I'm an artist in many fandoms and wish to have my safe haven of creating things to escape the world's craziness (Google: How to Stay Sane in an Insane Life)
Hello! This is my introduction post. I'm in so many fandoms than I can count and wish to create art be in the form of writing or drawing. I'll update this post later in the future!
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
The air in the private academy’s library tasted of old paper, expensive leather, and the suffocating arrogance of generational wealth.
To Rican, the world had never been a complex web of human emotion or shared struggle. It was a ladder where everything and everyone was either beneath his feet or hoisted above his head.
He, naturally, existed on the highest of the high.
Born with what he fondly referred to as the holy trinity of existence—attractiveness, charisma that border-lined on hypnotic, and an amount of money that could buy a small nation—he had never once encountered the concept of difficulty.
The word "struggle" was a foreign sequence of vowels that simply did not apply to his universe.
And it definitely didn't apply for school either, not when it was like his personal playground.
His father had personally financed entire sports complexes and academic clubs just to ensure Rican’s boredom was kept at bay.
Life was flawless, a golden path laid out before him, except for one tiny thing.
Romantic interest.
Women flung themselves at his feet daily, but a quick, meaningless hookup was all he could muster.
And of course Rican took it upon himself to make it a mission to find someone who could be more than a hookup. (someone who could MAYBE give him a high-five trust)
His first attempt at finding love had been an utter disaster. It ending within thirty seconds when the girl’s voice proved to be a fraction too shrill for his ears, causing him to walk away mid-sentence without a backward glance.
The second target had shown promise until he cast his eyes downward and noticed the scuffed, criminanal sight of her off-brand loafers.
The mere sight of such poverty had induced a physical wave of nausea, forcing him to cross her off his list immediately.
But of course Rican was nothing if not persistent. Third time's the charm, right?
That was when his gaze had drifted to the back of your head.
You were cute, undeniable, but Rican didn't just want a doll—he wanted a prize that felt worthy of his high status.
To test the waters, he had casually slipped a crisp bill into the teacher's palm, ensuring that the seating chart for the semester's most intensive research project was altered.
The investment paid off instantly. Over the first few days, he discovered you were genuinely funny, easy to talk to, and possessed a face that perfectly aligned with his exact aesthetic preferences.
You, however, viewed the entire arrangement through a lens of profound skepticism.
You weren't naive. You knew how wealthy boys functioned.
So of course, you expected him to be arrogant, you expected him to be detached, and you fully expected him to eventually try and pawn all the project's actual research off on you.
What you did not expect, under any circumstances, was the warp-speed at which his brain apparently operated.
By the third day of the project, the casual banter had completely vanished, replaced by an intense, suffocating focus that made your skin prickle.
He could scoot closer to you, and stare at you even when you weren't speaking. It was becoming to the point where you were more shocked if he wasn't staring into your soul.
It was all little things just added up to eachother, like him cleaning the eraser dust off your lap faster than you could or him paying for your bus ride home and even more money so you could buy some food. (You never mentioned how you take the bus)
Then came the fourth day, and with it, the absolute pinnacle of his delusion.
He slid a gourmet bento box across the table toward you—a daily ritual he had aggressively started since the first day of pairing up—before leaning forward on his elbows.
His face was a picture of serene, absolute certainty as he uttered the words that made your entire brain grind to a screeching halt.
"How much for you to date me?"
You immediately froze.
"What?"
You weren't opposed to the concept of financial security, and like anyone else, you enjoyed the idea of having money. But just the sheer audacity of someone trying to buy you like a piece of livestock was completely uncalled for.
He didn't even look ashamed. He just sat there in his expensive chair, a massive, triumphant grin spreading across his face as if he had just offered you the deal of a lifetime, entirely blind to the look of sheer confusion freezing your features.
"Yes, like to have you," Rican clarified effortlessly, his voice dripping with a casual nonchalance that only made the situation a hundred times worse.
He leaned in a bit closer, his eyes bright with a terrifyingly possessive spark. "Preferably forever, and chained wrist to wrist to me."
"What the hell are you talking about?" You looked around frantically, half-expecting a hidden camera crew to jump out from behind the fiction section, but there was nobody—just Rican and his completely unhinged, romantic delusions.
His smile only widened at your reaction, his head tilting to the side as he analyzed your expression with a creepy, clinical fascination.
"Your eyes look pretty, they're big right now," he mused, his voice dropping to a soft, delighted purr. "Is it because you're scared, or maybe excited? I really hope it's the second option."
"Rican, we've literally only known each other for like four days!" you hissed, leaning across the table to whisper-yell, desperately trying to keep your voice down so the librarian wouldn't wander over.
"What are you talking about? Dating? Where did that even come from?" You were genuinely baffled by the absolute lack of self-awareness.
How did rich people navigate the world so completely blind to the discomfort of others? How could he look at your pale, horrified face and see a green light for marriage proposals?
"Yeah, dating then marriage," he replied instantly, nodding his head as if he were explaining a very simple, chronological timeline to a child.
"Or we could just go straight to marriage and babies. But my tutor said it's more normal to become boyfriend and girlfriend first, so I'm trying to do it the traditional way."
You just stared at him. The sheer gravity of his insanity left you entirely speechless.
"I'll give you a weekly salary," he blurted out, misinterpreting your stunned silence as dissatisfaction with the terms.
You stared even more, your mouth slightly open, completely incapable of processing the words coming out of his mouth.
"Daily! Daily, instead?" he corrected frantically, his composure fracturing just a fraction as he leaned further over the table, his hands gripping the wood, desperate to seal the deal.
Your continued silence seemed to throw him into a spiral of panic, his mind incapable of understanding why a human being wouldn't immediately capitulate to the power of his wallet.
"Hourly?" he offered, his breath hitching.
"Every minute?" Rican pleaded, his voice dropping to a desperate, pathetic whine as he reached out, his fingers twitching with the urge to grab your hands.
"Please, I just need you."
eisnewisnshe any new requests yall omg this has been laying in my drafts for like more than 5 months
and also guys I'm kinda in writer's block idk so I'm sorry if this is bad !! I tried my best and hopefully next post is better !! <33
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
you're stuck in a time loop and the only thing that keeps changing is ratio and his actions....3.1k w.count
a/n: full disclaimer, this is entirely based on a dream i had about ratio soooo i'm pretty much 103% certain this may end up feeling a bit ooc for our silly yet stoic dr. that and i have NOT sat down to do a good character study for him hnng ;n; regardless, i had to try and put it into words bc the images in my head wouldn't let me rest until i did orz
[no warnings to mention! just fluff (●'◡'●) also g.neutral reader!]
You sit outside the museum on a nearby bench. There's a crowd of people holding excitedly onto brochures, leaflets, and flyers all broadcasting the newly opening exhibition featuring a full model replica of a certain doctor-professor combo you know- although about 3 times his actual size.
Despite the buzzing atmosphere of excitement- with a touch of giddy from those who find said scholar a nice piece of eye candy- you did not feel the same. Not anymore- anyway.
Sitting with your back hunched over so your elbows rest on your legs, your hands cup your cheeks, and you stare out into the road of passing cars and pedestrians alike- all of which you recognize.
Although this section of the museum is brand-new, and ‘never before seen’, so says one flyer, you have in fact already seen it. So many times. Not that anyone else knew.
In fact, this is about the 84th time you’ve seen it.
You’re stuck in this town that seems so mundane only filled with puzzled irritation on why the hell you’ve been stuck on the same day 84 damn times. You watch the little boy running ahead of his parents' trip on a brick not completely settled in the sidewalk- you stopped trying to catch him around loop 15. You listen to the echoes of an alley-cat fight that lasts approximately 20 seconds; you stopped attempting to separate or prevent that one after loop 4.
The cyclist throwing a newspapers at a parked car- loop 24. The worker coming out of a nearby bakery to flip the closed sign to open only to get clipped in the shoulder by a reckless jogger- loop 32. The baby stroller left shamefully unattended long enough that starts rolling down the pavement towards you-
-you stick your leg out to stop the stroller and baby from getting too far. You probably won't stop doing that one- despite it being the 84th time of lecturing the guardian when they come to collect the stroller with its passenger.
The same things happen as usual every loop and you huff as you wait for the very second on the clock when the staff member of the museum opens the door. Slipping outside to announce the opening of the new exhibit inside with clear instructions on how to get there and a firm reminder to mind your manners and remember that everyone in attendance is here to view it.
As the crowd starts shuffling in, you let out another sigh before pushing yourself to your feet. Placing yourself among your fellow museum goers, you get ever closer to the entrance before you dig out your admission ticket you had purchased when you had the chance. With the familiar scan of the ticket and same professional greeting from the ticket window operator, you're on your way.
You’ve been in every inch of this museum by now. Some loops you didn’t even go into the new section you had originally planned this whole excursion for. Instead, you made your way to the less populated and quieter sections you hadn’t been before.
Now though?
Well, it has been 84 times you’ve been inside. You could walk around blind if someone asked you to.
Having nothing better to do, you stroll inside and siply follow the masses. Overhearing the same conversations and complains about the crowds- and seriously? It’s the debut of a new place with new things. What else would someone expect? An attendance of none other than them? Please.
As you glance bored along the walls of new paintings and art pieces, you wonder if you should try turning around and wandering someone else again. But then, why would you? It would still all be the same no matter where you go.
You’ve tried leaving the museum entirely before since nothing is quiet interesting anymore- but for some reason you just can’t bring yourself to. You can get as far as the exit, but something in you makes you stop and hesitate everytime only to bring you back in as if anything could be different.
It never is.
Well, maybe that isn’t the whole truth.
There is one thing that changes almost every single loop. One variable that is never the same.
That variable's name is Veritas Ratio.
Being the special guest for the entire event, it isn’t a surprise that he’s present. In fact, his presence is the key factor in why you even decided to show up yourself. Ratio is someone you can look up to and admire- in more ways than one. With his intellect, he’s willing to teach and (although rare) learn pretty much any and everything he can. That coupled with his hobby of sculpting and consuming different arts, he really had no reason to turn down the entire event.
He is your constant change in every loop.
The way that Doctor Veritas Ratio interacts with you is the only change you get from your ever-nonchanging weekday.
The first loop, it felt normal. He greets those he must, including you. Finding you in the crowd as you congratulate him on his contributions and praising him for going through with showing up. He speaks with your mundanely and when the sculpture is unveiled, he’s ushered away by camera flashes and notepads with waiting pens to document any and everything he says. He doesn’t see you again after that on the first loop.
The second loop, you go through the motions of your day with intense deja-vu and find solace in his difference in approach. Finding you earlier in the day and striking conversation with your first, conveying his appreciation for coming- which you feel flush at since his praise is usually something you have to strive for. When you tell him about how you feel like you’ve lived today once before, he simply begins delving into the background of deja-vu and the subconscious.
It’s interesting to listen to and entertaining to see him in scholar mode.
By the 10th loop, you seek him out first freaking out- justifying of course. You’ve lived the same day to the letter 10 times! Locating him, you practically yank his arm out of place as you find a secluded place to tell him about your plight hoping he doesn’t drag you to a hospital to get your brain examined. He doesn’t. But he also tells you to calm yourself down and that it must be a coincidence. You don’t buy it as you frown and whine that he clearly doesn’t take you seriously.
What kind of coincidence happens 10 times in a row?
By loop 27, you try telling him about it again. By now you’d started losing your sense of reality and felt like you really were going crazy. On this loop, Ratio finds you first. Seeing your distress upon meeting you, he guided you swiftly away from the crowds and into a private room set up for him as a VIP where you once again expressed your woes and anxiety. This time he wasn’t quick to dismiss you but instead listened diligently. You don’t actually remember if he offered you any advice then or not. But it was 57 loops ago and they tend to blur together.
Since then, it was all sorts of different occurrences. Meeting you first. Seeking him out. Having full conversations and advice. Telling stupid jokes he rebuttals with lazy flicks of his wrist. Seclusion from others. Surrounded by the crowds. Theres even times he hardly says anything, just occupies your space. And you still have no idea why he’s the outlier.
You still don’t even know why you’re looping at all!
As you venture further into the museum, you slip away from the crowd and go directly to the area in which the statue of Ratio himself rests until a large, pure white sheet. Hiding its stone carved glory until the hour to unveil it arrives.
Technically, no one is supposed to be in this vicinity quite yet, but you know your way around the security by now. And it wasn’t like you were here to vandalize.
Slipping past all the blind spots and guards posted on corners to keep the event going smooth, you make it to the exhibition’s main event area. The massive, covered statue stands in front of you. Raised on a podium about as wide as a dining table and as high as your shoulders.
It truly is a marvel at how big this thing actually is.
Looking up at the white sheet, you sigh before you plant yourself on a bench across from it. Reading the plaque with the name of the sculpture in your head, you reread it out loud to yourself next. Not loud enough for anyone to catch wind that you’re in here, but enough to fill the silence for a single moment.
“Mold of Idolatry.” You scan the words beneath it briefly. Just your average ‘about this piece’ spiels and how long it took to sculpt. You feel a tad guilty that you don’t really care about all the little details at this point.
You’re not sure how long you sit there just staring at white sheets, golden plaques, and pristine floors. But it was long enough that when you zone back in, there’s a distant murmur or noise.
Of a crowd.
“Ah damn,” you hiss. Getting up, you stretch before looking for a way to slip out and mold back into the crowd like you’ve been there the whole time and totally not technically trespassing without permission in a closed off area.
A door to your right slams open and you screech.
Slamming your hands over your mouth, you whip around and see none other than the man of the hour himself. Veritas Ratio.
Dropping your hands harshly back down to your sides with a bit of an attitude, you twist around fully to look at him across the room. Maybe it was because your heart was in your throat, but you didn’t really notice the different look in his eyes this loop.
“You scared the hell out of me!” You whisper aggressively in his direction. Ratio only squares his shoulders and marches towards you without a word. Feeling sweat gather on your nape, you take a step back and think about bolting. Before you can though, his long strides close the distance between you both in a blink. His momentum never stopping.
Grabbing onto your arm, he starts pulling you along beside him. His grip around you wasn’t tough, or aggressive. It was firm but telling.
“Come with me.” He leads, as he continues pulling you. Before you can ask where he’s taking you, he walks around his overly large, hidden duplicate of polished stone and stops behind it. With the large pedestal in which the statue stands, it casts a perfect shadow behind that can easily conceal two bodies.
Ratio pushes your back against the raised piece and holds your shoulders to keep you in place. Even though his actions every loop have been different, this one felt exceptionally so. He hasn’t been this bold or unexpected with his actions before.
“Ratio, what-”
His hands from your shoulders slide up to rest delicately on either side of your neck. His thumbs brush along your jaw and threaten to pull down on your lip and open your mouth. His face comes closer; his nose barely touches yours. You squeal as he invades your space.
“Quiet.” He tells you, making eye contact you can’t bring yourself to break. You feel your skin heating up and you wonder if he can feel it under his hands despite the gloves he wears over his palms. “I need to think.”
“Think?” You barely get the word out from how quiet you say it, obeying his command easily.
“Yes. Think.” He speaks in clipped words. Like he isn’t interested in carrying conversation right now. As if he’s pressed for time for a deadline only he knows about.
“About what?” You still whisper, but your words aren’t nearly as broken this time. You catch him almost roll his eyes. You wonder if his thumb is close enough to your mouth after all so you can bite him.
“What actions I need to take this time.”
“What does that-”
“I suspect, after all this trial and error, the direct approach is all I have left. From a certain point of view, it might seem a bit abrasive, but you’ll simply have to understand. Pardon me.”
You want so desperately to utter another confused ‘what?’ as if he’s answered any of them so far in a way that didn’t make you more confused. You can’t though. Since his apparent abrasive approach was in the form of covering your mouth with his.
Your breath halts and you wonder if you're breathing at all as his lips slot over yours. His eyes remain open, as do yours as he stares into you like an art piece. Examining your eyes and everything they have in them until your certain he can see right into your soul.
His lips are warm. Smooth. Not at all chapped and you can smell a very faint hint of mint- like he put on chapstick not too long ago. Or maybe lip oil? Chapstick isn’t usually this glossy feeling. Or maybe… sticky is a better word. Whatever it was, it wasn’t unpleasant.
You think maybe you got lost in your own head, because it’s like you blink and he wasn’t kissing you anymore. Instead, he was back away from your mouth, nose to nose with you, and tapping your neck with his fingertips. His blunt nails gently tapping against your skin in short and long patterns.
.-.. --- ...- .
Your eyes blink like a camera shutter before your mouth moves again.
“Uh-” you unconsciously lick your lips and taste the mint that was on his mouth. Definitely glossy. Much less chappy.
Ratio’s eye twitches. “Don’t do that.”
“Huh?” Your brain isn’t fully caught up yet it seems. One of his hands moves from your neck to cover your mouth with his palm. The fabric of his glove and the warmth of his hand under it permeate your skin. With this other, he lifts a finger to his lips, hushing you as if you had a chance to speak at all this whole interaction.
“If we leave, we’ll be seen.” You nod. “I wish to avoid that.” You half expect him to step away and abscond. Maybe even drag you out with him before the crowd comes in with all their hustle and bustle. He doesn’t do either.
Doctor Veritas Ratio keeps exceeding your assumptions. Stepping half a stride closer, his feet between yours, knees pressing against your body and his hand that had shushed you before moves once again. His arm supports his body on the area behind you that’s behind used to hold you up since your legs feel like they may have gone numb some time ago. He’s invading your space so intimately, you place your hands on his arm and chest to try to both steady yourself and also gauge where to put them at all.
The hand on his chest quickly gets repositioned by the man himself, sliding it up to his neck until he's cupping his hand over yours, so your touch feels his racing pulse beneath his skin. Theres not a shiver or rack of gooseflesh on his body. But his blood is racing and despite the shadows, you wonder if the skin of his ears looks pinker than usual.
“Ratio?” You call softly. He hums short. “What was that? This?” You look away from his eyes just for a second to look down to his toes then back up again as a means of gesturing to all of him.
“The direct approach.”
“Yeah,” you smile, breathing out a humoring air through your nose, “that doesn’t answer anything.”
“Do you know morse code?”
“You know I don’t.”
“I’ll teach you.” He taps over your hand he keeps pushed against his pulse point in the same rhythms as before on your neck.
.-.. --- ...- .
“Was that morse?”
“Indeed.”
“What does it spell?”
“Would you like to guess?”
“Will my answer be for a grade?” You’re proud of yourself for a moment for cracking a joke despite feeling lightheaded. His forehead drops onto yours and he takes a calming breath. His hair is soft and fluffy against your skin. His ears are pink.
“It will not.”
“Then, I’m not guessing.”
“Stubborn.” He smiles though. Before he kisses you again. Veritas Ratio continues indulging in your lips despite the doors opening into the room and the crowd of event goers all compiling in. But he knows the two of you won’t be seen here.
He’s investigated this blind spot thoroughly.
The sounds and actions of Ratio’s direct approach is drowned out, even as the sheet comes off his overly large stone copy. Even as the creator drones on about how the doctor himself could not be here due to last minute appointments he simply could not overbook. And it is where the two of you remain even after the crowd thins.
“I think this loop is going to stick with me for a while,” you mutter to yourself, knowing he wouldn’t know what you mean. His thumb swipes under your lips, past the corner of your mouth and up to the apple of your cheek to hold it gently. “Number 85 is going to be a doozy,” you lament. Knowing that when you wake up in tomorrow's today, you’ll be a mess.
“Tomorrow will be tomorrow.” He says. You just nod, thinking that he’s trying to once again reassure you like he has in previous loops. But you're too far jaded to the looping that’s haunted you to care for his words. You don’t deny or accept them, just let them wash over you.
You close your eyes to take in the moment, not seeing the point in having a proper conversation about whatever this is since he’ll forget it when the day resets.
Ratio soothes you. Rubbing your shoulders and spreading his warmth to you while he pulls you into his chest as he rests his chin against your crown.
“Tomorrow will be tomorrow,” he promises once more. He slips out with you that evening, taking you home personally. You almost convince yourself to stay awake and watch as the clock hits midnight only to tick back to the same day instead of proceeding.
But it doesn't. The next day comes. You get to wake up the next morning.
Turns out, it doesn’t take a genius to confess one's admiration to another.
Just a borrowed curio, a mundanite, and 83 loops of botched practice.
a/n pt.2: imagine being such a loser you have to borrow a curio from your part-colleague doll lady's space station just to confess smdh
What would their professions be in the modern world?
Aglaea would have had her own expensive atelier, or she would have been a successful fashion designer. Simply put, the world of fashion would have been her domain.
Black Swan would have been an astrologer and a tvorog. She wouldn't have created any websites, but she would have provided custom astrological readings for a reasonable fee (just coming to see her would be worth paying for).
Hysilens would have been a musician, and it's possible that she would have been a member of an opera chorus due to her proficiency in playing musical instruments.
Mydei would be a boxer (Ahhh...) his muscles, his strength, his confidence, his clarity, and his maneuverability.... God, give me that sweaty man.
Anaxa, Dr. Ration, Ruan Mei, and the Hertha would be scientists in the field of science. I can already imagine this discussion between geniuses and the discoveries they would make (they would win every Nobel Prize).
Lingsha, Hyacine, and Jiaoqiu would be doctors.Jiaoqiu would probably be a nutritionist, Lingsha would be an otolaryngologist (in simple terms, a doctor who examines the sense of touch). And Hyacine would be a traumatologist (Mydei is her regular patient
Phainon would probably be a sportsman too. Maybe a basketball or volleyball player, but he would also farm and help his neighbors (I want to ride him)
btw Veritas Ratio would never truly be opposed to the idea of reading you to sleep, especially if you struggle with insomnia. i’m sorry to break it to you, it’s just a fact that he’s a little too in love with the familiar weight of your head resting on his chest while he reads—turning page after page in the dim lamplight of your shared bedroom until he feels your breathing slow.
I’ve seen so many people thinking Veritas would be a strict, overly demanding parent, but they forget this man is also a medical doctor and has absolutely studied childhood development and the way children learn. He's only unkind to adults who should know better; he knows children have certain limitations based on age.
I think he'd be delighted to watch his child fingerpaint or make a block tower, because he's literally watching his baby’s brain developing in real time as they experience the world.
Yes, he'd be inwardly bothered if his little one threw food, but he's intelligent enough to put the emotion to the side and understand that baby is just exhibiting the secondary circular reaction behavior pattern…. They're just throwing food to get a response from him.
Anyways, Veritas Ratio is Gordon Ramsay when it comes to children vs adults thank you for coming to my ted talk
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Could I ask for headcanons of Alisa Shiina? Like can sfw and not sfw, just generally things you think up. Maybe how she likes aftercare?
Of course! Never thought I'll get an ask but it's not unwelcome since I'm not much online here :] Not much is known about her but I'll try my best! Maybe suggestive tho—
* Alisa is usually the repressed one amongst the referees, being somehow the big sister for the rest of Purgatory referees
* Her wardrobe contains mostly lingeries and dresses, especially the bare back ones
* She's a great singer but not a drinker
* When she's stressed, she'll try to find relief right after getting shaken by the fighters' death. It's not easy and she should be used to it, but she's emphatic (poor girl)
* Alisa likes going to the onsen with the girls and gossip about the fighters and their tastes in men, inviting Sayaka over after the cooperation between Purgatory and Kengan
* Shiina likes sweets, but more on the natural side like cane sugar and fruits! She doesn't like artificial ones that much
* Shiina likes girls but doesn't want to ruin her relationship with any of the referees (Kenganverse women characters are hot—)
* I think Alisa may or may not have an on-and-off relationship with Fei Wangfang, somewhat FWB in a way, but mainly in professional settings (Toyoda doesn't really care)
* She likes to bathe in warm water for a long time and getting off in the tub while at that
* For aftercare, she likes to be close to her partner, cuddling as the little spoon after drinking water and pills before snoozing
* She likes scented candles both before the act and after, usually changing it so the aroma blanket her too in warmth of sleep
Sorry for taking so long! ... I don't know what I'm writing tbh but I hope you enjoyed this Anon!
People: oh my god I hate it when the fanfics the writer wrote for themselves aren't about ME and don't include MY personality which they obviously have the ability to know!!
Not at all a bad thing to express distaste toward certain new gen fans (besides they make their unsatisfaction known by tagging EVERY POPULAR/ACTIVE FANDOM)
Did you spend weeks and months laboring, crying and trading your productive hours to write a fic? Well screw you, that post making the same old complaint about xreader fics just bypassed you by a landslide within an hour!!
blakekathryn
ellievsbear
2087
vaporwave
germansingergirl
stormborns
