#no pressure to the people i tagged!!!!!!!
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Wet & Wild II
pairing: art donaldson x reader
synopsis: in which you, a swimmer, and art, a tennis champ, change each other's lives for the better when you challenge his match-like stance on life
warnings: SMUT, porn with a plot, sexually explicit language, cursing, oral sex (f receiving), p in v sex, nipple play, locker room sex, swimmer lingo
word count: 5.5k
part 1
tags💜: @midnightwrriting @no1runawaymilkdad @ihave-aboringlife @blahhucantmakeme @laniirackssss @blood-bloss @lmaoyani @geminiflanagansblog @ruyaas-world @hrlzy @povobsessed @stephstephstephsteph @chakin @10ava01 @lem0ns77 @velvrei @hdhdhdndhdndk
masterlist
a/n: sorry if the tags aren’t working, I tried to include everyone that wanted it. lmk if you have questions on anything. hope you enjoy!!
A week has passed since the last time you’d seen Art and you try to rid any thoughts of him from your mind as you enter the women’s locker room, the day so early that the sun has only just risen. You’d only spent a few hours with him, but he feels more important to you than a mere acquaintance, especially considering you’d let him have more of you than most people would ever get to. You try to tell yourself it won’t matter if he shows or not, but deep down you know that it will. Regardless, overthinking won’t help you in the water so you shove it down as you steadily pull on your tech suit, careful not to rip the delicate fabric. Your headphones are currently blaring your hype playlist in your ear, but you slide them off once you notice movement to your left as Chloe opens her own locker.
“You ready?” she asks you, pulling out her own racing suit from the depths of her swim bag.
“Not really,” you admit, giving up on stretching your tight suit to your full body frame for the time being as you opt for a tie-back bikini top instead. Your shoulders are ever so grateful. “I’m so nervous.”
“Why? Because of your race or your little tennis boyfriend?” she teases, lips quirking into a classic Chloe smirk. As your best friend, she was the first and only person you told about your interaction with Art at the party and, of course, she had been teasing you about it since. While during practice it was amusing, you are not in the mood for jokes right before a race, especially one of such importance.
You furrow a brow, shaking your head to signal that it’s not the time for such jests concerning the blonde. As the good friend that she is, Chloe immediately understands as she moves to help tie your suit straps, a simple task that you are unexpectedly failing at due to the pressure of the meet ahead of you.
“You’re going to do great,” Chloe comforts, placing an assuring hand on your shoulder once she’s finished with your straps. “I’m sure of it.”
“What if I don’t break the record?”
“Who cares? You can try again next time. If that’s the worst that can happen, you don’t have anything to be nervous about,” she smiles in assurance. “Besides that record is as good as yours -” she makes a gesture to your tech suit that has the most magical of time bending abilities if wielded by the right swimmer. “You’ve worked so hard for this. Nothing can stop you now.”
“Thanks Clo.” you grin at her appreciatively, and though your nerves don’t settle in the slightest, you feel more comfortable living in cohabitation with them now. They’re so much easier to manage when you’re not alone.
It’s only minutes before the rest of your team has arrived and you have hours before your event is scheduled to take place, yet it only feels like seconds before you’re being seated in the waiting room amongst your competitors, tech suit finally fully on. Rousing music plays through your headphones though you are sure to skip any songs that seem even the slightest bit romantic. You try to slip into the right headspace, the line between confident and cocky that has always aided you in not panicking just before you step up to the blocks in the past. You try to find it, using any method at your fingertips, but it’s no use. You can’t seem to find it no matter how hard you try and suddenly it feels as if the weight of the world is crashing down on you when the door opens and your event is called. You stand with the other women and together you line up behind the blocks.
The sun shines much higher up in the sky than it had been when you dove in during warm ups, blaring down to reflect off the red of your cap that bears the Stanford logo in white along with your last name. You take your rightful place behind the starting block of the middle lane, and though you already wrote your heat and lane in black sharpie on your forearm just to be sure, you can’t help but worry that you’ve already missed your race.
It’s only when the head announcer calls your event on the loudspeaker that you stop dwelling on it, her voice echoing through the stands that seem so much taller now that you're in the center with so much pressure resting solely on you. You rake though the rafters to your left, hoping to be comforted by the sight of Chloe or one of your other teammates until you realize that they are more than likely preparing for their own events in the warm up pool.
It's then, just when the swirling hurricane of emotions is hurtling toward you, that you see him. He’s seated in the first row, blonde curls circling his head like a golden crown and a wide smile lighting up his face when he sees that you’ve finally spotted him, one that you can’t help returning as he mouths sweet wishes of luck to you.
Art came. He actually came!
The storm subsides and all of a sudden you’ve lost all your inhibitions. Instead of buzzing anxiety, you are filled with a new light and the confidence of a record breaker. It’s all so clear with Art in the stands and as his presence wafts away your storm of worries, you come to the realization that you can do it. You know you can.
The whistle of an official blares through the speaker and on cue you slide on your goggles and mount the block. You’re really starting to feel the compression of your suit as you bend into your diving position, waiting for the magic words. The signal that it’s time to race and leave everything you have in the pool as you go.
“Swimmers, take your marks…”
You take one last breath before the sound blares and you dive off the block. It all comes naturally to you and with the help of your suit, you find yourself breaking out farther than ever before.
You only have a few strokes until you’re at the end of the pool when out of nowhere, the girl in the lane beside you starts to catch up to you until the two of you are neck and neck and it doesn’t escape your attention when she flips a split second before you’re able to.
You know it’s not about winning, you told Art that, but it’s as if a fire has been lit behind you and you’re suddenly determined to go for the gold. You push yourself harder than you ever have before and though you're not sure where the energy has come from, you know it’s exactly what you need. You’ve failed if you’re able to get out of the pool without stumbling.
Before long you catch up to the swimmer beside you, taking your first and only breath as you summon the last of your power, pushing through the water like a jet-ski. At once you’re behind the flags and unlike before, there’s no one beating you to the touch pad resting on the side of the ending wall as you slam your hand down and come up for air.
The crowd erupts with applause once you finish and at first you’re under the impression that it’s because of your win until your eyes glaze over at the scoreboard and nearly burst from your skull at the sight of the result.
You had accomplished your goal. There it was, a time faster than the Stanford record glowing right beside your name. But you didn’t just pass it by a few flimsy hundredths. Your new record was more than a second faster.
You can hardly believe it and you know if the proof weren’t right in front of you, there’d only be disbelief instead of this crashing wave of accomplishment and pride. Though you’re in severe oxygen debt from the race, you find yourself screaming in excitement at your gigantic accomplishment.
“We have a new record!” an official announces through the loudspeaker once the other girls have returned to the starting wall, followed by your name and new time. You search for Art again once you’re out of the water, all but failing to suppress your grin as you find him clapping in the stands and smiling down at you as if you were the most precious stone in the world.
Your teammates are filled with the same immense pride when you join them in the locker room once the meet is over. You’ve since changed from your tech suit, switching out the tight fabric for your cozy hoodie, tie-back bikini top, and a towel tied around your waist. The suit in question now hangs in your locker with the rest of your clothes that you had been in the middle of putting on before the congradulations began.
“I fucking told you!” Chloe shouts, clapping you on the back like you had just won the lottery. You imagine such a feat couldn’t match the pride you feel now.
You almost say that you can’t believe it, but the words stall on your lips. You actually can believe it, this is something you’ve been working tirelessly for. And now, after a long hard race, the record title is finally yours.
“Did I see a certain blonde in the audience?” Chloe smirks, nudging you as you wave goodbye to one of your other parting teammates.
“Maybe,” you drawl, trying your best to hide your growing grin, but the thought of the man makes you feel like flying through the air as year worth of buried emotions bubble up to the surface. You haven’t felt anything like this for a very long time.
“You know what that means…” Chloe whispers to you after you pull away from a hug with one of the other girls who like everyone else, is on her way out. The night’s party is being hosted at a house that’s a longer commute than usual in honor of the women’s tenth annual win and unlike your teammates, you aren’t in any hurry to get there knowing the a portion of the celebration will surround you.
“Drinks on you?” you guess, pretending you are clueless as to what she’s getting at. You hope it’s enough to deter her from whatever inevitably grotesque she’s about to say, but you know it’s to no avail as she laughs and shakes her head.
“Nice try,” she smiles, nudging you with her elbow. “I meant that he’s definetly going to fuck the shit out of you next time you see him.”
You cringe bashfully at her words, hitting her on the shoulder as she backs away from your shrunken form.
“Chloe!” you chide, though you both know no real anger lies within your tone. She’s been like this since the day you’d first met her: always the same old loving, indecorous Chloe.
“Just saying.” she shrugs before turning to say her goodbyes to the last lingering one of your other teammates.
You turn to open your locker, finally ready to change out of your damp towel until you’re startled by the clacking footsteps of unfamiliar tennis shoes heading in your direction. You assume it’s another random spectator who had bypassed the many signs clearly stating that the locker room is for athlete occupance only, but at once you find you’re very wrong when you turn to see who it is.
Art stands before you and though it was his decision to invade the women’s locker room, he looks as surprised as you.
“Hey,” he says, almost breathlessly. You’re thankful when you notice that Chloe is fully dressed to your left, just pulling on her knit cardigan.
She smirks smuggly at the sight of him, swinging her bag over her shoulders before sending you a wink and a swiftly muttered, “Told ya.” Without another word she exits, leaving you and Art utterly and completely alone.
“You realize this is the women’s restroom, right?” you jab as you hear Chloe shut the door behind her, though it’s all in good fun. As far as you know, no one is coming anywhere near the locker room for the next several hours.
“I was waiting outside for you,” he states, gradually lifting his hands from their tense place in the front of his jean pockets. “I thought everyone else had already come out, but I guess I was wrong.”
“That’s just Chloe,” you laugh, gesturing in the direction of the exit path your best friend had just taken. “Don’t worry, she won’t tattle.”
He chuckles, amused by your jest before he takes a slow step closer to you. Like a sparkler to your stomach, you become acutely aware of the tension between the two of you, growing like the blush colored blossoms of a cherry tree in spring. “I’ve thought about what you said.”
This makes you smile.
“And?”
“You were right.”
You’re heart flutters, so light that if it weren’t encaged within your chest you’re sure it would’ve floated away. He pauses to take another tense step in your direction, now only a foot away.
“Do you know how Tashi and I met?”
“I don’t, actually,” you say, words laced with a twinge of sarcasm.
“Right,” he laughs, realizing the folly behind his question. It was more rhetorical than anything, but he begins the story like a spider spindiling its web. “Well it was only about a year ago. We met at the US open. Patrick and I both went after her and you know what she told us?”
You wait for the answer.
“She said she’d give her number to whoever won our match. That was the first time I ever lost and it was to my best friend.”
“That’s who was at your match, wasn’t it?” you ask.
Art nods solumnly, though the pain that had been etched on his face from your last meeting has vanished, as if the thorn in his side has been replced by a budding rose.
“I didn’t know Art, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he urges. “It’s all okay now. I’ve realized that none of it matters anymore and it’s all because of you. If I’m being honest, I thought maybe if I won my match, then Tashi would leave him. But it’s not what I want anymore. I don’t want to be the winner she’s running to. I don’t want to have to earn her love.”
“What do you want?”
There’s a pause, a distinct moment where the glint in his blue eyes from the bright lights above conveys a clever message to you than any words could. Then he speaks.
“I think you know what I want.”
It’s all the confirmation you need to know that he’s finally playing the same game as you. He’s unbearably close now as his head reaches up to gently rake through your stringy wet hair. You welcome his touch, breath catching in your throat at the feeling of his fingers as his lips hover just above yours. If you’re being completely honest, you haven’t stopped fantasizing about it since the night of the party. Since the moment he had kissed you.
“You were right,” he whispers as his hot breath tickles the tips of your top lips with every placid word. “I don’t care about winning anymore. The only point I want to score is you.”
“That’s a really bad joke.” you remark, pointing out the obvious from his corny declaration. But Art doesn’t share your smirk, his face settling in an expression that’s much more sensual.
“I’m not kidding.”
You feel the immediate shift in energy as your smirk fades to parted lips and Art’s longing gaze moves downward from your eyes. What little space left between you is squashed as you allow him to pull you even closer, noses prodigy one another as Art’s fingers drift from the tips of your hair to cup the back of your head. It’s almost salivating the way he looks at you and you’re suddenly eager to remember what he tastes like.
“Can I kiss you?” he asks through a whisper, so quietly that if you hadn’t been right in front of him, you surely wouldn’t have heard it. It’s milliseconds before you’re nodding exuberantly with more urgency than a speeding ambulance (something you might need if your heart decided to beat any faster).
“Pleas-” you start, but Art’s on you before you can even get the word out, covering your lips with his until all you can taste, smell, and feel is him. Everything is him.
He’s gentle with you at first, testing the waters as his lips pass smoothly over yours. You lift up your hands to invite him in, squeezing the toned flesh of his arms before you drag them slowly up to the nape of his neck. You toy with some of the curls that rest there, twirling them between your fingers while sinking into the sounds he makes in return. He lets out a soft moan into your mouth, and at once his tongue melds with yours. You match the new intensity, swallowing each low groan.
Unlike your last encounter, it’s Art who pulls away this time, forcing you to scowl at him in confusion, eyes squinting and lips puffy. He twists his head to the left, glazing at the wide space behind him as he slowly moves the both of you backwards to the nearest flat-board bench until one of its edges grazes the top of his shin.
“What are you doing?” you ask through a whisper, leaning forward so that your lips titillate the tip of his ear which sends inadvertent shivers through his whole body. Art turns back to you, smirking as he leans in for another sloppy kiss, earning a salacious sound from you before his lips shift from yours and trailing from the corner of your mouth to the line of your open jaw where his teeth scrape against your skin. You can feel him grinning as he makes you emit the softest of moans.
“I want to make up for the other night. I said some things - I’m not proud of.”
You give a giddy chuckle as you cup his cheek, amused by the fact that he thinks his past behavior was inexcusable until Art’s head dips to suck on the tender skin of your neck and you can’t help but whine. You’re glad you have the lung capacity of a swimmer otherwise you might’ve fainted from the near constant lack of oxygen.
“Art, honestly-” a sudden gasp is ripped from you as you feel him nipping at your sweet spot, crumbling like a tin can under pressure. “-it’s fine.” you barely manage to finish your sentence.
He places a few more steady kisses to the column of your neck, working his way down to your clavicle. You tip your head back, an unintentional effect from the sensation of his lips as he lays the last just near the edge of your collarbone before raising his head to look at you and it’s almost as if he can see right through you.
“Does that mean you don’t want what I’m offering?” he questions, glancing down at the steady movement of your chest as it rises and falls beneath your hoodie. You don’t recall when in the last few minutes he managed to move his hands down to your waist, but you can feel them now as clear as ever. He grips the sides of your hoodie, nimble fingers sliding under the thick gray fabric until they find the skin beneath and his touch feels like fire, sparking flames along your hips with every small caress. It’s so hot that you aren’t sure how Tashi could pick anyone over him. You aren’t sure how anyone could deny him for that matter.
“No…” you admit and at once his hands start to travel higher and higher until they reach the bottom band of your bikini, inflaming the whole of your torso as he meets the straps still tied neatly together in the middle of your spine forming a perfect bow. His fingers follow the provided path, meeting at the center of your back as he starts to twirl one of the tails of the knot around his pointer finger.
“May I?” he asks, his tone so deceivingly politely as he gently tugs on the string. He waits patiently for your consent as his eyes pan up from your chest to your expression. You can’t get the words out, already too overwhelmed from the sizzling sensation of his touch, but you make sure to nod with the utmost enthusiasm. Who were you to tell Art Donaldson no when he was so eager to touch you? And you, in turn, were so eager to feel him.
He smiled at your agreeance and instantly unfastened the tie of your suit, pulling on the strand until the entire bow came undone. He lips pressed against yours once more before he settled down on the bench and raised the hem of your hoodie just enough to expose your stomach, peppering kisses to every inch of you.
You released your hold on him to assist in pulling the hoodie over your head, tossing it behind you where it lands in a crumple pile near the metal door of your locker. Without any tension left to hold it up, the triangle cutlets of your bikini slump to reveal two perfect pebbled nipples, leaving the towel looped around your waist as your only source of coverage.
Usually you’d feel insecure being so bare for a man that’s practically a stranger, but from the dazed look Art gives you as he takes in the sight of your figure, you find that you don’t mind it in the slightest.
“Fuck, you’re so pretty,” Art mutters almost involuntarily, sending shock waves down straight to your core. The words came bursting out before he could find the strength to hold them back, his brain too busy processing your beauty to have any control over any sort of filter. You return your hands to his head of blonde curls just as he presses one last kiss to the center of your abdomen, exactly below your rib cage.
The movement is so sudden that you can't count the seconds that pass before he grabs at your breasts, each hand perfectly cupping the mounted flesh. His mouth is slower, trailing kisses up the valley of your chest.
His thumb works the sensitive skin encircling your nipple, running over the hardened peak in an unperceivable pattern that forces another well earned moan from your lips. It’s encouragement for his other hand that immediately drifts upwards to mirror the actions of the other. Every pinch and slight movement is like gasoline to your fire, all pouring in a downward stream to the part of you that grows more needy with every passing second. You could cry from the sensation of it all, the intensity only growing when you feel him pass his tongue over your left nipple. You try to suppress any sounds this time, teeth biting down on your lip as you curve your head back, but it forces its way out despite your efforts. You grip the hair fixed to his crown and pressure him forwards so that he remains in place.
“Shit, that feels - really good.” you praise, your phrase strung together like an old beaded bracelet as changes in pace break apart each word. When Art does part from your breasts, it’s to press wet kisses down the line of your abdomen as flickering thumbs replace his mouth. He pauses as he reaches the softest portion of your stomach, stopping just above the knot that is covering your very bare lower half, and though you don’t recall informing him about your lack of undergarments, you are sure that he already knows.
“I need to taste you,” he whispers against your skin.
He doesn’t ask you for permission anymore, but instead glances up at you from his spot on the bench and it’s everything you need to understand what he wants from you. And of course you want it. You’re sure if he wastes a second longer to tend to your throbbing center, you might just pass out in his sturdy arms.
“Please, Art, I need you,” you’re able to get out, though it’s breathy and delicate from the way that he’s rendered you.
He’s quick to oblige as he takes the top of your towel cover in between his perfect white teeth and yanks the fabric hard enough for it to fall to your feet. He’s on you in an instant, one of his hands moving to support your shaky frame as he slides a knee between yours to spread you open.
He coaxes every cry out of you with his tongue, wet and skilled as he traces it along each fold, his nose bobbing against your swollen clit not dissimilar from his left hand that still lies atop your breast. You press him closer to you as he swirls his tongue around you, over and over and never in the same way more than twice in a row. It’s overstimulation at its best, overwhelming you until you're trembling in his grasp and before you know it, you’re riding the edge of the wave to pure pleasure.
“Fuck, Art! I’m- I’m-“ you can’t even finish your sentence, he feels so good. He hums against you in amusement, the vibrations of his voice meeting your core in a melting sensation that you find yourself grinding into uncontrollably.
“On my tongue,” he promotes against you before licking a steady stripe along your center. It’s then that you know you’re done for. Your cry is almost inhuman as you leap off the edge, diving into the heart of the wave as Art finally relinquishes his hold on your breast and uses the newly unoccupied hand to pierce into your arousal, calloused fingers curling into you as he helps you down from your high. Even after you cum you know you still have more in you. And you can tell from the growing bulge in his pants that Art isn’t done with you either.
He stands to kiss you with dampened lips as the taste of your own arousal invades your senses, but you withdraw from the embrace after only a few seconds to ask him your burning question, desire already regrowing like a flooding river of need.
“Art, I need you,” you start, pulling at the canvas material of his button up. “Please, please fuck me.”
“Oh fuck,” he mumbles before pressing his mouth towards yours and back you up to the wall of lockers that are neatly arranged behind you.
Granted by his permission, you unfasten each button of his shirt until it’s enough to pull it off him which he happily helps you accomplish. You can’t tell who’s more desperate for you to feel the dense muscle of his chest as he places your palms face down on his pecs, granting you the assurance you needed to explore his body.
You take your time, squeezing and prodding just as he had done to you until one of your hands is low enough on his stomach to palm him through his light wash jeans. The soft whimper he returns is nearly enough to send you over again. He pulls back as he lets you undo his belt, eyelids fluttering after you’ve unbuttoned and unzipped the only thing keeping you from him. You’re quick to pull him out, not at all shocked by how hard he is and it’s a major ego boost knowing it’s all because of you.
“See what you do to me?” he whispers against your lips as if you needed more proof of his longing for you. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Please,” you beg. “I need to feel you.”
Art is quick to oblige as his calloused fingers grip the soft skin of your hips, so rough that you can feel every callus from his racket as he pushes you against the lockers, thrusting up into you. While he’s dying to continue, he hesitates so that you can acclimate to his size. It takes no longer than a second as you release a guttural groan and wrap a leg around his waist, aiding him in hitting even deeper within you.
“Fuck!” you cry, throwing your head back against the cold metal as Art nips at your neckline again. You’re drowning beneath the blissful rocky wave and from the sounds that he’s making, almost re-enacting one of his matches just for you, you can tell that Art is too.
It happens so quickly that your mind struggles to understand it, spinning wildly as the wave pulls you under once more along with Art who finishes in a similar amount of time. You lean into his chest, breathing heavily as you take in the heavenly scent of his undoubtedly expensive cologne and slightly wincing as he pulls out of you slowly. He ducks to pick up your fallen towel as he starts to clean you up.
The realization that it’s over doesn't quite hit you until Art helps you get dressed, buckling his belt back up only once you’re decent and in return you hand him a spare shirt so he doesn’t have to redo every button on the one you’d nearly torn off him.
“Thanks,” he smiles gratefully, pulling on your shirt which fits tighter around him than it would around you, though it’s nothing to complain about as every miniscule ripple of muscle is on display.
You’re both thinking the exact same thing as you exit the locker room, hand in hand with the same guilty expression on your face as you pass an incoming janitor who is too busy scowling to ask Art what he was doing in the women’s locker room. It’s obvious from the encounter that it won’t be your last and as Art drives you to the planned frat party, you’re even sure that it’s not the last of the night.
Time proves you right as you’re seated next to Art a few weeks later, curled into his side as you share a large plate of the appetizer combo at a local Applebees. It was the only thing open after a long day of matches and meets and steamy rendezvous in between. The two of you were going on steadier than the trunks of ancient trees as you continue to support each other, you attending all of Art’s matches ( even if it meant skipping a practice or two) and Art cheering for you at all of your meets. You’re not sure if it’s the consistent attendance, but the both of you were only getting better at your respective hobbies by the day, particularly Art who hadn’t lost a match since meeting you.
You’re both jokingly arguing over who gets the last quesadilla when a familiar woman stops near your table, joined by a man you’d never seen before, though you recognize him from several of Art's detailed stories. He straightens beside you, gathering himself to greet the new company.
“Hey guys, long time no see!”
“Art,” Patrick nods to his friend before smiling to you and offering his hand, one that you take without a second thought. “I’m Patrick.”
“I know,” you admit. “I’ve heard a lot about you. You must be Tashi.” you turn to the girl and you can’t help, but analyze the peculiarities of her expression. It’s clear she is content with her own man of choice, but something about the way she looks at you tells you that she’s still involved in the tennis philosophy you managed to screw out of Art. She looks at you like you’re a player she’s lost to. And from what Art’s told you, you're certain it’s the first time Tashi has lost.
“It’s nice to meet you.” she fakes a smile before pulling Patrick to the door, careful not to stay long enough for the conversation to lead anywhere important. It’s awkward and strange, but you know it’s for the best. You’re not particularly interested in anything she has to say anyways.
“Did you see that?” you ask, pointing in the direction of the doorway that the couple had used for an easy escape.
“What?” Art wonders, looking towards you in anticipation.
“I think she’s looking for a new winner.”
Art leans in to peck the apple of your cheek, assurance that no matter the circumstance, he’ll never be available to the likes of Tashi Duncan again.
“Must be because I’ve won,” he reasons, “-because I have you and there’s nothing she can do to separate us.”
You smile at his sweet words, praying that he never ceases to use his talent for affectionate poetry as you lean in to kiss him. Whether he wins or loses or even never plays again, you couldn’t care less about the outcome of his career. As long as Art’s happy, you’re prepared to take on any challenge you’re put up to, whether on the court or in the pool.
#art donaldson smut#art donaldson fanfic#stanford art!!!#art donaldson x female reader#art donaldson x you#art donaldson#art donaldson x reader#art donaldson fic#tashi duncan#patrick zweig#challengers 2024#challengers movie#challengers#challengers fanfic#swimmer life#swimming#smut#mike faist
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I saw your callout in the Gale tag for that one user (no comment on them, tho ty for the callout bc i'd seen them in the notes of my fics) and was curious if you could elaborate on some of the Mystra incidents you described towards the end of the post? I'm new to the lore of the setting and find it hard to research (which makes sense given its importance to dnd), so I've heard a lot of conflicting things about Mystra's portrayal in the wider series. No pressure, obviously!
No problem! And yea, I've seen her arguing in the posts of a few people I follow or just Gale-related posts I find interesting. Usually I don't get involved in stuff like this, but I noticed a constant pattern and then all the homophobic shit so I went off a little.
Unfortunately it's hard to find exact examples of the Mystra lore because certain modules aren't very popular or even free to access, but if you're interested the best way to learn about her is by reading the Elminster novels. There's twelve total, dating all the way back to 1994, and they detail Elminster's adventures. I'll be honest though, some of them are a hard read and written through the lens of a man who's admitted very creative, but also has a lot of problematic ideas.
In the first book Elminster is a child. His entire town gets wiped out by mages, thereby making him hostile toward magic. He sneaks into Mystra's temple to deface her statue one night, but she appears before him and basically gaslights him into learning magic and becoming her rare Chosen. He becomes a wizard and cleric basically overnight, until eventually he multiclasses into pretty much every class type in DnD. As you can imagine a lot of players aren't too fond of Elminster, as he's a well known self-insert of the author and pretty annoying to run into during campaigns. None of my dungeon masters like him anyway.
He also becomes one of Mystra's most loyal followers, but she fucks with him over and over, turning him into a woman to teach him a lesson and SLEEPING with him in that form, berating him when he struggles with the torture he endures when he gets stuck in the hells, making him reproduce without his knowledge and getting jealous when he gives his partners more attention. Because she's a very jealous goddess, which I think the game vaguely touches on but not really.
I wish I had the time to flip through all the novels and give exact citations but the best I can do is suggest them, because they're so eye opening. She's considered a neutral good goddess, but neutral gods often do terrible things for the sake of their domain. I think it needs to be noted that Mystra, as with all gods in the pantheon, only cares about her portfolio. She isn't wrong for that, but it doesn't mean she's blameless when she messes with people's lives. She's done a lot of good but she's also made horrible decisions, especially where her followers are concerned.
For example, Elminster having children he doesn't know about. He has a daughter named Narnra. Her conception was... pretty fucked up. Basically a song dragon named Ammaratha Cyndusk was an occasional lover of Elminster's (he has a lot of those because of course he does) and she wanted to bear his child, but since he's a Chosen of Mystra he can control his fertility. Magic birth control, basically. He didn't want a kid so Ammaratha went behind his back to learn a counterspell that would make him fertile during sex. The man she asked refused to teach her because...duh that's messed up, but then Mystra intervened and told him to teach her the spell because she wanted Elminster's "seed to spread". Ammaratha never told him and neither did Mystra. No matter what the reasons, that was NOT consensual on Elminster's part, and it happened two more times, resulting in two more daughters with different women. If I remember correctly Elminster did eventually find out waaaaay later when they were all adults, but it never amounted to anything.
The sisters I was taking about are the Seven Sisters, Mystra's "daughters". And I put "daughters" in quotations because Mystra possessed the body of a woman named Elué and impregnated her without her consent. She slept with the woman's husband (again, while possessing her body) and made them sire seven children. This of course lead to Elué's death because the constant flow of magic in her body was too much for her to handle. Her grieving husband broke after she died and eventually left, abandoning his daughters and earning Mystra's scorn...as if he was in the wrong. The sisters were then orphaned and raised by foster families.
That said, most of the awful things anyone can say about Mystra were the doings of her previous incarnations so ultimately it doesn't apply to the Mystra of BG3. In fact, this third Mystra is supposed to be a new and improved goddess who's nicer to her followers. So her portrayal in BG3 annoyed a lot of DnD fans. I should also point out that Mystra has two types of fans: ones who will defend everything she does, even when it's fucked up beyond all comprehension, and the ones who will tell you she's a true neutral goddess capable of good and bad. I'm the latter. There are plenty examples of Mystra sticking her neck out for innocents, but there's also examples of her doing the most horrendous shit imaginable.
A lot of veteran players, at least the ones I know, are upset with the portrayal of Mystra in BG3 because her plan to end the Absolute is, quite frankly, stupid. Your party is the best chance anyone has of ending the threat, but she asks Gale to nuke himself and possibly tens of thousands, which makes no sense because she could've just sent her mages/clerics to deal with the problem. And there was no guarantee the bomb would've worked anyway. She put all the responsibility on one man and it DEFINITELY comes off as vindictive. That isn't out if character for her but she's not SUPPOSED to be that bad anymore. For a lot of DnD players it felt like she was reverting back to her old habits.
I think there's also a part in the game where you can directly ask Gale why she doesn't just blip the Absolute out of existence and he says something like, "She could but Ao won't allow it." That was also really strange for a lot of veteran players to hear because Gale drops Ao's name like it's nothing. Most people (especially if they're new to the franchise) wouldn't know this but most people in Faerûn don't know who Ao is! Because he wiped people's memories of his existence! I suppose it does make sense for Gale to know that name, since Mystra probably explained the pantheon to him, but it's VERY unlikely tav would know it. So during that conversation all I could picture was tav tilting their head like, "Huh? Who? Whaaa?"
And on top of that......Ao absolutely WOULD allow it because the Absolute effects the Weave and every other god! It had the potential to ruin the balance of the universe, which makes Ao a very angry boy. Balance is one of the ONLY things he cares about. The Dead Three were stealing souls and worshippers, which gods needs to survive, and dying gods disrupts the balance. It's a whole circle of chaos. So the only conclusion left for me to extrapolate is this: Mystra just really, really wanted Gale to kill himself to prove his devotion to her. Which...isn't great. Bad look for her.
It's kind of like how Raphael thinks the Crown of Karsus is going to help him end the Blood War and take over the hells. DnD players laughed during his epilogue because...no it won't lol. He doesn't stand a chance even with the crown. He's arrogant and he's gonna get slapped by his daddy and all the other archdevils, the same way Gale gets slapped by Mystra if he ascends. Even the Absolute ending of the game wouldn't last long because the gods would go to war with the Dead Three, wipe them out and rebuild Faerûn, which has happened many times in past DnD campaigns. Mystra alone has torn worlds apart and glued them back together. The main crisis of BG3 is saving the world you live in or everybody dies. For the gods it's just a Tuesday. I mean look at how Withers owns the Dead Three with a wave of his hand at the end of the game. Mystra COULD'VE killed the Absolute, just as she could've removed the orb from Gale's chest the moment it happened. She just didn't WANT to. She wanted him to die. She wanted him to chastise himself. She wanted him to suffer and come crawling back to her as an obedient follower. She wanted him to learn a harsh and honestly unfair lesson, which is a terrible throwback to her previous incarnations.
#mystra#gale of waterdeep#gale dekarios#baldur's gate 3#bg3#elminster#dnd#dungeons and dragons#raphael
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Last Line Challenge
Rules: in a new post, show the last line you wrote (or drew) and tag as many people as there are words (or as many as you feel like).
I got tagged throughout the week by the most wonderfullest @bluemaskedkarma, @ferretrade (uno-reversed), @cacodaemonia, and @merlyn-bane
“Sound strategy but you gotta be quick about it or Mr Snuffles will find himself bottlenecked, outnumbered, and about to be eviscerated. More tea?”
“Yes, please and thank you. I’m sure the siege will be okay. Mr Snuffles is a brilliant strategist! And Princess Sparkleblossom is a fair and just ruler.”
“Princess Sparkleblossom is a ruthless little bi—“
Omega’s eyes widened. “I’m telling Fordo,” she whispered.
“…tch,” Alpha finished lamely. “Fuck’s sake.”
Omega gasped.
This is for fulfilling two prompts at once and I hope @thornhands and @lesquatrechevrons aren’t too mad at me XD;;; Last line was Alpha 17’s lovely tiara.
I’m tagginggggggg
All-pressure to turn you into diamonds: @ferretrade @chiliger @ominouspuff
No pressure, instead I’m fluffing your pillows, tags: @omaano @razzbberry @foxglovecove @meebles @mxopifex @marbled-polecat @maybe-murphy @badwolf36
#last line challenge#my wips#alpha 17#tbb omega#is this all likely? no#is it fun to imagine Omega blackmailing Alpha into tea parties? yes
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Happy Sunday everyone! I had so many tags last Sunday and I had the best time reading/enjoying everyone’s shares! I didn’t have anything to share then, but thanks so much @artsyunderstudy, @monbons, @thehoneyedhufflepuff, @facewithoutheart, @roomwithanopenfire, @rimeswithpurple, @drowninginships, @larkral, @ileadacharmedlife, @fiend-for-culture, @prettygoododds, @forabeatofadrum, @tender-ministrations, and @mooncello for thinking of me this week!
Today I’m sharing another snippet from my increasingly un-secret COBB. I’m putting it under the cut for sleazy harassment and non-con touching. I censored a name with ** just to keep certain details under wraps for a bit longer.
** slaps his hand over Dev’s mouth and pulls him close, grinning in the rear view mirror.
“Take your paw off my cousin right now, unless you’re prepared to lose it,” I suggest, my voice low, dangerous. Dev’s eyes widen slightly, and then he gasps in a breath as ** pushes him away, laughing.
“You’re the good one, aren’t you, Basilton?” ** teases, leaning forward. His seat belt isn’t buckled, and if Dev’s was, I’d seriously consider slamming on the brakes. If ** went through the fucking windscreen, the world would know no great loss. “Always living by the rules, doing what you’re supposed to.”
He’s touching my hair now, coiling a strand around his finger. I’m less offended than when he was mauling Dev, but it still makes my skin crawl. “You don’t know anything about me,” I say softly. Least of all how far I’ll go for the people I love.
“You have an aristocratic profile, Basil,” ** coos, his breath warm on my neck. “I can see the family resemblance.” He takes another glug from whatever cheap fuckboy liquor he’s got wrapped in that paper bag, and then I grimace when his lips brush beneath my ear. “I could be feeling very into cousins tonight.”
And with that, have a great week everybody! No pressure tags to: @cutestkilla @supercutedinosaurs @aristocratic-otter @iamamythologicalcreature @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @orange-peony @thewholelemon @beastmonstertitan @shrekgogurt @bookish-bogwitch @raenestee @letraspal @arthurkko @papierhaikuphoto @stitchy-queerista @c0nsumemy5oul @asocialpessimist @skee3000 @cows4247 @ic3-que3n @nausikaaa @palimpsessed @alexalexinii @youarenevertooold and anybody else who’d like to share!
#six sentences sunday#the simon snow series#COBB#carry on big bang#COBB 2024#baz pitch#dev grimm#this snippet is pretty gross sorry#sleazy come-ons#unwanted touching#non-con touching
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@azrisweek || DAY 3: Contact || 9k words
Physics and the Immortality of the Soul. The most ridiculous notion Azriel could have picked to build his career around. He had spent half a lifetime tasking himself with impossible questions which very few people took seriously. A strange nostalgia for things he didn’t understand manifested after a childhood accident. This set his life on a path that one day leads him to the front doors of a strange library full of precious and one of a kind books and an even stranger connection to someone completely unexpected. One of which might finally give him the answers he was seeking.
Little points of contact bloom and tensions heat between the pages of Azriel's notes and Eris' books.
F I C
P L A Y L I S T
READ ON AO3
P.s. This one comes with completely irrelevant mini history fun facts in the notes
Snippet under the cut.
“You know,” Azriel started, smiling, “If you would just let me start checking them out again.-”
“Absolutely not.” Eris interrupted, turning away from Azriel to grab at the book he had just placed incorrectly on the shelf above them. The heat of the spell they had fallen under had been broken but Azriel was ok with that. This was the most they had ever spoken to one another and he didn’t mind taking time to play.
Azriel unfurled his arms and placed his hand atop Eris’ where it took hold of the book. He was frighteningly thrilled at the way those fingers trembled under his.
“Please?” He plied sweetly.
Desperation tugged at the ends of his fingers. In the weeks that he had been coming here, the two of them hadn’t so much as exchanged more than a few cursory words out loud. Their flirtations were merely physical. An accidental brush of their hands when exchanging a book, eyes that lingered too long, breath that came too close. More than once, the fire left in the wake of those small pieces of contact erupted in flames, sending them both over the edge. Eris’ hands would find their way under Azriel’s sweater as he pushed him back up against bookshelves, mapping every bit of exposed skin with his fingers and lips. He was always the first to touch, and always the first to pull away leaving Azriel frustrated and confused. It did not stop him from returning time and time again.
With the weight of the impending storm pressing against Azriel’s skin, those memories and fantasies were beginning to spill over. The pressure was a lover's caress, making it hard to breathe, hard to think.
Eris shuttered every single emotion he had let slip and leveled Azriel with a bored look. “You lost that privilege the last time you brought a first edition back with notes in the margin.” He hissed, turning and stomping back to the table to grab more books. “Now, I have to monitor your use. You return them in abysmal condition.”
Azriel scoffed lightly under his breath without meaning to. He thought that ‘abysmal’ might have been an over exaggeration.
“I paid for it.” He insisted. As if that alone erased any infraction.
When they made it back to the table, Azriel plopped back down in his seat and took up the book that had been lying open, into his hands, feigning reading. Eris snatched it from him and frowned at the pages. More notes in Azriel’s handwriting could be seen scrawled all over the page.
He slammed it closed with a growl. “Even under my watch you manage to desecrate them.”
“I wasn’t finished.” Azriel propped his head in his hand and lazily.
“We’re closed. Leave.”
If anyone wants on or off the taglist please let me know!
Holla at ya boi if you want on or off the Azris tag train : @talibunny30 @iftheshoef1tz @born-to-riot @fell-in-luvs @fieldofdaisiies @aktrain @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @secret-third-thing @acourtofladydeath @pippsmcgee @youvereachedthenearest-lovergirl @baileybird71 @skyesayshi @yanny-77 @areyoudreaminof @unanswered-stars @futurehunt @ninthcircleofprythian @matrixsss @going-through-shit @c-starstuff-man0 @jules-writes-stories @the-darkestminds @krowiathemythologynerd @cauldronblssd @hieragalbatorixdottir @yourlazykitkat @hellolordling @climbthemountain2020
#azrisweek2024#azrisweek24day3#azriel x eris#acotar#azris supremacy#eris vanserra#azris#azris fanfiction#acotar fanfiction#azriel shadowsinger#eris acotar#pro azris#azriel acotar#pro azriel#azriel spymaster#azriel#eris vandaddy#pro eris vanserra#high lord eris#autumn court#night court#acotar fanfic#azris fanart#azris fic#azris angst#eris angst#azriel angst#eris smut#azriel smut#acotar smut
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It's Sunday ... ya know what that means
ok .. so sentences cuz it's already sunday - Let's do this!
so my sentences this week are actually one of the ficlets I wrote over the weekend cuz the only other thing I've written recently is not ready for public viewing
so i wrote 8 ficlets this weekend and they're all on ao3 if ya want to peruse - to pick which to post I used an 8-sided die to determine which we'd post here - I rolled a 1 so it's a good thing I wasn't actually playing a game lolz
ficlet and tags behind the post (cuz ooops it might be a bit long for a ficlet)
Henry sinks into the chair on the dock. His friend June invited him along to her family’s lake house in Texas for a long weekend, and as Pez wasn’t in town and had nothing holding him and Will, his toddler son, at home, he decided to tag along. Now, sitting here watching her younger brother, Alex, swim across the lake, hoist himself up on the dock, and slowly walk over to plop in the chair next to him, he wonders why he thought his dog wouldn’t be enough company for them over the long weekend. He’s so lost in thought he misses what Alex is saying to him. He attempts to recover but is so entranced by the drops of water trailing across Alex’s chest he’s surprised he doesn’t offer to lick them off.
Instead, he gets out, “Um … I’m sorry, what was that? I was a bit lost in thought.” It’s not a lie; he was lost in thought. He’s just not sure he should admit those thoughts were all the things he wanted to do to his friend's brother. Alex is ten years younger than him and just graduated from college; he doesn’t need pervy older men lusting after him. Henry is certain he has plenty of people his age lusting after him. Honestly, he thinks there’s probably a new circle in hell being created for him as they speak after some of the thoughts he’s had this weekend. It doesn’t help that Alex is legitimately perfect; he seems to love David, who loves him back in a way he hasn’t loved anyone since Pez. And Will—Will is utterly smitten with Alex, much like his father, only, of course, with less pervy thoughts.
“I was just wondering if Will was still napping. I promised him I’d take him into the lake today.” The blush that rises in Alex’s cheeks as his eyes seem to roam Henry’s body makes Henry wonder if at least some of his feelings aren’t returned. Of course, that is most likely just his overactive imagination at work. “That is if you’re still all right with that.” The way Alex nibbles at his lip gives Henry thoughts he really shouldn’t be having when talking about his son.
“Of course, Will would be distraught with me if I denied him that. I trust you to care for him in the water, Alex.” He attempts to smile in a non-predatory way, but all of the very horny thoughts running through his head make him wonder if he was successful.
“Besides, you’ll be right there with us, right?”
The thought of standing in the water with Alex, as Will no doubt clamors all over him, is doing things to Henry. He knows he has a bit of a competency kink, and Alex has shown just how competent he can be with Henry’s son all weekend. It makes Henry wonder how competent he could be with Will’s father, and he really needs to stop thinking that way.
“Of course –“ Luckily, before he can embarrass himself further, June walks over and plonks Will into his lap.
“Someone woke up from his nap and wanted his dad.” She says as she walks past and plops herself onto the edge of the dock.
Henry’s never been so happy to have his son wake. He has something to focus on other than the devastating man across from him. Well, at least until Will sees Alex and practically throws himself from Henry’s lap to get to him, his loud “Alex” echoing through the silence. Apparently, his thoughts are not the only thing focused on Alex.
so ya made it through the ficlet - it's time for some tags
(no-pressure) tag you're it! to @adreamareads @agame-writes
@anincompletelist @bitbybitwrites @blueeyedgrlwrites
@dragonflylady77 @duchessdepolignaca03 @england-would-fall @firenati0n @firstsprinces
@forever-fixating @getmehighonmagic @henryspearl @heysweetheart-writes @hgejfmw-hgejhsf
@inell @inexplicablymine @itsmaybitheway @jellibuns @jmagnabo92
@junebugclaremontdiaz @kiwiana-writes @littlemisskittentoes
@lizzie-bennetdarcy @mikibwrites
@msmarvleouswinchester @nocoastposts @piratefalls @priincebutt @softboynick
@sophie1973 @sparklepocalypse @stellarmeadow @suseagull04
@tailsbeth-writes
@taste-thewaste @thedramasummer @theprinceandagcd @thesleepyskipper @thinkof-england
@tinyarmedtrex @typicalopposite @wordsofhoneydew @yrsacdfox
@indestructibleheart @everwitch-magicks @cricketnationrise @orchidscript @cha-melodius
@captainjunglegym @eusuntgratie @bigassbowlingballhead @violetbaudelaire-quagmire @oxfordslutphase
#sunday sentences#not six or seven#firstprince#red white and royal blue#rwrb fic#henry is very lust-filled#age gap of 10 years#i just realized i wrote my first age gap of more than just a couple years when i wrote this lolz#henry has a son who luvs alex#henry has a bit of competency kink
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Last Line Challenge
Rules: in a new post, show the last line you wrote (or drew) and tag as many people as there are words (or as many as you feel like).
Tagged by @omaano and ambushed in a parking lot laser tagged by @frostbitebakery
I am juggling so many things already but I had an itch to draw some sort of environment cuz it’s been ages. Last line was the trooper’s visor.
Tagging! With no pressure: @furious-blueberry0 @razzbberry @dontbelasagnax @sockdooe
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I was tagged by @eddiepeaches to do this picrew! This is where I admit I'm usually REALLY BAD at picrews and can't figure out how people get them to look like themselves but this one I managed, hooray! Here I am, with lots of hearts thinking of all of you. 💕
No pressure tags to @bizarrelittlemew @blakbonnet @merryfinches @tulipseason @agaywithcoffee @thechastefreeballer and anyone else who feels like playing. 🫶
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Thanks for the tag @steven-grants-world (we won't go into how giddy I get when I'm tagged in something!)
This or that…
coffee or tea (neither!) | early bird or night owl | chocolate or vanilla | spring or fall | silver or gold | pop or alternative | freckles or dimples | snakes or sharks | mountains or fields | thunder or lightning | egyptian mythology or greek mythology | ivory or scarlet | flute or lyre | opal or diamond | butterflies or honeybees I macarons or eclairs l typewritten or handwritten | secret garden or secret library | rooftop or balcony | spicy or mild | opera or ballet | london or paris | vincent van gogh or claude monet | denim or leather | potions or spells | ocean or desert | mermaids or sirens I masquerade ball or cocktail party
no pressure tags: @marieziffer, @jewelsrulz, @diplomaticprincess, @wrenwithapen, @witch-oftheflowers,
@lunar-ghoulie, @coneygoil, and anyone else who wants to because I hate forgetting people! Do it!
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✨OC Interview Tag✨
Thank you for the tag, @illarian-rambling ! I’ve done all the main OCs thus far, but I can bring out Johnny Astrum from Lone Star Rangers for this one
Were you named after anyone?
Nah. Astrum’s the name that runs in the family. Come from a buncha cow herders. Figures, right?
When was the last time you cried?
I don’t cry. I get even.
Do you have any kids?
I’m on the move too much to settle down. Bounty huntin’s not the cozy lifestyle you wanna raise a family in.
Do you use sarcasm a lot?
Depends. Sometimes that’s how you lure a target. Gotta use the best tactics to draw the varmints out, y’know?
What is the first thing you notice about people?
If there’s a bounty on ‘em. They act all skitterish, always check in’ over their shoulder, always lookin’ to see if anyone’s following’ em. That’s why you gotta act cool so you don’t draw suspicion on yerself.
What is your eye color?
Uh….you probably can’t see my eyes too well. I’m made out of natural gasses. You probably shouldn’t stare at me too long neither, lest you wanna go blind. Definitely makes my job harder—can’t blend in too well.
Scary movies or happy endings?
I’ve been scorned too many times by past partners. I’ll take a scary movie, if they even work on me.
Any special talents?
Wranglin’, Herdin’, Gamblin’, Blowin’ smoke rings and shootin’ through ‘em.
Where were you born?
Andromeda Majoris IV, in the Astora Galaxy sect. That’s where all the Astrums were reared.
Do you have any pets?
I used to work on a farm with my folks. Had cows, horses, chickens, pigs, sheep, you name it. Once I get enough credits to settle down, I’ll get a plot on a gentle star galaxy, raise my own livestock.
What sort of sports do you play?
Do darts count? I have a pretty mean streak o’ darts. Can usually take home lots of credits if the bettin’s high. Definitely have ended in lots of saloon shootouts.
How tall are you?
Oh, I don’t know…maybe 6’8? Bounties have always said I’m an imposing feller. Tried to get to my soft side. Too bad their heads were worth more than their compliments.
What was your favorite subject in school?
School? My parents taught me on the farm. So, I guess….raisin’ animals was my favorite? Or maybe growin’ our crops…I didn’t like reading none….math, maybe. You gotta know how much water to give to the soil, n’ how much feed to the cattle.
What is your dream job?
God damn, if I could just be a farmer and raise animals for the markets, that would be ideal. I got caught up in wanting to be a star….and despite bein’ one in body, in spirit I just wanna settle down, y’know? Bounty huntin’s great n’ all, but my astral bones’ll get weary one o’ these days, and I gotta have a backup plan.
I’ll tag (no pressure): @wyked-ao3 , @autism-purgatory , @sunglasses-in-the-bentley , @madi-konrad , +open tag! 💖
#goldencomet💫#oc interview#writeblr tag games#LSR#intergalactic bounty hunters#sci fi and fantasy#Sci-Fi Western#romantasy#writers on tumblr#ao3#writeblr#writeblr community#writing community#writerscommunity#writers on ao3#ao3 community#writing#writers#writblr#writblr community
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✰ NINE PEOPLE I WANT TO GET TO KNOW BETTER
last song: all of london saw by leona rue (i was writing last night so i had a sad writing playlist on lmao)
favorite color: love a good blue
currently watching: rewatching that 70s show on my own and rewatching stranger things and bridgerton with my sister :)
last movie: spider-man 2 !
currently reading: cloud cuckoo land by anthony doerr
sweet/spicy/savory: depends, i love savory tho
relationship: currently avoiding a guy i slept with lol
current obsession: steve harrington rip
last thing i googled: billie eilish birds of a feather lyrics
currently working on: chapter 5 of come home !!
tagged by: @moonpascal
tagging (no pressure): @southelroy @xspeter @procrastinationprincesses @lolaswrld @strangerstilinski @we-out-here-simping @thytorturedpoet @siriuslysmoking @eddiemunson-86-baby
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OC Interview Tag
Ooh so excited to do this! Thank you very much for the tag @winglesswriter 💙
I will be answering for Christopher, the MC of Far Beyond The Moon.
Are you named after anyone?
[exhales] Maybe after a grandfather that I didn't get to know? My mother never talked much about our family. Maybe I'll skip this one.
When was the last time you cried?
... Can I skip this one?
Do you have any kids?
Yes! Allison just turned seven. She's just the best. [smiles]
Do you use sarcasm a lot?
When I do say something ironic or sarcastic, people tend to not understand me correctly right away... so I try not to. It's too awkward.
What is the first thing you notice about people?
Whether or not they're friendly.
What is your eye color?
Blue! Couple of baby blues.
Any special talents?
I used to play the piano. I don't know if that counts as a talent? [laughs] I do still play the guitar from time to time. And I used to sing.
Scary movies or happy endings?
Happy endings! [lying]
Where were you born?
Westfield Hospital, Massachusetts. It's the nearest hospital from my hometown Hillsburg.
Do you have any pets?
Sadly no! I would love to have a dog, but I don't have the time. I volunteer at Helping Paw – I don't think you've heard of it, it's a tiny dog shelter just outside of Hillsburg. We've got some amazing dogs there.
How tall are you?
6'1. I'm told I'd be taller if my posture wasn't this bad.
What was your favorite subject in school?
English, if I had to choose, I guess. Loved the theater club though! I was even in a high school band! [laughs]
What is your dream job?
Tough question! I'd love to have my own shelter someday. But the job I'm working right now isn't too bad, so I don't think about... dreams, I guess. Aw, man, that sounds depressing! [laughs]
.
Oh my god, that was such fun!! I've only ever answered as the author about the character, so this was very different. Let's tag a few people, but no pressure!
@mikathewriter, @verba-writing, @alinacapellabooks, @tryingtowritestuff24 + open tag for anyone who wants to do this!
#authors of tumblr#writers of tumblr#indie author#lgbt fiction#paranormal romance#eldritch romance#writeblr#booklr#mentally ill characters#queer characters#mlm#gay#far beyond the moon#tag games#fbtm#*
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Last Line Challenge
Rules: in a new post, show the last line you wrote (or drew) and tag as many people as there are words (or as many as you feel like).
I was tagged by my love @loverboy-havocboy 🥰🥰 you may have another lil line from my secret codywan project 😌😌
Still, Cody doesn’t mind being predictable about the things he likes. Not to those he loves.
No pressure tags to @goddammitjim, @smoosey, @bluemaskedkarma, @frostbitebakery, and @foreverchangingfandomsao3. I'm also gonna reverse uno @loverboy-havocboy 😘
#codywan#obi wan kenobi#commander cody#last line challenge#wip games#wip#my wips#secret codywan project#writing#my writing
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RULES: make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! then tag as many people as you have WIPs.
I got tagged a few times in this but i cant find the who else did it T-T but thank you everyone and @majorproblems77 for tagging me!! I'll do both art WIP and writing cause I dont have enough for just one or the other
Writing WIPS
His (Metal) Rose
Into the woods (Rewrite)
Winged Lover
Elodie Story
Before (AOG)
Aog boys Basics
Art WIPS
Part 1 AOG headshots
Young Bard and Sir Raven
AOG redesigns
OPEN tag but allsoo.... hmmm @yourlocaltreesimp @nancyheart11 @peepthatbish @mango0o0o0os @birb-boyo no pressure!
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last line challenge <3 :)
rules: in a new post, show the last line(s) you wrote (or drew) and tag as many people as there are words (or as many as you feel like).
i was tagged by the very coolest <3 @leohtttbriar, this is a wip from a fic where i'm trying to figure out what john and miral look like as a couple. also its not one line yayy
Miral has never seen a beach look so much like the desert.
It takes time to get to the water, walking on powdery sand that sticks to the bottom of her feet, and the lack of clouds bathes everything in the light of Earth's sun, shimmering and stark against the cool shock of blue water, so unlike the thick black sand and soft green on the beaches she'd grown up visiting. The waves are small, barely rising up from the flat top of the water before folding into themselves unassumingly on the sand.
Everything is harsh, and bare. There are no smooth boulders lining the shore like she's seen on Chu'paq, only more sand, and there are no caves to provide respite from the sun, only strange, curved trees with green heads that reach up several times her height.
John's mother stares at Miral for a long moment when she sees her beach attire, and Miral holds her gaze, wondering briefly if the swimsuit she packed is unacceptable by the Terran standard.
"Miral," Dolores says, and she trills the R in a way that John rarely does, quickly and subtly, leans into the vowels and stretches out her mouth. "Do you need a dermal regenerator?"
Then one of his sisters, Laura, "I think the lifeguard keeps a first aid kit," and she eyes the long scar along her leg, and Miral looks at them, and realizes for the first time, despite the somewhat revealing beach attire they were all sporting- their skin is scar-less, smooth. Bare, like their beach.
Miral had earned that scar, had stalked a sabre bear with her cousin, Rokar, for three days for that scar, and she cringes internally at the thought of healing it.
"No," she starts, then adds, remembering, "-thank you. I show the scar intentionally. I received the wound recently on a hunting trip in the northern mountains, and the memory is dear to me."
i tag @mithrandirl, @gorseflowers, and @fauvester, plus anybody who would like to participate!
#if you ever wonder if your fic is too self indulgent remember that i sent miral daughter of l'naan to vega baja puerto rico#this wip is 70+ pages has b'elanna been born yet? no.#no pressure to the people i tagged!!!!!!!#and thank you for tagging meee this was fun :)))
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ngl I'm not a fan of how the very necessary discussion of how autistic girls (and many poc for that matter, not that we usually remember this) often end up masking hard due to the pressure to "be ladylike" or "not be too angry" and therefore end up being seen as "very polite" and "mature for your age" and so on and so forth is morphing into being less about how social pressures may impact how autism presents and more about saying "so there's Girl Autism and there's Boy Autism and Girl Autism makes you nice and polite and pleasant but Boy Autism makes you gross and annoying and rude and offputting and no it's not ableist at all to say that being overly excitable or trying to get a turn to talk when you don't know when your turn is or struggling with arbitrary rules is rude and annoying because Girl Autism exists uwu"
#disability#actually autistic#serious tag#internet culture#especially because these are FAR from being hard and fast rules#i had Boy Autism despite being raised fully expected to be a girl#and no i do not find it remotely affirming to be called all the horrible things they said i was But In An Affirming Way This Time#knowing more of the different ways that different combinations of autistic traits and social pressures can present#is good for preventing people from slipping through the cracks#we don't need to be breaking open NEW cracks by assigning certain presentations to certain genders
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