herworldsinwords
One Writer Blogging
In which I write shorts.
5 posts
Don't wanna be here? Send us removal request.
Last Seen Blogs
Photo
3.25.2018
I got called a mermaid bout 4 or 5 times and I’m loving it .
585 notes
·
View notes
Text
Remus/Marauders or Remus/OC
Hello all!
Not new to roleplaying but didn’t know Tumblr was a thing for roleplays.
Anyway, I’m interested in doing a Remus/?? roleplay in which Remus, during a full moon, transforms and by some oversight of his own and maybe the marauders, scratches/bites/infects someone, could be James or Sirius or some OC (not really interested in Peter Pettigrew). He’s riddled with guilt but knows he must help whoever he bit deal with the new symptoms of becoming a werewolf.
The infected person does’t have to be be completely transformed, could possibly just have some symptoms that are hard to manage. That’s where Remus steps in. I’d like for this roleplay to eventually be romantic.
This can by a M/M or M/F roleplay, I’m not picky.
I’d like semi-literate (4 paragraphs) to literate (4+ paragraphs) roleplayers, decent grammar, 18+. If you have ideas of your own for this plot I’m open to suggestions!
If you’re interested shoot me a message on here and we can plan it out. I’d like to roleplay via email, which I’ll send you after you message me!
#remus#remus/oc#harry potter roleplay#remus roleplay#slash roleplay#slash harry potter roleplay#remus/marauders roleplay#m/m#m/f#roleplay#literate roleplay#semi-literate roleplay
0 notes
Text
Discreet :||: Part One
I, herworldsinwords, or focusfaze, do not give my permission for this story to be copied and or pasted, emailed, text to other websites, blogs or any other form of media. I do not give my permission for this story to be shared without my permission. I do not give my permission for this story to be edited and/or published by anyone other than myself. I do not give my permission for this story to be used for monetary gain.
Tentative Synopsis: Petra Dean is sent out on a recruitment assignment to draw the attention of a potential spy for the elusive Agency known as Discreet. Petra has been given orders to persuade a college junior by the name of Kindra Mallard to join the agency with hopes that she will become the next Discreet Prodigy.
Status: Work In Progress
Rating: Mature/ NC-17
Discreet
Schools made her nervous, it didn’t matter how many perilous assignments she’d survived. Schools always held such a caustic environment, dangerous and filled with students who were mostly trying to fit in. She had never fit in. She blended in, became invisible. Surprisingly that was the trait that had changed her life.
Colleges were no different than high schools, except now they expected you to behave like an adult. Petra’s body nearly shook with nervous energy. On the outside she might look like your average college student, but on the inside she felt like a wreck...but then again that was probably pretty normal for a college student.
She found the classroom for Math 230 pretty easily—maps were her thing as well—and walked in, ignoring the thud of her heart in her chest. She scanned the room, a quick flick of the eyes from left to right and picked out its occupants: Three girls, white, all turned toward each other, talking, a male, white, sitting just behind them on his phone, a row of empty chairs, another male, Black…or maybe Asian, also on his phone. Behind him sat another two white males talking over a magazine.
The class was surprisingly full for a math class at 8 in the morning. She found a seat in a corner of the room that offered a good view of everything. She slid her backpack to the floor and glanced down her row. Her eyes snagged and caught on someone on the opposite end, hunched over with a book laying open on her desk, her chin resting on folded hands.
Hmm, Petra thought to herself. Now I see.
Petra hardly noticed as the teacher walked in (woman, brown hair, average height and build, tweed skirt suit and a calming voice) and began the class. She took notes on the lesson, as the teacher wrote on the board, but her attention was on the student in the corner.
Kindra Mallard.
She didn’t speak, but she took copious notes. Her head never rose over the height of the students around her, though Petra’s specs put Kindra around almost 7 feet tall. She moved quietly, and never drew anyone’s attention. Not even when the teacher looked down at her list of names and called at random, not even when she spoke in her soft baritone. “48.”
“That’s correct.” The professor turned and wrote the answer on the board. None of the students even stirred. Which was at odds with data Petra had collected herself—these students didn’t even know Kindra was in their class. When Petra had asked if anyone of them had seen Kindra, “She was supposed to meet me so that we could study for the test Monday.” Most of them responded with a confused, “Who?”
Petra had a sneaking suspicion that the only reason Kindra was called on was her name was on that list, otherwise the teacher wouldn’t have paid her any attention either.
When class was over, Petra took her time gathering her bags and watched discreetly as Kindra did the same, only getting up when a majority of the class was headed out of the door. It was then that Petra witnessed all 6 and one quarter feet of Kindra Mallard unfold from her chair. She was smooth, graceful and fluid. Not one scraped chair or rustled page. Kindra was a natural.
Petra watched her walked to the door on the tails of her group of classmates, joined by their professor. She paused and turned to look back into the classroom, directly at Petra. Petra smiled and dipped her head in acknowledgement. Kindra quirked and eyebrow, bit her lip and disappeared into the rush of students in the hallway.
0 notes
Text
I will start posting to this blog
#you will read my#black fiction#lesbian fiction#black lesbian fiction#and my#original fiction#short stories#follow me for updates#k#thanks
0 notes
Text
Vanity
She pulls out of the driveway, so clean and perfect. She has fried her hair into place and caked her face with enough concealment and age defying lotion that it hardly seems to move beyond pretty. She has it so flawlessly carved that its like a real skin instead of a false one. Her beauty is everything beyond her job and her children and she handles, pulls and yanks me until we are heading to the nearest beauty shop, which also happens to be the best. She conveniently moved us here because she knew she’d have an emergency one of these days and she would need fast professional results. Not that she would take anything less.
Hours later she is comfortably inside me and her phone vibrates against my seat. She picks it up and denies her child another truth. “…support after Samson died. I had to be there for her you know…” Samson the dog. Samson who was just as real as Neverland ever was. Which is not at all if you’re wondering.
I notice it before she does, the rear view mirror picks up the edges of her mask peeling away. Probably scrubbed by the innocent fingers of a beautician. She looks into the mirror and spots the damaged edges and sweeps her fingers through her freshly style hair and pulls it over the cracks in her façade. She smiles then notices her pink nouveau lipstick isn’t so…nouveau. Her hand dips down into her purse and out comes the stick.
A flash of cold and her hands leave my wheel to pop the cap and then she is looking into the mirror and smoothing on a glaze of pink perfection onto conventional lips. There is a speck, I see it and so does she. I also see the car swerve in front of us, drunk driver no less. There is time, if she looks now she could save us, jerk her wheel, but only now, and now has already passed.
Perfect. Her lips are perfect. Her hair is bouncing, full of body and I’m crushing headfirst into the back of a car, folding in on myself and everything within. In seconds I’m on my back, bleeding red and black, a fading heartbeat the only thing moving besides the broken glass that falls to the street.
In my rear view mirror I see Pink Nouveau and a cell phone that vibrates in a bed of glass. Then my light blinks out.
3 notes
·
View notes