MY HEARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRT! That Was So Precious. You Could Just Feel Their History Together, And Now They're

I really want to write a short WIP celebrating how important, helpful, and wonderful sexual alters can be in a system when the host has experienced sexual abuse, I just dont know how. I always struggle with coming up with a concrete story for these things.

The Crimson Bride was sort of that (for those who may be interested in it). But I want something more character focused over symbolism focused, if that makes sense. Something that celebrates that type of system connection.

Writing with Sharks

Heyo! You want people to chat with about your WIPs? Or your OCs? Even your art? Come join me on discord. Let's make friends and get some writing done! I'll even be creating writing/art events or challenges through the year. Advice will be posted, references, I even do research for people in need of it. I have channels for daily prompts or challenges. Need feedback? There's a spot for that too!

I love him already.

Hey there! 💌 Just swinging by to wish you a gentle, creative day. I hope these questions help you get back to it. :)

Here are your character-building questions, tailored to the emoji(s) you picked:

🗝️: How does your OC react when someone challenges their authority or beliefs in public?

🧠: What does your OC fear about themselves that they rarely, if ever, admit?

✨: What’s something your OC is surprisingly good at that has nothing to do with their main role in the story?

No pressure to answer quickly. Take your time and have fun with it.

Hello and thank you!

I'm gonna go with Henrik from Thief and Guard for these questions, since he's such an important character but has no pov.

🗝️Well you see he has a big glowing halberd. He will use it. He'll at least threaten to use it. ...okay most likely he'll fold his arms and look Big and Imposing until the other party is scared.

🧠He's honestly afraid he's never going to feel like he fits anywhere. He came from across the rift, got really good at fighting monsters, oh but he was too good and got reassigned so many times. Now he's aimless. He can't go home. If he did, he wouldn't fit there, either. He has no home where he is. He convinces himself that's what he wants.

✨knitting! Idk if that counts cause it does play a role in the story. He's a good cook when he has the time and ingredients

Thank you so much for the ask!

like/reblog if u are:

a bitch

a bastard

an all around fool

an omnipresent all-powerful being

a sparrow

c̵͙̳͕̈͛ụ̷̔r̸̗͎̽̓͗͜s̴̨̈́̿͘e̸͍̰̜͊̈́d̵̛̫̙͍͝͝

capable of moving at immense, incomprehensible speeds

an eldritch being

no one will know which one u chose! :D

I think a lot of what pro-AI people are really wanting is stuff that already exists but they don't know it's out there like

can't format a work email? templates

don't know how to write a resume? templates

writing a thank you card or a condolences card or a wedding invitation? templates templates templates

not sure how to format your citations in MLA or whatever format? citationmachine.net

summary of something you're reading for school/work? cliffnotes.com

recipe based on ingredients in your fridge? whatsintherefrigerator.com

there's a million more like, guys, we don't need AI, we never needed generative AI

Teenage Wasteland - Chap. 2 - Bad Music and Good Desires

Sunlight streamed into Samantha’s cavernous garage, illuminating a lone, scarlet-colored toolbox and stacks of cardboard boxes which smelled faintly of dust and old newspapers. Yet more pervasive of all was that stench of motor oil which clung to the air, a thick, greasy perfume even the strong breeze couldn’t quite shift. This emptiness came with a strange comfort, the perfect canvas for Sam and Tegan’s rehearsal space; the quiet hum of the neighborhood traffic added a low background thrum to their afternoon. Samantha’s parents’ absence, a welcoming situation, stretched out before them like a long, open road.

“Yeah, we both should sing, right? Like, If’n it makes you feel better. I can be the lead, but you got to be my back up.” Samantha offered the well-used can turned weed-bowl towards Tegan. “I can’t be singing alone, ya know?”

The metallic clang of the can against the lighter echoed as Tegan inhaled deep of the weed’s smoke, the butane’s sharp scent stinging her nostrils. She sat the can down on a rough, large cardboard box, its texture a sharp contrast to the smooth metal. “I can’t sing for shit,” she mumbled, her voice husky from the smoke. “You are the one with the beautiful voice.”

“Hah! No! I’m going to go all punk with this shit. Because this isn’t ‘bout beauty. We’re going to make music and say, ‘fuck the man,’ all at the same time.” Samantha’s passion took over as she strummed the V-shaped guitar strapped around her. “Now let’s make some music!”

With a snorting laughter, Tegan nodded. “Fuck yeah! We’ll be the next Bratmobile or Bikini Kill. But before we get to that point, co-band leader, what’cha playing?”

“I don’t know! Fuck it! Let’s jam!”

Not saying a word, Tegan moved over to Samantha, the soft brush of her cheek against Sam’s was a fleeting whisper. An almost secret smile played on their lips; they both smelled of Teen Spirit, the Romantic Rose aroma, that is. They’d tried to conceal their affections from the older generations—a hushed giggle, a furtive glance, but here they could do what they wanted. Being so far back from the road, no one could see them.

Samantha was still brand new to playing guitar but made up for it with sheer enthusiasm and a can-do attitude that most did not have with something they were so new at. No imposter syndrome for her, no self-consciousness telling her she could not do it. Just a desire to play and play she did. Not great, even by punk rock standards, but the pair played Bikini Kill, Bratmobile, and Jack Off Jill as rough and raw as they could—they played their hearts out over and over.

Sweat beaded on Tegan’s forehead, as that Carolina summer heat started early this year. Her sleeveless black tank top with that stylized heart and knife stabbed through it—a lucky purchase at the mall-soaked through and clung tight to her thin torso. Playing the bass line for the songs, eventually just playing whatever sounded good to her. It flowed with Samantha’s rather chaotic guitar-playing. She hopped around, scream-singing whatever came to mind, which was both good and hilarious.

“I’m your whore! The one you adore!” Samantha yelled into a microphone that didn’t exist, which had Tegan doing her best not to laugh.

They lost track of time, and people had driven past on their way home from a long day. That’s when Tegan noticed the sour expression on Mister Oakley’s face. A man in his mid-forties and about as conservative and closed-minded as they come. That type of Christian that followed none of the tenets of Christianity that hated everything and everyone that was not white, Christian, and straight. Anyone who did not fit into his archaic view of what Americans or America should be. Tegan was well-acquainted with this man in the past. So, as he stomped up the driveway, she knew this was going to be a bunch of bullshit.

“What in the hell are you two doing?” He stepped up, chest puffed out and hands on his hips. “This isn’t the type of neighborhood that allows such type of music. We don’t like punks here. Tegan, you have a long history of being nothing but a pain in the ass ever since your grandparents did this entire neighborhood a disservice. By bringing your inconsiderate, rule-breaking ass home.”

Which was Mister Oakley’s modus operandi, to act like he had the higher moral ground. When, in actuality, he was just a bigot.

****

In the late winter of 1993, on March 13th to be exact, brought with it a blizzard of sorts. Where temperatures dropped beyond any normal winter, and alongside that, over a foot of snow in some places within the upstate of South Carolina. Which neither the state, nor any of its citizens knew what to do, nor were they prepared for such a snowfall. The south froze over that day, and despite it all, Tegan’s life finally opened up, and in a fashion, defrosted for her. With previously unknown grandparents spending months freeing her from this prison, and everything seemed brand new and beautiful.

On the long car ride from Spartanburg to Simpsonville, her grandparents—Sadie and John Morgan—asked a hundred and one questions. Of which Tegan had no issues answering, though her right knee bounced the entire car ride. She wasn’t sure if that was from her nerves, or if it was the excitement which surged through her veins. Her new life would begin; she never thought it would at all. That there came with her life a curse, unbroken and unbothered, yet here it was broken and bothered.

“We promise to never send you back there. No matter what,” grandmother assured. “Ain’t that right, John?”

“You’re one of us. Family watches out for family,” grandfather agreed. “I just wish your mother remembered this.”

“Not now,” Grandmother admonished.

Sullivan Road winded its way through a thickly-wooded area on the outskirts of Simpsonville, SC. Several parcels of land portioned out with every house a ranch-style, every third one just the same as the third before it. Lawns neatly-manicured and maintained, covered in a layer of snow. Which gave everything a soft, sculpted veneer, as if crafted by the hands of a master. Kids in their thickest clothes ran about throwing snowballs at one another, building snowmen, and for Tegan, it was a first-time experience.

“Can I play in the snow?” Tegan asked, already wanting to jump out of the car and do snow angels. Get completely covered in the white, frozen stuff, and enjoy that sense of freedom that tasted oh-so-good right now.

Grandmother bade Tegan to wait; to let her get situated into the bedroom they had prepared for her. To eat something more hearty and bone-warming than the rather sad breakfast she ate that morning; but, more important than all of that, the five simple rules of living with them: Finish all homework on time, making sure grandfather checks its—no excuses barring sickness. Definitely no drugs or drinking whatsoever. Be back home by 9:30 pm sharp, 9 on school nights. No one can come over unless they are cleared by grandmother first. And absolutely no boyfriends over, though this was not an issue for Tegan.

All easily agreed to by Tegan, who then stuffed herself in as much warm clothing as would fit over her and rushed outside into the snow. With blustery winds and dancing snow, Tegan ran over to a group of kids who were engaged in a light-hearted game of throwing snowballs at one another. Kids who introduced themselves were kind to the new girl, and only asked surface-level questions about where she came from. It was a beautiful kind of freedom.

“Oh! So, you’re that kid that came from the orphanage? The broken one?” Asked Lisa Oakley, her black hair pinned back behind her ears.

“Father says you were unwanted, and we shouldn’t associate with someone tainted like yourself,” said her twin brother Robert.

The two teased Tegan over and over, and it caused her fists to clench, her jaw to clench. While the other children were nice enough, the twins kept pushing her throughout the whole time. To not jeopardize her new home and her place within it, Tegan just took it until it became almost too much. That after Robert asked what happened to her mother, or if she even had one. Tegan lashed out to where he took a swift punch to the nose, followed by being tackled by the smaller girl, and a rain of punches landed over and over. He did not know how to defend himself in the least.

Strong arms wrapped themselves around Tegan and pulled her off the boy, who lay in a pool of freezing blood and sobs. She wriggled around enough to elbow the man in the nose and escape his clutches. To notice that it had to be their father, for he looked just like the boy quivering on the ground.

“Stop attacking my children, you demon!” He shouted with the fury of an angered pastor. “I saw it all! You just blindsided him for no reason!”

“No reason, eh?” Grandfather trudged out through the snow. “For the things he said, he deserves even worse. You touch my granddaughter again, and we’ll have some real issues here. Understand?”

Pointing his finger at grandfather then at Tegan. “Do not even talk to my children again, you-you forgotten child! Jesus has no place for the unwanted and unwashed, like you.”

****

He’s been the same since the day Tegan moved here.

“Okay, old man, you can fuck right on off,” Samantha growled, resembling a guard dog. “This is not your house at all. If you have an issue, call the fucking cops and see how seriously they take you.”

Mister Oakley took a step forward but stopped suddenly at Samantha’s voice. “Another fucking step and I go to my dad’s gun cabinet. You have come onto my parents’ property, making two underaged girls feeling WAY unsafe. Any issues? Take it up with my father. He’ll tell you the same that I told you. Go eat a fucking dick. You are unwanted, unwelcomed here.”

As if he had just experienced the most traumatic event, Mister Oakley stood shell-shocked. Tegan took the opportunity and said, “you heard her! We’re just having fun and hurting no one. Does having fun hurt you?”

“I-it’s not good!” He sputtered out.

“No fucking shit, dude. We’re just starting out and learning,” Tegan fired back with more venom than she expected. “Why don’t you just go back home to Missus Oakley, and disappoint her in all ways, and just leave us alone?”

“Well, I’m going to tell your parents,” he threatened as he pointed at Samantha, “and tell your grandparents about this!”

Tegan shrugged, readjusted the faux leather of her bass strap before she resumed playing. With a disgruntled huff and the soft thud of his loafers on the concrete driveway marked the man’s departure. Sam’s laughter, bright and clear, filled the air as she playfully hip-checked Tegan, the impact a gentle, almost loving jolt. Followed by a quick, fleeting kiss on Tegan’s cheek. Then back to his guitar, the enthusiastic strumming a cheerful, if a bit clumsy, melody.

Eventually, the two young teens had to depart, and Tegan carried her bass in its case across the street. Her mismatched eyes turned toward the Oakleys just down the way, and an overwhelming desire to throw rocks at it almost overcame her reasonable side. Being so late in the school year, there was not much homework for her to do. So, instead, she watched MTV Live and tuned out on the pop music that played in the top hits of the week.

“So, Tegan,” Grandfather began as he cut into his steak and shoved a piece into his mouth. “Mister Oakley said you were very rude to him today. Even cussed at him.”

“Meh, he’s a holier-than-thou blowhard, grandpa,” Tegan replied as she poked her fork at the mashed potatoes on the plate. “Plus, he was saying some mean things to Sam.”

Grandmother gave a half-laugh. “He is a blowhard, honey. But I do have a concern. He said you two were playing music and smoking weed?”

Not looking up from her good, Tegan took a bite, always loving how buttery and garlicky grandmother’s mashed potatoes always ended up as. “Yeah, well, we were playing some music. She’s learning to play guitar and is getting better, after all. So, since her parents were gone, we figured why not jam out in her garage? Might even form a band. Maybe. Either way, Mister Oakley didn’t like it.”

“And the weed?” Grandfather’s tone took on the one that Tegan recognized as his not-messing-around voice.

“He said he was going to try and get me in trouble. Just making up some bullshit,” Tegan muttered.

“Language, Tegan,” Grandmother admonished, but neither said anything else about the matter.

After dinner, America’s Funniest Home videos blared on the television as Tegan was interested in everything else but that. Waiting until the house went quiet, she laid on top of her thick blanket with only the lamp on the bedside table on. A creased copy of Alanna: The First Adventure in her hands, and despite how worn-out it was, and how many times she had read it. Tegan could always get lost in the Kingdom of Tortall and Alanna’s adventures as a page in a fantasy Royal Court. Sure, Alanna had to hide her gender and pretend to be a boy, but it didn’t last the whole story. It just seemed so romantic and awesome and so much better than the boring-ass town that is Simpsonville.

Tap-tappity-tap came from outside her window, and Tegan paid it no heed at first. Just a bird far-too-close to her window, yet it happened again with more insistence and need. Crawling across her bed, Tegan peered through the blinds to see the beautiful face of her girlfriend, who gave a wide grin and a wave. “Hey, Tee! Come out here!”

Pulling open the window, Tegan giggled as she climbed through and landed barefoot on the soft soil of the flowerbed. Doing her best to not step on any of grandmother’s prized flowers. Before she could even gain her bearings, Samantha pulled her into the shadows that concealed the side of the house away from the prying eyes of the neighbors and the road. Sam was very much assertive, almost too much by some standards, but Tegan loved the dominant side. When Samantha would press their lips together with such force and passion, to be desired as such and to be loved as such, or at the very least, to be lusted after. Each teen’s hands would embolden and explore each other every time they kissed and embraced.

Samantha’s hand lingered at the edge of Tegan’s shirt, as the faint sound of their breaths mixed with the rustling of fabric. The touch of recently-calloused fingers traced a path up Tegan’s smooth stomach, sending a shiver down her spine. The air was filled with a hint of anticipation as the fingertips playfully danced just below the curve of Tegan’s breasts.

“What if someone sees us?” Tegan finally protested, but she didn’t protest strongly.

“No one’s going to see us,” Samantha’s tone carried with it something Tegan had never really heard before, a true longing, desire, and lust toward her. “I have this burning need to feel, to taste every bit of you. I want to make you quiver, squirm, and cum.” At those words, Tegan had to stop herself from moaning out with barely a touch by this point.

The warm evening air smelled ever sweeter as Samantha lifted Tegan’s shirt to expose the pale-skin beneath and kissed her belly button. Which caused a soft giggle to escape from her, who said not a word but bit her bottom lip as Sam' moved upwards at a slow, deliberate pace. Indescribable, utterly indescribable were the feelings in Tegan’s mind as her eyes closed, just as Samantha’s lips found the buds of her destination.

“Keep your beautiful eyes open,” Sam whispered her demand. “Makes it so much better.”

Yet before Samantha could really turn Tegan’s life around, the light in the house beside them turned on and forced the two teenagers apart in the blink of an eye. Tegan pulled down her shirt, face flushed, breathing deep and heavy, and Samantha’s frustration etched across her face. When the older woman peeked through the blinds at them, the two teens gave a short, sharp wave.

“Son of a bitch,” Tegan groaned.

Samantha sighed but then giggled. “I was feeling so, you know, horny for you. We can always go somewhere else.”

“Not tonight. We need to find more privacy around here.”

“Yeah. Sorry, I’ll find something. There’s got to be somewhere.”

Tegan pulled her girlfriend into a tight hug and kissed her on the nose. “Never apologize. I’m just happy Missus Auerbach over there doesn’t gossip.” With a bashful smile, she tucked a strand of reddish-blonde hair behind Samantha’s ear. “There’s still so much in front of us, you know? Though, I agree, we need a place to be together from prying eyes.”

“Blah, I’ll see you at the bus stop.” Samantha planted another long kiss on Tegan’s lips before she scampered off back home.

After she crept back into her bedroom, Tegan kept the window open, which allowed a cool night breeze to stir the curtains, whispering against Tegan’s face as she snuggled under her soft blanket. Sleep evaded her for who knows how long; Samantha’s lips, warm and lingering on her breasts, played on repeat in her mind. This memory, this vivid memory, sent shivers down her spine; a potent cocktail of longing and arousal surpassed anything she had ever known before. She ached, oh did she ache for Samantha—her touch, the taste of her skin, the lovely fresh aroma of her hair, every exquisite detail that her girlfriend brought with her. Tegan bit her lip, a sharp sting against the overwhelming heat that built within. Her hand, much like a silent intruder, slipped beneath the soft-blue cotton panties. A muffled moan followed by a breathy sigh escaped as she encountered the slick, undeniable evidence of her desires and lust she felt. It did not take her long to reach that peak she was not unfamiliar with.

She brought up two fingers slick with her own moisture; Tegan pulled them apart. A glistening strand stretched, then snapped as a wave of hot shamed washed over her—she’d never imagined herself rubbing one off to someone she actually knew and not some hot celebrity. Yet, the cool night air on her skin offered a stark contrast to the fiery blush that stained her damp, sweat-covered cheeks. The intensity of her orgasm was unlike anything she’d experienced before; Samantha had truly ignited her, and this was not quite as satisfying as she suspected being with Sam would be.

Was this just hormonal lust, a wildfire of tingling skin and racing pulse? Tegan knew she cared for Samantha; she always did her best to make Tegan feel cherished, and vice-versa. But was their intense attraction merely physical, a symphony of breathless sighs and flushed skin and stolen kisses, or something deeper?  She wasn’t sure; love felt like a hazy dawn, a dream that slipped through the mind once awoken, and had no true examples of how it was supposed to be. If it meant the sun-warmed happiness of Samantha’s presence, each day brighter with her laughter, then maybe, just maybe, it was love.

“Shit,” Tegan cursed before she got out of bed to clean herself up. Changing out her sheets, tossing them into the washer and tossing herself onto the fresh set. A fresh wave of exhaustion overcame her, and this time, Tegan fell into a deep, sound sleep.

****

@fablesandfragments @seastarblue @vesanal @theink-stainedfolk @leahnardo-da-veggie

@aalinaaaaaa @an-indecisive-nerd @write-with-will @the-ellia-west @carb0n-m0n0xide

@inadequatecowboy @kitkins13 @watermeezer @shepardstales @bardic-tales

@dyrewrites

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Got it, got it. Thanks for answering, I am loving the story so far! You have me glued to your writing. /gen

I was a bit confused on this, so I thought I'd ask. How old is Jesse when she starts living with Lira, and how old are they by the action sequence in chapter 2 (since there's a small time skip before that, I believe)?

I'm writing them as roughly 20-25, in that age bracket. Think the equivalent of someone fresh out of high school but not quite college age yet.

WRITING COMMISSIONS from a self-published author:

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If you want a prompt fulfilled, any writing about original characters, or anything to do with an original story, I'm the one for you!

I will write original stories that can be adult, but will not have explicit sexual content. I will talk to you through the whole process, to ensure the writing is perfect!

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IRIS - Spoilers Disguised As Memes [PART 3]

This is the fourth and last option of the community poll. Next up: yet another poll! If you wish to choose what to see next, join us!

Work on IRIS the remaster has officially began! Content is shown on the B/T community a couple days prior blog posts.

IRIS' L. is the placeholder title for an upcoming (Teen bordering on Young Adult) book: a portal fantasy, whimsical story with teen drama, mystery, venturing and body horror. It is part of the Creation And Destruction (Standalone) Tetralogy, the very first installment of the first BAD TOKENS story.