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#but thank you for reading
moonandris · 2 months
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Omg, I actually did it! I finally joined a queer dating/friendship app!!! EEEEEEK!!! I'm sooooo nervous!!! I literally have almost no queer friends IRL so I don't have anyone to get excited with me!! 🥳
One of my New Year's resolutions for 2024 was to put myself out in the world more and try my best to be more social, meet new friends (as well as potentially find a partner), and explore all my passions, hobbies, and interests with like-minded people.
As a very shy bisexual woman, it's so hard to meet other queer people, especially when you live in a more conservative area. So when I joined a queer dating/friendship app I was was SO surprised to see how many other lesbian/bi women were located near me.
Also, for some reason I've always had this super toxic thought in my head that queer women wouldn't be attracted to me because of the fact that I'm S U P ER femme/girly and I think I look very 'straight' to the average person assessing me. Trust me when I say I was genuinely SHOCKED at the matches I was getting like??? Why did I think such terrible things about myself and my sexuality? I feel really silly for thinking that and I've realized that I have a lot of inner work to do regarding my sexuality and self-worth.
This is honestly such a new, exciting experience for me and was so healing for my mind and mental health to just be able to communicate and talk with other queer women. I know this isn't writing related but it's really not something I can share with other people or on my other social media (yet) so I knew I had to make this post bc I'm just SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO excited!!!
It honestly makes me wanna cry a little. It's a very emotional feeling and also feels so freeing to just BE MYSELF and not have to hide my queerness or be afraid that someone is going to find out I'm bisexual and act really awful/disgusted towards me, you know?
Regardless of whether I find a partner or make new friends and whatnot, I'm super proud of myself that I'm not denying this part of myself anymore. I'm exploring my sexuality with people who know what it's like to be queer in this crazy world we live in. It's a really awesome feeling. 💕💕💕💕
Anyways, if you've made it this far thank you so much for reading this silly lil post and wish me good luck! Happy New Year!! 🎊
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inkblot22 · 2 years
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He Begs Not For Petulance
GN!Reader x Rook Hunt
I didn't really know what to title this lol, but I hope this fits
TW for: captivity, kidnapping, infantilization and feminization if you squint, allusions to past victims, yandere, mention of nonconsensual kissing, Rook (because he frightens me and I'm certain I'm not the only one,) stalking, slight blood, being hunted, rusty French.
It was unclear if his presence was something to take solace in. On one hand, they knew where he was, but on the other hand, he was right there. He was right there, and watching, bright, unsettling green eyes tracking each and every little move as he sat in his chair at the small table in the cabin.
They hated his eyes, they hated the way he’d stare at them. 
They swore up and down that he had a notebook or something equally violating on them somewhere, but they just hadn’t managed to find it, yet. All they’d found were several dresses, some skirts, plenty of shirts, and a few pairs of nice slacks. They didn’t want to know where they had come from. There were too many possibilities and only a few were good. 
As it was, they were trying not to drop the ingredients for dinner as he stared at them. He probably knew how creepy that was, but ever since he had declared them too frail to leave, regardless of how untrue that was, they decided he probably didn’t care anymore. 
“What do you want?” They sounded more sad than angry, but it was worth it. 
“Ah, so you do notice when I am gazing upon your most beautiful visage.”
That was another thing. He spoke like he was in a play or something, often lapsing into monologues as though they were soliloquies, his private thoughts on display in the form of ridiculous, nonsensical poetry.
They hated his poetry, how he’d read it to them, only waiting for their horror when they realised who the subject was.
“Okay,” They responded, finally, chopping squash with that silly safety knife he insisted they use, not like they had a choice. He’d replaced all the utensils and cutlery with children’s cooking tools. 
It was almost as if he knew how much they disliked him, how angry they were that he had kept them here in this stupid little cabin in the woods. The table rattled on the rickety wooden floor as he stood, hands coming to cup their elbows.
“Please, mon ange, one would assume you had a vendetta against the cutting board. What’s the matter?” He wasn’t smiling as he bent to look them in the eyes.
“I,” they chopped hard, the cutting board echoing with the harsh end of each word, “Want,” another thunk, the bit of gourd trembling with the force of the knife, “To go home, Rook!”
“Well, don’t be foolish.” He straightened, smiling, “This is your new home.”
“No!” They tossed the knife into the sink and scraped the squash into the pot with their hand, “No, it isn’t, don’t say it is! I’m a prisoner.”
“My love, you’re being ridiculous. I am not a warden, to keep you here against your will. I-”
“Are you crazy? That’s literally what you’ve done!”
He paused, then a smile crept along his face, eyes squinting a little as he grinned, “Ah… I see. Tu veux sortir. You want to go outside and be among the wildflowers and trees. Alas…” He summoned tears to his eyes, his knuckles delicately pressed to his brow, “I am a cruel warden indeed, to not notice how tired you are of being held within this most homely of cages…”
He was so obnoxious. They hated how often he would do this, voice echoing off the wooden roof of the cabin as he waxed poetic about some bullshit. 
They hated his voice, how he’d look as he spoke to see their reactions.
“Mon ange, don’t glare at me so. I’ll let you out, and perhaps you will become more lively.”
They decided not to say anything, either a “thank you” or a “shut the hell up.” Instead, they stirred the soup and glanced at the door. It was chilly out, but the sky was slightly cloudy and the breeze was probably nice. It was hot and stuffy in the cabin, and everything smelled like Rook, which is to say it smelled like his natural scent, like cucumber, like musk. 
They hated his smell too, how he’d maintain eye contact as he bathed when he knew they were glancing to see if he was still there. 
He laughed as their brow furrowed further, opening the door, “Come, let’s go outside. The soup can wait.”
Stepping outside for the first time in however long they’d been stuck inside was ethereal. As soon as they ducked out from under Rook’s arm, they took off running, well aware he’d want them back later, but with no intention of following his wishes. The grass was cool on their bare feet, and were they a little less sane, they’d likely bend to kiss the ground. Climbing a tree, they relaxed a bit into the bark and scanned the horizon.
They’d come to him for help in the late autumn. They’d fallen off of a caravan, bleeding into the snow and frightened by the howls and worsening blizzard. How were they to know that that sweetened smile and blond hair hid a madman? He invited them in, politely drawn them a bath, given them a hot meal, but in the morning, refused to let them go until their wounds were healed. 
One morning turned into a full week, and a full week became a month, full of disturbing discoveries and strange advances. The first time he kissed them was during a fight on whether or not they could go home, and ever since then, they’d demanded he sleep in the cellar, to which he acquiesced as long as they made dinner, but they could tell he was growing impatient. He went on and on about how true and pure their love was, but they weren’t in love, and they had no clue how many other poor souls had heard the same rhetoric. Unfortunately, every time they tried to leave when he was home, he’d stop them, his grip growing stronger and stronger each time. When he’d leave, to go hunting or for groceries, he’d place a spell on the door to keep it locked. 
They stared at the sunset for a moment, then looked down and noticed something they hadn’t seen before. On the night they came to his cabin, they had simply been running aimlessly, but there was, in fact, a path. Paths usually meant other people, and other people meant they could finally get away from Rook. They scrambled down the tree, then began walking along the path. 
The cool air was like nectar to their lungs. They’d never see him again if this went how they wanted. They’d never go near cucumber, and they’d never eat squash again. He’d be nothing but a bad memory. 
As they came to a crossroads, they jumped as an arrow lodged itself into the signpost. They spun around but saw nothing, and kept walking to the left, haste in their steps. They broke into a run after a few paces, panic speeding their breaths. Another arrow hit a tree trunk and they ran faster. They couldn’t go back, not now, but when a bolt of ice froze the ground before them, they were forced to turn off into the woods and keep running.
The arrows stopped, since he probably paused to collect them. The twigs stabbed their bare feet like glass, but they kept running, panting like an animal. Something grabbed their arm and yanked them back, throwing them into a tree trunk.
“I must be honest, mon ange. I expected this of you, but I did not think your endurance was so wonderful.” 
They wheezed against the tree, “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Oh, my. If you do not understand, then who am I to break the illusion?” He knelt before them, tilting their head up, “Ever petulant, aren’t we?”
As he dragged them back to the cabin, all they could think of was how close they’d gotten, but it was unlikely they’d get another chance. 
He was always watching them, anyway, and that’s what they hated most about him.
Part Two: He Begs For Uniformity
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dongiovannaswife · 2 years
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Kinda feel guilty for not writing these last days --I've had free time but haven't felt okay physically nor mentally, and it's frustrating. There are only two requests waiting and some other pieces and I can't seem to work on them no matter what.
I know I shouldn't bring more stress upon myself and should just be patient and accept I need this time to heal —accept my own advice, take care of myself— but I still feel so bad over it.
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pedro-pascal · 2 months
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ZOMBIELAND: DOUBLE TAP (2019)
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ursulaklegay · 6 months
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its so scary to put yourself out there but a SINGLE message saying "hi i loved what you made it touched me in some way" makes it all worth it 10000%
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britishmuffin · 28 days
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ATLA sketches because I'm deep into it atm 8)
★ patreon || website || twitter ★
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clarisse-doodles · 1 month
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inspired by this post, in which Damian does not know what Vine is
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spooksier · 1 year
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me when the emotionally repressed character is revealed to have had something happen in their childhood that was completely out of their control but changed them in a way they can never come back from
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inkskinned · 9 months
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at some point it's just like. do they even fucking like the thing they're asking AI to make? "oh we'll just use AI for all the scripts" "we'll just use AI for art" "no worries AI can write this book" "oh, AI could easily design this"
like... it's so clear they've never stood in the middle of an art museum and felt like crying, looking at a piece that somehow cuts into your marrow even though the artist and you are separated by space and time. they've never looked at a poem - once, twice, three times - just because the words feel like a fired gun, something too-close, clanging behind your eyes. they've never gotten to the end of the movie and had to arrive, blinking, back into their body, laughing a little because they were holding their breath without realizing.
"oh AI can mimic style" "AI can mimic emotion" "AI can mimic you and your job is almost gone, kid."
... how do i explain to you - you can make AI that does a perfect job of imitating me. you could disseminate it through the entire world and make so much money, using my works and my ideas and my everything.
and i'd still keep writing.
i don't know there's a word for it. in high school, we become aware that the way we feel about our artform is a cliche - it's like breathing. over and over, artists all feel the same thing. "i write because i need to" and "my music is how i speak" and "i make art because it's either that or i stop existing." it is such a common experience, the violence and immediacy we mean behind it is like breathing to me - comes out like a useless understatement. it's a cliche because we all feel it, not because the experience isn't actually persistent. so many of us have this ... fluttering urgency behind our ribs.
i'm not doing it for the money. for a star on the ground in some city i've never visited. i am doing it because when i was seven i started taking notebooks with me on walks. i am doing it because in second grade i wrote a poem and stood up in front of my whole class to read it out while i shook with nerves. i am doing it because i spent high school scribbling all my feelings down. i am doing it for the 16 year old me and the 18 year old me and the today-me, how we can never put the pen down. you can take me down to a subatomic layer, eviscerate me - and never find the source of it; it is of me. when i was 19 i named this blog inkskinned because i was dramatic and lonely and it felt like the only thing that was actually permanently-true about me was that this is what is inside of me, that the words come up over everything, coat everything, bloom their little twilight arias into every nook and corner and alley
"we're gonna replace you". that is okay. you think that i am writing to fill a space. that someone said JOB OPENING: Writer Needed, and i wrote to answer. you think one raindrop replaces another, and i think they're both just falling. you think art has a place, that is simply arrives on walls when it is needed, that is only ever on demand, perfect, easily requested. you see "audience spending" and "marketability" and "multi-line merch opportunity"
and i see a kid drowning. i am writing to make her a boat. i am writing because what used to be a river raft has long become a fully-rigged ship. i am writing because you can fucking rip this out of my cold dead clammy hands and i will still come back as a ghost and i will still be penning poems about it.
it isn't even love. the word we use the most i think is "passion". devotion, obsession, necessity. my favorite little fact about the magic of artists - "abracadabra" means i create as i speak. we make because it sluices out of us. because we look down and our hands are somehow already busy. because it was the first thing we knew and it is our backbone and heartbreak and everything. because we have given up well-paying jobs and a "real life" and the approval of our parents. we create because - the cliche again. it's like breathing. we create because we must.
you create because you're greedy.
#every time someones like ''AI will replace u" im like. u will have to fucking KILL ME#there is no replacement here bc i am not filling a position. i am just writing#and the writing is what i need to be doing#writeblr#this probably doesn't make sense bc its sooo frustrating i rarely speak it the way i want to#edited for the typo wrote it and then was late to a meeting lol#i love u people who mention my typos genuinely bc i don't always catch them!!!! :) it is doing me a genuine favor!!!#my friend says i should tell you ''thank you beta editors'' but i don't know what that means#i made her promise it isn't a wolf fanfiction thing. so if it IS a wolf thing she is DEAD to me (just kidding i love her)#hey PS PS PS ??? if ur reading this thinking what it's saying is ''i am financially capable of losing this'' ur reading it wrong#i write for free. i always have. i have worked 5-7 jobs at once to make ends meet.#i did not grow up with access or money. i did not grow up with connections or like some kind of excuse#i grew up and worked my fucking ASS OFF. and i STILL!!! wrote!!! on the side!!! because i didn't know how not to!!!#i do not write for money!!!! i write because i fuckken NEED TO#i could be in the fucking desert i could be in the fuckken tundra i could be in total darkness#and i would still be writing pretentious angsty poetry about it#im not in any way saying it's a good thing. i'm not in any way implying that they're NOT tryna kill us#i'm saying. you could take away our jobs and we could go hungry and we could suffer#and from that suffering (if i know us) we'd still fuckin make art.#i would LOVE to be able to make money doing this! i never have been able to. but i don't NEED to. i will find a way to make my life work#even if it means being miserable#but i will not give up this thing. for the whole world.
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irlwakko · 2 years
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not to be all “think of the children” but the fact that companies can openly admit to using methods to intentionally form addictions in children and we’re not killing their ceos in the streets yet is astounding
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hattersarts · 3 months
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a third old man yaoi has hit the lesbian
(acd canon dated, mostly based on granada series)
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nicktoonsunite · 4 months
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misc NU doodles part tres
last comic is based off off my nasb 2 clip
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cheesit-notes · 8 months
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"s'fucking small"
lieutenant ghost who has a major size kink.
tags: MDNI!, size kink obvi, manhandling teehee, fem reader, fingering, you're put in a mating press, lowkey praise?
a/n: sorry for the late post, i went to hoyofest '23 and then tumblr went down for a bit but teehee take ghost and size kink (i want him to manhandle me)
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ghost likes to hold things after you hold them just to see how big his hands look on it compared to yours. does the thing where he makes you hold his phone and later compares it to his cock. (when hard, he is most definitely over 7 inches and at least 5 inches in girth, you can't tell me he can act like this if his cock was any less)
loves manhandling you 'cause god, look at you! so small next to him. he absolutely adores your hand in his, just shows him how big he is compared to you.
when he has you pinned to the bed, legs spread out showing off your pretty little cunt to him, just him. god, and you're so wet, letting him slip in a finger in so easily. one hand holding yours down, your knees pressing against your chest as he pushes himself onto you. revels in the fact he can just engulf your entire body with his larger one.
slips a few fingers in and out, seeing you squirm around trying to rub on him trying to get any form of friction. teases you by rubbing your clit, just a little. then when he's had enough, he'll stand up and let you watch as he slowly takes off his belt and let his cock spring free.
an arm to support him, your knees now next to your head because of the position, and his cock lined up with your cunt. he'll ram it in with no time for you to adjust (he's so mean). gets him all riled up seeing a bulge in your stomach. he'll grunt out your name and little comments about how you're "s'fucking small" and how you're taking him in sooo good. he'll put you in a mating press. eventually, he's just panting and moaning your name as you squeeze around him with a death grip on your hips and thighs.
god you look so cute as he fucks your brains out.
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kangals · 7 months
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friendly advice from vetmed: I know that when your animal has an infection that is generating a lot of discharge, you want to describe that to the veterinarian, because it’s a concerning sign. that is true. I also know that the most common word for this type of discharge is “pus,” so it’s logical that that’s the word that you’ll use when describing what’s going on. and in English, we often add a “-y” when we’re using a word as a descriptor.
but. the word. the word you are looking for. is purulent.
please stop sending in messages telling the doctor that your dog has a “pussy wound.”
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morally-earl-grey · 9 months
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maatdraws · 4 months
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Astarion wording his needs.
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