₍ ✩₊˚.⋆☾𓃠☽⋆⁺₊✧ Mew • she/her • 20+ • bi • ♏ • INFJ • sometimes an artist, sometimes a writer, but a full-time procrastinator
Welcome to my little corner, where I post random stuff from the void irregularly. I am an amateur writer and artist. My current interests include anything gothic, psychological horror, cute teeth rotting fluff, movies, history, and cats (though I have a pet 🐶). Any and all recommendations are welcome!
I will mostly post about Honkai Star Rail, Twisted Wonderland, and Genshin Impact (though I am way too far behind). Please follow the general rules of society (aka be kind and respectful) before sending any asks.
NSFW posts will be tagged and marked accordingly; otherwise, the blog is relatively SFW (I don't have the confidence for that lol).
The way we fall for fictional characters is so interesting. There could be multiple characters who you should, in theory, like and love. But no, it's that one random character who you never expected to grow so strongly onto you that you fell head over heels for. No matter the form, love refuses to be easily defined lol
Stages of writing a novel: (1) this is a great idea (2) this is a good idea (3) this is an idea (4) what even is this (5) i have made a terrible mistake (6) okay there's something here (7) this is actually good (8) this is too good, something is wrong (9) wait did i accidentally write something real (10) close laptop. do not think about it for three days. open laptop. start over from stage 4.
⟢ tags: fluff, olruggio's beard is scratchy so he shaves for you
"Your beard is kind of scratchy."
Olruggio doesn't hear you properly, the first time you say it. To be fair, you mumble it against his mouth between kisses and teeth, and he's too busy trying to kiss you back without panting desperately into your mouth like some lovesick dog—which leaves him very little attention to focus on anything aside from the slow creep of your fingers beneath his shirt, the weight of your body pressing his into the sunbed. Your knee is between his legs, and Olruggio doesn't know whether to give thanks or pray for mercy. Gods.
"Mgh—wuh—what?" he manages when you pull back from him, just far enough for him to catch sight of the thin, glistening string of spit between your lips before it breaks. He nearly misses your second reply all over again. "My—"
"Beard. Goatee, if you want to be specific?" You draw back properly and Olruggio immediately mourns the space between you, the loss of your warmth. He's quickly placated though; your hand comes up to cup his cheek, thumb stroking maddeningly slow over the dark, uneven stubble along his jaw. "It sometimes leaves a bit of a rash on my face, after we kiss for too long."
It takes Olruggio a moment to comprehend your words—how can there possibly be such a thing as "kissing for too long"?—but gradually the fog in his head clears just enough for him to focus. So kissing him has been uncomfortable. Perhaps you never said anything because you didn't want to hurt his feelings, but that only makes Olruggio feel guiltier now. He gets so buried in his work that it's simply easier to maintain a beard than to stay clean-shaven. It never once occurred to him how it might feel against your skin.
The next morning, Olruggio wakes before you do. He clambers out of the hammock, painstakingly careful not to rouse you from your sleep, and pads barefoot over to the washbasin. He's about to reach for his facecloth when he catches sight of his own reflection in the small mirror hanging over it. Olruggio stares at it for a long while—the dark smudge of stubble shadowing his jaw, the slightly uneven patch at his chin. The careless scruff of a man who's stopped looking at himself too closely a long time ago.
Hm.
He glances back over his shoulder. You're still sleeping soundly in the hammock, blankets tangled around your bare legs, one arm dangling limply over the side. Fondness blooms quietly in Olruggio's chest, steaming erbe tea steeped in hot water, warmer than the morning sunlight pouring in through the upper window.
Then he turns back to the basin and crouches down to dig beneath the sink, rummaging through old tins and cracked cups until his fingers close around a straight razor.
It's late morning by the time you awake. The instant your consciousness stirs, you become aware of the reason—the space in the hammock beside you is grievously empty, the blankets absent of any trace of another's body heat. The loft and workshop, too, are disappointingly Olruggio absent. So you stretch, expelling your sleepiness from your body with a long yawn, before reaching for your outer robe and climbing down the stairs. Olruggio's probably in the main wing of the atelier, preparing breakfast—though it might be closer to lunch, with the late hour you've awoken.
You shuffle across the catwalk, rubbing sleep from your eyes. Sure enough, when you push open the kitchen door, there he is: standing with his back to you, quietly humming as he whisks a bowl of eggs at the counter. Qifrey had mentioned heading to the Great Hall for some errand yesterday, and you can hear the apprentices' distant voices drifting down from upstairs—something about a mess and who's responsible for it. Perfect.
You creep up behind him, on your tiptoes, quiet as a mouse, before you slip your arms around his waist, pulling him back against you. Olruggio makes a startled sound, nearly dropping the whisk in his hand, and you lean in to kiss the side of his jaw before he can turn around. Your lips seek the familiar scratch of his jaw… but instead of stubble, your mouth meets smooth, bare skin.
Huh?
You scramble back so fast you nearly trip over your own feet, heart hammering in your chest. Is there an intruder in the atelier? Did Qifrey dye his hair black all of a sudden? Did you just accidentally kiss the wrong man? What—
"You scared the heck outta me!" Olruggio yelps, whirling around so quicklly a few flecks of yolk splatter onto the counter, whisk clutched protectively to his chest. His cheeks are stained pink, ripe as rose apples—and without the beard, there's nowhere for the colour to hide. "You—"
"What happened to you?" you cry, lifting a shaking finger to point it at him. "Who—who are you?"
Olruggio freezes for a second. His expression collapses into immediate offense in the next. "What do you mean, who am I?"
"You look like a completely different man!"
"I shaved!"
"You removed half your face!"
"I didn't remove—" He hisses, the nectarine-pink flush on his face deepening to a lurid crimson. Still, his hand flies to his cheek on instinct, as if checking to make sure the missing beard hasn't somehow taken a substantial portion of him with it. "It's the same face!"
You stare at him for a long moment, before you take a step closer. Olruggio immediately glances away, chin ducking in an attempt to shy away from your attention, but still he lets you take his jaw in your hand. You tug his newly bared cheeks this way and that, tilting his face toward the light as if to confirm he isn't some imposter wearing Olruggio's skin.
The same nose, same blue eyes. The same soft, flustered mouth.
"You shaved," you say, disbelief seeping into your voice. "I've never seen you shaved before. What brought this on?"
Olruggio's face only gets redder, somehow.
"You mention you sometimes get a rash when you're kissing me," he mumbles under his breath, refusing to meet your eyes. His gaze stays doggedly fixed on some point past your shoulder—the windowsill, the kettle on the table, anywhere but your face. "I didn't want ya to have to put up with that anymore, so…"
The sentence trails off, swallowed by his embarrassment.
It's hard to do anything but stare at Olruggio. At the flush burning high on his cheeks, the clean shaven jaw he's so clearly self-conscious about. His hand twitches at where it's fallen at his side, as though he wants to reach up and touch it, and your chest fills suddenly with so much warmth it overflows, a bubbling spring that spills forth with no end.
Oh, he's impossible. You tug him in by the waist, ignoring the way Olruggio lets out something suspiciously close to a squawk. Impossible, and so, so lovely. Before he can squirm away you pull him firmly against you and bury your face in his soft chest. This close, you can feel everything—the rapid, rabbit-quick beat of his heart, his stuttering breath.
"Oh, Olly." His name alone feels like an endearment in your mouth. "When I said that, it didn't mean I disliked it. Actually, I'm rather fond of it—it's like a little mark I carry of you, after we've been together."
"Yeah." You smile—soft, fond, perhaps just a little mischievious—before your fingers tug aside the collar of his shirt to rub at the fading crescent of teeth marks sitting low at his collarbone. "Besides, haven't I give you a few marks of my own, too?"
Whatever flush had dissipated from Olruggio's face races back up at once. "That's—that's different—"
You wind your arms around his neck this time, the faint edge of laughter still on your lips as you pull him down towards you again. Olruggio squeezes his eyes frantically shut. Just before your mouths can meet, however…
"I can't." You break away from him, laughing so hard you have to brace a hand against his chest just to stay upright. "I don't think I can stop laughing long enough to kiss you until you get your beard back, Olly."
His eyes go wide in alarm. "But that's going to take weeks—hey. Hey!"
if you leave this kind of comment on any fanfic writer’s work or if you think this shit is okay and isn’t the reason more and more writers are choosing not to share their works with your entitled ass for free anymore, you should be ashamed of yourself.
if you suspect a fic is ai and if that bothers you, quietly close the tap and leave the fic. no one forces you to stay.
Can you donate to save my elderly parents life 💔 ?
Yes , I can
No , but I can share the post
Remaining time: 2 days 13 hours
Deadline 10 June
Subject: Collecting the money to buy the medicine to my elderly parents
Current process:
USD 16,065 / $17,065
Vatted by @90-ghost
Vatted by @sar-soor
Vatted by @fairuzfan
In the heart of Gaza, a family of four clings to survival in the shadow of… Rania A needs your support for Gaza Family Left With Nothing Hel
I never imagined I would have to beg for help to keep my elderly parents alive, but today I have no other choice. My parents suffer from chronic illnesses, including diabetes and high blood pressure, and they desperately need their medications every day. We urgently need to raise $1,000 to buy the medicines that keep them stable and alive. Without these treatments, their health could deteriorate rapidly, and their lives may be at risk. 💔
The pain of watching the people who raised me suffer while I stand helpless is unbearable. Every time they ask about their medication, my heart breaks because I do not know how I will provide it. No child should have to watch their parents grow weaker simply because they cannot afford the medicine they need.😔
The war in Gaza has not ended. Every single day, we continue to live with fear, uncertainty, and the sound of explosions. Airstrikes and shelling still happen regularly, sometimes frighteningly close to where we are. Every day, more lives are lost, more families are devastated, and more people are forced to endure unimaginable suffering. We do not know what tomorrow will bring, and living under this constant threat while trying to care for sick elderly parents is overwhelming.💔😔
Please, I am begging you not to ignore our cry for help. Every donation, no matter how small, brings us closer to buying the medication my parents desperately need. Your kindness could help protect their health and give them a chance to continue fighting their illnesses. In a time when we feel surrounded by fear and uncertainty, your support can give us hope and remind us that we are not alone.🙏💔😔
