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clematsea · 3 months

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# 𝐀𝐒𝐋𝐈𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐁𝐎𝐑𝐀: kübra , gif pack .

* 𝐩𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐜 . . . click here or the source to find gifs of aslıhan malbora in the netflix show kübra ( episodes 1 - 8 ). aslıhan is of turkish [ yörük ] descent, please cast them accordingly. all of these gifs were made from scratch by me. don’t add these to other gif hunts, redistribute, or claim as your own + please like or reblog if you plan to use !

please read my rules before using.

if you would like to support me, please consider the following resources to help my home country: carrd / donate

tw : cigarettes, smoking, food, eating, flashing lights, and crying.

#fyi these are two pages.#aslihan malbora #aslihan malbora gif pack #aslihan malbora gif hunt #gif pack #gif hunt #rpc #rph #gifsociety #mine: gp #usermina #turkish fc #userdevon #fcxdirectory #user-dee #turkishfcs #thegifpackreblogs #so were only 2 people going to tell me i never made the last two epis available....#aint nobody tell me nothing !!!!!

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notfknapplicable · 11 months

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6644

V thankful that I managed to come out of yesterday’s spiral. I found a 3BR house and posted it on insta hoping to tempt some potential roommates - and I got an offer! It’s an offer from someone who already has a place and is interested in getting a housemate to offset their own rent and take up some of the copious space they have in their home. One roommate is always better than two, and rent and bills COMBINED are way within my budget. I am very cautious in my optimism but we are both elder punx with day jobs and early bedtimes. This person is actually one of the first people I ever met in this town, which bodes well imho. We both used to party hard (they were definitely present for my ho era - scroll to the beginning of my personal tag for some shamelessness) and have thoroughly outgrown it.

I don’t know. I’m hopeful but still, like I said, cautiously optimistic. They might decide that they don’t want roommates again after all or I might not like the house.

But yesterday I was seriously considering skipping town and casually considering something much worse, so it’s nice to go into Juneteenth weekend with a positive possibility on the horizon.

#tales from scumbag city #hey reddit refugees FYI don't reblog people's personal posts #there's lots of stuff going around recommending that you reblog everything you like on this site #not true #you can curate your own experience #I use my likes to 'mark' pages that I want to return to one day #I reblog things that I approve of #those are two very different things

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sanstropfremir · 2 years

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With all of this talk, I was wondering what your opinion on the other hybe groups was...txt, seventeen, enhyphen etc?

you can check my txt tag here and my seventeen tag here! spoiler alert, i'm not really a fan of either group. enhypen is....honestly a bit of a mystery to me. i liked fever as a song and they have a couple bsides that i like, but honest to god i get them confused with treasure half the time. they have good quality production design (obviously) and there's quality put into all the aspects of their work, but it never seems to quite connect for me. like i thought the styling for blessed cursed was one of the best attempts at a real 90s throwback (since 90s love) but the song was bland as hell and didn't go anywhere. literally the opening of the mv is the countdown to y2k and they didn't have ANY explosive moments at all! like come on you literally had chekov's fireworks RIGHT THERE. i think i mentioned it before in my mama 2021 review, they have good choreography too; they're a very technically skilled group in terms of performance but i find them so profoundly uninteresting as performers. they all have a chronic case of performance face and there isn't anything that's unique about them in my opinion that makes up for that. it's all perfectly fine, but perfectly fine isn't interesting to me.

#nu'est u are SO missed #the only 'hybe' group that actually mattered #kpop questions #enhypen w #i think it comes down to hybe again. they like to go for the 'most appeal' route so i find most of their groups to be boring #text #answers #fyi for people i do have a tagging system for writings!#well there's a directory page linked in my bio #but also if you check for anything tagged '(groupname) w' that's the writing tag #there's maybe one or two that arent tagged like that but everything is linked on the directory page

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daneecastle · 4 months

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Reversed Veil of Worlds

Pg 23 and 24

@goodomensafterdark

Final page of the chapter Future Aziraphale. YAY! Finally after their horrid kiss in season 2, they had to wait 2000 years to have a wet crying, "I miss you" kiss! Next chapter will be in two weeks. I need to catch up on other projects and prepare for the next chapter that will answer questions about this world that Rouge and Crowley live in. Koka's world will be chapter 3 .... or the end of 2. 😉

Fyi it is Rouge as in Red. Not Rogue as in the DnD class!

First - Previous - Next Chapter

(Thank you to those who have offered up wonderful songs to build a playlist. Im at 42 tracks.)

To see previous pages go to my Patreon (support will help me get them out faster) and/or Kofi (this has written details about each page).

https://www.patreon.com/posts/94109347?utm_campaign=postshare_creator

https://ko-fi.com/daneecastle

#good omens #good omens comic #good omens fandom #good omens au #crowley good omens #aziraphale good omens #aziraphale #crowley #neil gaiman #michael sheen #good omens fanart #david tennant #comic #reversed veils of worlds #reverse omens #reversed au #future aziraphale #end chapter

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harrystylescherry · 4 months

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A/N: wow, what amazing timing. let's pretend i did this on purpose. happy birthday, harry! fyi, this is vol. 2--you don't have to, but i rec reading vol. 1 first :)

*warning: spanking/paddling, mild pain, orgasm denial

what this is: pure smut tbh - vol. 2

word count: 5.5k

let me know what you think :)

MASTERLIST

It had been three agonizing days–three and a half if you were going to count this morning…and you were, because the ache between your legs and the need thrumming at your core was the only thing you could think about.

Your boyfriend was punishing you in the worst way: orgasm denial. He’d work you and edge you until you were just on the brink of release, one…two…three times…then release you from the restraints, or pull you up from his lap, and go about his business. As if you weren’t a puddle of need, dripping between your thighs, angry and wanton and sorry.

Because that was the whole point of this–for you to be sorry. To show you not to misbehave, or shirk direct orders.

In your eyes, it was a minor infraction. He had left on a business trip for five days, and told you, explicitly, not to touch yourself, not for a teasing second, not to come. Then, he made sure to clarify that none of the sex toys at his place or yours were to be used either, knowing how much you loved a loophole. The two of you had been together for just over a year now, and you had taught him well to be specific and exact with his instructions. On more than one occasion, he’d tell you that you should’ve been a lawyer–a comment that was as much of a compliment as it was a chastising for being bratty and pushing his limits.

The instruction was a punishment in itself, though he’d never admit to it. He wanted you to go with him, so between the stressful meetings and boring client calls, he could have moments of peace. He wanted to show you around a new city (though he’d only ever been there once before himself), discover hole in the wall eateries and dive bars together, fuck you in places not exactly meant for fucking, and, of course, have you on his arm for all the client dinners and drink-night-schmoozing he was expected to do. Unfortunately for him, you were only three months into your new job as an assistant editor/junior staff writer for The Wire, an indie music magazine based in London that mostly focused on independent artists and underground scenes. Were you cool enough for the job? Probably not, but you were open to anything and everything–your 134 very specific spotify playlists proof that you didn’t discriminate.

The job was a lot of work, and you were busting your ass to prove to the close-knit team that ran it that you were worth keeping around. Your ninety-days of entry-probation had just ended. Taking time off wasn’t a good look (not that you had even racked up enough hours to take off an entire work week), and while working from home wasn’t off the table, you didn’t want it to seem like you didn’t want to be there. On the ground, toiling away at your tiny desk with the other two assistants and three interns. It was fun. You loved Harry, but your priorities right now were what they were. He understood it, though that didn’t mean he had to like it. And clearly, he didn’t, as evidenced by his very unfair and petty instruction.

You had done well the first three days, despite the teasing texts and naughty photos meant to bait you–which is why you’d been so strong. He wasn’t going to trick you into breaking a rule.

Day four was what broke you. You hadn’t heard from him all day (which only made you want the teasing and photos now that they were being withheld), you had stupidly started an erotic romance novel that was essentially 320 pages of pure (ungodly and delicious) fucking, and you were so stressed out from work that your body was begging for a release beyond what your favorite workout could give.

You were just a girl. A horny, needy, sexually frustrated girl. It’s not your fault that the desperation was too strong for you to deny the call of the clit sucker you kept buried in your underwear drawer. It was society’s.

In the moment, the rationalizing was totally sound. And in the moment, the orgasm was worth it.

Then, Harry’s facetime came through only a few minutes after you’d come down, as if he had some sort of sixth sense when it came to your orgasms.

“Hi,” you said after checking to make sure your hair was fine and the toy was safely tossed beneath your bed.

His brow furrowed on the screen. “Hi, baby.”

“How’s your trip?” You settled into the pillows behind you.

“Good,” he mumbled. His lips twitched. “Did you touch yourself today?”

“W-what?”

“You did, didn’t you?” His eyes narrowed. “When? Just now?”

You scoffed. “Harry, come on. Of course not. You said–”

“I know what I said. And I know that you didn’t listen.” His voice was stern and it sent a jolt to your core.

“That’s–”

“Don’t lie to me. I know what you look like after–and it’s all over your face.”

Your cheeks flamed. You were caught.

“It’s not my fault!”

You could see he was fighting off a smile–a devilish one. “Whose fault is it then?”

“I…” You didn’t really have an answer.

“That’s what I thought.” You watched his jaw tick through the screen. “I’ll be home tomorrow night. I expect you to already be there when I do. Now, get cleaned up and go to bed.”

He ended the call before you could respond. No ‘goodnight’ or ‘I love you’. You were screwed…and not in the way you would’ve liked. So, feeling a little guilty, you moved into the bathroom, took a shower, and climbed beneath your covers at 9pm.

The night he got home, he restrained you to the bed without a word. Flat on your back, with your limbs pulled to each respective corner of the bed, he teased your nipples with a paint brush, then your clit, until you were a squirming, writhing mess. Then it was over. He brushed a hand over your cheek and went to take a shower.

Each night since, the edging had progressively gotten worse.

You were aroused constantly. Getting through each work day felt like an impossible feat. All you could think about was the nights before–the pleasure in all the teasing–and then the pain in going without any relief. Unfortunately, that only made you wetter.

You were a zombie through your morning meetings. You nodded when you were supposed to and took down notes just so you didn’t completely check out. You’d been staring at the commissioned article in front of you for almost forty-five minutes, not an edit made because you couldn’t tear your focus from the steady throb between your legs, when a text from Harry came through.

Same time tonight.

That’s all it said, though it didn’t need to say anything else. A shiver moved through you. Another night of torture. You held in the groan of frustration (with maybe a bit of anticipation), hoped that your punishment would be over tonight and white-knuckled through the rest of your day.

You knocked on Harry’s door at exactly 8pm. No dinner together was part of the punishment, and so was not being able to use your key. Those were always part of the punishments, though, and served to remind you of your place in this area of your relationship–that you were not in control, could only come and go as much as he wanted you to, and all the other things that you already knew…and that you sometimes needed reminding of.

When were you going to learn that being rebellious was fun until it wasn’t (though, punishments could still be kind of fun–not that you would ever tell Harry that)?

It was a rhetorical question, since you had never exactly been one to submit without a fight.

“Little brat,” he said when he opened the door. “Straight to my room. Take your clothes off in the hall.”

No kiss hello, no smile, no sweetness–just like the last three nights. Maybe the punishments weren’t always fun. Your eyes went to the floor in shame as you went past him and up the stairs. He followed behind you, his footfalls even and sure. He leaned against the wall with his arms over his chest as you pushed your jeans to the floor and peeled off your t-shirt.

When you went to move into the room, Harry tsked in disapproval. “You know better than that. Don’t make this worse for yourself, sub.”

Your entire body lit up with embarrassment. It was a mistake. You were nervous and anxious to get it over with, not thinking. You knew you weren’t getting a release tonight, could see it in his face, hear it in his voice. Your hands shook as you unclasped your bra, letting it drop to the floor, followed by your panties.

“In the room, hands against the wall.”

You took a shaky breath and did exactly as he said.

The thin paddle pressed against your bare ass when he came up behind you and your body clenched. You weren’t exactly a fan. He slid it down the back of your thighs and gave your skin a light tap.

“Legs apart.” You obeyed and he hummed. “Keep your arms and legs straight, and eyes up.” You took a deep breath in preparation. The paddle came down on your ass and you flinched. “Do I need to repeat myself?”

“N-no, sir.”

“So, you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

Whack.

There was no warning or warm-up. He took turns with each cheek, hitting hard and then easing up, so you never knew what to prepare for. At least he didn’t make you count them, not that you thought you could. You were too focused on not letting your knees buckle, fighting not to lean against the wall.

It went on like that for a while, until the searing burn turned into the kind of sharp numbing that left you dripping.

After what had to be at least twenty strikes, he dipped his hand between your thighs. Like always, shame slithered in; the embarrassment that all of this turned you on. It disappeared, like it always did, the second Harry made his sound of approval. That little hum that told you he was pleased, even though he wouldn’t vocalize it the way you wanted him too. It was a punishment, after all.

He brushed his knuckles over your clit and you almost crumpled to the floor. You were so turned on, so needy, that the slightest touch was a straight shot to your core–electric. Two flicks of his fingers and you knew you’d come, which meant even more trouble.

He touched you again and you hissed.

“You don’t come. Not until I say.” As if you needed the reminder.

“Yes…sir.” He chuckled at the breathiness of your voice. It was mean–and hot. He knew it, too.

The paddle against your skin again, then his fingers moving through your slit. “Such a dirty girl,” he whispered. You squeezed your eyes shut and tried to think about anything else besides the pleasure strumming at your core. His fingers were too skilled, they knew your body too well.

Your left knee buckled–for less than a second–but he caught it. Goosebumps raised across your skin when you heard the three tsks from behind you.

“I–”

“Shh…”

You pressed your lips together, forcing the plea back down your throat.

“On the bed.”

Silently, and with your head down, you walked on shaky legs to sit at its edge. Harry pushed your chest back so you laid down.

“Don’t move.”

He walked to the wardrobe and pulled out the spreader bar. He strapped in each of your ankles so you couldn’t close your legs and then moved it up, so your knees were bent into your chest. Your breath was ragged and you fought to keep any whimpers from slipping out when he secured your wrists in the cuffs attached to the center of the bar.

You couldn’t stretch your legs, couldn’t close them–couldn’t move. Completely open to him, you were in the perfect position for him to do whatever he wanted.

He hummed as he moved back to the wardrobe, opening and closing drawers. He seemed to be making a decision. When he turned back to you, there was a smirk on his face. You took a deep breath when you saw the pink device in his hands.

He pushed the curved vibrator into you, until the fit was perfectly snug. He made sure to position it so the pad pressed right against your already too-sensitive clit. Then, he went and sat in the armchair a few paces from the corner of the bed.

It looked as though he was simply scrolling through his phone, his posture relaxed in the chair, head propped against his closed fist–but you knew better. He was making you sweat it out. You knew what was coming–and the wait was agonizing, just as he intended it to be.

When it came–the sharp buzzing both inside and out–your whole body jerked. As he moved his thumb up and down his screen, the vibrations followed, growing stronger and then mellowing out.

This was one of your favorite toys, except maybe not anymore. Holding back your orgasm was feeling closer and closer to impossible. Your hips bucked against the mattress, each attempt to get away from the intense vibrations futile. You wanted to cry–knew you would if this didn’t end soon.

You uselessly struggled against the restraints, your legs trying to close on sheer instinct. The sounds that escaped you seemed more akin to those of an animal than a woman and your entire body was covered in a sheen of sweat.

Without even thinking about it, you were begging.

“Please, please, please.” Harry stayed silent. “S-sir, god, please!”

“No.”

The vibrations stopped and your body sagged in a false sense of relief now that the fight was over, though there was no [real] relief. He still refused to let you come.

The whining was involuntary. Each nerve ending was a live wire. If he touched you just once, just [barely] you’d explode. The squirming of your hips against the slick silicone was what pulled him up from his chair. He pulled the device from you, leaving you empty and aching.

After releasing your wrists and ankles from the restraints, he patted the inside of your thigh. “Go take a shower.”

That’s it. Nothing else. You felt the pressure behind your eyes as you stood from the bed. You nodded and whispered your “Yes, Sir” as you moved into the en suite.

Your joints were sore from all your struggling, and all you wanted was a hug. It seemed his point had been made–at least in your opinion. You broke a direct order and then tried to lie about it. That was bad, you got it. Wouldn’t do it again.

It wasn’t that you couldn’t take the punishment because you could. If not, you would’ve used your safe word. He only ever gave you as much as you could handle and you trusted him with your body entirely, without question. It was the lack of aftercare that was getting to you. During this punishment, he’d been doling out the bare minimum. All you’d gotten was maybe a kiss to the forehead and little love pats to your thighs. You were used to falling asleep in his lap, being wrapped up in a blanket, or being tucked into his side as he prepared you a snack or (upon request) ice cream sundaes.

Under the hot water, you wiped the tears from your cheeks and let your body relax. You washed your hair and lathered your body using his products (ignoring the ones he kept for you on the shelf) since that was as close to him as he’d allow you to get this week.

When you opened the shower door, he was standing there, waiting with a towel. “C’mere,” he said as he held it open for you. You stepped into him and he wrapped it around your body, then rubbed his hands up and down your arms. You snuggled as close to him as you could and he kissed the top of your head before saying, “Get dressed and I’ll take you home.”

You wanted to cry again, but didn’t. The punishment would end eventually, and you weren’t going to be weak about it.

It was day four and you were so sexually frustrated, you wanted to cry. Literally. At this point, you were nothing more than a bundle of needy hormones. You had chosen to wear a dress into the office for no other reason than you wouldn’t have been able to deal with the seam of your jeans rubbing against your clit all day. Why torture yourself when Harry was already doing more than enough?

Halfway through your morning, you got a text from your boyfriend requesting that you go straight to his place from work. Thankfully, he couldn’t hear you sigh in annoyance. You didn’t want to be denied anymore. You were tired, and your body was still a little sore from the night before and you were mad at him. He never restrained you like that without some kind of massage afterwards.

Each time you stood, your knees ached just a little and your hips had been stiff when you got out of bed this morning. Your body–and your brain–had had enough.

You left work a little later than usual, staying to finish an edit that didn’t need to be done until Monday. The tube ride to his was spent trying not to work yourself up. You leaned back in your seat and listened to an album that your boss had been talking about all week, hoping to distract yourself. It worked until you were standing in front of his door.

It opened without you having to knock and he smiled softly when he saw you. “Long day?”

So, apparently, you looked as tired as you felt. “I guess.”

He motioned for you to come in and, hesitantly, you did. He took your bags and set them in the entryway.

“Help me finish dinner?”

Dinner. You tried not to get your hopes up that the punishment was over, but he was relenting. You’d take any allowance you could get at this point.

“Sure.”

All that was really left to do was make the salad while he pulled everything out of the oven and set the table.

“Go ahead and sit down,” he said as he took the bowl from in front of you.

You took your seat and watched him move around the room, back and forth from the table with the roast chicken and sides, to the racks where he kept his wine. He poured you a glass and squeezed the back of your neck–a gesture that was both possessive and comforting.

As you ate, he asked about work–the kinds of things you were working on, how you were settling in, etc. It was the most conversation the two of you had since he came home and it felt good. Almost too good. As much as you tried to fully relax back into your normal routine and dynamic, you couldn’t lose the last bit of tension in your shoulders.

You wouldn’t be lured into a false sense of comfort–and Harry knew it too. He tried to hide his little half-smile, and if it were anyone else but you, it would’ve been missed but you knew him too well.

When you put your napkin on the table signaling you were finished, he cleared the table without a word. He whistled along to the song playing throughout the main floor as you scrolled on your phone, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of your attention.

Really, you were in no place to be petty, but your nature was your nature. You flinched when you felt his hands on your shoulders, massaging into the knots that resided there for months, since the beginning of your new job. It was from stress that you didn’t necessarily mind, since you were doing something you loved. His fingers climbed up the back of your neck and into your hairline, pressing in soft circles. You hummed in satisfaction.

“Is that good, baby?”

“Mhmm,” you said as your eyes fluttered closed. A quick tug to your hair pulled them open again. So, it was starting. “Yes, Sir,” you corrected, and were rewarded with more kneading at the base of your skull.

“C’mon, we’re going upstairs.”

Your body buzzed with anticipation as you followed him up and into his room. He kissed your cheekbone as he passed in front of you to go to the wardrobe–the one that you’d come to see as the bane of your existence this last week.

“Strip and lay on the bed for me.” You did as he said. All he returned with was a pair of soft handcuffs. Once your wrists were fastened together in front of you, he pushed your legs open and took a step back from the bed.

“Hm.” He pulled his bottom lip between his thumb and forefinger as he looked you over. “Pretty.”

The whimper was involuntary as you preened beneath his gaze. You could feel the pulse of your core. You were so sexually frustrated that it took nothing more than his approval for the desire to pool between your legs. The smirk on his face told you he could see it.

“You didn’t listen to me,” he said as he stepped to the edge of the bed. He reached down and casually traced the outline of you, making sure to keep away from your clit and your center. “Why not?”

“I-I was horny, sir. You kept s-sending me–” You cut yourself off with a needy moan when Harry dipped his fingers in just enough to coat them with you.

He spread it over your folds until the slickness touched your inner thighs. “Keep going.”

You took a shuddering breath and tried to focus. You also forced your hips to stay down, knowing that if you rocked yourself into his hand, he’d probably pull away. You couldn’t risk that, not when he was being so nice. “You kept sending me texts and photos o-of yourself–oh, god–and telling me all these…things.”

He brushed his fingers through your folds as you spoke, skirting around the bundle of nerves perfectly primed to set you off.

“So?”

“So, it made me want you and you weren’t there.”

“So?” He pushed a finger inside and your back arched off the bed. “Eyes open,” he said when they fluttered shut.

“So, it wasn’t nice. You were teasing me–torturing me on purpose. It wasn’t fair that I had to wait and you didn’t.”

“Life isn’t fair.”

“I–”

“You hate when I say that, I know.” He pushed a second finger inside and you moaned. Your hips tilted forward on their own, seeking out something–anything–for relief.

He removed his fingers. When he brushed his wet knuckles over your clit, a strangled cry replaced the disappointed sigh that escaped you.

“Is that what you want, baby?”

You whined and wriggled on the mattress while he held his knuckles just out of reach.

“Is it?”

“Yes, Sir. Please.”

“I didn’t get off while I was gone.”

“Okay,” you panted, as you fought your own neediness.

Harry slapped your clit and you cried out. “Listen to me. I did not get off while I was gone.”

“What? But you–”

“I know, the torture is the point. The teasing. I thought you would’ve learned this by now.” Another brush over your clit. Another moan. “That rule was for both of us. Did you think I wasn’t in agony? Each time you answered or sent a photo in return it took everything in me not to wrap my hand around my cock, but I have some self-control. I have patience. And I understand that whatever pleasure I could give myself wouldn’t compare to the kind I could get from you.”

When you whimpered this time, it wasn’t with need, but shame. You may have felt a little bad about breaking the rule now, and not just because it meant a little disappointment and a punishment. This was a big disappointment, you could hear it in his tone. It wasn’t just breaking a simple rule, but ruining something that was supposed to be good for the both of you. Granted, in your defense, he could’ve told you that, but you also knew why he didn’t: he shouldn’t have had to.

“Sir, I’m really sorry.”

“I bet you are.” He gave your clit a pinch that sent a flash of heat over your entire body. “I should make you wait another week. Edge you every night until you're begging for my cock, and then still not give it just so we’re even.”

“I–”

“Quiet.” He grabbed your hips and pulled you further down the bed. He placed his knee on the mattress, positioning his thigh only an inch from your clit. “You want to come so badly, go ahead.”

Your brow lifted in surprise. “What?”

“Go ahead, come. You have my permission, but I’m not helping you. You want it, take it, or I’ll uncuff you, and you can get dressed so I can take you home.”

“Sir–”

“You’ve got less than a minute before I dress you myself.” The hard edge to his voice told you he wasn’t kidding. Not in the slightest.

You looked from the stern set of his face down to his jean-clad thigh. When you looked back at your boyfriend, his jaw was set. He didn’t move or say a word.

Your entire body heated with something close to embarrassment, but it was also mixed with anticipation, shame, and need. You didn’t want to go home, you wanted to get off and if this was all he was offering, you’d have to take it. Especially since, if you didn’t, you’d be in even more trouble with him. You didn’t need him to say it to know.

You planted your heels into the mattress and closed the gap between you two. When you lifted your hips, your clit brushed against the rough material and you groaned. You rolled your hips against his thigh and cursed. It felt so good. You knew it wouldn’t take you very long to cum. The only thing stopping you from instantly falling over the edge was the fact that you could only get close enough for a light brushing–there was no pressure. The only real friction came from the coarse fabric–but it would be enough. More than enough.

Your abs and thighs burned as you held your hips up, and with every rock of your hips, the muscles in your stomach contracted with the effort. This was its own kind of punishment, you realized. He was making you work for it.

You had kept your eyes locked on his stiff cock pushing against the front of his jeans, not sure if you wanted to know how exactly he was looking at you.

“That’s it, baby.”

But, of course, all it took was that little bit of praise to get your attention. The sternness was still there, but there was also heat. He wanted you–and he seemed to love seeing you like this: needy and unbelievably desperate. Because that’s what you were. Getting your release was all you could think of.

You wanted something to hold onto, to grip onto the blankets beneath you for more stability, but you couldn’t do it with your wrists handcuffed together. You whined with the realization.

“I know.” The comfort was full of condescension, and you wished it didn’t turn you on even more, but it did.

You were sweating from exertion, but you were so close.

“C’mon, baby. Rub yourself on my thigh. I can feel how wet you are, my dirty girl.”

You looked down to see for yourself. Where you rubbed yourself was a much darker shade of blue. Your head fell back with a moan.

In an act of undeserved kindness, Harry pressed his thigh against you, offering you the most delicious kind of friction; the kind that almost hurt.

It was only another second before you were tumbling over the edge. You came so hard that stars erupted behind your eyes, and your skin felt white hot. You were sure you cursed and cried out his name but you were so detached from reality that you couldn’t know for sure.

He didn’t wait for you to come down from the high. He undid the fastening of his jeans before leaning over and uncuffing your wrists. “Up.” He walked to the right side of the bed and took a seat. “Come and sit on my cock.”

Still in somewhat of a daze, you did as he said. As soon as he pulled his length from the confines of his jeans, you straddled his hips and sank down.

“Fucking hell,” he groaned. He gripped your waist and guided your hips, holding you down so he was fully sheathed.

You ignored the harsh rubbing of material against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs and focused on how good it felt to feel him inside of you.

“You’re gonna come again,” he said before sucking on your neck, leaving a mark that you hoped would be gone by the time you had to go back to the office after the weekend.

You whimpered, not entirely confident you had it in you. Your clit was overstimulated and raw from the week’s torture. “It’s going to hurt.”

“I know. You’ll do it anyway.”

When his voice was that deep and raspy, so commanding, who were you to argue?

“Yes,Sir.”

He pulled you far enough away that he could dip down and lick your peaked nipples. He sucked and nibbled until your chest and cheeks were red hot with the building of another orgasm.

“Oh, god.” You gripped the collar of his t-shirt.

He hummed against your skin. “That’s it. Keep going.” He held you tight enough that you wouldn’t be able to disconnect your clit from where it rubbed against the base of him even if you wanted to–and you were really walking that line. It was almost unbearable, the pleasure only a hair away from pain.

When he tilted his hips to hit that special spot inside, the tension ripped loose. You dug your nails into the muscle of his shoulders as your body shook against his, your hips rocking frantically, both chasing the high and trying to get away from it.

“Fuck,” he groaned into your neck as he emptied himself inside you. With a strong arm wrapped around your waist, he kept you riding him through both of your orgasms as your body filled with exhaustion.

He peppered kisses over your chest, shoulders, neck and jaw until you felt him go soft, still tucked inside. You were close to falling asleep on his chest when he pulled out and lifted you up into his arms.

“Shower first,” he whispered before kissing the top of your head and carrying you into the en suite. He set you on the counter and disappeared.

He came back with a cold glass of water, which you took happily. He turned the shower on, pulled two towels from the wardrobe and set them on the fancy warmer before returning to you. His hands moved from your shoulder to cup your face and he leaned in to kiss you.

“You did well this week, love.”

“It sucked.”

He laughed. “It was supposed to.” Another peck to your lips and he helped you down. “Go ahead.”

You stepped into the shower and watched through the quickly fogging glass as he stripped. The second he stepped in you were glued to him, your head to his chest and his arms around your waist.

You only pulled apart when he washed you. His hands moved over your body, soft and soapy, digging into the muscles he had neglected the nights before.

“I think I owe you a massage or two.”

“Try three–at least.”

He kissed your hip from his spot beneath you. When he brought his hand up to wash between your legs, you flinched.

“Sore?”

“A little numb, actually. Wasn’t even expecting that to hurt.”

He kissed right above your mound. “Sorry, love. I’ll be gentle.”

He finished his task and you took over, doing the same for him. Despite his hardening length, he didn’t try to touch you again, or ask you to help him relieve what must have been a lot of pent up frustration. Instead, he held your face in his hands and kissed you, murmuring soft I love yous in between.

After toweling each other off, he turned down the covers, put on Sleepless in Seattle and promised to make you blueberry pancakes in the morning.

#harry #harry styles #harry styles fic #harry styles writing #harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles x oc #harry styles x you #harry styles blurb #harry styles smut #harry styles x fem!reader #harry styles x reader

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talesofesther · 1 year

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deep devotion

Wednesday Addams x Reader

Summary: Over time you came to realize more and more that sometimes Wednesday wears her words like armor. They become almost futile when you learn she speaks through actions.

Requested by anons: Here and here.

A/N: I combined two requests in this story, and I hope you guys like it, even if I feel like I deviated from them a bit. I'm not completely happy with how this story turned out, but it is what it is. Also FYI, there are a few descriptions of blood ahead, and flashbacks are in italics.

Masterlist

There was something morbid about the way the deep red color of blood mixed with the polished wood floor. It trickled down Wednesday's chin in steady droplets, splashing beside her boots in what would be an annoying stain to clean.

At least in that, the raven-haired girl could take some solace. Losing to Bianca had that effect, the one that makes you feel all bad kinds of miserable and enraged. Today especially, because it was one of those few times in which Wednesday allowed her feelings to dictate her actions.

If her labored breathing and the white-knuckled grip she had on her blade were anything to go by, she was fuming with rage. If you were here, you'd notice — this is where Wednesday's mind first goes to and she curses herself for it — but others don't, her face was kept impassive as the blade loudly clanked on the floor, as she stomped the ground with purpose, reaching the door of the fencing class quickly otherwise she'd be breaking one of the significant rules of the school. No killing your classmates.

Wednesday thought she heard the teacher calling, something about going to the infirmary; but the door had already slammed shut behind her, muffling his voice, and when he managed to reach it, she was nowhere to be seen.

She didn't really register where she was going. She just kept walking. The cold wind hit her cheeks when she stepped outside, it was comforting, she felt it on the damp and dried blood now stuck to her alabaster skin.

It was by luck, or maybe misfortune, that her path crossed with yours.

Wednesday saw you before you saw her, the pages of a book holding all of your attention as you slowly walked the stone path outside, between the lunch tables and the trees. Wednesday stopped in her tracks, waiting for the inevitable. She could taste the metallic flavor of blood on the corner of her lip, feel the sting of the recent cut and it kept her grounded.

There was something about you, something about the way the few lonely rays of sun on this cloudy day chose to shine upon the bouncing of your hair. You were all delicacy and warmth as you traced the lines on paper. While Wednesday was nothing short of a midnight moon covered by rain clouds.

That girlfriend of yours is too good for you anyways.

Maybe Bianca wasn't too far off.

"Wednesday!"

Your voice clashed with her thoughts, and before she knew it, you were shoving the book into your bag and had your hands reaching out for her.

Wednesday flinched at the sudden closeness, blinking a couple of times. The air is suddenly heavier, the clouds past the school walls are darkening quickly, it'll rain soon.

You gulped and dropped your hands, fingertips grazing the fabric over Wednesday's forearm. "What happened?" The worry in your voice was evident.

Wednesday didn't like the crease in your eyebrows or that she was the cause of it. She shook her head, strands of her hair — messy from the way she had forcefully taken her mask off earlier — getting stuck to her damp cheek, "nothing happened."

"So that just showed up there?" You deadpanned, eyes glued to her fresh wound, to the dark tone of the skin under her eyes.

"Nothing that requires you to fuss over me." Wednesday set her jaw, very much aware of you sneaking your fingers between hers. She'd never admit to liking it, but deep down she knew she didn't have to. You knew it already, you knew your way around her and it took having it, for Wednesday to understand how much she'd been wanting someone who took the time to understand her.

"I care about you," you spoke softly, somehow looking at her even softer. Raising your free hand, you pushed away the wisps of hair that had been caught in the drying blood. Your touch was all tender, as if she was fragile porcelain. Which was the furthest from the truth. Yet you did it anyway, following the same rhythm your bleeding heart set, pulsing with each beat for her. "There's a difference." You finished, and pulled her along with you.

The door to the infirmary appeared and you walked past it with no second glances, leading Wednesday to your room instead. Her hand gripped yours tighter after that.

You opened your dorm door for her and asked that she sat on your bed. She complied silently while you disappeared into the bathroom, the dark wood creaking under your steps.

Wednesday didn't say anything when you returned with a few damp gauzes and a bandaid. Or when you sat beside her, looking at her in a silent question before holding her jaw with one hand and cleaning the blood with the other; the white cloth became red, and then pink and then it didn't change at all as you cleaned every last bit from her skin, careful to not cause her any pain, eyebrows furrowed as you ever so slowly brushed her cheek.

The antiseptic stung bitterly, yet Wednesday couldn't look away from you even if she wanted to. Subconsciously, as if you were tugging at her heartstrings, she leaned into your touch, her lower lip met your palm when she relaxed. No one had the power to strip her down from her defenses as you did. It scared her, but she was addicted to the thrill of it.

You placed the purple bandaid right over the nasty cut on her cheek, and only then you asked again; "will you tell me what happened?"

Her dark eyes regarded you with caution before she averted her gaze, pulling her cheek away from your touch as it flushed pink. "Fencing class."

"Bianca?"

"She talks too much."

A beat passed in silence, the only sound being the howling wind outside your window preceding the storm. Over time you came to realize more and more that sometimes Wednesday wears her words like armor. They become almost futile when you learn she speaks through actions.

You picked up on it a few nights ago;

"Y/N if you don't turn that down I'll kick you out." Wednesday grumbled, before turning her attention back to her noisy typewriter.

You shared a glance with Enid — who sat beside you on her bed, biting her lip to contain a smile — promptly turning down the volume on your phone.

The night was a cold one, the glow of the half moon shining right outside the big round window cast bursts of color on Enid's side of the room and a soft white light on Wednesday's.

Time went by with you and Enid sharing a few laughs and Wednesday complaining about how you disturbed her peace. However, when Enid ended up sleeping on your shoulder and you squeezed yourself out of her bed to walk back to your dorm, Wednesday got up as well.

She quietly walked to her dark wooded wardrobe, opening its creaking doors to look for something inside. You followed, stopping right beside her to kiss her goodnight.

Wednesday paid you no mind, which made you frown. No matter what, there wasn't a day that came to its end without her lips settled on yours.

You reached out a hand to tug at her hoodie, but before you could, she was throwing a change of comfortable clothes into your face.

You messed up your hair as you pulled the fabric away to look at her. There was this glint in Wednesday's eyes, if you looked closely, you could see the shape of the moon on her irises. She pursed her lips in an almost smile, glancing at the clothes in your arms and then at you again.

Words weren't needed for you to understand, and your heart just about melted.

A few minutes after you exited the bathroom, now dressed comfortably in all black, you joined Wednesday in her bed. It was a tight fit and caused her body to be flush with yours — but you figured she didn't mind it much when she started playing with your hand under the covers.

Next morning you received just about twenty different pictures from Enid, most of them featuring you and Wednesday sleeping soundly, her head partly resting on your shoulder — though the last ones were all shaky, with a furious raven-haired girl reaching for the phone.

And today it's pretty evident that she's on edge, her eyebrows and lips hold a faint, permanent frown; her pupils are blown, yet miles away, as if she's here but her mind is trapped somewhere else.

"yeah, sometimes she does." There's more you want to say and Wednesday could sense it. You nagged on your lower lip as you gained the courage to do so. Her eyes followed the movement.

"Can I do something for you?"

Wednesday's eyes narrowed, her eyebrow twitched as if she was trying to solve a riddle. If you asked instead of just doing it, it was something you weren't sure she'd like. But you'd never given her a reason not to trust you.

She simply nodded, both hands resting on her lap, black nails tapping one another. Her eyes followed you as you moved to sit right behind her, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating off of you. When she couldn't see you anymore, she searched for something else to focus on, more specifically the grey clouds behind the tiny crack in your window.

When the tip of your fingers touched the end of one of her braids, Wednesday went as stiff as a corpse. She felt it, your touch barely there at first; careful, soft, as though testing tentative waters. Only when she melted the slightest bit toward you, that you started gently undoing the waves on her hair, strand by strand.

There was a lump on Wednesday's throat that she almost couldn't breathe over, goosebumps filled her skin at the same time her body felt too hot to the touch.

Her hair slowly fell in waves, a sea of dark over her shoulders and back as your fingers ran through it, untangling what was left of her braids. It was intimate, almost overwhelmingly so. Wednesday wasn't sure what you were getting at, but it felt a lot like a promise.

Once you were satisfied, you brushed aside her hair to lay your lips on her shoulder. Slowly as your top lip grazed the fabric of her jacket, you kissed her there.

Wednesday felt faint with the way you loved her. The splashes of rain hitting your window got blurred in her sight; she realized you just said to her those three words everyone cares so much about. And now she understands the weight of them.

Wednesday couldn't help but reach for your hand — the one that was gingerly playing with the ends of her curls — cold fingers wrapping around yours as she brought your knuckles to her own lips.

She said them back in the only way she knew how. And when your thumb traced the lines on her palm, she knew you understood.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are very much appreciated. <3

Wednesday’s taglist: @milkiane @bookfrog242 @heelaechan

#wednesday addams x reader #wednesday addams imagine #wednesday addams x fem!reader #wednesday addams #wednesday #wednesday addams x you #wednesdayedit #imagine #fanfic #fluff #angst #wednesday addams fanfic #jenna ortega #wednesday x reader #my story

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sequinsnstars · 5 days

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˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ fresh page, on the desk ݁˖ ⊹ ‧₊˚

JASON GRACE .ᐟ

ingredients; mason grace and cupcakes

fyi; gn reader who is roman but has no specified godly parent, timeline is messy but wtv, cursing, i reference media i like bc i’m self indulgent, silly little 4th wall breaking

notes; first fic hii, lmk ur thoughts! probably a series 👀 big thank u to all my fave pjo writers/moots for inspiring this 🫶🏽 @hopelesslyromanticshark @jgracie @cinemaconrad

wc; 1.7k

food mood; classic vanilla cupcakes. perhaps with a light chocolate frosting.

Cyclops Books was your safe haven.

After a long day of excessive criticism during training, it was the perfect place to allow yourself to relax your posture, if only a little bit. You loved your friends, yes, but sometimes you just needed a little break from it all. The entirety of New Rome was your third place. The somehow always-green grass and thriving flowers, the curved cobblestone streets leading to homes filled with laughter and warmth, the lingering scents of the bakery’s famous freshly-baked chocolate chip cookies – you could go on. Even Terminus couldn’t stop you from coming here as much as you were able to.

So why was it so off today?

As you took your usual evening stroll before dinner, you noticed that almost all the homes and shops had their bright white porch lights on and the usual soft, yellowed string ones were put away. Not to mention the lack of New Rome Elementary kids playing outside after school, or the fact that the usual cozy atmosphere felt tight and formal: the exact thing you tried to get away from by coming here. It even felt like the sunset sky was trying its best to remain a single organized color rather than its usual gorgeous, messy, watercolor-like self.

You tried not to think about it much as you entered your favorite bookstore. Your bookstore. It had been ever since your first visit years ago. It had taken a while to grow accustomed to camp. During the New Rome field trip for fresh campers, something about it drew you in. The warm hanging lights and the stacked bookshelves reminded you of a shop in one of the many cities you’d lived in. That one had always been your favorite. Tyson and Ella had welcomed you strongly that day, cheering, “New campers! New campers!” and shoving slightly burnt croissants in your face. After seeing all your favorite mortal books for sale, you decided it would be the first of many times you entered the place. It wasn’t long before you striked up a friendship with the two owners – they were some of your favorite people to see, plus, they let you pick out their store music!

(As of late, you’d mostly been playing the new Taylor Swift album.)

You opened the door, greeted with the familiar out-of-tune entry bells. Ella was curled up in her cardboard box, sleeping, but she peeked out when she saw you.

“Hello!” Her eyes lit up.

You smiled. “It’s nice to see you too, Ella.” According to what Percy had said about his first quest with Hazel and Frank, Ella was a lot more content now that she was with Tyson. You were truly happy for the couple, they had been nothing but sweet to you and they deserved all the good things coming to them.

She yawned and murmured, “Big event today. Tyse preparing in back. Back, back, back… Back to December. Taylor Swift. Speak Now. Now, now, now…” and promptly dozed off again. You let her sleep, heading to the romance section to hopefully find the new Emily Henry book. Still, you couldn’t shake the thought out of your mind.

You entered the next aisle, thankfully getting your hands on the last copy of Funny Story. You took another quick walk through the areas you normally shopped from, since the store almost always had copies of books before they were officially released. It was unclear how Tyson and Ella managed to do this, but you suspected it had something to do with all the excess time a certain son of Vulcan–sorry, Hephaestus–had been spending on his computer, finding passcodes for mysterious files.

Not that you were complaining.

You walked a little faster to the R section when you spotted Love of the Gods!, a packed adventure about three mortals, Peter, Annie, and Grant, stumbling upon an entrance to the Underworld at a Halloween party and pet sitting the three-headed dog, Cerebrus. Silently, you thanked Leo for saving you from the four months of wait time for the official release.

Heading to checkout, you picked up a few new annotation tabs and cute pens for when you started reading your new books. You peeked over the counter to see if Tyson had come back – you really were curious about what was happening today. You were about to head into the staff-only back room (perks of being friends with the owners) until you saw a rose-adorned china bowl filled with cupcake batter just by the door.

Ella’s birthday was approaching fast, so you remembered that Tyson was preparing. He’d told you that he was going to make some sweet treats in advance, as well as plan to surprise her with Eras Tour tickets and ask Taylor to play The Alchemy and You Are In Love as the acoustic set.

You were so not jealous that Leo and the couple had gotten to attend a listening party for The Tortured Poets Department as a thank you for that one time they went on a quest to retrieve an enchanted scarf from the monster James Gyllenborg. Who said that?

You were focused on the food in front of you, but if you’d looked up to see who walked in when you heard the door bells chime, you might have avoided the fiasco about to happen.

Your books were tucked under your arm so you could help Tyson out a little and start pouring the batter into cute heart-shaped molds. You filled two cups and were getting ready to start a third when someone shoved your back, hard. The two novels you were about to purchase fell into the batter bowl, now completely soaked. Your jaw dropped.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” mumbled a voice from behind you.

“Watch where you’re going,” you hissed. If it was another one of those annoying New Rome boys, you swore you were going to–

You turned around and saw a blonde boy wearing a black vintage varsity jacket, blue jeans, and a pair of Chuck Taylors. You would have brushed the matter aside and treated him like anyone else if you hadn’t seen the Imperial gold glasses, the scar on his lip, and that pair of electric blue eyes.

The same ones half the camp fawned over.

Holy Tartarus.

“Praetor Grace,” you said.

Jason tensed at the name. “Uh, yeah. That’s me.”

There was a bit of awkward silence, then he continued. “Every few months, either Reyna or I come here with the intention of doing shop inspections. Council work. Normally, we go in and introduce ourselves, but usually when I come here… is his name Tyson?”

“Tyson,” you agreed, still reeling from the shock.

“Yes. Him. He gets stressed out when I say I’m praetor, so I dressed a little differently this time, to say the least. I only hope he doesn’t know my face well enough to recognize me.”

So that was why he was out of his professional attire. Anyone who didn’t know him wouldn’t have guessed he co-led the camp. Oh gods, this must have been why New Rome was on edge today.

Jason peered over your shoulder to look at the bowl. His eyes widened when he saw the books. “Shit. Did I do that? I’m so sorry, I’ll pay–”

“No, it was an accident, it’s not your fault,” you interjected. You did not want to have to deal with the awkwardness of the praetor paying for you. Besides, Tyson didn’t mind these kinds of things too much, since you two were close.

Just then, said Cyclops walked out.

Both you and Jason rushed in front of the bowl mess. You weren’t anxious about the books – it was the batter. If Tyson found out it was ruined, he’d be devastated.

You felt queasy seeing the grin on his face. How were you going to get yourself out of this?

“Friend!” he exclaimed. “Brought another friend… a boyfriend?”

Laughing nervously, you said, “No, not my–”

Jason took your hand in his calloused yet warm one and beamed at Tyson. “That’s right. The name’s Mason. I’ve heard all about this wonderful shop!”

What the fuck?

He looked at you, a hint of pleading in his eyes. Oh. You understood.

“Yes, he has, obviously.” You nodded hastily. “I just had to tell my loving, sweet, gorgeous boyfriend all about Cyclops Books!”

(Was it you, or did the praetor turn a little pink?)

He recovered fast, replying with, “Pfft. Says the most amazing, beautiful, and talented baker I know.” Jason moved aside to reveal what you’d been doing before he entered the store. At first, you panicked, but when you looked at the bowl and books, they were clean and separated, as if nothing had happened at all.

Tyson gasped. “Cupcakes!” He ran to clear items off the counter so he could move the setup to a better area.

“How did you do that?” You whispered out the corner of your mouth.

“Gravity acts on air. Child of Jupiter stuff and all that. I lifted the books out and transported the excess batter back into the bowl. Any remaining dust or bacteria I sent back into the atmosphere. I tried to direct it to the sewers. The cupcakes are fine.”

“Wow.” You were impressed. He’d gone that far for someone he barely even knew?

Tyson returned to pick up the baking materials and put them on the counter. He looked up with a bright expression. “Wait. Double date! Ella! Me! Mason! You! Pretty please?”

Um.

You were about to say no and tell him about getting punishment from Reyna – having to clean out Scipio’s stable for the whole week. It wasn’t a lie; you had been caught skipping out on training a few days ago. You were surprised Terminus even let you into New Rome, considering he was usually informed on who broke camp rules. But before you could respond, your new boyfriend did.

“That sounds perfect! This Friday at six? We could visit the cinema, maybe?”

Gleefully, the Cyclops clapped. “Yay! Good idea!”

“Great! It’s a date!” Jason smiled. He glanced at you, but you couldn’t read his expression. “I’ll pick you up thirty minutes early. I’ve got to go help out Cohort 5 now really quick, there’s a soldier that needs tending to. I’ll see you later?”

You stared at him for a few seconds before processing what he was asking you. “Of course. Totally. Yeah.”

He nodded and winked as he left the shop.

What just happened?

hope you enjoyed the meal!

thank you for your order and your waitress siara hopes you come again soon 💌

#signed by siara ♡#pjo #hoo #heroes of olympus #percy jackson #jason grace #jason grace x reader #heroes of olympus x reader #percy jackson x reader

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luna-writes-stuff · 2 years

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A super quick five-minute guide to writing a Stranger Things fic with no experience of DnD:

Edited for some clarity since people asked for it. See reblogs for more time-accurate DnD, and more specific rules!

Alternatively; If you never played or barely know DnD, but wish to write about it nonetheless, here are some quick FYI’s

These points are made based on things I have read on this site and other platforms. In no way is this a personal attack if you recognise your own writing! I have seen many posts where people complain about the inaccuracy of DnD represented in fics, but none offer any ideas, so that’s why I wrote this. Hope this helps!

1. DND IS NOT A TWO PLAYER GAME

You need one Dungeon master, and at least three players to create a good campaign. I’d say a normal party consists out of five players (DM not included), but it can quite easily be bigger.

(There are starter campaigns with one DM and one player, but for a good game, you’d need a bigger party. Introductions to DnD are way more fun with a good group)

2. DND IS NOT A QUICK GAME

There is no such thing as playing a quick round of DnD. Even starter campaigns can be hours long. A short/mini campaign is usually around 4, if not more, hours.

3. THERE ARE MORE DICES THAN JUST THE D20

Though the D20 is the dice you will use more often, there are other ones as well; the D4, D6, D8, D10, and - occasionally - the D100

4. THERE ISN’T ONE DND BOOK

DnD might appear as a fun role playing game, but there is a lot of effort that goes into it. With that counting the books. Players usually only need the Player’s Handbook, which contains information about how to play and how to make a character. Vice versa does the DM have a Dungeon Master’s guide, which introduces them to the game and how to direct it. Aside from that, there are a lot of other books containing different worlds, campaigns, creatures, characters, monsters etc. etc.

5. YOU CANNOT MAKE YOUR OWN DND HANDBOOK

Bouncing back on point 4, as there are many books, there are also many pages. A book isn’t easily studied, and is usually only used as a reference, and not something you have to know by heart. It is incredibly difficult to memorise every little detail of only one book. Aside from that, there are many many rules and restrictions bound to certain worlds and characters, so creating your own book, 9 out of 10 times would not make sense. It doesn’t make it impossible, but it is highly unlikely. Also, the DM will often times pitch in on which races and classes to use for certain campaigns, so creating your own species often won’t get you very far.

6. NOT ALL DND CAMPAIGNS HAVE A MAP AND MINIATURES

In season 4, we see Eddie’s campaign, with it a map and miniatures of creatures (under which Vecna), but this doesn’t occur as often as you think. Starter campaigns or other well known campaigns do contain maps, and miniatures of both the characters and creatures, but this is only because most of those campaigns don’t actually allow you to make your own character. A campaign self-written, or a campaign taken from a book about a certain world often times do not have anything, save from some drawings of your surroundings. There will be a lot of times you’ll have to imagine your character standing in a certain spot.

7. WRITING A CAMPAIGN IS DIFFICULT AND ISN’T WRITTEN IN A DAY

Extending some information; writing campaigns are a pain in the ass. As a first time DM, you will not write your own campaign. Unless you are really committed and already have some experience as a player…. If you have played often, writing a campaign is possible, but it takes weeks, if not months. A lot of info and rules and restrictions and creatures etc. etc. are involved in the process. Besides that, you’ll have to help your players out with their characters to fit to your world, while not revealing too much. You cannot write a campaign in a night.

8. CREATING A CHARACTER TAKES A LONG TIME

Like writing a campaign, a character also takes time. If you are really dedicated, you might have one in an hour, but if you want to properly study every race, class and background, you’ll be stuck in the books for a while. And that’s not even with counting characteristics, alliances, backstory, mannerisms, bonds, relations…. And then you’ll have to actually get in character. It takes time.

(As said, some people can create characters quickly, but this is with experience. More often than not, if you want to write a good character, you’ll be busy for quite a while)

9. EVERYTHING RELIES ON THE DUNGEON MASTER

As a player, you can’t change the story. You can’t make things up. Everything, and I mean everything, goes by the Dungeon Master first. You can’t propose things, you can’t ignore things. Dungeon Masters spent a lot of time working on campaigns, even the ones that have already been written. They know what happens, they decide. There is no second voice.

(Yes, players are able to interact with the story. It wouldn’t be DnD if you couldn’t, but the DM knows what happens, and the players - or the characters - do not. You could ignore creatures or buildings. Smart? Meh.)

Hope this helped! If not, feel free to ask or leave a suggestion!

#stranger things #dnd #d&d #dungeons and dragons #Netflix #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #robin buckley #robin buckley x reader #nancy wheeler #nancy wheeler x reader #lucas sinclair x reader #dustin henderson x reader #mike wheeler x reader #will byers x reader #jonathan byers x reader #max mayfield x reader

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duchessofostergotlands · 6 months

Text

I've said this before on the podcast (Episode 66 FYI) but Tampongate isn't actually a funny story. Two people had their calls listened to by a random stranger who picked them up on a radio. They sold the audio from one of those calls to the press, who published them on the front pages, and then for 30 years the victims have been relentlessly mocked for the content of the calls, have had people call for them to lose their jobs and even in 2023 have seen supposedly professional journalists slut shaming them. All while the stranger who recorded them and the press who published them have never once been criticised for that incident. Even after the phone hacking scandal, even after Kate's topless photos were published without her consent, even with the current narrative the British press are all irredeemably evil, there has still never been recognition that actually it's incredibly gross that it happened

#king charles #queen camilla #as i say in the ep #you don't have to feel sorry for them #but you also don't need to mock the victims #british royal family

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boyfiejay · 8 hours

Text

I love my girlfriend

PAIRING : Enhypen hyung line x female Reader

GENRE : fluff, bullet point

Warning : curse words, me rizzing up the reader😔

Word Count : 0.9k overall

Author's Note : this was long overdue☝🏻

Heeseung ☆

you're one of those underrated artists, that are underrated due to one sole reason

it's better to gatekeep a talented artist

yk the way some fans get sad that their favourites are now on everyone's fyp

yeah your fandom in a nutshell

they also thirst over you non stop

I mean you are stunning, gorgeous, beautiful, enchanting

just date me pookie

you used to be a youtuber before the music career fyi

imagine your fans' dilemma (dimension?) when you say out of nowhere that you have a bf

‘guys, my boyfriend sent me this :D’

and it's a silly picture of two cats or smtg

like your fans are fighting a fucking war on twt

and you are like cuddling with hee, listening to unreleased songs

you have no clue of what's going on

meanwhile heeseung…

he's ready to fight the war

posts a picture of you kissing his cheek on your insta story

he makes sure that only 1/4th of his face is visible

to keep his identity anonymous yk

…

your fans find his acc in 15 mins

he panics definitely 😭

tells you his innuendo after you wake up

and you're just like

‘yeah ok, sure’

WHY ARE YOU SO CHILL??

your boyfriend is getting deep fried on twt and you're like ‘el oh el’

dw your fans mean no harm

after a while they're like

‘they're cute tgt ig 😒’

Jay ☆

you're like a cooking channel

STAY W ME IK IT SOUNDS BASIC

you're like a blogger who blew up one day

because you're just soso pretty😻

alright anyways, your channel is focused around learning to cook

it's so chaotic sometimes

bcz you don't know shit about cooking

sorry if you do, let's pretend you don't >.<!!

you have almost killed yourself a dozen times

at some point people are like

‘??? how is she alive’

all thanks to your almost professional chef boyfriend

but no one has to know that ;)

anyways on like a milestone or something, you decide to cook blindfolded

bae you can barely cook with eyes open

your followers are concerned bro

like their blood pressure is rising by the minute

and like a holy light in the midst of the darkness

Jay stepped in, to save you from killing yourself fr this time

Your fans are seriously jumping around, squealing bcz he's just so soft and gentle to you :(((

but then they snap out and pretend to be angry

and you're like ‘meet my boyfie :3’

jk your fans love you two

like almost obsessed

also they're always sliding in Jay's dms

like I get it mans fine af but he's also taken

and also absolutely whipped for you 🤭

it's your world and we're just living in it…

Jake ☆

you are a gamer/streamer

your whole fan base is delusional

like so delusional, there are like hundreds and thousands of accounts claiming to be your bf/gf

but the iconic one ‘ynsboyfie’ is everywhere

like that acc is the most iconic thing in your lore

they are always there, no news of yours goes past them

always donating in your streams

and one day…

you forget to log in your priv acc

so your official acc has the comment

‘babe, you're so sweet ☹️🩷’

replying to ‘YNSBOYFIE’

???

oh your fans are livid

jokingly ofc

or maybe not

everyone on twt is like

‘who is this bitch???’

everyone hoping for his downfall

then you drop his pic

THE SWITCH UP IS INSANE

‘oh, oh, he's fiiine😏’

like I can't blame them, that's jake

but still they're supposed to be your fans

fucking snitches

my bae, pookum shmookum I would never

your fans love him

but also bully him calling him a lewser

hes so down bad he had a fan page for you

i dont blame him, i too would fangirl over you 😼

Sunghoon ☆

you're like a fitness channel

like those ones that have insane challenges

and your famous in people who have no interest in working out too

your face reveal went so viral, almost every single person knew your face

also your workouts (even tho deadly) always work so fast

people are in love with your figure and just you in general

you also upload mini vlogs once in a while

in these vlogs people noticed someone always being around you and in the back of the frame

at first they were like

‘obsessed fan😨’

but then they saw you laughing along with him in another clip

from the small clips, people couldn't see his face (bcz it's blurred) but omg the figure

the biceps, the buff and tall guy immediately steals everyone hearts

it's obvious from the clips that you're close with him

so naturally you are asked who he is and you just laugh

???

people are losing their minds woman

and you're just like ‘hehe’

they continue seeing him in your vlogs and in one clip you could see him putting his hands on your waist while you squat

you have no reaction to that

but twt…

he's getting dragged even though half of the people have no clue what's going on

you decide to take matter in your hands

and post this

with the caption ‘he's my boyfriend everyone :3’

the internet breaks

Sunghoon doesn't do his face reveal for a long time js bcz he doesn't feel like it yk

but when he does

good lord…

your fans love him

they also love how he glares at people who look at you the wrong way

you never notice that for some reason

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