#(god forgive me... but this is GOING TO BE SO FUN!!!!)

[angelltheninth]

Jinu Uses You For His Pleasure

Pairing: Jinu x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, dub-con, rough sex, creampie, breath play, enemies who fuck, being pinned down, growling, possessive sex, edging, cum swallowing, slight breeding kink, marking, cunnilingus, blowjob, demon x human

Ko-Fi | Rules | Fandoms and Characters | Commissions

A/N: I've had multiple requests for more dub-con with Jinu, so here it is! I hope you all enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it because I really enjoyed it.

Jinu hated you right now, more than he usually hated you, which was probably the reason he was so rough and forgiving as he pounded your cunt relentlessly. "You thought I'd let you get away with that? You thought you were innocent when you batted your eyelashes at all those fans, blew kisses at them while signing pictures for them. Did you think I wouldn't notice when others look at something that's mine?!"

He didn't care how you squirmed or fought back against his grip, you can't break it, it only makes him grip your wrists tighter, pin you down against the couch harder.

"You don't own me, and the fact that you act like you do… it's funny to see you pissed off." Jinu growled at your taunting insult, his marks appearing around his body more clearly, his human facade fading the angrier he got. You couldn't help but think how attractive he was, half way between the human idol everyone worships and half the demon you've been fighting for what feels like lifetime.

"You say that and yet your body wants me, your pussy so tight I can hardly pull out. You can fight, scream, curse me out all you want until your voice is gone but until I make sure your body knows who it belongs to, who can use it, I won't stop." His cock twitched inside of you, the fat tip hammering into your womb, pushing more and more of his seed in and showing no sign of stopping.

You didn't exactly want to piss him off, you didn't even want to see him, ever again. But given that it was inevitable and he was a complete asshole to you last time he fucked you it was only right that you got some payback. Even if it hurt to get fucked like this, it made your whole body ache, it made your head dizzy, but it was worth it to see Jinu lose control.

Jinu groaned as your hips snapped up against his, not enough to knock him off, not nearly enough. "I love it when you fight me." You blinked and there he was, fully in his demon form. "Women like you are my favorite to break, so strong, so beautiful, and before you know it, all mine. Mine to use, mine to have whenever I want, mine to fuck and fill you up with as many babies as possible."

"You're delusional if you think that's going to happen. I'll never… ugh.. submit to the likes of you. You're nothing but a lowly… demon. Nothing but a- mmn… wh-" He sopped. He was fully buried inside of you but he wasn't moving. You hiccuped, voice breaking from the sudden lack of stimulation. "What are you doing?"

"Having fun with my human. What else?" He moved back slowly and then even slower slid back in. "Mmm, let me enjoy your sweet pussy, so warm and tight, already full of my seed. Bet your fans would think of you differently if they knew how much you were craving a good fuck. Saw how utterly full of cum you are, and wanting more. Tch. Not very idol-like of you, is it?"

"Shut up. I don't want to hear that from you. You god damn hypocrite!" You moved up as much as his grip allowed you to, a hair between the two of you. "Are you scared you can't measure up? Is that why you do this? You know you can't get any unless you're being forceful with me?" You could see your words were making him angry, but never the less his cock reacted, his hips too, snapping harder and faster with every taunt.

"Human… you need to learn some manners." Jinu pulled out of you entirely, all his cum spilling from your pussy. What was even more surprising was that he let you go, at least you thought he did before his legs pressed against your arms, once again pinning you down on the couch. "You have quite a mouth. Let's make you put it to a better use shall we?"

With a sharp growl he plunged his entire cock down your throat, fucking your mouth mercilessly, making you choke on his dick, gasp for air. You moaned and gurgled around his cock, every word you tried to speak only adding to his pleasure as your tongue lapped against it. Jinu leaned over and wrapped his arms around your hips to pull your lower half up, letting his cum drip down your ass as his tongue lashed at your clit.

"What's wrong, is my bitch struggling to breathe? My cock too much for you? You better come quickly then. Cause I'm gonna keep fucking you until you do. Teach you to mouth off to me. Oh, and all of this…" Jinu pushed two fingers into your aching pussy, "…for every drop of cum that you waste I'll fuck more into you, so don't think I'm gonna let you go so easily."

His still full balls smacked against you as he fucked your mouth and throat, his tongue drawing patterns on your clit, fingers fucking you hard but not enough. You didn't want to let him win, but you also didn't want him to have you in this humiliating position, making you choke on his cock. Tears of frustration welled up in your eyes as you begrudgingly focused on his cock, your tongue licking the salty cum that dripped down, licking the pulsing veins, your hips rocking towards his face.

"That's a good girl. Yeah, you're mine. Best to accept it. Let yourself be mine, all mine. Let yourself come." His knees lifted from your arms and you felt shame well up inside of you as you gripped his thighs to keep his cock in your mouth as you came, swallowing around it, making him release down your throat, greedily gulping it down. "Such a good slut."

Jinu's let your legs fall against the couch and pushed himself off. He looked down at you, your face flushed, eyes red, tears running down your face, his seed leaking from between your legs and from the side of your mouth.

As he grinned you felt the urge to hide. "Pretty cumslut, filled with cum on both ends." You threw your arm over your face and chewed on your bottom lip. A mistake as you tasted his cum even more intensely. "I'm feeling nice so I'll let you catch your breath for a moment." Jinu walked around and pushed himself between your legs, his still hard cock nudging between your dripping folds.

His hands massaged across your body almost gently, helping to ease the tension enough to push his cock back in. "That… I… can't anymore…"

"Yes, you can." He sighed as he bottomed up, his mouth curling upwards at the whimpering sound you made. "Shhh, this is all I'm doing. Just want to be inside of you. Rest up, my darling. Because I'm not sure how long I'll be able to hold myself back."

[kitteacloud]

Just some small snippets from my Batfamily Group chat notes. Aka. Chaotic family moments with no where to go. I've ignored the nicknames for now so it's easier to read but I'll add them at the end so it's known ദ്ദി˶•̀֊•́)✧

Jason - Death is mearly a social construct

Dick - Jay No.

---

Jason - Tim needs a new brain.

Tim - Okay whore. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Jason - HOMOPHOBIA.

---

Tim - Hey Jay, can you come bail me out?

Bruce - Bail you out?

Tim - oh fuck-

Tim - wrong chat.

Bruce - Tim what fo you mean bail you out.

Bruce - Timothy.

Bruce- Timothy Jackson Wayne-Drake. Answer me right now.

Jason - oooo someone's in trouble.

Tim - (•ˋ _ ˊ•)

Bruce - answer your phone.

---

Bruce - @tim pick up the phone.

Tim- Give me a minute i cant find my phone.

Bruce- okay.

Dick- ....

Damian - Father please.

Bruce- what?

Jason - oh my fucking gods.

Bruce - ...

Bruce - Tim you're a terrible child. You're killing me. You're killing your father.

Babs - Tim can't answer the phone he's too busy laughing too hard he's on the floor crying.

---

Tim - Whybatmanisafurry. Doc

Jason - where is the link. 

Jason - WHERE IS THE LINK

---

Tim- Okay but like, we have Man Bat, Batman, what about mothman? 

Dick - Not this again. Tim- 

---

Tim- oh my fricken gods. 

Tim-Guys 

Tim- guys

Steph- what soud

Steph- spud*

Tim- soud

Steph- i will kill you

Dick- wait spud?? 

Steph- like potato and bud

Dick- ... O k a?? 

Steph- you wont get it

Steph- boomer. 

Dick- BOOMER

Dick- BOOMER???? BITCH WHAT??? 

Jason- omgs he is- 

Dick- IM NOT

Tim- this is all fun and stuff but you're not paying attention to me. ˶ˊᜊˋ˶

Jason- dickhead is boomer, gen z is Me, Cas, Tim and Steph. Then gen x is Duke and Damian.

Steph- Holy shit

Dick- IM NOT- SKSOSIF I cakisfi

Steph- ah he ded

Damian- not again. 

Jason- WHEEZR

Tim- I hate you all. 

Jason- your fault Timber, shoulda just send the whole text. 

Tim- forgive me for getting excited. 

Steph- go ahead boyfriend, Dick will be down for the count for a while. 

Dick- im fine. Just have a crisis over how old i am. Its all good. 

Jason- okay boomer. 

Dick - MEET ME BEING DENNYS YOU PIECE OF-

Jason- Bet

Tim- ᓀ‸ᓂ

Tim- i found a good movie for us to watch toniggt. Damian will love it, 

Steph- if you suggest Hatchi again-

Tim- listen i was emotionally distraught and needed to cry. 

Dick -Damian and Jason were sobbing. There was destruction. Bruce and alfred had to stop Damian from going to japan and adopting every dog. 

Tim- yeah, but he loved the movie. 

Damain- it was traumatising. Howevee it was pretty satisfying. 

Tim- plus he got another dog out of it. 

Damian- that i did. 

Jason- whats the movie Timoline. Dick and i have a date with fists planned. 

Tim- Not Caroline you bitch. But its spirit. 

Steph- huh

Jason- o o h-

Dick- oh!!!! Why didnt we think of that before??? 

Damain- spirit? Like spirited away? 

Tim- no!! This ones about a horse. Its honestlh incredible and youlll love it i promise. 

Damian - sad? 

Tim- kinda but its got a good ending and no animals die. 

Jason- hey Dickie wanna postpone our fight? 

Dick- hell yeah! Ill go grab some more snacks. 

Cass- steph and i will be home soon. 

Tim- ill go grab the dvd from my apartment. 

Jason- i can pick you up omw to the manor? 

Tim- thanks! 

Tim- someone let Duke, babs, Alfie and B know. 

Steph- @ everyone

---

Tim- 'whybatmanneedstgerapy. Powerpoint'

Jason- WHERES THE POWERPOINT COWARD

No idea if any of that was interesting lol. But for the nicknames this is what I had;

Damian, A knife. No!!

Dick, twinkle toes.

Tim, Crippling depression

Jason, Zombie

Alfred, Alfred

Bruce, Batdad

Cass, vibe check

Steph, can i please get a waffle.

Babs, big brother

Duke. Glowstick

And an honourable mention because I found this so funny-

Young just us 

Currently - Musk-cat-teers

Tim, Lady Barbecue

Bart, Abbey Birthday

Cassie, Duchess Ivana Party 

Kon,  Countess Hedda Lettuce 

[spartanseagoat]

Pick a emoji Intuitive Reading: the vibe for the rest of the Summer Season

Pile 1: 😕

Pile 2: 🙂

Pile 3: 😉

Disclaimer: this reading is for entertainment purposes only and I’m not legally responsible for your own actions. You have free will, I’m just a messenger. Enjoy your reading!

Pile 1😕-okay, so I’m getting 2 mixed messages for 2 different groups.

First group: so the tv show “lost” came to my head here. Either that show has been relevant in your life some way or it’s your current life theme. I feel like some of you in this weird limbo era in your life. You’re leaving all the toxic parts of your life behind but you’re uncertain on where to go from here. I’m seeing you should just go with the flow and forgive yourself. Some of you are in your “healing journey” while others are thinking back on their toxic behaviors. You will meet new people either through a shared hobby or through work. This will be like your found family who’s going through the same things you were. You’ll be seen.

2nd group: I heard “disappointed” I feel that you guys are starting to outgrow ppl you once held dear to you. I feel you are expanding mentally and crave deep conversations but surrounded by surface level people. Part of you wants to go but you love these folks so you also want to stay. It’s a weird space to be in. I heard “ level up, but you have to be willing to take that step up the escalator.” So this tells me that it’s best start making new connections that aligns with who you are as person at this moment. You can still love your old connections but it’s also time to make new ones. Youll continue to be stagnant if you don’t.

Overall pile one, you’re hanging and growing and you’re in uncharted territory right now. It’s unfamiliar right now but it will get better by late fall. You’ll have clarity on a question you’ve been hawing on your heart.

This is the end of your reading, hope you continue to have a great summer pile one!!

Pile 2🙂: okay so pile 2! The first thing I heard was “content” and “growing” so too me, this tells me that you’re in this space of just vibing. I feel you have come to grips with something that’s been bothering you since fall of 2023. I see an image of a person raising their hands up saying “it’s in gods hands now.” Lol. This doesn’t feel like defeat but finally finding peace with yourself. I see you on a beach drinking margaritas lol. You’re so unbothered right now, plz I love this lol. August will be an important month for you. I feel you’re going to be making a decision on where you want your life to go. This will have positive outcomes that will start a radical , yes, I heard radical change in the next 2 years of your life. You will have setbacks but the rewards will pay off. I’m getting Capricorn mixed with Leo energy here. “Keep the faith” is what I keep hearing.

This is the end of your reading pile 2! Have a good rest of your summer!

Pile 3 😉: I’m sorry but I started immediately laughing at your energy pile 3😅. “Don’t believe me, just watch.” While smiling like a hyena lol. Oh, ppl tried playing in your face and been doubting you but you’re showing them you’re that bitch lol! I feel you are in hermit mode and focusing on building something that’s going to shock the hell out of some folks by winter. For some of you, it’s getting over an ex, they didn’t think you would get over them. You are, I see you casually going on dates and having fun and unbothered. Go read pile 2 because I feel both of your energies are similar in some ways. I’m also hearing “business ventures and opportunities awaits, but will you catch them?” I feel very good vibes are coming your way but I will warn to have more discernment with who you tell your business too. Move in silence and let your actions to the talking.

This is the end of your reading pile 3, have a great summer!

[xx-dinah-writing-xx]

Hi! Love your writing! Would love to see a Matt x reader platonic in which she is a young actress on HOTD and it’s her first role. He really helps her and becomes some what of a mentor/father figure

thx luv

Wig, Sword, and a Granola Bar

Matt Smith x reader fluff

A/N: Hi!! Sooo you probably thought I wasn’t gonna write this request… Surprise! Here I am, in my full glory, with another Matt one-shot 💅🏻 (Yeah yeah, I should probably get to those Tom requests too… oh well.) Anyway, enjoy this dad-like Matthew with reader. Since, you know, they’re usually dating in my fics. Or doing… other suspicious activities 👀 See you soon, babes! 💋

————

The first time you met Matt Smith, you were trying not to vomit into your costume.

You were in full wig, corset, and dragon-leather boots, pacing tight little figure-eights behind the soundstage, palms clammy and jaw clenched. The scene was simple enough. You only had three lines, one of which was “Yes, my prince,” but it was your very first day, your first television role, and House of the Dragon was not the type of show where you could afford to suck.

You were already convinced they’d made a mistake casting you. Some intern in casting must have clicked the wrong headshot. Maybe someone would shout “cut” mid-scene and then gently inform you that, regrettably, the part had been meant for someone with actual talent. Maybe Olivia Cooke would blink and ask, “What is she doing here?”

Then a voice behind you said, conversationally, “You look like you’re about to faint or bite someone.”

You whirled so quickly you nearly toppled sideways in your boots, and there he was. In all his platinum-haired, steely-eyed, slightly insane-looking glory. Matt Smith, in costume and in character, though with a wry little smirk that didn’t look particularly Targaryen.

Your brain short-circuited.

“Oh God,” you breathed.

“Not quite,” he said, peering at you as though inspecting a particularly twitchy squirrel. “Matt. Daemon. Some unholy hybrid of both. You must be the new girl.”

You nodded, struck momentarily mute.

He tilted his head. “You’ve got that first-scene terror. Classic. Sweaty palms? Shaky legs? Slight urge to piss yourself?”

“...All of the above,” you admitted.

Matt clapped his hands together once, far too cheerfully for a man in full medieval war garb. “Brilliant. It means you care. Come on. Walk with me.”

You had no idea why you obeyed, but you did. He guided you away from the soundstage, past a techie eating a sausage roll and a pair of dragons (well, motion-capture rigs shaped vaguely like dragons), into a quieter corner of the set where someone had set up folding chairs and a sad little table with lukewarm tea. Matt collapsed into one of the chairs like an old man whose back had betrayed him, legs sprawled and wig slightly askew.

“You're shaking like a leaf,” he said, watching you perch awkwardly opposite him. “Did you train in theatre?”

You nodded. “A bit. Small stuff. Nothing like this.”

“That’s alright,” he said. “TV's a different beast. Less forgiving lighting. You can’t hear your own voice echoing around a theatre, so it always feels like you’re whispering. And the camera’s a nosy little sod, so it’ll catch everything. But that’s the fun of it.”

You blinked at him. “I think I’m going to cry.”

Matt smiled. “Then do it in character and make the director cry too. That’s the trick. Make your breakdown useful.”

He handed you a crumpled granola bar from the pocket of his robe.

From that moment, something shifted. You didn’t become instantly confident, but you did survive your first scene without tripping over your boots or faceplanting into Milly Alcock. And after that, Matt became something like your unofficial on-set handler. It wasn’t even formal mentorship. It was just that he decided he was going to look after you, and then he did.

He’d turn up beside you before rehearsals, quietly running lines while peeling an orange with an intensity that made it look like the fruit had personally wronged him. He once showed up at your trailer with a half-broken DVD of Doctor Who, flopped onto your sofa, and announced, “It’s important you understand what you’re dealing with. This is me in peak chaos mode. I had better hair then. Not Daemon hair. But hair.”

You asked him once why he’d decided to take you under his wing. He was driving you both back from a night shoot in his slightly-too-expensive car, humming to ABBA and sipping black coffee from a flask that had definitely not been washed properly in months.

“Because you remind me of me,” he said after a moment.

You looked at him, baffled. “How?”

“You’re all wiry nerves and unspent energy. You flinch like someone’s going to tell you to go home any second. That was me for years. Still is, sometimes.”

There was a long pause.

“Also,” he added, “your first week, you fell asleep on my shoulder between takes and then denied it. And I thought, yes, this one is mine now. This feral gremlin belongs to me.”

You groaned and buried your face in your hands. “I thought I hallucinated that.”

“Nope. Snored a bit too.”

You threw an empty crisp packet at him. He dodged, nearly swerved into a hedgerow, and shouted, “Attempted murder!” like you’d pulled a dagger.

Your friendship with Matt settled into a strange, perfect rhythm after that. He became your biggest cheerleader, even when you didn’t believe in yourself. He’d bark exaggerated applause after a good take, scream “Oscar-worthy!” in a tone of high sarcasm that somehow still made you proud. Once, when you cried after a rough day of reshoots, he sat beside you in the greenroom, took off his wig, and balanced it on your head until you laughed through the tears.

You got into the habit of calling him “Dad” in jest, which horrified the crew and delighted him. He responded by introducing himself at Comic-Con as “her deeply unqualified stage parent,” and referring to you as “my emotionally volatile adopted child” in interviews. You retaliated by putting a “World’s Okayest Father” mug in his trailer and photoshopping his face onto various dad meme formats.

Sometimes he gave actual useful advice too. He taught you how to cry without clenching your jaw, how to hit your mark without looking for it, how to talk to the director without sounding apologetic for existing. He made you practice stillness, “the kind that isn’t boring,” as he put it. He warned you about burnout, about the loneliness of hotels, about critics and the internet and the weird vacuum of fame.

But mostly, Matt gave you space to be ridiculous. He let you flop dramatically across chairs, scream your frustrations into costume pillows, eat marshmallows in your trailer while whining about dialogue. He never made you feel small for being new. If anything, he seemed to find your youthful panic endearing.

The night your first episode aired, he made you come over to his flat with a bottle of cheap champagne and two pizzas. You spent the whole hour nervously pacing and cringing at your own face, while Matt hooted with laughter, threw popcorn at the TV, and yelled “look, it’s my brilliant little goblin!” every time you appeared.

You fell asleep on his sofa again, this time wrapped in a blanket that smelled vaguely of dog and old cologne. When you woke up, he’d scribbled “You did brilliantly” on a sticky note and left it on your forehead.

You never thought you’d find family in this industry. You expected competition, backstabbing, maybe the occasional fake friend. But you found Matt Smith, with his dumb wigs, brilliant mind, and deeply chaotic warmth. You found the weird, tender, hilarious, utterly unexpected bond between a young actress and a man who used to play the Doctor.

And when people asked you what your favorite thing was about working on House of the Dragon, you never said dragons or swords or red carpets.

You just said, “Matt Smith. No question. He’s the best fake dad I’ve ever had.”

[rabidbehemoth]

I'm going through almost the exact same thing! It's been years since I wrote with any regularity, but I've spent those years doing my best to recover from severe burnout (due to Real Life And Other Tragedies).

I felt the spark again just recently after *so* long for a new story! And I knew it was time to try again. And, anon. Anon, look at me. I am grabbing you by the shoulders and looking into your eyes.

It. Is. So. Fucking. Hard.

It's hard! The blank page scares the shit out of me. Words are soooo slow to come, even with a detailed outline, and every tiny decision feels like agony. There is no flow state here.

And that makes sense. No matter how good this idea is, or how many times I've done this before, or what I think I ought to be able to expect from myself, these muscles are rusty. We haven't done this in ages. I think writing is like riding a bike in that you can't forget, but you can become out of practice.

I don't have a magic bullet solution, but I am absolutely certain, down to my marrow, that getting frustrated and angry and disappointed with myself is NOT going to help. It can only make things worse.

Some things I'm trying:

- decrease pressure. when I look at my writing calendar and see so many missed days, I just try to forgive myself. Being disappointed is dumb and only comes from a secret fear that I won't finish unless I pressure and bully myself. But I'm not on a deadline, this is supposed to be fun; I don't need to write often in order to finish, I just need to keep doing it until it's done. The fastest way I can think of to make it not worth doing is to feel bad about it.

- maximum word counts. We've all heard of minimums, but why not maximums? Helps prevent burnout. Helps me stop writing while I still have something left to say, which makes it easier to start again later. I leave little notes for myself like gifts to unwrap later.

- dopamine manipulation. Daydream, as suggested above! I'll sprint with friends, record and post my word counts, talk to friends about the plot, let them help me stay excited. @dementedpuppeteer ILY💜 this would be so much less fun without you!

- look for reasons for hangups. Sometimes it's not me, it's the story, though I'm quick to assume I'm the problem lol. Am I bored with the scene even if I love the idea? Would I rather be writing a different part? Is there an unanswered question I need to think about? Did a character do something unexpected that I've not sufficiently addressed in my own head?

And finally...

- be prepared to put down the pen if that's what your writer brain truly needs. It's not up to us. Sometimes we're just not ready to get back into it, and that needs to be honored and respected. It's not about forcing yourself to write and hating it the whole time, right? Some discomfort will always come with the territory because writing is hard work, but there should be good things too! Good feelings, joy, excitement, satisfaction, curiosity. All the reasons why we do this. If those aren't happening, that's important to pay attention to. Don't ignore pain and run on an injury, listen to it. If writing is too painful, stop. It will always be there when you're ready to try again. You can't lose it, you can just fall out of practice.

My god I didn't expect to vomit this all up but I really do feel for anon's situation, and my own! Putting this on paper really helped organize the thoughts I've been having lately around this. A great practice exercise, haha!

Hi! Lately, I've been trying real hard to start writing again after a break of a couple of years, and it's simply not happening. I took the break to begin with because I figured that I could pick up writing fic again easily when I felt less burned out. But each time I've tried since 2025 started I can barely get the words out. I keep telling myself I need to go slow and build up to it, but my brain blanks after a sentence or two, with or without an outline. I can force myself into a drabble or two, or even a flashfic, but it feels like pulling teeth the entire time. I even tried going back to old drafts and adding to them (unsuccessfully). Nothing works! I'm getting more and more frustrated and angry with myself for taking this long of a break from being creative. Do you have any concrete recommendations for what to do when the ideas/words/characters/whatever just aren't coming? My brain is mush.

(I love this blog. So excited to see you back.)

I'll tell you what I do, but I also want to encourage folks to add their thoughts on the notes. This is very much a situation that can be worked on in a million different ways, so any one particular take might or might not work. Often, frankensteining a bunch together is the better route.

I've currently got two creative hobbies: writing fic and making site skins for AO3. When a site skin isn't working, I just have to drop it. I've been attempting to redo my glowy blue Tron skin from like 4 years ago and every time I go back to it, I just get frustrated and need to stop. I don't have a clear idea of where I want to take it, and so nothing looks "right" because everything feels wrong. For site skins, I need to have a solid idea to latch onto in order to get anywhere with them.

For writing, it's kind of similar. It's a LOT easier to write when I have an idea that really lights a fire under me. However, I've found that I can write even if I just know what the end goal of the story is. Even if my ending is just "and then they bone" at least I know where I need to get my characters in the end, and that guiding principle is really helpful because most of what my characters do in the fic is going to be aimed at that end point.

I don't know if it's just the way that you've phrased it in this ask, but it seems like you can't see the story for the words. If you're focused too much on the act of writing then you might need to back away from that for now and work on just imagining the story first. Spend more time daydreaming or lying in bed staring up at the ceiling and picturing your blorbo in situations. Get into the habit of thinking about the story before you start writing the story. Then the writing part is just transcribing the picture that's already clear in your head.

I well understand the frustration that comes when you've got something in you and no way to get it out. Whatever else is happening, the way you used to go about writing fic doesn't work for you anymore and now you need to discover a new method. Maybe it's handwriting in a notebook instead of typing on a screen. Maybe it's dictating into your notes app. Maybe it's chatting it out with a bestie over coffee or in a DM. Maybe it's something else.

Let's see what other people suggest for you, and then you can cobble together a method of your very own. Good luck, anon! I'm rooting for you ❤️

[deoidesign]

It's my right to tell myself I can do just a little animation just for fun just for really quick to do some action and then spend 3 days straight on it

[spiderin-space]

Yeehaw‼️

[woodlandeelf]

That awkward moment when your situationship challenges you to a duel and it’s the first time you’re shirtless in front of her and all your friends

Specific moment of Lost Hours chapter 8, “foils”

[mangofresca]

zephyr | 18+

ii.

“We could leave, y’know.”

Romano startles, head turning over his shoulder as if he were searching for a spy, a conspirator. Sometimes, that’s not unlike how Portugal feels here, always a little too relegated to the outside for comfort, too close to the inside for tranquility or freedom.

He shakes the thought away, eyebrow raised in question at the only other person here who hasn’t exhausted him yet.

Romano’s eyes flick from his face to the windows, to the rain pelting the windowpanes, and he scoffs. “And do what? Get soaked?” His fingers tap the glass in his hand, and Portugal watches with muted disinterest as the wine rocks back and forth, back and forth, an ocean all its own, confined and confined and confined.

“Better than staying here.” Staying here and playing pretend with a government who can only just tell him and Spain apart, and Portugal doesn’t have the stomach anymore for the accent or the language or the face of it all.

Romano tsks, and, for some reason, this infuriates him, as if Romano is content to sit here and be lessened, nothing more than a jewel on a crown on a head who so blatantly picks favorites. Like they’re above it all, the two of them.

He turns, and he leaves, and he doesn’t care enough to see if anyone watches him go.

vi.

“That was–”

Portugal is already pushing up off the bed, flicking hair from his eyes. “Want a drink?”

“Obviously,” Romano snorts, but he sounds like he’s amused, and when Portugal turns around to look at him, all he can see is the way Romano’s lips curl around his teeth, how his cheeks look when he smiles.

ix.

Romano snores when he sleeps, raspy and rough, and when his hair falls in front of his eyes, his nose crinkles with the tickle of it, too deep in dreams to bother moving it away.

We shouldn’t be doing this, Portugal thinks, because things are messy, only getting worse, and he doesn’t understand how Romano doesn’t grow restless beneath a thumb that demands obedience, that is all too comfortable pressing down on the pulse of their throats, hard enough to feel it beating, not hard enough to choke.

“I wish this was easy,” he says instead, and his skin goes cold when he realizes he means it, green eyes already looking down at tanned legs tangled with his, errant curl brushing his collarbone.

He’s gotten used to that, too.

iv.

Portugal can see him on the docks again, hair just as windswept as that first time, waves falling over each other to brush against dark eyelashes, to curl into knots at his hairline.

Spain’s hand is heavy on his shoulder, smile tipping into something that more resembles a bridler than a brother. “You look like you’re thinking hard,” he says, and Portugal hears the warning in it like a bell tolling within his head. “Everything all right?”

“Fine,” Portugal replies. The weight on his shoulder feels suffocating.

vii.

“We should have sex here,” Portugal says, out of the blue and apropos of nothing, voice hushed into a conspiratorial whisper when he leans himself into Romano’s ear.

Romano coughs, splutters, eyes narrowing when Portugal only grins at him.

“Not now, obviously,” he continues, because his brother is here, and his—their, because God forbid any of it is really his—government, too, and he isn’t stupid enough to try anything here, now.

Romano wipes the coughed wine from his lips, arm crossed over his chest as he settles back into the wall behind him. “Please,” he says, and he already sounds scandalized and petulant, “as if I’d settle for anything less than a bed. You think I’d let you fuck me on a settee? Not a chance.”

“I think,” Portugal replies, smiling, “you’d let me fuck you anywhere I want you to.”

Romano scoffs again, furious and blustering, but his shoulder brushes Portugal’s arm, and he doesn’t move it away.

v.

Lively doesn’t adequately describe it when it finally happens.

Romano has him pinned up against the library wall, holding Portugal’s wrists against hand-bound books and shelves which haven’t been dusted in God only knows how long, but all Portugal can think is how difficult it is, when kissing Romano, to push him away, to have him be the one pressed between linen and literature.

He manages, only just, and the heady, groaned gasp of surprise he receives pleasantly makes it worth his while.

x.

Portugal can see him on the docks again, hair wind-knotted and wild, exactly like it was that first time, exactly like the second, like every other time, every other time.

He can’t discern the expression on Romano’s face, too far away for detail, sunlight blinding on wave-crested waters, but he can see him turn around, see him walk away, back to that house and that voice and that hand and that crown.

He almost regrets leaving without a goodbye, but he knows, is certain in the knowledge, that expectation for their kind is the heartbeat of disillusionment, and he doesn’t have it in himself to be disappointed by someone so supine as to find comfort here.

Nothing ever gets resolved with avoidance and shame, but their arrangement never really did have room for much else, anyway.

iii.

He has a dream, then, that lingers worse than a bad hangover or a bloody wound. Maybe it’s years after their last conversation, or maybe it’s days, or maybe it’s hours; he can’t be bothered to keep track, not that their kind usually does when it comes to time.

(Hard. He wakes up hard, and that’s not how his dreams usually go—or, not the ones with Romano, at least.)

Romano was over him, or under him, maybe—not that it matters, because it doesn’t matter, not really. What matters is that Romano was close, breathing against his neck, sighing his name, and it’s—

It was slow, the way they moved. Tender, close.

Odd.

viii.

He’s gotten used to it—the way Romano’s voice hitches, goes taut, tight as his white-knuckled grip on pearl-hued sheets. He’s gotten used to it.

He’s gotten used to it.

i.

They meet officially, formally—and notably without supervision—on the docks of Almería, both windswept and water-worn, and it makes Portugal wonder how long Romano had been standing there for him to look like that, like he himself had blown in with the breeze of the ocean, side-swept bangs tangling into soft knots at his temples.

He is sure he himself is no better, likely worse—a ribbon can only do so much with the whipping winds that dance themselves through his sails—but he doesn’t bother brushing his hair from his face before approaching, grin ticking at the corners of his lips.

Romano blinks at him, hazel eyes owlish before settling into something calmer, almost bored. “Oh,” he says, “it’s you.”

Portugal smiles and tips his head. “Hello,” he replies. Always best to start with hello.

[madame-fear]

So I’m curious, this priest of yours, is he a hot young priest? New to his position and maybe not as strong in his convictions as an older, more practiced priest would be? More….malleable? 😏

Or is he an older priest, stronger in his convictions, wiser, more confident in his position and his experience. Will be tougher to….corrupt? But not impossible 😉

Ooo, nonnie... I like the way you’re thinking already! ☝️😌

Okay so!!! Yapping time has begun— this hot cute priest seems to be in, I dare to say, his 40s... Or well, grasping on his 40s, ykwim? In the way he acts, in his face and in 🥰😍 HIS LITERALLY EVERYTHING 😍🥰 you can tell he’s a mature man, older than me. And you know what’s the best? Is that he has a strict, serious face— AND HE HAS BLUE EYES SO DON’T GET ME STARTED ON HOW BEAUTIFULLY DEEP HIS STARE IS !!! 🤤

I haven’t really talked to him, I have very briefly heard him speaking to someone and he has this absolutely beautiful soothing voice, and he seems to be very wise... My intuition (which it never fails like the 99% of the time) tells me he must be quite strong on his convictions, and that he has experience on his position as priest— I’ve got to figure that out, but who knows? Maybe I can wiggle my way into his mind. After noticing him staring at me for an entire minute and I caught him doing so, I think I should test him out... 😉

[awfullybigwardrobe44]

My beloved is mine, and I am his…

—Song of Solomon 2:16

[topnotchquark]

Uhhhh you guys want some Bezz x Cele fluff? Because I wrote 1800+ words of Bezz x Cele fluff. Yes it's Boarding School au man wtf we live in a society of course I wrote the Boarding school au.

----------------------------------------------------

Bezz pokes at the scab just above his knee. It's freshly formed, he had absorbed impact from Pecco running into him on the field during practice yesterday. His kneepads had mostly protected him but caused the skin to rub off at that particular spot.

Bezz had always had the habit of picking at his wounds, more out of boredom than anything else. When Cele was around, he would simply ask him to stop torturing his own body like a little moth in the hands of a rambunctious toddler, but Cele had been away for three days from school for a family thing. The wedding of some distant cousin combined with some medical check that Cele needed in the city. His dad had come to pick him up and Bezz had walked with him to drop him off and to say hello to Cele's dad.

3 days shouldn't feel like a lot and Bezz had a thousand different things to do, what with the upcoming national level games season and schoolwork dictating his every minute, but he still thought about Cele. He missed sitting next to him for all meals, he missed Cele coming upstairs to see him after lights out, he missed how he would agree without much resistance when Bezz wanted to sneak out at night, he missed Cele foraging for fruits in the woods and bringing them back for everyone to eat, he missed running into him in the corridors during classes, and of course he missed him on the field because Jaume was too young to be a good practice session replacement for the team. 

Bezz is about to wreck carnage absent mindedly on his wound when Luca comes out of the phone room and pats Bezz on the shoulder.

The boys get to call home twice a week from a room divided into little booths, the attendant in the room sat there to note your name down and tell you to put the phone down when your time was up.

Bezz makes his way to the booth in the far left corner that Luca just left, he nods to Pecco in the other corner who is on call and dials his dad's number that he knows by heart. They talk about his preparation for the upcoming season and his dad tells him about things in the garage, next he calls his mum and she asks him about school and classes and practice and his little sister screams a quick hello to him and when he keeps the phone down with quick exchanges of "work hard" and "miss you" and "I love you" his heart feels a bit wonky. It's been years away from home but he still hasn't fully learnt how to squash that feeling.

Before keeping the phone down he makes a split second decision and calls Cele's mom, another number he knows by heart for some reason.

"Oi Bezzechi, you've been hogging that phone forever, put it down!!" The attendant shouts at him, his brows furrowed.

"Yes sorry please please please just one moment" Bezz quickly pleads as he waits for the line to connect. The attendant tells him to make it quick as Cele's mom answers. She sweetly asks Bezz how he's been doing as she calls Cele over to hand him the phone.

"Marco, is everything okay?" Cele's newly matured voice implores. 

"Uhh yes why wouldn't it be?"

"You're calling from school."

"Ah. Yes yes. Just wanted to tell you to, uhhh, yeah come back soon cele practice isn't great"

"Is Jaume not good"

"No no he's fine. Just. You know......"

"Hmmm. I get it. Listen Bezz, I need you to help me okay I have some stuff with me when I get back okay"

"Yeah sure. Listen I gotta go okay this man will cancel all my calls for the next month okay. I miss you, bye."

"I, uhh, I miss you too Marco, bye"

Bezz doesn't spend too much time thinking about Cele's request. He's probably sneaking some food into the dormitory which isn't allowed and the weird luggage checking procedure makes it so that you just have to be extra careful with the contraband.

The next day when Bezz comes down to dinner after practice and evening study he finds Cele already in the dining hall. He hurries over to him and immediately wraps him into a hug, slapping his back and ruffling his curls.

"I thought you wouldn't be here till tomorrow! Who dropped you off?"

"My cousin, he was on his way back to University so I came back early. Listen, Marco......"

Whatever it is that Cele wanted to tell Bezz is cut off by Pecco, Luca, and Franco gathering around him and asking him how was home and he better be up to speed for the morning practice tomorrow and what did the doctor say and if he found any cute girls at the wedding.

All throughout dinner Bezz notices Cele fidgeting nervously, pushing his food around as Luca talks about the rival regional teams they will be facing and the specific characteristics of every player he can recall.

Post dinner, the boys walk back to their house building in a group, Cele quickly dipping into the dormitory on the first floor as the rest make their way up to the rooms.

Before Bezz can go back downstairs to ask Cele what's up, Pecco reminds him to finish his trig homework lest he be skinned alive by the teacher and Bezz enlists the help of both Luca and Pecco to get through the exercises.

It's an hour past lights out when Bezz is finally done and before he has a moment to lie down Cele comes into the room. His eyes look a bit crazy and the pockets of his jacket are puffed up weirdly but before Bezz can ask any questions Cele starts yanking at his arm to get up.

"hurry up Marco!!!" Cele hisses, straining to keep his voice low

"Okay okay damn let me put on my shoes"

"Take the torch please" cele whines.

Bezz raises his brows but doesn't protest much. Torches are reserved for the big expedition sneak outs, the ones you have to plan for, the ones away from their usual haunts, torches are a liability, they draw the attention of the school guards. Bezz still takes his and hides it in his pocket.

They silently get out through the windows on the ground floor, holding their breath and watching their step so as not to alert the guards. Bezz has been sneaking out since pretty much his first year in school, so much so that he can navigate most paths in pitch black darkness. When Cele and Bezz became friends he started bringing him along, gently teaching him to be mindful of his arms and head and stepping around in a way that makes less noise. Cele wasn't the most graceful when it came to slinking around, but Bezz was okay with that as long as they were together.

The moon was shining above their heads, almost fluorescent in its brightness.  Bezz glances over at Cele's determined face, his lashes casting spider leg shadows on his cheeks. Cele's pale skin and dark hair seem almost ghostly and Bezz's heart feels so funny. He swallows to keep his wits intact and focus on the path.

"Wait Cele are we walking towards the lake?" Bezz realises that he's been straining a bit to keep up with Cele.

"Mhmmm"

"Wait wait wait no you have to tell me what's up you've been acting too weird."

"No Marco we can't talk here we will get caught please we have to go" Cele pleads with him and suddenly takes Bezz's hand in his to rush him along. Bezz feels too shocked at Cele's sudden gesture and simply can't find the words to protest. They walk for a few minutes where all Bezz can think about is the warmth of Cele's soft hand in his. Bezz thinks self consciously about the calluses on his palm and whether they feel weird for Cele to touch. Cele's plam, soft and smooth and warm and alive and real to the touch and somehow Bezz feels that whatever is real in him is emanating from that part of his body that is holding on to Cele.

"Here. Come." Cele lets go of Bezz's hand Bezz feels a little deflated. Cele walks near a tree and picks up a cardboard box and brings it to Bezz.

"I have rabbits."

"......you...what" Bezz thinks he hasn't heard him right. 

"There were rabbits at the wedding venue but I don't think they were being treated right so I picked them up"

"Cele what even.... how did you even steal them and oh my god is this area even safe"

"I didn't steal them Marco!!!!! They are young, kind of, I think they are almost babies, it was just three of them"

"Diobono three is a lot! Have they eaten?"

"I had left some lettuce, and I have more, I need your help feeding them"

"Okay okay fine, let's find a place to sit"

Bezz finds that inside the cardboard box there is a little pet carrier covered with a blanket. Cele pushes in some food through the metal gate grills but the bunnies seem to be asleep for now. 

"What's the plan cele?"

"There archery lawns have a place for rabbits. I will leave them there. I trust the school gardener, we used to have rabbits in my first year at school, he's good with them."

"You think nobody will notice three rabbits appearing out of nowhere."

"They will but they won't know it's us"

Bezz can't help smiling at the response. Cele trusts it will all be good so intently that Bezz can't help be infected by the same disposition.

"Do you want to hold them?" Cele offers.

"Uhh yeah okay yeah."

"Just be relaxed, okay"

Cele opens the metal grate a little and ushers Bezz to put his hand inside.

A warm delight runs through Bezz when he touches the soft fur. He feels them moving with their breath and gently gently strokes the fur. A smile breaks out on his face, wide and luminous under the moonlight.

"It's nice, no" Cele says as he watches Bezz's face.

"Yes, I didn't expect them to be this soft"

They sit a bit longer, trying to feed the bunnies, talking, trying to come up with stories about these rabbits that will convince people to keep them. 

Bezz asks Cele to hold on to the box and make no noise as he navigates a path to the Archery Lawns. Cele takes a minute to leave them in the enclosure, worrying about them. Bezz's reassurance a little ineffective as he says his goodbyes, leaving more lettuce and some broccoli in the carrier.

When they finally start walking back towards the Dorms, Bezz takes Cele's hand in his, his confident decisive gesture in sharp contrast with the nerves he feels inside. Cele offers no protest and holds on. Bezz feels breathless thinking about how similar Cele's beautiful hand feels to the soft rabbits he just held a while ago. 

[myloveforhergoeson]

writing a little tasw short story about the boys new town high appearance and i got so fucking distracted in doing research about the universal studios (aka colossal studios) lot and i forgot what i was originally doing. did you know it takes 3 days for them to fill their fake lake. 10 hours if you only fill the pit. 4 days to drain and it will never, ever be clear water. they have 47 soundstages. a gym. 2 banks. a coffee bean and tea leaf. the bates motel is there if you even care!

[astrxealis]

hi guys please wish me luck for my college entrance exam tomorrow for one of my dream schools xoxo

[linagram]

some silly sketches that totally don't have any spoilers for the future voice dramas at all (also some araakio for the soul)

[old-memoria]

So since I haven’t been on tumblr for so long, let me inform you that I got my first full time job in a fashion pr agency, almost got kicked out of uni for my political views, but still got my master’s degree and survived a half assed military coup. How are you spending your early 20s?