed, shaking his head fondly. “Wunderschon, ja? You’ll always be mine and I don’t even have to try…”

Who's to say that love needs to be soft and gentle?

You think you had heard that once in a literature class…or maybe it was a fucked up movie you watched, when you didn’t have this, when you tried to scratch the itch with film recommendations on forums and shock sites. 

All the same, this kind of love (because it had to be love, it had to be, it had to be) was clearly as good as any other, both for you and for Strade.

It seemed that every time you cried out in pain or writhed underneath him, like you were squirming to be set free, it was enough to make him lose his mind and push even deeper inside of you, caging your body down with his, filling you up completely in an erratic need to take your body, by any means necessary.

"Show me your face." He commanded then, his voice hoarse with desire as he dipped his head down to your level again, his thrusting hips stilling for just a moment. “Let me see you.”

"Don't...hah, please don't look at me," You whined, begging, pleading, still covering your face with your hands, trying to pull back, though for what reason, you weren’t quite sure.

“No, don’t fight me.” He chided like he was scolding a child, an animal, wrapping his fingers around your wrists and wrenching them down forcefully, with a strength you often forgot about and yet, were often well acquainted with. “You know you won’t win, don’t you, fraulein? I won’t let you…”

He was clearly enjoying this much too much to let you pull away now, as he pulled your hands away completely, pinning them down to your chest and  forcing you to hold eye contact with him.

You stared up at him, your gaze caught somewhere between fear and dazed detachment.

The light streaming in from the rising sun outside softened his hulking body into dark, curved silhouettes, and the round, paper lantern behind his head (cheap, replaceable, something that reminded you of home, you said) made him look like some cheap facsimile of an angel, your own personal Heaven when he should have felt like Hell.

An angel to some, a demon to others. You knew you heard that in a movie before. 

"Good girl." He praised, the hand pinning your hands still and compressing your chest  reaching up to stroke your cheek (bruised, scarred, probably imagining bruising you even more). “Good, pretty girl. So lovely, so sweet when they’re behaving…”

You didn't even try to hold back a little giggle, your cheeks flushed as he took your chin in hand and pressed your head back against the pillows, a look of (almost) genuine affection in his golden eyes as he considered you further, as his thrusting hips continued, pushing deep and making your body clench up tightly with pleasure. 

“That’s it, there we go,” He continued to praise, his chest against yours as his free hand slid down to your trembling thighs, hiking them up around his waist and forcing your body to bend painfully in two. “No fighting now, liebling, no fighting me…it makes it so much nicer, doesn’t it?”

“Y-Yeah…” You stammered, your legs tightening around his full waist as his pace picked up, his hips slamming against yours and forcing out gasping little moans with each painful thrust. 

“Mm, you’d really do anything for me, wouldn’t you, sweetheart?” He asked again, the hand on your cheek descending down your neck as his expression grew hungrier and more feral, more desperate for you. “Anything at all?”

“Ahhh…” You groaned, your body growing tight and your mind erratic and manic, as he pushed against your sweet spot multiple times, grazing it but not quite stimulating it enough to feel good. “Yes, yes, yesyesyesyesyes-”

"Oh yeah?" He drawled, interrupting you and running his tongue over his teeth (his sharp cannibal teeth) as he pushed into you again and again, hard enough to get you yelping and the headboard of his bed to start slamming against the wall rhythmically. Thank god you didn’t have neighbours who would hear. "Would you die for me, sweet thing?"

"You-ah!" You interrupted yourself with a yelp when he pulled back enough to slap you hard across the cheek, so hard that it made your ears ring and your head spin. You might have stared up at him, wide eyed, shocked and surprised that he would do something so brutal, so cruel, if you weren’t currently being fucked out of your mind. "Nghh, y-you know I would, you don't...don't even need to ask me."

"Good girl," He praised you (he was, at the very least, good with praise when you were in this kind of headspace), taking your cheeks in hand again and pinning your head down to the pillows and mattress more forcefully, his golden eyes half lidded with desire. "What about killing, hm? Would you kill for me?"

"Strade," You whined, your body arching as his hips continued to ruthlessly slam into yours, each barbaric thrust punctuated with a huffed growl. "God, please-"

"Answer the question!" He barked, letting go of your face to slap you once, twice, three times. You wouldn't have been surprised if your cheek was bruised up again after this, but you couldn't bring even a part of yourself to care about that now. "Would you kill for me?"

"Mmph..." You squeezed your eyes shut (your ears were ringing and your vision was spotted with white, you couldn't hold on). "Yes, yes, I'd do whatever you wanted me to do. Goddd..."

"Sick puppy," He chuckled victoriously, gradually slowing down his thrusts and considering you further with a wry tilt of his head. "You really would do anything for me, wouldn't you? How pathetic.”

You whimpered and raised your chin to hide your burning cheek against the pillow. He was gracious enough to let you do that, this time. 

"That's what I like about you," Strade growled, pressing his face into your shoulder and barring his teeth as he huffed out grunts and groans, his thrusts picking up in pace as he got more desperate to claim you. "Such a fucking suck up. I bet I could tell you to piss yourself and you'd do it, wouldn't you?"

You moaned brainlessly in vague agreement, not quite listening to what he was asking, demanding from you, feeling like your throat was closing up on any potential words you might have been able to say.

"Mm, I'll remember that for later," He huffed out a laugh (hot against your sweaty skin) as he pressed another harsh bite into your shoulder, not hard enough to bruise or bleed (like the others) but enough for your eyes to shoot wide open, and to force a shriek from your lips like a dying animal. "So disgusting, fraulein. I'd have the sense to be grossed out, mph,” He stopped speaking for a moment, his drooling mouth slack as you tightened up around him again. “I-If your pussy wasn't clamping my cock like a fucking vice…god-!"

You howled out again, a full throated scream that would wake neighbours and housemates if you had them (barring…well, the obvious) as he pressed a bite against the sensitive skin of your throat. Unable to contain your pain with just the scream, your legs instantly tensed around him and your arms wrapped tightly around his neck. You even went so far as to dig your nails into the dense meat of his back and drag downwards, sure to leave behind a nasty mark in their wake. 

It was as close as you could get to hurting him, and you'd take the chance to show him even a modicum of pain possible, at every opportunity. 

You weren't crazy enough to not enjoy that, after all.

"Hrghhh, you fucking slut," He growled under his breath through a pained hiss through his teeth, the ‘pet-name’ rasped amidst a slur of German that you didn't understand (and you generally understood it well now, three years in.) "So, that’s how you wanna play, you little cunt?” He demanded, pulling himself upwards and glaring down at you, like he was about to pounce, as he so often did on the victims that came after you. “You wanna take all of me, don't you? So, fucking work for it."

You yelped loudly as he took a sudden and firm grip of your bruised hip and shoulder, and switched the positions forcefully, rolling you onto his front and lying back on the mattress, all the while keeping his cock firmly lodged inside of you.

"Work for it! Schnell, hund!" He ordered again, taking hold of both hips (digging his fingers and bitten fingernails in hard enough to leave a new batch of bruises and crimson crescents) 

While he ordered you around (in a tone that always made your cunt throb, in spite of the shame that caused you), he managed to push his cock deeper and deeper inside of you, thanks to his new leverage on your body, manurvering and handling you like you were a doll in his lap, a toy that he could use however he liked.

You continued to whine and moan like the desperate idiot that you were as he dragged you downwards at a pace you could barely keep up with, your hips coliding with his painfully and barbarically. That did, however, very little to stop you from bouncing brainlessly on his cock, your trembling legs tightening around him (as they so often did) and your hands curling into fists against his soft chest, doing everything you possibly could to keep up with him.

"There we go," He praised, gentle in spite of his harshly barked orders, one hand trailing down from your hip to grope your ass indulgently. "You're doing such a good job, liebling, you are making me so, so proud..."

"I love you," You whined desperately, hotly, biting down hard on your bottom lip as you continued to bounce his cock even harder, even faster. "I love you, I love you so much..."

"Mm, I love you too, sweetheart," Strade crooned with a broad, indulgent smile, his other hand reaching up to grope your chest as it heaved, up and down, newly pierced breasts bouncing in time with each of your erratic thrusts. "I love your pussy, anyway," He continued with a mean chuckle, pushing deeper inside of you as his calloused thumb dragged over your pert nipple, making you shriek. "And these tits, and how nicely your body bruises at the lightest of touches. Like you were made for me to destory over and over and over again...however can I resist?"

He sat up the best he could, in spite of your consistent thrusting, the hand on your ass pinning your body still against his chest as he pushed as deep as he could inside of you, like he was impaling you on his cock…and you certainly yowled loudly enough that it sounded like that.

"That's all that matters though, isn't it?" He asked breathlessly, leaning forward and pressing his forehead against yours again, close enough that you could feel the heat of his body against yours. He was so hot. "That I love you...doesn't matter which parts I love, right?"

"Mm...mmhmm," You nodded, biting your lip to hold back your whimpers and whines, as the hand on your chest went down to grab one of your fists and thread your fingers together, giving him full oppurtunity to pull you in even closer. "Tell me you love me...t-tell me you'll never let me go..."

"Oh, mein schatz," He crooned, his eyes softening with delight, drawing circles into the back of your palm and smiling up at you, breathless, a heaving silhouette in the darkness of the room. "Of course, I love you...and of course, I'll kill you before I ever let you go again."

Your bitten lips, blooming and beaten with hot blood, trembled hesitantly, much like the soft, scarred thighs bracketing his hips, as a smile pulled at your features, giving away instantly just how deliriously happy you were to hear him say those words, and mean them. 

"Keep me, keep me forever, never let me go..."

"Never ever," He agreed with a shake of his head, holding your hand tighter as his thrusting grew erratic and hectic, and each string of words became grunts and growls. "That's my promise to you, liebe. And you're more than welcome to hold me to it..."

You couldn't think of anything else to do, other than kiss him. 

You pressed your fingers into his hair, now slightly damp with sweat (he worked so hard to provide you, like a good man did), and pulled his lips to yours, finally, finally, probing his hot, wet mouth with your tongue and tasting your own blood on his mouth. 

He let you do it, too, moaning softly against your trembling lips and finally admitting his own sensual, desperate hunger for you. He cradled your skull in hand, not gripping or pulling on your hair or trying to wrangle you into some semblance of submission, and let his body still completely, feeling your sinking hips on his and spilling over inside of you with a human-like murmur of subdued pleasure.

And that was all you needed.

You clenched down tightly on him with a wretched gasp, as you felt the warm seed claim your insides and spill down your thighs, and it was enough to push you far, far over that edge yourself.

In lieu of anything else (because how could you do anything else), you heaved out a tired groan between your whimpers of pain and excruciating pleasure, falling forward against Strade's heaving chest as he flopped back on the bed himself, his lungs taking in slow swallows of air, adjusting himself as you settled against him.

Your vision was still blurred with white spots, but you somehow felt grounded all the same as you felt his warm hand slowly stroke through your hair and down your sweaty back. 

You let out a soft purr, a sleepy smile on your face as he continued to stroke you, like an animal in his lap. 

“As loyal as a dog." Strade murmured fondly, tilting his head forward to kiss the crown of your head and nuzzling into your warmth. "Mm, no, actually. A dog has the good sense to growl or bite when you kick it. You just seem to cling harder.” He laughed kindly, giving his head a little shake, dragging his cheek against yours. “Even Ren isn’t as bad as you~”

You murmured sleepily, not responding to his teasing, too tired to, curling a little closer against him and shivering with pleasure as you felt a stream of his seed trickle down your thigh.

"Hmph…go back to sleep, love," He then said softly, gently, (more gentle than he should be), giving your head another kiss as he sat up a little more, swinging one leg over the side of the bed. "I've got work to do. You can stay up here, for now.”

"Noo, don't go..." You pleaded quietly, curling your fingers against him and nestling against his chest again as he swung the other leg down and started to stand. "Stay, stay with me, please..."

"So clingy," He chided with another laugh, ruffling your hair. "Settle down and go to sleep. I'll come back soon, okay?"

Strade’s voice was gentle and fond, but you knew that his word was law and he wasn’t to be argued with.

So, you slid back into the bed and curled your body in tight, shivering as he pulled the duvet upwards and covered your naked body.

“Thank you,” You said with a tired smile, letting your fingers drift down between your legs, feeling his cum still oozing out of you. “That was…it was nice.”

“Good,” He smiled, leaning in to kiss your head again, before standing up straight.

“Sleep well, mein schatz. I’ll be back up soon.”

[wbqotd]

What are the most common battle injuries in your setting?

[eqt-95]

the heart ask game

i always lose track of my excerpts (and y'all were so awesome sending through an avalanche of asks), so i've collected all the supercorp heart ficlets into a single post in order of posting. many many genuine thanks to everyone who sent me an ask - it was a fun challenge to force me away from being precious about every bit and just move on.

🖤 kissing while crying / goodbye kiss / desperation, post 1 | the 'Her' AU

🖤 kissing while crying / goodbye kiss / desperation, post 2 | the super sad one

💖 rough kiss / hot and heavy / making out | Lena has a secret

🤍+❤️ kiss at the wedding / milestone + first kiss / realization | Kara wants to be Orpheus

💙 drunken kiss / tipsy | Lena is drunk and Alex can't cope

💛 reunion kiss / relief | Lena's off planet and Kara has zero chill

🤎 multiple kisses / kisses all over / kiss after kiss | the one where Kara takes a leaf from Nurse Esme's book

💗 slow kiss / gentle kiss / inevitable / soft | unsaid is said

❤️+💜 first kiss / realization + surprise kiss / impulsive kiss | Lena's patience is at zero and Kara

[literaryvein-reblogs]

bunny x cat dynamic?

Like, adhd bunny and grumpy cat dynamic? I'm going to try writing a bit where the dynamic of the main characters are fleshed out. Any input on what people often enjoy about these for me to take into account?

To me it's so cute because she considers herself more as an annoying dog but for him, he considers her to be a cute, hyperactive bunny (that's kind of useless to (literal) death but let's put that aside, or not)

The ideal response to this would come from your readers. If you've already established your reader base, try asking them their preferences and expectations. Of course—still, write the story you want (and need) as a writer. And there it is, in your second paragraph. The idea is that if you write what you want, the people who also prefer this dynamic will find your work and stay for the rest of the story, and will more likely enjoy your other work as well (this is essentially what most successful authors advise new writers—write what you want, what you enjoy etc etc). But striking a balance between your readers' and your own preferences would be great too.

If you don't have a reader base yet, I'd suggest going through your favourite literature/films and finding ones that depict this particular character dynamic. Then you yourself, as a reader/viewer now, could answer what you find enjoyable about these pieces of media, and incorporate that in your writing.

Also, here are some tropes that I think have similarities with the dynamic you described. Same suggestion with finding books or films/TV shows you like that feature these tropes. But also research their readers'/audience's feedback to find out what they enjoyed about these character tropes, and this is what you can take into consideration for your story.

Grump and sunshine. One character is so grumpy all the time; the other character is so bubbly all the time. And somehow, through that power-of-love thing, they end up balancing each other out. The grump sometimes has sworn off love.

Savvy Guy, Energetic Girl. This is a potential pairing (platonic or otherwise) between a pragmatic guy and a girl who is very full of energy. One partner in the pair will be lively and optimistic while the other is savvy and more slothful, quiet, or otherwise less expressive. EXAMPLES:

In Corpse Bride, Emily and Victor. The former is a dead bride who is rather lively and spiritual for a corpse, while the latter is a live man who is shy and awkward almost to a fault.

This defines Anna and Kristoff's relationship in Frozen nicely. She is a spunky princess willing to do whatever it takes to bring her sister home, he is a grumpy, rough-around-the-edges ice harvester helping her along the way.

In Pixar's Up, the quiet and timid Carl befriended and eventually married the energetic Ellie.

Uptight Loves Wild. He's stuffy. She's untamed. It's true love. Mr. Stuffy is in a rut: Life is boring because he plays by the rules. Along comes this wild and crazy woman to show him how to live life to its fullest, and she just might learn a few things along the way, too. EXAMPLES:

Enchanted: Stuffy, cynical divorce lawyer Robert meets fairytale princess Giselle.

The Sound of Music: Maria isn't "wild", but she is a Blithe Spirit in the face of the extremely uptight, Captain von Trapp.

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind: Quite thoroughly deconstructs this. A relationship like this doesn't always work and after the falling-in-love part, it causes more pain than joy; so much so that both parties opt to have their memories removed of each other. The Manic Pixie Dream Girl is also far more complicated: "I'm not a concept, I'm just a fucked-up girl looking for a peace of mind".

Opposites Attract. EXAMPLES:

The Princess and the Frog has Tiana and Naveen. She's a Workaholic, no-nonsense waitress and he's a fun-loving, lazy prince.

Tangled gives us the jaded, worldly-wise thief Flynn Rider and the spirited, innocent princess Rapunzel.

Treasure Planet has Captain Amelia and Dr. Doppler. She's a tough-as-nails Action Girl, he's a bookish scientist, not to mention they're basically an anthropomorphic cat and dog, respectively. The two grow closer throughout the movie, and by the end they even have several kids.

Sources: 1 2 ⚜ More: Writing Notes & References

[bee-sidebranch]

Three Stars Above Clouds, Attack NO. 19, Artfight 2024

@delta-orionis the Stargazerrr

So you have observed the Stars as well?"

"Yes, when the Lights in the City gave me a chance at least, my Recordings are a shadow of what you have preserved!"

"That's always been a problem, my city would shut them off during certain hours of the night so i could observe without the light pollution"

"That's rather considerate! Though it makes sense with your additional tasks"

"..."

"Say, what do you feel when you look at them?"

"Hm, curiosity i suppose? i've always loved catalouging constellations and dissecting the phenomena that occasionally occured above me! It's simply fascinating, the scale of it all"

"Hmm... i agree, it made me feel less alone i think"

[greenorangevioletgrass]

if i get started on that hangman x astronaut!reader, would y'all be interested? 👀

[bullet-prooflove]

Grass, rock, summer ☀️

Grass: What’s the biggest change you’ve made in your WIP since you started it?

So I'm currently working on the Nik Sabatino piece for 3500 Follower Celebration Bingo. My original idea was Nik discovering that Alana was visiting Kessler in prison and him witnessing the interview.

However when I started writing the piece the inciting event was Nik discovering that he had been sending her letters and that became the focal point. I've tossed out the visitation completely and now he's sitting at the kitchen table reading these letters, that are horribly intimate when she comes home.

Rock: How do you deal with writer’s block?

With writer's block, I think it's important to find the reason. So if I'm stumbling over the words and I can't think straight it's usually because I'm tired so I step away and come back fresh in the morning. If I literally can't think of something to write I go through my prompts and see if there's any that stick out for me and a character or listen to music.

Alot of people suffer with perfection, like they write a few lines and then delete them and get stuck in that cycle. I don't do that, I accept the first draft is going to messy, it's going to be random and have spelling mistakes and half baked ideas but it doesn't matter. What does matter is that I'm getting all the clutter out of my head and onto a page, where it's must much more easy to organise. It's in the second draft that I start formulating things properly.

When I was doing my MA I only had so much time to write, because I was studying and working and had other obligations, I got into the habit of just throwing everything onto a page so I could come back to it later. I was scribbling the worst rough drafts down on the bus ride to work, using Google Notes. I've never really had an issue with writers block since doing that because I don't get caught up in the this needs to perfect right now mentality.

Summer: How do you know when you need a break from writing?

I can tell because I can feel myself fumbling over the writing, not making more than a couple of words progress, reading back a sentence and it doesn't make sense or the tenses are off.

I usually have the tv on in the background watching shows with 45 min eps, so a recent habit I've gotten into is 'watching' a show while writing and when it ends, pausing it before it goes onto the next ep and picking up my book instead. I usually read a chapter before flicking back to the show and by that point my minds reset and I can look at the piece with fresh eyes and usually I can go ahh, that's where the problem is or I pick up from where I left off with a clearer idea of where I was heading.

[ask-lock-shock-and-barrel]

Question for Sally, can I ask about your relationship with Dr. Finklestein's wife? Jewel, right? What's it like

I opine that she's far too good for him, but if she left him, he'd try to be bossing me around again, go figure- Sa

[poorlittleyaoyao]

i think qinyao's dynamic is superbly underrated. that horror of a marriage. she loves him, and she doesn't know why he won't touch her. he loves her, but not in the way he once did, and the very thought of touching her makes him feel ill. after rusong dies, he's so relieved that she doesn't want to have another child, and feels horrible for it. if she hadn't married him, she would have been happy, he thinks. she would've never had to grieve like this. in public they are perfectly normal, the picture of a happy marriage, and only the two of them know the truth. and i don't think they ever talk about the cracks in their marriage, up until it's FAR too late. I Am Sick over them.

ahhhhhHHHHHHHHH

Their whole Situation is THE MOST DISTRESSING because it should have been so good! It probably still could have been if neither of them had known! Maybe it would even have been workable if someone had told QS sooner so she and JGY could navigate it all together. But no! Instead we get JGY keeping everything under wraps and continuing on as though This Is A Perfect Marriage And Everything Is Fine when it's not.

And the way in which it's not fine is fascinating, too. "Well-to-do couple's perfect-on-paper marriage is dysfunctional AF " is a common trope in US and UK fiction, but the dysfunction is usually this destructive, vicious thing. One or both of them is abusive, one or both of them is cheating, one or both of them is addicted to something to cope, one or both of them blames the other for all of these problems, one or both of them never loved the other at all. But JGY and QS aren't serving Don and Betty Draper vibes here. They care for each other! They treat each other with kindness! Even when she's sick with disgust and fury, QS confirms that JGY treated her well.

Which makes it more excruciating, honestly, because technically, Nothing Is Wrong. If they didn't love each other, it would be easy to exist apart. Yes, his wife's presence fills him with dread that won't abate, but to break the engagement would ruin her reputation, and none of this is her fault, and he's seen and dealt with worse, and he loves her, so he'll carry on. Yes, her husband abruptly withdrew all physical intimacy, but it's better than a husband who demands sex she doesn't want, and he's faithful to her, and he's so attentive otherwise, and she loves him, so she'll make the best of it. They're both trying so hard, and the situation is too messed up for it to be enough but not messed up enough for them to give up.

[hiskillingjar]

Do you think you can make more of ren Hana x reader please and keep doing amazing amazing job 

yeah sure.

1300+, hyperfem mc, kind of...au post BTD2 ren where he's trying to be a normal guy and. doesn't work out for him. cw for ref to CNC but we're all freaks here so......

College was supposed to Ren's fresh start.

Well, community college was supposed to be, anyway. A full bank account and a computer full of fake documentation software and malware couldn't get him into a regular school (what with a lack of a GED and all).

So, he had applied to the closest community college with a sob story (something something abusive relationship that forced him to drop out, something something he’s trying to build a life for himself again) and gotten in on a partial scholarship to finish his high school diploma, and to study coding and programming after the fact.

It was good. Or, at least, it was movement to start a new life for himself, a normal life, a life he could be proud of that wasn’t built off of the legacy of-.

Then she happened.

He wasn't going to do this, he had told himself from the beginning. He wasn't going to let himself get caught up in the dazed and familiar spiral of infatuation and dangerous obsession, as he was so prone to do.

She deserved better than that. She was good and he was going to be good, too.

But...he was never that good at controlling himself.

Which was why they were making out in the college library, his hand up her frilly skirt (he was a sucker for that kind of thing and she almost leaned into it) and his tongue down her throat.

She moaned little whimpers against his lips, pressing her fingers in to his hair, her fake acrylic nails occasionally scratching at his scalp and rubbing the base of his ears, making him totally melt against her.

They were decorated with ‘My Melody’ charms this week, the pink matching the pale streaks in her blonde hair.

Like she had been plucked right out of his fantasies and placed in front of him.

Like a steak in front of a starving animal.

“Ah, Ren,” She gasped sweetly, wrenching her lips away from his as his fingers stroked over the front of her underwear. He pressed two of them against the slightly damp fold, and idly circled the plush flesh underneath, feeling the wet fabric cling to her skin. “Mmm…noooo, don’t…”

“You like that?” He whispered, dipping his head down to kiss her neck.

She smelled of perfume and powder foundation, and he was addicted to it.

“Stoooop,” She whined with the slightest pout, pressing her face into his shoulder and gripping his hair a little tighter, pulling a little too hard for it to feel good.

“Ngh,” Ren let out a little grunt, pulling himself away and shaking his head (like a startled animal) before staring at her, his brows knitting together as he drew his fingers back from her panties. “Are you not into this? Should I stop?”

“Huh?” She blinked as he pulled back, her fake lashes fanning against her cheeks, making her eyes look even bigger and doll-like. God, no wonder he was crazy about her. “Oh, no, I’m…really into it, actually.” She admitted shyly.

“But,” He tilted his head with a confused look. “You were telling me to stop…”

“Um…y-yeah,” She giggled, her cheeks flushing a soft pink, matching her blush, as she idly scraped a lock of pink hair behind her ear. “Ah, not to freak you out out or anything, but, mm…I’m kind of into that sort of thing…consensual-non-consent, roleplay…stuff. And, you know, we’ve been seeing each other for a while, so…”

Ren blinked too, his ears tilting back as his expression gave away even more confusion.

"Non-consent? You...think about that stuff?" He asked, idly hooking a fang over his lip and biting down.

"Ah," She shook her head and covered her face to hide a bashful smile. It was a ridiculously adorable gesture. "I-It's not that big of a deal...and a-a lot of girls are into that stuff, more than you think!"

"Isn't that kind of messed up, though?” He continued to press, drawing his hand back from her thigh and letting it trail down to her knee, where her sock was slipping down.

“I mean, I know it's a little messed up, even if it’s not...the real thing," She insisted, her hands back in her lap (like she was chasing after his hand, chasing some way of grounding her body to the Earth) and looking at him, sweet sincerity in her big eyes. "I know it is. But it's like a...reclamation kind of thing, you know?"

Ren frowned.

"Reclamation, wha...?"

"Like, taking bad things that have happened to you and,” She paused, biting her lip to hide a thoughtful frown of her own. “...Putting them in a situation that you have control over. A situation you can stop, if you need to."

"Huh..."

He’d never considered anything like that before.

Ren did know, probably more than most, that there were a lot of…weirdos out there (pot calling the kettle black, he knew), but he hadn’t considered that she might be like that too.

It didn’t make sense to him. She dressed in pink and white, got new nail designs every two weeks, and told him extensively about her plans to program a game about cat sitting when she had finished their course.

Girls like that didn’t have the darkness that he had, did they?

She was his ‘sweet one’, after all, his innocent, little angel, his doll, his Madonna, his-

"Please don't think I'm weird..." She murmured, her smile dropping at little at his extended silence. “I was being a little hasty, I know that. We don't have...I was just trying-"

She was so nervous. She was so worried that showing her darkness was going to scare him off.

If only she knew how often he though the same.

"No, no, I-" Ren cut her off with a slight chuckle, rubbing her knee affectionately. "It's okay," He then said, giving her an encouraging smile (trying not to let it grow into something bigger, scarier, more threatening, more honest). "I...I like it too, I think.” He knew, but he didn’t want to tell her too much. Not yet. “I like that you like it, too. We can keep going."

Her eyes widened a little and that sweet, innocent smile came back to her face.

"Really?" She said, her voice filled with something close to awe.

"Yeah," He dipped his voice down low and moved in closer again, reaching up and wrapping his fingers around her wrists and squeezing tight, keeping them pinned together (in lieu of any bondage) as he gave her a fang filled smirk. "Let's keep going."

She shivered, trying to wrench her wrists away from his grip as he pressed his smirk to her neck for a harsh bite.

“AH!” She gasped, her soft thighs pressing together as he dug his teeth into her skin, bruising her, marking her as his. “No, no…s-stop-“

He paid no attention to her protests (uncaring if they were even real or not) as he dug his teeth in a little harder, feeling the first pinpricks of blood welling against his lips as he reached one hand back up her skirts and began to knead at her panties again.

She was much wetter than she had been before, and he didn’t stop himself from purring lowly in delight.

“Dirty girl,” He murmured hotly, laving his tongue over the bloody bite on her neck. Her cute blouses weren’t going to hide that one, and he struggled to contain his delight about that. “Getting off on this, aren’t you? Me touching you when you don’t want it.”

“Nghh…” She kept twisting in his grip, her bottom lip swelling as she bit down even harder. “I’m not…getting off-“

“Yessss, you are,” He drawled, suddenly pulling the gusset of her panties to the side and pressing his fingers inside of her. Thank god it was late, and the library was empty. “Look at that, angel…I think your body is smarter than your head~”

“Fuck,” She swore, pressing her face into his shoulder again and tensing up even tighter. “T-That’s good…”

“I know,” He crooned, pressing a wet kiss to her cheek and sliding his fingers deeper. “I know it is. Good girl…”

“Just let me take what I want, now…”

[inhibitionfreewriting]

Ludwig idea

He has a hair dying stream where you have a previously picked out color so you dye his hair and then reveal to him that you put matching colors in yours. I was thinking kinda like billie eilish style where the roots are a bright color so they can stay hidden under a hat until you reveal it on stream

:)

reids my sweet. my love. one of my very first interactors. my darling dear. im so sorry this took so long ♥

this one is for you

--

Marbles was quite literally a gamble and that's what Ludwig liked about it. It could be anything. Another subathon, squats, pushups, wear your clothing for a stream, you impersonate each other for a stream, cooking stream, drunk stream and the list goes on and on and on. Lucky enough for you, and unlucky enough for him, it was to dye his hair and with you being there during this day, you were able to help champion for specific colors.

"No chat I'm NOT going to do 'Twitch Purple'," Ludwig groaned, shaking his head while you giggled, running a hand through his hair.

"I dunno, I think purple would look nice here... chat what about a really just bright orange? Or bright red?" It was so hard to sway chat from a shade similar to purple, but you ran your hand through his hair instead, messing with it. With purple staying at a steady near 80% of votes, Ludwig covered his face before throwing his hands up.

"FINE! Fine fine - we will do purple. Fuuuuckin' purple..." 

"It's okay chat, you can trust me. I'll get the right shade of purple. I'll make it if I have to." An affectionate wave of messages erupted in chat which made you smile as you leaned on Ludwig's head, wrapping an arm around him. "I can run to the store tomorrow and we can plan for like. Let's say Friday so I can fresh bleach your hair and then we can dye it on stream. How's that ludbuds? Can't do it all in one go, might turn him into Slime and bald him." You laughed and Ludwig shook his head, clapping and adjusting in his seat while you released him.

"Now that my fate has been decided, I suppose we should move onto what everyone is here for. Only Up."

--

A few days later, and after much trial and error, you managed to get a relatively close purple dye that would at least on first application be the right shade.  You knew that because you had decided to throw it in your own hair. There wasn't a better way of knowing it would come out right than trying on a test strand.

Now that your hair was mostly dry and tossed up into a beanie, you gathered your supplies and met him in the stream room. He was sitting and scrolling through Youtube shorts, turning to greet you when he sees your reflection. "You know we can back out of this hair dying thing at any point, they'll forget."

"Lud, I called you Slime once a year ago and they have not dropped it. People comment on pictures of us 'slime and his girlfriend' for fun." He barked a laugh.

"Okay, you're right."

"Usually. Can you turn around and turn your stream on already?" You giggled and wrapped a towel around his shoulders as he clicked to go live and started talking to chat. Just an easy stream, shooting the shit, dying his hair. Without thinking, Ludwig reached to the back of his head and before you could stop him, scratched and covered his fingers in dye. "You are so stupid, give me your hand."

> hes so fucking stupid lmao > u should literally tape his hands to his chair

"What are you- is that conditioner? That's not going to get this off my hand."

"Oh yeah because you're so beauty smart. It's always worked for me." You wiped at his hand with the towel and started to smear conditioner against his skin, pulling the dye out of it. Slowly it was erased and you shook your head, not realizing that you had been leaning close enough to get dye on your beanie.

> beanie ruined > they got purple on their forehead > 💀💀💀 they're perfect for each other

Ludwig started to laugh, using his clean hand to try to pick the dye off of her forehead, smearing it worse.

> STOP STOP > DUMBASS ALERT > they don't have a real job do they

"Huh?" Looking into the camera and glancing at the screen you groaned, wiping your hands on the towel. "This is why we can't have nice things." Without thinking about the fact that your hair was supposed to be a surprise, you took the beanie off and tried to pick up as much dye as you could off the fabric. There went your mint beanie, that was perfect and clean for a very long time, but now you'd have to painstakenly take purple hair dye out of it. Ludwig reached up with his clean hand and touched a part of your hair, seeing the purple halo of your roots.

"That's why you wouldn't let me in the bathroom," his voice was soft and probably a lot more affectionate than needed, but you could feel your cheeks heat up, did the mic catch that? "You look amazing..."

"That wasn't supposed to be the way the reveal went... I was going to pull it off at the end..." You took clean conditioner and rubbed it against your forehead, trying to get the other bits of dye off your skin.

> this is way too intimate for stream > get out get OUT GET OUT > GET A ROOM

"Okay chat chill, it's not that big of a deal, except it is because LOOK at how hot they are."

[enchanted-lightning-aes]

I have a question stuck in my mind for sometime. So: does anyone know ways of depicting a character's vulnerability that's not sadness or fear? Or based on crying? Bc I have some characters that aren't prone to crying but they do feel vulnerable. But not with tears. And can exhaustion be a form of vulnerability? Bc I feel like it can but I ain't too sure 'bout that.

[sunnysssol]

https://www.tumblr.com/sunnysssol/758405722666106880/i-have-this-half-baked-headcanon-that-the-stronger?source=share

You can't just drop this and NOT expect me to think about Mr. Sole Superpower Alfred in this context

A skeletal Alfred with perhaps a hunch and a gaunt look, but with a presence that leaves no room for doubt he alone is always the most powerful party in the room, restrained only by his own code of ethics and fluttering interest in those that do not directly concern his intrests

I like that!! But funny that you mention him actually, because I have a… not really the opposite lol, but quite a contrasting image in mind! 👀 See, America's military and industrial power is one thing, but that's not the only thing that makes it a superpower. There's soft power as well-- which the US definitely has, e.g. the cultural hegemony thing. So, in Hetalia terms, America's strength (literally and figuratively) is so freakish especially to the Old World Nations because it's something completely new. It's never been seen before. Sure, industrialization and globalization played a huge part in it and neither of those two are specific to America alone, but my point stands.

Circling back to the headcanon, America is still considered a superpower ["the world's sole superpower" and all that], so he should be experiencing at least some of the things I mentioned, right? Well, yes, but not to any startling degrees. Physically, he's very strong, and very well put-together (i.e. he looks healthy). Emotionally and mentally is a toss up. He's always doing things, and that's not just a figurative "his schedule is Packed!", it's always, always. All the time he's reading studies, writing studies, talking to people, going to so many different places-- these days, it's impossible to get a hold of him unless you asked for it at least two to four months ago. And whenever he does have time to kill, he uses it to workout to literal mind-numbing exhaustion just because his brain won't shut up otherwise. One might wonder why he doesn't/hasn't turn to substances yet, and I point to his weird hangups and extensive experience with said substances all throughout his earlier history (e.g. alcoholism in the 19th century, using recreational drugs not so recreationally in the late 20th (and even harder ones later on), the works). Sure, he's always gregarious and pleasant when you talk to him/see him, but if he's not doing 3 different things at once, he's just very bored, I think.

TL;DR- physically, he's almost too healthy. But mentally? Oof.