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sobeautifullyobsessed · 2 years ago

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Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love ❤

Thank you so much for the tag, my friend--you know I appreciate every chance I can get to promo my work!

So, five favorites? Honestly, it's hard to choose, as most of my work remains WIPs that are currently languishing for updates. I'm going to exclude my one-shots to narrow down the field - and base this list on both the story and the quality of the writing. Hoping that they might get a little bit of love and some new readers!

Of Magic, Miracles, and Moonlight - Stephen Strange x OFC. Slow burn romance, older man/younger woman, mentor/student, friends-to-lovers. Pre-Infinity War. Contains Mature Content. WIP, currently 19 chapters.

A Khan By Any Other Name - Khan Noonien Singh x OFC. Adventure, danger, angst, romance. Pre-Star Trek Into Darkness. Contains Mature Content. WIP, currently 12 chapters.

The Secret of Salvation - Major Jamie Stewart x OFC. War Horse AU. WW I. Angst, prisoner of war, romance. Contains Mature Content. WIP, currently 5 chapters.

The One That Got Away - Benedict Cumberbatch AU, where he is primarily a stage Actor with some movie/television appearances. Benedict Cumberbatch x OFC. Takes place during a production of The Taming of the Shrew. Castmates to friends to falling in love, slow burn, jealousy, lots of angst. WIP, currently 18 chapters.

Scarlett and the Professor - Tumblr exclusive. An original, erotic, paranormal romance, based on a discontinued roleplay. All original characters. Takes place on an unnamed Caribbean island. Older man/younger woman, professor/student, supernatural elements bringing them together, romance, angst, forbidden desires, light kinks with foreshadowing of darker kinks. Contains Mature Content. WIP, currently 32 chapters, plus two one-shots.

moodboards under cut

(related works: Lady in Red, Though There Be Pain Love Still Endures)

Of Magic, Miracles, and Moonlight

Doctor Stephen Strange's life has settled into a fulfilling pattern; even as Master of the New York Sanctum, he continues his studies in the mystic arts, self-training with the library that the Ancient One amassed in her years as Sorcerer Supreme. An old alliance forged by the Ancient One brings an unexpected request to him, and he is duty bound to fulfill it. Along the way he meets with some pleasant surprises--and discovers that his heart is not immune to the effects of the gentlest sorts of magic.

moodboard by @strangelock221b

Seraphina DiPietro is wise in the ways of the world; she has to be, as she travels the California coast as a torch singer in pubs, bars and nightclubs. She knows how to take care of herself and stay out of trouble--most of the time. When trouble comes, it's usually because her kind heart overrides her common sense. Stopping to check on a handsome stranger, stranded roadside in the Mojave Desert, her curiosity is piqued as much by the classic, mint-looking Mustang, as by the driver--a tall, dark mysterious drink of water, whom she quickly learns is so much more than what he appears.

moodboard by @mel-loves-all

Major Jamie Stewart is a survivor--but sometimes he just needs to escape. The guilt, the pain, the despair; his bitter fall due to folly and hubris. It helps to survive if one has a sanctuary to turn to, a dream to hold onto. A vision of a day--and a woman--that might grant him the salvation he desperately craves.

bookcover for The One That Got Away created by @onebuttscratcher

An actress making her name for herself on the London stage, Virgilia (Vicki) Gordon vows not to follow her usual pattern: falling in love with her leading man. The work comes first and foremost--or so she plans. She never expects to develop feelings for her co-star in "The Taming of the Shrew", but with his stellar talent matched by his charm, kindness and intellect, Vicki learns all too soon that, despite one's best intentions, the heart goes where it will. Still, all might be well--but he is far from free enough to return her affections.

moodboard by @strangelock221b

Romance & Passion. Mystery & ties to the Supernatural. Lust & Erotica. NSFW material, so be forewarned. A young Scottish woman of ancient Selkie blood finds herself irresistibly drawn to her dashing British professor, with his own mysterious ties to the Sea. A serial womanizer who believes his inner darkness makes him unredeemable, he finds what seems an uncorruptable innocence in the love she freely offers--eventually coming to wonder if her light might be enough to save him from his demons.

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snowbellewells · 9 months ago

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Self Promo Sunday: "Melting for You"

It's been a bit since I've done a Self Promo Sunday post, but with the weather heating and well into summer this one shot came to mind, and it seemed like the right one for this week to get them going again. I wish we had a few more steamy CS pics to work with to make a cover art, but I still gave it a go. If this is new to you, I hope you'll enjoy, and if it's a repeat maybe you'll find it fun to revisit.

Summary: When Emma decides to tease an overheated pirate, soon she's the one burning up... A Post Season 6 canon divergent ff, with CS enjoying their happy beginning

Can also be found on AO3 if that's your preference...

by: @snowbellewells

Even indoors the air was heavy and oppressive - especially for June - and Emma Swan gave herself a mental pat on the back for even being out of her recliner nearest the air conditioning vent in the old, high-ceiling house that could be expensive to sufficiently cool. She tended to covet a day like this - off from the station, Henry out with friends, no one needing anything from her, and a backlog of her favorite crime procedurals ready in her streaming queue - chuckling to herself about deserving some sort of Savior Above and Beyond medal for being in the kitchen tackling a sink of dirty dishes.

Normally, she’d just put them in the dishwasher, but the last clean load had never been taken back out and put away - one of Henry’s designated jobs - and her husband, loving and fond of her son as he was, was still a captain through and through, determined for each member of his crew to pull their weight. Emma, on the other hand, while not as worried about the degree of neatness Killian would prefer, was just stubborn enough not to do her kid’s chores for him. Henry had been busy lately; finals, college applications and other genuine responsibilities taking up the bulk of his time, but she trusted him to get to it when he could. Though she wouldn’t admit it out loud, the real reason she didn’t put the clean dishes away was because she didn’t understand Killian’s precise method for storing all the various pots, pans, containers, and baking sheets; inevitably, when she tried to unload the dishwasher alone, she ended up with numerous things she couldn’t find a place for strewn across the kitchen’s center island and more of a mess than she’d started with.

It just wasn’t worth the hassle.

So, here she stood, sweating over a sink full of hot, soapy water, feeling loose tendrils of hair begin to curl around her face in the humidity, just trying to make sure they had enough clean spoons and to-go mugs for their coffee the next morning and cursing the 90 degree heat and the ceiling fan not doing an adequate job of getting the cooler air to her as her shirt began to feel stuck to her skin between her shoulder blades.

At least she had a good view.

Emma smirked to herself, eyes lighting up once again as she refocused from the charred bits of pizza crust she’d slightly burnt onto a pan and back out the window over the sink. She wasn’t sure how her husband could stand it outside, and he’d been at it for at least a couple hours at this point, but as she took in the scene before her, Emma couldn’t help thinking that at this moment, his discomfort was a cross she was willing to bear.

Standing up straighter, running her forearm across her face, she dazedly allowed her hands to drip across the counter as she studied him more closely, almost forgetting where she was. Killian was wearing dark, stained denim jeans he often used when out of doors and not on his ship, along with a thin, gray T-shirt, stretched and faded with holes in places, but more than serviceable for working around the house and yard. She could see the muscles in his back and shoulders straining and bunching through the nearly threadbare material easily, and hardly realized she’d unconsciously licked her lips at the decadent sight.

As she continued to shamelessly spy on her fine pirate, Killian stretched his arms up overhead, clearly working out some of the kinks from his exertions, then to her eternal delight, raised the hem of his T-shirt to mop sweat from his brow. She could see a band of tanned, flushed skin on his lower back, unknowingly tantalizing her as she stared, unable to blink or look away. Then, as if that hadn’t been enough, he slowly peeled the taut fabric up his torso and off over his head before tossing it to the side.

She knew her breath went a bit shallow at the sight of his whole back bared to her while Killian stood for several long moments catching his breath. At this point, her sudsy hands were clutching the edge of the sink while her knees went watery at the show he was putting on inadvertently. The expanse of his skin was marred in places by lines almost white from the time gone by since they had been inflicted, and high on his left shoulder a compass sat, bearing the name ‘Liam’ along its edge, while the dark tentacles of a kraken curled surreptitiously along his rib cage on his right side. The dark and light took not one iota from his swarthy perfection though, not to her eyes. In fact, if she had been overwarm before, she was burning up now; the sight of his whole torso practically glistening in the bright afternoon sun making her weak. She was seized with the almost uncontrollable desire to go out there and started licking the salty moisture from his skin with her tongue.

If she didn’t know better, she would think he was purposely trying to tempt her.

Wait… did she know better? Emma paused, tilted her head to one side in thought. She’d told him when he’d gone outside that she was kicking back to watch some tv. But Killian could be scarily prescient of everyone around him, alert without even trying. Did he know she was watching; and, if so, was he teasing her?

Eyes narrowing, she thought for a second, feeling more than a bit devious as she considered her rapscallion husband and just what mischief he might have on his mind. She could almost picture him scoffing about getting her riled up; his brow arched just so, tongue poking against the inside of his lower lip, practically leering at her, knowing she couldn’t resist him at the best of times, and absolutely using it to his advantage. What she needed, Emma decided, a twinkle coming into her eye as the perfect plan of attack took shape in her mind, was to get him back, while appearing completely innocent. Get him flustered and as hot and bothered as he was making her. Turning off the tap and quickly drying her hands on a towel nearby, she grabbed a large glass from the cabinet to her left, then opened the freezer for ice - and her chosen secret weapon.

Strolling outside, Emma tried her best to school her expression, knowing a twitch of mischievous humor or devilish twinkle would give her away. Her pirate still read her like a book - knew her every feature more minutely than anyone else had ever bothered to try - even more so after years together. He’d catch any slip and be on the alert.

Killian turned to look at her, just as she drew up beside him. Reaching out to trail the hand holding an ice cold glass of water down his damp, overheated bicep, she fought to hold in the smirk as her husband let his head fall backwards, nearly growling in pleasure. The unrelenting heat had the glass already covered in condensation, and the warmth radiating from Killian as well after working so long in the sun, meant the cool moisture had to feel heavenly.

Eyeing her with both adoration and curiosity, her captain made Emma’s own inner thermostat raise a tick as well when he licked the perspiration from his upper lip. “May I assume that’s for me, Love?”

“Yep,” she replied, letting the ‘p’ pop distinctly, just as he often did when alluring her with his speech. “I thought it was time to bring you some water. Can’t have my True Love getting dehydrated, after all.”

He raised a brow, as if wondering why she seemed so enthusiastic, but he took the glass from her eagerly, seemingly deciding just to accept the gesture with thanks. Of course, as his Adam's apple bobbed with his greedy swallows of the cool, refreshing liquid, it was Emma who found her throat working desperately to gain more air.

For a second, she almost forgot her plan in the wake of the tantalizing distraction he made, before she regained focus and hurried to unwrap what she held in her other hand.

While Killian’s eyes were still closed savoring the last of his drink, Emma quickly stuffed the wrapper of an ice cream bar in her cutoff jean pockets and began to lick the chocolate coating, enjoying the sweet taste, but also waiting for the moment she would feel the sizzle of his eyes on her once more.

“Here you go, Love,” Killian’s voice spoke up as she felt him turn toward her, just as she enveloped the whole tip of the ice cream bar between her lips. “That truly hit the sp - “

His words died on his tongue as he got an eyeful of what she was doing, though Emma avoided looking back just yet, knowing the glee she was feeling would give her away. ‘Gotcha, Pirate!’ she couldn’t help gloating in her mind.

Humming slightly as if she was only focused on how delicious her frozen treat tasted, Emma was inwardly high fiving herself after shooting a quick sidelong glance at her husband to see him looking as though he had swallowed his own tongue. The empty glass he’d moved to hand back to her fell to the ground from his suddenly lax fingers, and when she heard him speak again, his words were a hoarse whisper. “Gods above, Swan, are you trying to kill me?”

“Of course not,” she chirped happily, winking at him with what she hoped was breezy nonchalance. “Just enjoying some refreshment myself.” She then popped the treat back into her mouth, pointedly hollowing her cheeks a bit, then pulling it back out while letting her tongue trail along the rapidly melting chocolate coating.

‘And now the final touch,’ she thought, turning her head back toward the porch and deliberately putting more swing in her hips than normal. “Bring that glass with you when you come back in, okay Babe?” she tossed over her shoulder, with one brief backward glance that she hoped managed to be sultry.

Congratulating herself, even as just the short amount of time she’d been outside was beginning to make her sweat too and the vanilla insides of her ice cream began to drip down her hand, Emma had nearly reached the outdoor water spigot and attached hose by the porch steps, which seemed a good place to finish her dessert and wash off the stickiness, when she heard heavy steps coming up behind her rapidly. ‘Right on cue, ’ her mind practically crowed.

In the next moment, Killian’s strong, muscled arm snaked around her stomach and jerked her back firmly against the front of his body. Holding her tightly, his teeth nipped her earlobe before he purred a seductive warning against her neck. “It’s cruel to tease a man like that, Minx - not if you don’t intend to share a taste.”

Impishly, Emma held up the rapidly shrinking bit of ice cream left on the stick, as if in offering. However, when he dove in to swipe his tongue up the side of her hand and engulf both the melting treat and the tips of her fingers in the warm, wet cavern of his mouth, she willingly let go. His eyes were pure blue flames that wouldn’t allow her to blink, turning her bones and sinew to liquid more than the heat outside could have ever managed.

Emma was leaning into him breathlessly, mind going blank at the way he pulled his lips back off her fingers, laving her skin playfully as he leaned away, the self-satisfied gleam in his eyes along with the heat telling her all too well that he knew what he was doing. Winking devilishly, he stepped away slightly, making her nearly stumble as her body strained to follow, a soft whine leaving her throat completely against her will.

“Hmm…” he purred, baiting her now, sensing victory no doubt. “Just as I thought - delicious.”

Emma’s misfiring synapses crackled back to life as he stood there, just out of reach, clearly waiting for his wife’s next move, and almost certainly counting on her being unable to resist.

Her chest heaved, trying to get a full breath and bring herself under control. She’d had the upper hand! She was so sure she’d have him begging - just this once. But she was flushed and sweating every bit as much as Killian now. That sinful way he was tracing her bare legs with his gaze, and the feel of his mouth on her, however briefly, had been all it had taken to send her temperature soaring beyond all reason.

“You don’t play fair, Captain,” she chided, her voice low and her own teasing smile finally returning to her as it just tilted the corner of her lips.

Killian’s dark brow arched devastatingly in challenge, not about to be outdone. “Oh, and I suppose you think waltzing out here in those shorts that barely cover your knickers and shamelessly teasing me was fair play?”

There was no good comeback, and Emma knew it. She’d been messing with him from the start, and neither of them had any doubts on that score. However, it was just then she remembered the hose and spigot right behind her. Using an innocent shrug of her shoulders and a toss of her blond hair she knew could often distract him - pirate indeed, her golden hair had always drawn his touch, he’d been brushing it over her shoulder since they had first climbed the beanstalk together - she managed to move back enough to reach behind her and turn on the water without him catching onto her actions. “I don’t know what you’re insinuating,” she sniffed, feigning insult. “I only brought you a cold drink. You looked like you needed…” she fumbled to grasp the hose quickly and pull it up into her hands “...to cool off!”

Without further warning, she pointed the nozzle at him, squeezed the handle and let fly, startling him with a blast of water right to the chest. Luckily, she’d managed to crank up the power enough to have a steady stream leaving the hose at full blast, and they kept it coiled in the shade of the porch, so she knew the spray rapidly soaking her husband was as ice cold as the sun beating down on them from above was burning hot.

Spluttering and yelping at the sudden, frigid onslaught, Killian’s pleased smirk dissolved as he threw up both arms in a helpless attempt to block the spray. She couldn’t help throwing her head back with a triumphant laugh and an emphatic “Gotcha!” escaping her lips. No part of her husband was getting out of this unscathed, she decided, aiming to soak him from head to toe while she had the upper hand.

Unfortunately for her, the victory was short-lived. Adaptable and quick-thinking as ever, Killian had steeled himself against the cold blast and was inching closer amidst laughter of his own and short exclamations at the bursts of chilled water hitting him.

Emma was about to relent in truth, the sight of Killian’s streams of eater running down his arms and sides and droplets clinging to his trim, well-defined chest and the enticing covering of matted dark hair across his taut chest muscles, was more than enough prize for her efforts. The handle actually faltered in her grip for a moment as her mouth fell open with her gawking.

It was all the opening her pirate needed.

Killian bounded forward, closing the slight distance left between them and deftly plucking the hose from her grip. The squelch of his feet on the wet grass and the slap of soaked denim against his legs were Emma’s only other warnings before the sharp, freezing spray was turned on her full blast in retaliation.

“Ahhh! Killian!” she screeched helplessly, the shock of the cold making her gasp, despite knowing she wasn’t going to get any more mercy than she herself had been willing to grant moments ago. Instead, she floundered forward, grabbing for the hand aiming the spray at her. They scuffled briefly, both only getting wetter and more winded, until - ridiculously tangled up with each other and the hose - they tumbled to the sodden grass in a heap of wriggling limbs.

At this point, both of them were laughing, hands rapidly smoothing over wet skin in delicious slides. The hose fell from Killian’s grip, easily forgotten, and the water splashed them both in a wild arc until it fell to the ground and stopped. The damage was long done anyway as they rolled together on the marshy ground, legs entwined and bodies beginning to move against each other deliciously, almost without thought in a deliciously familiar next move.

Unable to resist any longer, and far past teasing or trying to win their game, Emma’s hands stole to trace up his panting side, thrilling at the feel of his stomach muscles trembling where her fingertips swept over them.

Killian was not idle as she worked feverishly, a low groan of pleasure escaping him as she stroked along the planes of his torso. In the next moment, he dove in, pulling down the vee of her own shirt further and baring her breast before closing his mouth over the tight, alert bud warming and tormenting in equal measure with swipes of his wicked tongue.

She bucked up into him, keening and whimpering and wordlessly desperate to urge him on. After that, there was no time for words, merely pants of exertion, the occasional clacking of teeth, the slapping of damp skin on skin, and the smack of the rest of their soaking clothing frantically shed on the swampy ground around them. Soon they were moving in unison, Killian pushing forward, and her opening to pull him in, then clinging to him tightly for all she was worth.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Later, as the evening shadows fell, a light breeze moved in, cooling the heavy air of the day. Emma’s eyes trailed languidly over the nude lines of her husband’s hip and side as he returned to her with water and slid back under the light blanket they had draped over their bodies as they snuggled skin to skin on the back porch. It hadn’t seemed worth bothering to get dressed again when they’d only adjourned as far as the porch before their kisses and touches and mischievous smiles led to them going again at an achingly slower, more luxurious pace on the porch glider while the sun had slowly dipped closer to the horizon. As Killian curled back around her and brought her hand up to kiss each one of her knuckles reverently, humming as he somehow found a sweet bit of leftover ice cream, Emma could only think it was lucky their porch faced nothing but the rocky coastline and the harbor beyond it. Not that she was ashamed of how quickly she had melted at his whim, but she didn’t need anyone else to get an eyeful.

Tagging a few who might enjoy: @kmomof4 @jennjenn615 @searchingwardrobes @laschatzi @whimsicallyenchantedrose @jrob64

@apiratewhopines @iamstartraveller776 @tiganasummertree @optomisticgirl @spartanguard @teamhook

@revanmeetra87 @anmylica @xarandomdreamx @bluewildcatfanatic @xsajx @motherkatereloyshipper

@stahlop @mie779 @jonesfandomfanatic @linda8084 @lfh1226-linda @winterbaby89

@darkcolinodonorgasm @hollyethecurious @artistic-writer @zaharadessert @booksteaandtoomuchtv @caught-in-the-filter

#self promo sunday #cs ff #cs one shot #melting for you #post s6 caon divergent #cs future fluff #cs happy beginning #summer steam #almost m smuff

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blowflyfag · 9 months ago

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Inside Wrestling: Volume 25, 2009

Enduring The Sting Of Psychological Warfare: IS SAMOA JOE READY TO CRACK?

Whether he’s in the ring or not, Samoa Joe keeps one eye on the rafters in anticipation of thwarting an attack by Sting. How long can the TNA World champion maintain such vigilance before he snaps?

By Bill Meltzer

Photos By Lee South/TNA Wrestling

TNA WORLD CHAMPION Samoa Joe may not have lost his smile, a la Shawn Michaels, but that’s only because Joe never smiles much, anyway-at least not within the confines of the Impact Zone. He’s always been an intense and often brutal competitor in the ring.

Even when he’s cheered by the fans, Joe enjoys inflicting punishment, and has never been afraid to be on the receiving end of a heavy shot if it means getting in a devastating kick, chop, punch, or slam of his own. Of late, however, there’s been a decided change that has come over the “Samoan Submission Machine,” and it has everything to do with the gold belt around his waist.

For all of his no-nonsense fury in the ring, he’s always been very calculating in his approach to every match-letting up just enough to avoid disqualifications or suspensions. In promos, he usually accomplishes more with his infamous smoldering death stare than others do with a dozen shouted threats. This sense of calm inside of a monster has always made Joe one of the toughest competitors in the sport.

That’s why it’s been shocking to watch how Joe has seemingly come unglued now that he’s accomplished his goal of establishing himself as the man to beat in TNA. Why would the champion mess with success, unless the pressure is getting to him?

[Always one to favor a stiff style in the ring, Samoa Joe has recently turned up the aggression against opponents such as Christian Cage for no apparent reason. Perhaps Sting’s recent sneak-attacks have taken their toll on Joe’s psyche.

Joe’s recent mauling of Booker T was considered beyond the pale, even by his most ardent fans. At some point, proving his invincibility could prevent Joe from successfully defending his World title.]

Mick Foley, himself a former world champion who is no stranger to brutal brawls, thinks he knows the answer.

“It’s a whole different ballgame going from hunter to the hunted,” Foley says. “Suddenly, everyone is gunning for you. You’re not sure who to trust. If you get attacked and someone rushes in to help you, is that guy doing it because he wants to be the one to take you out? I haven't talked to Samoa Joe about it, but I'm almost certain he’s going through some of that.”

[While recent signs might suggest Joe is headed for a breakdown, Sting’s attacks have not affected Joe’s wrestling ability. TO fend off the competition, Joe will need to be at his technical best, as he was when he defeated Kurt Angle at Lockdown for the TNA World title.

Confronting Sting one-on-one in the ring would go a long way in settling Samoa Joe’s nerves. But as long as “The Stinger” evades Joe’s grasp, the champion will remain on edge.

Motivated by a title defense, revenge, and Sting’s antics, Joe used every weapon at his disposal to unleash his frustration on Booker T in their “Six Sides Of Steel” match at Hard Justice. This time, though, Joe’s brutality was legal and necessary.]

Foley may be onto something. TNA’s crop of challengers is the deepest it has been in federation history. It includes a host of former TNA, NWA, WCW, and WWE champions with varying reputations for treachery and violence.

But, it’s not just the fact that Joe is champion that seems to be bringing him out of his usually collected self. In the recent months, Joe has been brought down in various matches by the dark and brooding Sting. Now that Sting is back in the picture, his mental warfare seems to be working.

The strain is showing, as Joe has slowly begun to lose control of his emotions. In the ring, his style is showing an increasing amount of recklessness-even desperation. In his promos, the veins on his neck bulge as he rants at his enemies.

“Despite his unusual agility for such a big guy, Joe’s always been more Stan Hansen than Big Van Vader in his approach,” says Foley. “Hansen could intimidate the hell out of you because he was so methodical and relentless. Vader was a guy who could get reckless and throw any sort of game plan out the window.

“But Joe seems to be leaning more toward the Vader side of wrestling. These mind games Sting has been playing with him seem to be working on him pretty well. It’s hard enough being champion without someone always turning the lights out and beating you with a baseball bat.”

TNA Management Director Jim Cornette also sees a similarity between Joe’s current in-ring behavior and Vader’s lunacy during his three tenures atop WCW. He even says the strain of being champion could be affecting Joe away from the ring.

“The other day, I asked Joe, ‘What time is it?’ He slapped his chest beet red and screamed, “It’s Samoa time!’

“Joe is normally a real laid-back, funny guy when he’s away from the ring. He’s not usually uptight at all. Lately, he’s been very serious and subdued away from the ring. I told him to relax and have fun being champion. He’s worked hard to get where he’s at.”

[As TNA commentator Jeremy Borash knows, Joe can be as intense an interview as he is a wrestler. Borash and other TNA personnel have noticed the increased tension in Samoa Joe’s demeanor recently.]

For his part, Joe doesn’t seem to understand why there’s so much consternation about him taking an even more aggressive approach in the ring. He also denies that the pressure is getting to him. Instead, he points the finger at the tactics of his opposition.

“I call it being proactive,” Joe says. “I understand that there’s a target on my back now, but I'm not the least bit worried about it. I’m sending a message to make it clear to everyone in TNA that the World championship is my property. I don’t take kindly to people trying to beat me up and take my property. Call me crazy.”

Despite his protests to the contrary, as the number of challengers has mounted and unlikely alliances have formed to take Joe out, the champion’s actions have seemed increasingly reactive. Joe appears to be looking over his shoulder constantly, waiting for someone to jump him from behind.

[Properly channeled aggression has allowed Joe to rise above other dangerous men in TNA like Scott Steiner. But the uncontrolled rage he’s exhibiting now could destroy his title reign and his career. Joe must find a way to keep his emotions in check.]

This shows just how Sting’s initial attacks have opened up the eyes to the rest of TNA’s roster. They now see that the champ can be flustered, even bothered, by guerilla attacks.

Even when there is no sneak attack, the thought infuriates him and leads him to become violent to the point of being out of control. When there is an attack, Joe practically froths at the mouth trying to fight off his assailants. He spends a lot of time thinking about revenge against the likes of Booker T and Sting.

No one can say Samoa Joe isn’t a fighting champion. But at the rate he’s going at, he’s in danger of becoming an ex-champion sooner than he should.

#samoa joe #joe…. <3 #magazine scan #magazine transcript #tna #total nonstop action #Inside Wrestling #Inside Wrestling 2000s #2000s #2009

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casspurrjoybell-26 · 10 months ago

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💖Sweet Revenge💖 - Chapter 20

*Warning Adult Content*

Blake Welling

Aaron's been working hard lately, as usual.

Both sides of our business are doing great but his is legitimately booming and as if the candy wasn't enough, he's expanded to catering as well.

Some other business refused to cater a lesbian wedding and Aaron stepped in and offered to give it a shot, pro bono.

It went so well, he ended up booked through the end of the year.

I understand and it's not like he's been neglecting me or anything but sometimes I just want to take him away somewhere, tie him up, fuck him hard and teach him to relax.

Not necessarily in that order.

Ten minutes of wallowing is enough and I force myself to get up and decide what to do with the rest of the day.

I'd taken it off and I'd thought Aaron would too.

Now I don't know what to do with myself.

I decide to go for a ride.

I love my bike.

It's a top brand and I got it at a steep discount through a promo deal with the shop.

It's way beyond anything I'd be able to afford otherwise.

Besides Aaron, it's my baby.

I can't ride like I once did... a hundred miles at a time, pushing through pain and fatigue just for the reward of knowing what my body can do... but recently I've at least been able to get back into the rhythm of regular rides.

I take a series of back streets and side roads, skirting the busier areas.

When it comes to traffic, I'm still a little gun-shy but there's a paved bike trail on the edge of town and it's peacefully deserted at this time of day.

I ride its whole ten-mile length... farther than I've gone so far.

Taking my time, with plenty of stops to rest my leg, I get back home around noon, hang my bike up in the garage and go in for a shower.

When I come out, wrapped in a loose towel, a noise makes me freeze.

It sounds like someone dropping something in the kitchen but I'm the only one at home.

Heart in my mouth, I creep forward down the hall.

On the way, I grab a framed picture from the wall.

It's not much of a weapon but it's the only thing at hand.

In the frame, Aaron laughs up at me while I grin at the camera.

My mom took it the last time she visited.

Rounding the corner, I prepare to defend my home with life and limb, deadly picture-frame in hand.

What I see sends all thoughts of violence... all thoughts of any kind, actually... fleeing my mind like doves released en masse.

Aaron stands at the stove, stirring something in a small saucepan and humming to himself.

That isn't so odd.

I've seen that plenty of times.

What's different is that he's wearing nothing but his candy-making apron.

It's tied loosely around his slender waist, the tails trailing over his bare ass and swaying between his legs as he rocks gently to whatever tune is playing in his head.

I make some noise... probably a sort of choking, gagging sound and he turns towards me, lips spreading in that beautiful smile I love so much.

His bare shoulders and arms look pale and graceful and I don't know why the hell it turns me on so much, seeing him like this, except that it's the two things I love most in this world reduced to their barest elements... this man and his candy.

"Aaron...?" my voice is strained and breathless.

He lifts a silicone spatula from the saucepan.

It's dripping chocolate in silky strands.

He gives a quick twist with his wrist, twirling the ribbons and then brings it to his mouth and licks it, red tongue turning dark with molten sweet.

He swallows and bites his lip.

"Almost ready," he says, eyes locked on mine.

On the counter, a plate of strawberries waits.

I move towards him, wondering if maybe I've had a heart attack and my body is lying dead in the shower or something because this looks like heaven.

He turns back to the pan, stirring the contents with the lazy self-assurance of the professional.

I come and stand at his back, breathing in the scent of him and trail my fingers from his shoulders down his lightly muscled arms.

"Uh-uh," he chides, prying my hands off with the handle of his spatula.

"No touching. Not yet."

He smirks.

"What? Did you think I forgot?"

"Uh... yes."

He laughs.

It's a low, sinful sound.

"Now back off, before you get burned."

I do as he says but instead of heaven, now I'm in some kind of chocolate-themed hell, watching and not allowed to touch.

I realize I'm still wrapped in nothing but the towel and that I'm painfully erect.

Two can play at this game.

I let the towel fall and wait for him to turn.

When he does, his eyes drop and go dark.

He licks his lips.

"Well... dip me in chocolate and call me a banana pop," he says.

I should be used to it by now but it still makes me choke and I have to yield the victory.

As ever, he wins.

"Not long now," he assures me.

The strawberries are perfect... long-stemmed and just the right size for a single bite, plump and red.

He takes each by the stem between his finger and thumb and dips them expertly in the melted chocolate.

Then he sets them on a sheet of wax paper cool.

When the last is done, he dips his own fingers in the cooling chocolate and comes towards me, rolling his hips.

He slides his fingers past my lips, across my tongue.

"Suck," he demands.

I suck him clean.

When he withdraws his fingers, a string of saliva trails from my mouth.

He wipes his fingers on his apron and then his mouth is on mine, hot and wet and hungry.

"Do you want me?" he asks, when he comes up for air, lips swollen and slick.

The question is rhetorical.

"God... yes."

His smile stretches a little wider.

"Did you really think I forgot?"

"I... yes."

"I love you Blake Welling but you're an idiot sometimes."

I can't argue.

Most of my blood is below my waist, for one thing.

He takes my hand and pulls me into the living room.

There, he kisses me again, sucking my tongue like it's one of his strawberries.

"Lie down," he says, hands on my shoulders, pushing me to my knees.

I do as he says, lying back on the carpet.

He kneels over me.

I can't see what he's doing behind the drape of his apron but I feel it when he takes me in his hand and guides the head of my cock to his hole.

"Wait..." I gasp.

"Are you ready?"

He grins.

"That was a long ride you went on, babe. I'm more than ready and now it's my turn."

He throws his head back and impales himself on my length in a single, swift motion.

I can't breathe.

"Oh God... fuck," I gasp, struggling for air.

"That's the idea," he says, smirking.

He rides me, taking his own pleasure, slow and sensuous.

I see the red tip of his tongue against his lips and he gasps softly as he moves with me inside him.

Finally, I can't bear it anymore and he knows it.

He gives himself to me hard and fast.

A cry... tears itself from my lips... as I come and he thrusts down, taking me deep.

Slowly, he pulls off me, my softening shaft slicked with lube and my own spill.

His mouth finds mine once more.

"Happy birthday, you sick fuck," he says.

"Don't expect this every year."

~♡♡♡~ ~The End~ ~♡♡♡~

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ohblackdiamond · 1 year ago

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catch my drift (gene/vanity, very brief mentions of paul/gene) (nc-17)

Nikki hadn’t even cut a record yet when KISS was at its peak. Neither had Prince. She takes an idle lick of her cone, thinking about how Nikki had brushed Gene off last night. So fucking washed up, he’d said. But sitting here in the ice cream parlor, self-assured and comfortable, keen interest in his dark eyes, he doesn’t look washed up at all. During the filming of Never Too Young to Die, Gene and Vanity make a connection.

“catch my drift”

by Ruriruri

“That’s your outfit, huh?”

“That’s my outfit.”

Sitting down at the table in her trailer, looking through the movie promo pictures, Nikki seems like he’s seconds from salivating. Which is kind of cute, given how long he’s been on the groupie hunt. Rockstars start getting so burned out, wanting weirder and weirder kinks out of girls and even girlfriends. It’s charming that a shot of her in a cleavage-baring top can still eke something boyish out of him.

Admittedly, it’s pretty cute. White and kind of pirate-style, long, flowy sleeves, and a neckline that doesn’t leave much to the imagination. Totally impractical for the scene--she’s supposed to be riding a horse, then killing some of Ragnar’s goons--but that’s all right. The whole movie’s all about the eye candy, like any James Bond parody ought to be. If Never Too Young to Die does as well as The Last Dragon, well, she’ll be happy.

Nikki’d come over after the shoot was done for the day, like a good boyfriend. He’d been chasing her around off and on a couple years before they’d ever gotten together. She hadn’t minded, exactly; she just hadn’t been available. It had been sweet—compared to Prince and even Adam, he was so tall and lanky, like an overgrown, skinny puppy. Eventually, he’d managed to catch her between boyfriends and then they’d kind of fallen into it. They fooled around on each other, but they had a lot in common. They did the same drugs. They fought over the same stupid shit over and over again. They occasionally liked talking about getting married and having kids. They both ended up high off their asses onstage and passed out in trashed hotel rooms.

It was just one of those things. It’s still just one of those things. He might propose to her eventually. She might take him up on it.

“You should see what I’m wearing during the club scene with Gene.” They haven’t finished filming that one yet. She rummages through the pictures, finally finding it. It’s a blue gown with a thick trim of silver sequins down the v-neck front. The v-neck comes an inch shy of being all the way down to her navel. Needless to say, she’s not wearing a bra that entire scene.

Nikki’s properly impressed.

“Jesus. He must’ve hit on you as soon as you walked out of the dressing room.”

“Nah. But he looked like he wanted to.”

Nikki snorts.

“He’s so fucking washed up. Him and his princess knocked us off their tour a couple years back.”

Vanity doesn’t know who the princess is. Possibly the blonde that’s stopped by every so often. Sharon or—no, Shannon. She’s been in Playboy. But Shannon doesn’t quite strike her as the type to get involved in her man’s band.

“Why?”

“’Cause we were getting more out of the crowd. You think anybody but them wants to hear all that seventies shit?” Nikki shakes his head.

“That’s sad, Nikki. You should’ve felt sorry for them.”

“Nothing to feel sorry for. They had their time.” Nikki stretches and heads for the fridge, pulling out a couple bottles of beer.

“Had their time? What if someone says that about you in a couple years?”

Nikki just shrugs.

He stays a few hours. Just long enough for them both to get high and get off a few times; then, probably on half-remembered orders from Doc, he gets someone to drive him back. Vanity listens to the sound of the limo backing out as she tugs on her bathrobe, musing.

Not much afterglow these days, even with coke and booze. It’s not even like they fought any tonight, either; there’s just not a lot of satisfaction once it’s over, somehow. Going, going, gone. She feels a bit emptied out as the taillights fade off into the distance. A bit—a bit low. There’s no glitz left once the orgasm’s over, once the euphoria fades out. Just a weird, wasted feeling. Ten years ago, she wouldn’t have thought it was possible.

She’s about to go back to bed when she hears someone pull up. At first she thinks it’s Nikki again, in a sappy or horny mood, but when she walks over to the window, she realizes it’s not a limo. It’s just a car.

Vanity’s not coked-up enough to be stupid. She hurries to the trailer door, making sure it’s locked, then pushes a chair in front of it. But it turns out she doesn’t need to. The car engine shuts off; there’s a beep, and then, finally, someone steps out. She can’t tell who it is, with not much more but the lights inside to really go off of, but from the shape and size, it’s a man. He’s not heading for her trailer. He’s heading for Gene’s.

It’s none of her business, sure. Hollywood, the music industry, all of it, is crammed with gays and bisexuals and wannabes. It’s to the point she thought Prince was gay and just wanting a beard when he first came on to her—which, well, shows how much she knew. But it really is hard to tell. For every one guy that’s out in his own private circle, there are probably five or six that hire on their boyfriends as secretaries or get in touch with a male escort service every tour, thinking they’re being stealthy.

Gene doesn’t strike her as remotely gay, anyway. There’s that rep of his, of course, but his interactions seal the deal. He’s sent a good amount of come-ons her way during shootings and breaks for lunch and dinner. He’s even had the gall to hit on her while his girlfriend’s in tow, something Vanity would never have put up with out of Nikki. Gene’s always got that total ease, like he’s absolutely fine with being blown off. It’s something she appreciates, a guy who doesn’t expect anything and doesn’t take it personally, in a town where everyone takes it personally.

And she’s seen the way he looks at her, that approving want she’s gotten out of guys ever since she was a teenager. It’s so customary. She’d ignored it from him up until now. Gene’s smart, and a good conversationalist, but he hadn’t interested her before. He’s not exactly a traditionally attractive guy, and he’s got right at nine or ten years on her, but those things aren’t the real issue. As much as she hates to admit it, Nikki wasn’t wrong about him. KISS is getting too old for the game, and Gene’s using the movies to try to bow out entirely. And after dating Prince, all her own pickings are a downhill slope, anyway.

But now, Gene’s intriguing. There are only two reasons for any guy to be sneaking up to his trailer that late at night. One’s for drugs, and Gene’s so clean they don’t even offer him the wine list at restaurants. The other’s for a lay.

“Let’s go out, Gene.”

She says it casually, five minutes or so after they’ve wrapped for the evening. His eyes absolutely light up. He’s still in most of the Velvet garb, minus the gigantic headpiece and pink boas. A sparkle-encrusted, flesh-colored bodystocking, with studded leather cupping his breasts and outlining his whole body. Weird armor-like protrusions at the shoulders. And the crotch--shit, it’s all pure fetishwear. Then again, Gene’s definitely used to that.

“Where?”

He’s still got on most of the makeup from the shoot, too. Layers of pink and purple eyeshadow, sharp cheek contour, and matching lipstick. It gives an interesting cast to his broad, heavy features, manages to create some androgyny in a face that’s so decidedly masculine. The colors aren’t bad on his swarthy, tanned skin, either.

“Oh, I don’t know. You’ve lived here a couple years, yeah? I bet you know some great places.” Vanity smiles. “Don’t worry. Promise I’m a cheap date.”

“I don’t think a girl that goes by Vanity could ever be a cheap date.” He’s grinning right back. “How’s your Italian?”

“Worse than my Japanese.”

“Perfect.”

An hour later, he’s stripped off the makeup and costume,down to a pair of black leather pants and a casual-enough button-down, a good enough match for her cream-colored, ruffled blouse and jeans. He surprises her when he has his driver pull into an ice-cream parlor rather than a restaurant.

“This place serves some of the best gelato you can get on the West Coast,” he says, ushering her inside. “Sorbets aren’t too bad, either.”

“Don’t tell me you’re watching your figure, Gene.”

“That corset’s a pain in the ass,” he says lightly. “Pick what you’d like.”

She gets a scoop of pistachio in a cone. Gene gets a bowl with three scoops-- one vanilla, one chocolate, one hazelnut-- and starts in with an eagerness that’s a little cute. She’s sort of had it with the prissy types that act like they’ve always had money. It’s better to watch a man eat like he’s starved than watch him snivel and pick at his food like all the luckless models she used to know.

“How is it?” he asks, in between spoonfuls.

“It’s good. Really creamy.”

“Good.”

“You want a taste?”

“Wouldn’t turn it down,” he says, and she tilts the cone his way. That too-long tongue of his slips lizardlike against the gelato, swiping a bit, and then he snaps off a chunk of the cone between his teeth. It’s honestly a little fascinating. Maybe he’s not laying claim yet so much as seeing where she’s at, figuring out how to proceed. Or, maybe, three scoops of gelato just aren’t enough for him. He smiles. “Not quite Italy, but close.”

“I’ve never been to Italy.”

“Really?”

“Nah. I modeled in Japan for awhile, starting out. I was too short to do it in New York.” She grins back. “They’ve got pretty good ice cream there, I was surprised. They had this kind with green tea.”

“Matcha.”

“Yeah, that’s it.” She keeps going. “And weird flavors like wasabi… you’ve been over there, right?”

“We played the Budokan.”

“Right, yeah. You’ve been everywhere.” Mr. Rockstar. One of many. He’s just been at it longer than her guys. All her guys. Nikki hadn’t even cut a record yet when KISS was at its peak. Neither had Prince. She takes an idle lick of her cone, thinking about how Nikki had brushed Gene off last night. So fucking washed up, he’d said. But sitting here in the ice cream parlor, self-assured and comfortable, keen interest in his dark eyes, he doesn’t look washed up at all. “I’m just a simple Canadian girl over here. Got any favorite places?”

“Oh, the hell you are.” He laughs, and she can’t help but chuckle herself. “It’s a very cute shtick, but you’re no ingenue.”

“What was your first clue?”

“Your albums.”

“Yeah? Didn’t think they were your kind of music.”

“I keep tabs. I’ve got a few bands I produce myself.”

Oh. She didn’t know that. So he’s not just doing the singer-actor bit, like everybody from Frank Sinatra to Mick Jagger tried. He really is diversifying his portfolio, or whatever the expression is. Diversifying his portfolio, or trying to get the hell out of KISS.

“You never answered my question.” He’s already more than halfway done with his three scoops of gelato. How he’s managed to polish it off between staring at her, she’s not quite sure. On impulse, she offers her cone to him again, just to get a better look at that tongue. He laps the gelato in long, thick strokes, leaving her with maybe an inch of it remaining above the cone. “Do you have any favorite places?”

“They all start to look the same when you mostly see them from the tour bus.”

“Favorite girls?”

“That’d be telling, sweetheart.”

He’s not giving her a good opening. That’s okay. She’ll make one herself. She takes another lick of what little remains of her gelato, then nibbles around the cone. She’s not trying to be particularly sensual about it, but Gene’s gaze is locked on her anyway as she speaks.

“I saw someone come to your trailer last night. Who was it?”

He doesn’t hesitate. His gaze doesn’t drop from her face. In fact, he smiles.

“Paul Stanley.”

“Are you together?” It’s hard to picture. Or maybe not so hard at all. Paul’s pretty effeminate. It’d make a certain amount of sense, aesthetically and otherwise. Keeping it within the band would stymie any concerns about either one of them popping off to the press.

“No.” A pause. “There’s no commitment.”

“Just an itch, then?”

“An understanding.” Gene takes a large scoop of his own gelato, swallows. “Does it bother you?”

He sounds like he doesn’t give a shit whether it bothers her or not. She can respect that.

“No. It’s just interesting. I figured you were both only into women. Well, maybe not Paul, but…”

“Paul likes women almost as much as I do. He just can’t hold onto them.”

“Sounds like a lot of guys I know.”

“Would you like to meet him?” he says, ever so nonchalant. Something about his tone makes even that question sound like a come-on.

“I’ve met him already.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. My kid sister had his poster on her wall all through junior high.”

Gene just grins.

“Not mine?”

“Nah, you weren’t quite her taste. There’s a…” and she’s trailing for the right word all of a sudden, “a psychology to it, you know?”

“A psychology to taste? I’d never have imagined.” Thankfully, he doesn’t punctuate the sarcasm with a flick of his tongue. Vanity nudges his arm with her knuckles.

“A psychology to teenage girls’ taste. See, they’ve really got it in for the safe boy.”

“Paul’s only safe compared to a nuclear bomb.”

“Oh, yeah?” She quirks the side of her mouth up. “You know what I mean, right? They’ve gotta have them all packaged and shrink-wrapped. Sweet, sensitive, harmless. Takes awhile before they start growing up. Figure out Prince Charming isn’t composing poetry.”

“You’d know, Vanity.”

“I would.”

“But maybe he’s composing something a little more fun. A nasty limerick here, a dirty joke there--”

“A way into your pants there--”

“If it works, sure.” His dark eyes are glinting. He’s not handsome even when he’s amused, but there’s something there, something ineffable that goes a little past simple charm and charisma. He’s claimed it before, but she’s never seen it in action until now, the full force of intrigue aimed directly at her.

It’s not enough to knock her down, definitely not overwhelming. But it’s more than she’s expected.

“Don’t get too cocky,” she says, but she pokes the rest of the cone into his mouth.

They talk awhile longer. Not about the superficial crap. Not about the business. Not about Paul. She tells him about the T.V. shows she used to watch as a kid. Saturday Night at the Movies. The Wonderful World of Disney-- he remembers it as Walt Disney Presents and The Wonderful World of Color, but hell, it’s the same thing, really.

He gets a little bit endearing when he starts talking about the first shows he ever saw. Gunsmoke and Howdy Doody. He loves movies. He’ll watch just about anything, though he likes cartoons and horror.

“Aw, you’re just playing up to your image--”

“No, I’m not. I watched Dark Shadows every day after classes.”

“Everybody watched Dark Shadows. You’ve got to give me something better than that.”

“Carolyn Jones may well be my only true love.”

“Now, now, don’t get dirty with Morticia. I’m not letting you off that easy.”

“I’d never want you to.” Gene kind of grins. “What proof do you want? Give me a year and I’ll name you at least one horror movie.”

“Is that how you get all the girls, Gene? A hot game of Trivial Pursuit?”

“Only a certain variety of girls.”

“Trekkies?”

“They find me endearing. C’mon, give me a year.”

She purses her lips, pretending to give it a serious amount of thought. It’s so nerdy of him. He’ll probably be showing her his comic book collection next. And yet he’s so incredibly cocksure and confident about it that she could almost, almost–

Almost what? Buy it? No, she can’t buy it. Gene’s more fascinating than she’d ever counted on, but she can’t buy it. Intrigued, aroused, but anything past that, hell. She was never a groupie; the guys all came to her. She doesn’t have it in her to fall hard for anyone, least of all a middle-aged, bisexual rockstar with a potbelly.

Gene’s brown eyes are on hers, waiting. Oh. She still needs to give him a year.

“’31.”

“Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, with Fredric March. And Dracula, of course.”

‘I vant to suck your blood’... please, Gene.”

“If you’re offering.” Gene’s hand finds its way to her wrist, lifting it as he bends his head down. Her fingers twitch when he opens his mouth, showing slightly-yellow teeth and a handful of fillings–and then his jaw snaps shut on nothing at all.

“No follow through?”

An exaggeratedly chivalrous kiss on her wrist. One that really shouldn’t make her feel warm.

“Lon Chaney was always more my scene. Charles Laughton, too.”

“Wasn’t he… he was the fat guy in Spartacus, right?”

“Good girl. And Quasimodo in The Hunchback of Notre Dame. Chaney played him, too, but I like Laughton’s performance more. The part where he watches Esmerelda get carried away by Captain Phoebus…”

“You pitied him.”

“I was him.” He’s still touching her, his hand warm and heavy around her wrist. “Quasimodo’s every fat teenage boy that ever lived.”

“And now? Are you still him?”

“I’ve got a real nice bell tower these days.”

“I bet you want me to see it. This is how it starts, right? Gelato and a limo ride, and then you take me to your trailer and I end up with rugburn.”

“And you claimed you were a simple Canadian girl.”

“You were right not to believe me.” She tugs her hand away, tapping his wrist lightly. “So let’s see. Go on, take me to your trailer.”

His grin could have lit up half of Hollywood as they head out of the ice cream shop, arm in arm, like kids playing house.

–

The inside of his on-location trailer is messy. Promos and flyers and magazines (some filthy, others are just standards like Variety and Time). Candy wrappers and Coke bottles in wastebaskets and on the floor. The bedroom’s occupied mostly by the bed and partially by a T.V. But Gene gestures around like it’s a castle.

“My bell tower.”

“I thought you were gonna have to unzip for that,” she says, and he laughs hard. She takes off her boots and perches on the bed. There’s the vague whiff of a man’s cologne, one she’d never noticed on Gene, but there’s no other obvious signs that anyone else, man or woman, has been in here.

It’s just that she wonders, is all. She wonders, and he’s fun. Still worth a little fooling around with. She stretches a bit and starts to unbutton her blouse.

“You’ve had them all, haven’t you?”

It’s not meant as a come-on. Well, not completely. Gene’s found his way behind her on the bed, his hand pushing her hair back just so he can mouth at her neck. His lips are warm, just as warm as they’d been on her wrist.

“You’ve never had them all.”

“You’ve– I mean there’s nothing new for you. You’ve seen everything. You’ve done everything.” Two more buttons and she’s free of her blouse. One elastic snap and he’s freed her from her bra, too. Her pulse speeds suddenly as she turns to kiss him. “You get it, don’t you? Don’t you? What’s left, Gene?”

“You’ve never done everything. No matter what, you can’t afford to ever think like that.” His face clouds just a little, but not enough to overwhelm the want in his expression. “If you do, it’ll kill you.”

Already she’s amazed he can even summon that much brainpower. His dick’s hard and straining through those leather pants already. But he keeps on going, heedless, for now, of his own need, eyes so intent on hers she feels like both their visions have telescoped into only each other.

“You have to keep believing there’s something out of reach. Something else you can try for.”

“Another thrill.”

“Not your thrills.” Gene’s fingers slip to the button and zipper of her jeans. The thin, lacey panties aren’t much of a barrier against the intent rhythm of his hand. “Mine.”

She tries to respond, but she’s already bucking, and a little wet, as his fingers press just-so against her folds. Another kiss and somehow now she’s found herself hoisted onto his lap, wriggling helplessly as his fingers slide beneath her underwear. She’s trying not to cry out too much, trying to play it collected and cool and easy, but a few small moans escape her anyway.

His fingers are broad, practiced. He eases an orgasm out of her like a guitar solo, right there on his lap, leaving her grunting and open, rubbing against his hand to try and tease another crescendo, suddenly greedy. He unzips after that, finally, shoving his pants and briefs down in one motion, leaving them around his thighs. Sloppy. The product, probably, of over ten years on the road. She doesn’t give a damn at all once he starts to thrust.

Overcome, that’s it. She’s overcome. She doesn’t know how that could possibly be. His mouth on hers, his body against hers, pressing her into the mattress. Nothing new about any of the motions, the thrusts that go from rhythmic to erratic as they both get closer and closer, the heaviness of their breaths, the slickness of their bodies. The only thing new is him.

–

They lay together awhile after. Vanity stares up at the low ceiling of the trailer bedroom. Gene’s got an arm self-assuredly around her bare shoulders. He doesn’t move when she sits up.

“I should get back.”

“Later. Shower with me.” Gene looks like he has no intention of getting out of bed anytime in the near future.

“Bathroom’s too small,” she says, grinning. “I guess that’s the point.”

His hand’s tracing absentmindedly down to her bare breast. She pushes it away, sitting up and swinging her legs off the side of the bed.

“I really gotta go, Gene.” Nikki’s too laughable an excuse to bother with, and the truth’s too complex to bother putting to words. She likes to think he understands.

“All right. You know where to find me.”

She steps back into her clothes, eying him carefully, just off to her side. Not too much lasciviousness right now, just a little, and something else she thinks she recognizes.

“Vanity–”

“Denise,” she slips out suddenly. “It’s Denise.”

“Denise.” The corner of his mouth lifts up. “Denise, you’re a beautiful girl. But Hollywood, music, it’s rotten. It’s a cesspool. You’ll never find what you’re looking for here.”

“I know.”

“Find what you really want and hold onto it.” Urgent, strangely urgent. Doting. He’s sitting up, tugging up and zipping his pants as he speaks. “The paint always flakes off. The highs go to shit. I’ve seen it a million times. Don’t destroy yourself over something cheap.”

Sex and a sermon. But he’s so focused, so sincere that she nods, in acknowledgment, if not agreement.

“I’ll see you on the set, Quasimodo.”

“Goodbye, Esmeralda.”

He walks her out, takes her all the way to her own trailer, like the gentlemen he isn’t. Kisses her before she steps inside, and a part of her wants to let him in, even then. But she goes in alone, strips and showers, the water droplets insistent against her skin.

Twenty-seven to his thirty-seven. Up and coming to his washed-up. And yet it’s Gene with the vibrance and the zest for life. And yet, somehow, it’s Gene that understands.

(there’s something out of reach)

(something you can try for)

Just once, she’d like to believe that. Just once.

#kiss the band #gene simmons #vanity #kiss fanfiction

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shoresent · 2 months ago

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WHEN I'M GONE, CAST THE BRONZE OF THE BUST OF MY HEAD TO BE DISPLAYED IN THE LIBRARY ! ENGRAVE THAT I GAVE MY CONSENT TO BE ANYTHING THAT ANYONE PREFER I BE !

a tale written by REN ( he/they, 24 ). wuthering waves multimuse ft zhezhi. features darker themes as told by companion storylines & the game itself. currently in the middle of a revamp, & looking for some new moots!

art credit.

#wuwa roleplay #wuwa rp #wuthering waves roleplay #wuthering waves rp #hsr rp #hsr roleplay #honkai rp #honkai roleplay #honkai star rail rp #honkai star rail roleplay #* self promo ─ take a shot in the dark.

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morganaspendragonss · 2 years ago

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fic rec friday fun!

thank you @reyesstrand for the tag! it's very much not friday but fuck it we're doing this anyway

so wanted to get some hiatus rec lists going and encourage some self promo in my friends so how about sharing your top fics no matter how big or small — give us the links to your wonderful words with the most hits/most kudos/most comments/most bookmarks/most words/least words.

much like maddie, i'm going to be excluding one-shot compilations from this. i'll also limit this to strictly lone star fics

most hits: tick-tock goes the clock - 2.06 minefield canon divergence

most kudos: fall apart when it hurts too much - post-2.12 coda

most comments: it would be a collection but as i'm excluding them it's quédate un segundo más - tk cancer fic

most bookmarks: will you take my hand? - tarlos 3.04 coda/fix-it

most words: technically it's the minefield fic and then a fic of which i only wrote the epilogue, then it's i see darkness where you see light - an acid attack renders tk permanently blind

least words: nightmare - carlos has a nightmare. that's it, that's the fic.

not going to tag anyone specific seeing as we're well into saturday but if you see this and want to take part then consider yourself tagged!

#tag game #writing stuff #911 lone star

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celestias-selfships · 1 year ago

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Promo

The old Anastasia can’t come to the phone right now.

Why?

Oh, cause she’s dead!

Hi, I'm Anastasia, I'm 19, and I love selfshipping. I left the community and kept this blog for a while because I was not mentally ok and I was healing. I wanna be here and make friends here. I don't care about politics. I don't care what views you hold, I just wanna make friends. I'm a huge Swiftie. I'm down to share F/Os, if you don't want to and you don't want me to interact, let me know. If you have rules for people who have the same f/os, let me know and I'll follow them and tag.

turbulent INTJ, Hufflepuff (not supporting JKR, just liking the vibes of the hufflepuff common room and the double entendre), Reputation stan, harbinger of chaos, princess

Favorite artists: The Doors, Taylor Swift, Palaye Royale, Elle Lexxa, Siouxie and the Banshees, The Cure, Nine Inch Nails

Self insert: Celestia, an ex disney actress turned popstar.

tag: #I'll be the actress staring in your bad dreams

Celestia's wiki

F/O list with tags (in case we share, you can filter those tags if you want) and statuses (if no status, assume we're still dating)

Geralt of Rivia (not Liam Hemsworth, married, The Witcher) #linked by destiny

Alucard (Hellsing) #Hells Bells

Jareth (Labyrinth) #dance on fire as it intends

Damon Salvatore (weird on/off again fling, The Vampire Diaries) #maybe we got lost in translation

Enzo St. John (The Vampire Diaries) #with every guitar string scar on my hand

Elijah Mikaelson (The Originals) #never let me go

The Darkling/Alexsander Morova (Shadow and Bone) #Moonlit Drive

Dean Winchester (Supernatural) #november flush and your flannel cure

John Reese (Person Of Interest) #my knight in shining armor

Silco (Arcane) #we got the love in automatic

Viktor (Arcane #Gold Rush

Malcolm Bright #brighten up my life

Leon Scott Kennedy (Resident Evil) #whiskey on ice sunset and vine

Reno Sinclair (Final Fantasy 7) #aint it funny

Ferid Bathory (Seraph of the End) #nocturnal serenade

Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer on Netflix) #Don't blame me

Daryl Dixon (The Walking Dead) #the archer

Astarion (Baldur's gate III) #i was enchanted to meet you

Undertaker (Black Butler) #angel of small death and the codeine scene

Sebastian Michaelis (Black Butler) #carnations you had thought were roses

Connor (Detroit Become Human) #Can we always be this close

Karl Heisenberg (Resident Evil Village) #a shot in the darkest dark

Killian Jones (Once Upon A Time) #today was a fairytale

Spencer Reid (Criminal Minds) #is it cool that I said all that

Robert Montague Renfield (Renfield) #a love for the ages

Blade (Honkai Star Rail) #love the void

Patrick Jane (The Mentalist) #crazy = genius

August Ruthven (The Case Study of Vanitas) #red are the arms of luxuriant chairs and you won't know a thing until you get inside

Noe (The Case Study of Vanitas) #good old fashioned lover boy

Vanitas (The Case Study of Vanitas) #mr doctor man

Dwayne (the Lost Boys) #wait for the signal and I'll meet you after dark

Jerry (2011 Fright Night) #take the highway to the end of the night

Kaeya Alberich (Genshin Impact) #like snow on the beach

Tartaglia/Childe (Genshin Impact) #Ocean blue eyes looking in mine Alhaitham (Genshin Impact) #life was a willow and it bent right to your wind

@canongf Hi, I'm the anon who is returning after a bit. thank you for letting me tag you!

youtube

#selfshipping #selfship community #selfshipping community #selfship promo #selfshipping promo

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newyorkkiss · 14 days ago

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have to admit that i think part of why sneaks failed has to be because it has no single material. none. car radio was the only song elektra tried to push and failed because it actually isn't single material at all. if you heard that at random at that time you'd be like wtf. it's short, it's kind of a mess and has no real single qualities whatsoever. the fact its so short was literally a hindrance at the time – like there's that version that has been dragged out to 2 minutes just for single marketing and even that didn't save it and it is kind of strange in the first place. like the track never made it past fucking promo. they just gave up. they knew they couldn't market that shit and gave up on them. shut them out and left them to rot in the winter, basically. you couldn't even try and market any song from that album, there's nothing there. i'm not even dissing the album let me be clear bc i love sneaks but nothing on it has that commercial pull that they needed. like they just needed one "Normie" song and MAYBE they could have had a shot at making it work a bit. it's interesting to note that they pulled up to them w this already done, elektra didn't pay them to record anything iirc – something that has always been the case for them btw they take no money to record they self fund entirely – so they had like no label interference that could have pushed them to make something actually marketable. they had to work with what they provided them which was a great but non-commercially workable album. i think britt may have lowkey got that note because they started making actual marketable music straight after before trashing that for transference then realizing he'd kind of made the mistake again somewhat which might be a factor in his hatred of it but what do i know. i'm just saying things. and think about that though part of why it's alleged – as i have not seen any evidence suggesting as such – transference was a step down from ga ga ga ga ga is because there was no real palatable tracks on it... at least ga ga ga ga ga has cherry bomb and underdog as like these Pop Epics. transference has none of that. it really is that dark bedroom album as it has always been self described. sneaks kind of feels like that too. something to consider.

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laurafaritos · 20 days ago

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HDMS018. Not Just Funny—Profitable: How I'm Learning To Apply the Marketing Funnel to Comedy Shows

Listen, I am not a marketing expert. I’m a comedian who, until recently, thought “marketing” meant slapping a show flyer on Instagram, posting it on my story a couple of times, and hoping for the best. And if that didn’t work? Well… guess my friends didn’t love me enough!

For years, I ran shows that were objectively great—strong concepts, talented comedians, fun lineups. And yet, my audience was usually just other comedians, my friends, and whatever couple accidentally walked into the venue that night. I tried word of mouth, organic social media, and sheer blind optimism. But nothing worked consistently. Sometimes I broke even. More often, I lost money. And I had no idea why.

Then I started a Harvard Digital Marketing Strategy course, and I felt my brain rewiring. Marketing is a system, not a shot in the dark. There’s a structure to it. And more importantly, most comedians struggle to sell out shows because we are skipping steps. We promote, but we don’t market. We assume "putting it out there" is enough. And when people don’t show up, we blame everything except the fact that we never actually gave them a reason to care.

Nobody teaches us this. Not comedy schools. Not media programs. Not even “the industry.” But if comedians actually understood how audiences decide to buy tickets, we wouldn’t have to rely on clubs, bookers, or external gatekeepers. We could take control of our own careers.

So let’s break down the three stages every audience member goes through before they buy a ticket—Awareness, Consideration, and Conversion. If you’re only focusing on “getting the word out” (like I did for years), that’s exactly why you’re struggling to fill seats.

I. HARVARD RECAP: THE MARKETING FUNNEL & WHY IT MATTERS

Alright, let’s break this down like I just smuggled Harvard Business School notes straight to you. (Because, in a way, I did.)

A marketing funnel is a three-stage roadmap that explains how people go from “Oh, what’s this?” to “Take my money.” Every single person who buys something—whether it’s a pair of shoes or a ticket to your comedy show—goes through these psychological steps: Awareness, Consideration, and Conversion.

Most comedians (my past self included) completely ignore this. We assume that if we post a show flyer, people will magically buy tickets. The reality? Audiences move through these stages, and if you skip one, you’re just throwing spaghetti at the wall, hoping it sticks.

Stage 1: Awareness (Getting on Their Radar)

The first hurdle is simple: people can’t buy from you if they don’t know you exist. For brands, this means investing in ads, press coverage, influencer marketing, and viral content. For comedians, this means making sure people actually see your promo material before the day of the show.

Harvard explains that there are two types of brand awareness:

Unaided Awareness – When people can name your brand without being prompted. (Example: If I ask you to name a sneaker brand and you immediately say “Nike.”)

Aided Awareness – When someone recognizes your brand only after being reminded. (Example: If I show you a list and you go, “Oh yeah, I’ve heard of OOFOS.”)

Big brands like Nike don’t have to worry about Awareness. Small brands—and comedians—do. This means investing in the right places so more people hear about your show before it happens.

Stage 2: Consideration (Why Should They Care?)

Here’s where most of us screw up.

Just because someone knows about your show doesn’t mean they care about it. Consideration is where audiences weigh their options. They’re asking, “Do I really want to go to this? Why should I pick this over other plans?”

In the Harvard case study, OOFOS struggled because runners didn’t immediately see why they needed "recovery footwear." Just knowing OOFOS existed wasn’t enough—they had to be convinced it was worth their money. Similarly, comedians need to give people a reason to care.

If you post a flyer that just says “Comedy Show – 8 PM”, that’s weak Consideration strategy because it doesn’t tell anyone why your show is different. But if you post, “You love dark humor? My show mixes stand-up with paranormal stories. Here’s a clip of the last one where the audience lost their minds.”—that’s strong Consideration strategy because it taps into your audience’s specific interests.

At this stage, you need to sell the experience and differentiate yourself. Why should people come to your show instead of watching Netflix at home?

Stage 3: Conversion (Closing the Sale)

This is where money is made—or lost.

By the time someone gets to Conversion, they already know about you (Awareness) and they’ve considered their options (Consideration). Now, they’re standing at the door of your comedy show wondering if they should actually buy the ticket.

At this stage, your job is to remove friction and give them a final nudge. This is why businesses use one-click checkout, discount codes, and “only X tickets left” tactics. People hesitate before spending money, so the easier and more urgent you make it, the more likely they are to buy.

For OOFOS, their problem was that people interested in their shoes weren’t always buying. The fix?

Stronger messaging on why their product was unique

Targeted search ads to hit people right when they were actively looking to buy

Email marketing to re-engage people who visited their site but didn’t purchase

For comedians, conversion problems look like this:

People liking your promo posts but not actually buying tickets.

People saying they’re coming but bailing last minute.

People watching your stand-up clips but never showing up IRL.

The solutions?

A direct ticket link in every promo post (remove friction).

Limited-time discounts for early buyers.

Personal DMs to past attendees (retention marketing).

The more you make it easy and urgent to buy, the higher your ticket sales will be.

Why Most Comedians Fail at This

Most comedians don’t sell out shows not because they aren’t funny, but because they skip steps.

They assume Awareness = ticket sales. (Just because someone saw your flyer doesn’t mean they’re coming.)

They don’t nurture Consideration. (You need to convince them why your show is worth their time & money.)

They don’t optimize Conversion. (If you’re not making it EASY & URGENT to buy, you’re losing potential ticket buyers.)

Big companies have entire teams for this. As self-employed comedians, we are the marketing team, production team, and talent. That means we have to work smarter, not harder.

TL;DR Recap:

The Marketing Funnel is Awareness → Consideration → Conversion.

Skipping steps = struggling to sell.

If you want to sell out, you need strategies for all three stages.

If you think, “but I’m just a comedian, not a businessperson”—guess what? If you’re self-employed, you’re running a business.

Now, let me show you how I failed at every single one of these before finally getting my first (almost) sold-out show.

II. MY COMEDY SHOW GRAVEYARD: HOW I FAILED AT EVERY STAGE OF THE FUNNEL

If I had known about the marketing funnel earlier, I could have saved myself from years of failed shows. But hey—what is comedy if not turning your own disasters into something useful? I want to walk you through three key failures that showcase exactly how I ignored Awareness, Consideration, and Conversion in my early comedy shows. Spoiler: I was out here learning the hard way.

FAILURE #1: The Disaster Show (2017) – No Awareness, No Money, No Plan

The Disaster Show was my first attempt at running a comedy production, and I went into it with all the confidence of someone who had never heard the term "marketing strategy" in her life. I relied entirely on my classmates and comedian friends to fill the room, assuming that word-of-mouth and personal invitations would be enough. I put up a couple of posts on Facebook, told a few people, and hoped for the best.

What I did not do was create awareness beyond my immediate circle. There was no social media campaign, no email outreach, no strategic partnerships with other communities—just me assuming people would show up because the show existed. The result? A half-empty room, no new audience members, and no revenue.

It was a pay-what-you-can show, and the most I made in two editions was enough to give each comic $10. I made nothing for myself. Worse, I had no way to keep in touch with the few audience members who did come. No email list. No retention strategy. Just me, starting from scratch every single time.

FAILURE #2: Good Vampire Morning (2019) – Great Idea, No Consideration Strategy

By 2019, I had leveled up—I now had a unique and exciting show concept: Good Vampire Morning, a variety show where comedians had to perform in a vampiric accent. I thought the concept alone would carry me to success. I was wrong.

I made the classic mistake of assuming a cool idea was enough. I assumed people would see the show flyer, think it was fun, and automatically want to come. I did not think about my target audience, the competitive landscape, or the fact that people need a reason to buy beyond just "this looks cool."

The result? Two shows with nearly no audience. The lineup was killer. The performances were hilarious. And yet? I was performing to four of my friends, two comedians who weren’t booked, the bar DJ, and a confused walk-in couple. I failed to give people a reason to choose this show over any other way they could spend their evening.

I didn't build engagement. I didn’t offer any exclusivity, discounts, or compelling reasons to attend now instead of later (spoiler: there was no later). I didn't even reach out to niche communities—no horror fans, no goth groups, no vampire-loving weirdos like myself. I skipped the Consideration stage entirely, and the result was a completely empty room.

FAILURE #3: Haunted Comedians (2021) – The Conversion Catastrophe

At this point, I should have learned my lesson. Instead, I made a whole new set of mistakes.

The first time I tried to run Haunted Comedians, I intended for it to be a live show—but when I struggled to sell tickets, I panicked and pivoted. Instead of focusing on ticket sales, I reframed the event as a recording day, assuming that if I just got comedians together to film, I could at least create some content.

This was a huge mistake. Instead of doubling down on my marketing and actually driving conversions, I gave up on selling tickets altogether. I assumed that I could salvage the event by recording it. What I didn’t consider was that recordings only work if the production is solid.

The venue had originally agreed to let me use the space under the assumption that I could bring in at least 15-25 audience members. When I showed up with five, it was humiliating. They never wanted to work with me again. Worse? Our recording equipment failed halfway through the interviews, and we didn’t even notice. Half the footage was unusable. I walked away with no audience, no content, and another financial loss because I had to pay the comedians out of pocket.

I failed at the conversion stage. Even the people who had expressed interest never made it to actually purchasing a ticket because I never followed up, never created urgency, and never made buying tickets as easy and frictionless as possible.

THE TURNAROUND: HAUNTED COMEDIANS 2025

Fast forward to January 31, 2025—my first real success.

Was it perfect? No. Did it sell out? Not quite—80% sold. But compared to my track record, this was a HUGE win.

What changed? I used actual marketing strategies—consistent promotion, a clear value proposition, and targeted outreach. I made sure to capture audience emails for future retention. I created an experience, not just a comedy show, but a unique event that was worth talking about.

This show proved to me that marketing isn’t about luck—it’s about strategy. Now, my next step is making sure I build on this momentum and retain my audience. Because a one-time success isn’t enough—I need to turn first-time attendees into repeat customers.

III. WHAT I’M DOING DIFFERENTLY NOW: APPLYING THE FUNNEL TO MY COMEDY BUSINESS

So, what’s changed? Why did Haunted Comedians 2025 succeed when all my other shows flopped? The answer is simple: I finally started treating my comedy like a business.

This means I’m no longer relying on hope, good vibes, and a cool concept to sell tickets. I’m actually applying the marketing funnel to make sure my audience moves through each stage—from Awareness to Consideration to Conversion.

Here’s how:

1. Awareness: Making Sure People Actually Know My Show Exists

Before, I relied on posting a flyer and hoping for the best. Now, I take an intentional, multi-platform approach to brand awareness:

Consistent social media presence: Not just “promo posts,” but engaging content—clips, behind-the-scenes footage, audience testimonials, and memes related to my show’s themes.

Collaborations & cross-promotions: Partnering with other comedians, podcasters, and local businesses to tap into their audiences.

Press & niche communities: Reaching out to bloggers, newsletters, and community groups that align with my show’s themes (horror fans for Haunted Comedians, relationship bloggers for Failed By Sex Ed).

SEO & searchability: Making sure my show’s event page is optimized with keywords so it actually shows up when people search for comedy in Toronto.

2. Consideration: Giving People a Reason to Choose MY Show

People don’t just buy comedy tickets—they buy experiences. Instead of assuming that people will just “get” what makes my shows special, I’m actively showing them why my events are worth attending.

Clear branding & messaging: Every post, email, and promo reinforces what my show is about and why it’s different from generic stand-up nights.

Building anticipation: Instead of just announcing the lineup, I introduce the comics one by one, tease special moments, and create a sense of exclusivity.

Testimonials & social proof: Sharing audience reactions, post-show highlights, and feedback to build credibility and FOMO.

Storytelling: I don’t just say “Come to my show!”—I tell stories about the chaos, the comedians, the wild moments, making people feel like they’d be missing out if they don’t attend.

3. Conversion: Making It EASY for People to Buy Tickets

This is where I failed the hardest before—I’d get people interested, but they’d never actually make it to the purchase. Now, I’m making ticket sales frictionless:

Clear, frequent calls-to-action (CTAs): Every piece of content has a next step—“Get your ticket now,” “DM me for the link,” “Join the email list for early access.”

Urgency & scarcity: I highlight when tickets are selling fast and create limited-time offers. (Example: “Only 10 tickets left at early-bird pricing!”)

Email marketing & retargeting: Instead of relying on Instagram’s algorithm, I’m actually collecting emails so I can remind people to buy tickets.

Partnerships for added incentives: Offering free drinks, discounts, or giveaways through venue partnerships to make ticket purchases more attractive.

WHAT’S NEXT? KEEPING THE MOMENTUM GOING

I finally have proof that marketing works, but this is just the beginning. My next priority? Retention. Keeping track of my audience, building relationships, and turning one-time ticket buyers into repeat attendees and superfans.

I’ll be setting up a real email list, creating more content between shows, and making sure my marketing doesn’t just start two weeks before the event—it’s ongoing. Because at the end of the day, a sold-out show isn’t luck. It’s strategy.

V. THE AUDHD ANGLE: HOW I’M BUILDING A SYSTEM THAT WORKS FOR MY BRAIN, NOT AGAINST IT

Let’s be real—I didn’t struggle with marketing my shows just because I didn’t know the strategy. I struggled because traditional marketing approaches are built for neurotypical brains that can handle structure, discipline, and long-term consistency without a meltdown. That’s not me.

For years, I thought my inability to stick to a long-term marketing plan was a personal failing. That I just needed to “try harder” or “be more organized.” But newsflash: I have AuDHD. My brain doesn’t function the way business books tell me it should. And instead of fighting against it, I’m finally building a system that works with my brain.

1. Making Marketing Work for My Dopamine-Seeking Brain

Reframing marketing as content creation: Instead of treating promo as a chore, I frame it as “making funny or interesting content” because that is something I actually enjoy doing.

Batching & automation: If I try to post daily, I’ll fail. If I dedicate one hyperfocus day to scheduling a month’s worth of posts? That works.

Gamifying the process: I track ticket sales like a video game, celebrate every small win, and make it fun instead of overwhelming.

Micro-wins instead of massive tasks: “Write one social post” is manageable. “Build a 3-month marketing plan” is instant executive dysfunction. So I break it down into dopamine-friendly steps.

2. Beating Executive Dysfunction by Using My Strengths

Interest-based motivation over discipline: If I don’t find a way to make it interesting, I won’t do it. So I inject humor, storytelling, and creativity into everything.

Body-doubling & external accountability: Instead of struggling alone, I set deadlines with friends, co-work on marketing with other comedians, or even use public accountability like “If I don’t post about my show by 3 PM, roast me.”

Templates & structured flexibility: I use marketing templates so I don’t have to reinvent the wheel every time—but I also leave room for last-minute impulsive creativity because I know that’s how I work best.

3. Preventing Burnout by Pacing Myself (Instead of Going All-In and Then Crashing)

Building in rest & recovery: I no longer overextend myself with unrealistic expectations. I plan around my energy levels.

Working with my hyperfocus, not against it: If I feel a sudden surge of productivity, I lean in and create as much as I can. If I’m in a slump, I don’t force it—I work with what I already prepared.

Prepping for future-me: I leave breadcrumbs for my future self—easy-to-edit templates, clear next steps, reminders that make it easier to pick up where I left off when my motivation inevitably fluctuates.

VI. BUILDING A SYSTEM THAT SUSTAINS ME LONG-TERM

For the longest time, I thought my inability to “just be consistent” with marketing was a personal failure. I saw comedians around me grinding, posting non-stop, and selling out rooms, while I struggled to even remember to promote my shows until the week before. I assumed the answer was discipline. Structure. Forcing myself to stick to a rigid, long-term marketing plan like a real businessperson.

But that’s not how my brain works.

Now, after spending over 60+ hours studying this Harvard course and applying what I’ve learned, I see marketing differently. It’s not about willpower—it’s about building a system that works with my neurodivergence instead of against it.

What does that mean in practice?

Marketing = Content Creation. I’m reframing show promotion as a creative process, not a boring task I “have” to do.

Batching & Automation = My Lifeline. I build my promo in hyperfocus bursts, so I don’t have to rely on daily motivation.

Templates & Systems = Future-Me’s Best Friend. I create reusable marketing materials that make it easier every time.

Momentum > Perfection. I’d rather be consistently imperfect than perfectly inconsistent.

This shift in thinking is the reason Haunted Comedians (Jan 31) was 80% sold out, while past shows barely broke even. It’s the reason I’m finally tracking my audience, building a real marketing funnel, and making decisions like a business owner, not just an artist.

And the best part? This is just the beginning.

I can’t wait to see what happens when I apply this system to all my comedy shows in 2025. If this is what I’m learning from just two modules of this course, I can’t imagine how much my strategy—and my career—will evolve by the end of it.

So if you’re a comedian reading this, wondering if you’ll ever figure out how to market yourself, just know that I’m figuring it out in real-time too. And if you stick around, I’ll share everything I learn along the way.

VII. FINAL THOUGHTS

Aaaaaaaaaaaand that was the post! You made it to the end!

If you’ve made it this far, congrats—you now know more about marketing than 90% of comedians running shows right now. (Seriously. Most of us are out here hoping for the best and praying our friends show up.)

I’m documenting everything I learn from this Harvard course in real time and applying it to my own comedy career. If you want to:

Follow the full journey of me trying to crack the code on selling out shows,

Steal my marketing strategies without having to take a Harvard class,

See if I actually succeed or fail spectacularly,

Then stick around.

Tchau, tchau!!!

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snowbellewells · 2 years ago

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Self Promo Sunday: “Father Figure”

This week’s little one shot is chosen in honor of Father’s Day, and the sweet surrogate father-son relationship that developed between Killian and Henry as the show went on. It was originally written in late season six, around the time of the CS wedding, and so is meant to be fairly canon compliant, more of a missing moment sort of fic. There are some elements that diverge, but most it’s just something I envisioned having happened that we didn’t get to see. I hope you will enjoy - now with cover art!

Also available on AO3 or ff.net as part of my one shots collection “Of Swans and Swords and Hopeful Hearts”

by: @snowbellewells

The morning of the wedding had begun in a troubling wet, dreary grey of rain drizzle, but by mid-afternoon the clouds had slowly parted and sunlight was peeking through their wispy, tattered remnants with gaining strength. Killian Jones had stood for some time, uncaring if he got a bit wet, staring over the water from the side of the Jolly, hoping deep in his heart of hearts that they would not have to change the venue for their nuptials. He would of course rather that than see the occasion dampened or have to postpone it even a day longer, but he had truly hoped to pledge his troth to his True Love while standing on the sturdy boards of his previous truest love; the old girl who had been his home and companion for centuries.

Once the day began to dry, Killian had gone below to his cabin and started getting dressed. The dark suit with its soft, well-made material felt transformative against his skin, whispering as it brushed across his flesh that today was infinitely special. Today began the rest of his life – the happiest and best part. And in a town where magic was all around at most given moments, that this day would still have a magic all its own was truly saying something. Emma Swan – the Princess of Misthaven, the Savior – loved him, and today she would promise to spend the rest of her life with him, as he would her. As he shrugged into the waistcoat over the button up dress shirt, and deftly did its fastenings one-handed as well, Killian caught a glimpse of himself looking conspicuously misty-eyed in the reflection of the looking glass in the corner. It was true that is some ways, ever since Neverland – no, perhaps even since Lake Nostos and the beanstalk – he had been pledging himself to Emma every day; still, the culmination of his deepest wish seemed more than he could possibly deserve.

He was interrupted then from his preparations and reverie by a quiet knock on the cabin door. Just as well, Killian thought wryly, eying the bow tie laid out with the suit jacket on his bunk. There had been little chance he would be able to secure said article – he’d never even worn one before – without someone’s help, and now such aid was presenting itself.

His heart warmed, smile deepening when the voice that called his name proved to be Henry, asking if he could come in. “Aye,” Killian answered Swan’s boy affectionately, waving him forward when the teen’s face appeared around the edge of the sturdy wood. “Come in. I’m always glad to have you aboard, Lad, you know that.”

Henry nodded, but cleared his throat nervously and looked more than a bit uneasy as he shuffled his feet forward into the room.

Killian was momentarily concerned at the young man’s bearing – surely if something were wrong, if something had happened to Emma, he would know; he would feel it. There had been nothing from their fae nemesis this day, and he had hoped to have this one occasion without fight or interruption, but he wouldn’t put it past the malicious Stiltskin matriarch to make her presence known even now. He was halfway across his cabin to the bracket under the window where he had carefully stowed his sword, ready to take it up again in service of his Swan, when Henry finally spoke.

As he did, and as Killian turned to listen to the young man about to officially become his stepson, Killian noticed for the first time that the Author also carried a book in his hand. It was not his usual storybook, the huge brown leather bound one bearing all their past tales in the Enchanted Forest, but a smaller black one the pirate had never seen before.

“Killian,” Henry started again, voice still soft and somewhat hesitant as he moved closer, finally coming to stand face-to-face with the man who had become supporter, confidante and sometime partner-in-crime to him – in some ways, the most constant father figure he’d known. He held his hand out, with the handsome new book in it, offering it to Killian. “In this realm, they sometimes give the guy getting married something. It’s called a groom’s gift. So… anyway… I just wanted to give you this,” he offered, meeting Killian’s eyes fleetingly and then dropping his gaze again with a sheepish flush to his cheeks. “It’s not much really… but I… I wanted you to have it. It’s our story.”

The pirate’s eyes shot up to Henry’s, awed emotion flowing through him and having to see into the face of this extraordinary young man he loved as his very own to make sure he was really hearing what he thought. “Truly?” he finally choked out, arching an eyebrow despite himself, his voice low and rougher than normal, but struck deeply by the gesture that Henry was making.

Henry chuckled a bit then, as if Killian’s sincere gratitude and affection made him more at ease with the gift he had given. “Aye,” the youth mocked Hook now in his answer, and they both seemed unable to stop the silly grins spreading across their faces.

“Well then, thank you, m’boy,” Killian spoke solemnly, clasping Henry’s shoulder warmly and merely drinking in the moment, stunned that his long, tangled lifeline had brought him here with this young man, a chance at a family he would have never imagined coming to him again.

Killian took the gift, holding it in his hand and running his thumb over the smooth cover reverently. Curious, he almost flipped it open to see what Henry had put down, but as if reading his mind, the lad stepped forward, shaking his head. Cheeks flushed again, Henry’s grasp on Killian’s forearm stilled his motion to open and begin reading. “No! Don’t read it now while I’m standing here!” the teen exclaimed in humored exasperation.

Smirking only slightly, Killian conceded, “As you wish,” with an affectionate nod of deference to Henry’s wishes. Sitting the book on his bunk for the moment, he turned back to the lad seriously before pressing on. “I shall wait until later to peruse your fine gift. But… if I may – perchance you might do one more thing for me?” Reddening a bit himself, Killian gestured to the undone bow tie where he had discarded it atop the desk by his mirror, his awkward all-done-up collar, and gave his stepson a lopsided smile. “If you could be so kind?”

Shaking his head, Henry nodded and stepped forward, releasing a good natured snort of laughter at Killian’s expense, but lightly reaching out and putting the ensemble together as best he knew how, much like his Grandpa David had shown him to do his own.

When he had finished, the teen gave his soon-to-be stepdad a once over, smiling once more at the man he had come to look up to, who loved his mom and made her smile, who had taught him sailor’s knots and navigation by the stars, and how to manage his algebra homework. This man had always had his back. Even when Henry himself had been too stubborn to see, Killian had wanted the best for him, as any father would. Though he would always miss his birth father and wish they had gotten more time together, Henry was struck suddenly by how his father figure had been there all along; he had never been truly without. Dropping his hands from the slightly crooked but still fastened bow tie, Henry lunged forward to hug Captain Hook – their pirate – tightly in a swell of gratitude and love.

Killian was stunned still for several beats of time, blinking rapidly at the tears which welled up at Henry’s tight embrace and obvious acceptance, but he quickly recovered and hugged Swan’s boy back just as firmly, clasping him close for several long moments. When they parted, there were conspicuous snuffles and bashful half smiles on both their parts, but also a new understanding of just how gladly and irrevocably they were family now.

A text buzzed through for Henry then, and he pulled out his talking phone as Killian watched. “Grandma needs me for some decoration issue,” Henry said. “So, are we all set, Captain?”

“Aye,” Killian affirmed with a wide grin and quick nod. “I’ll see you again shortly…at the altar.”

~~*~~

After Henry had dashed off, Killian moved to his bunk once more, fully ready for the ceremony that was only a little over an hour away. Before he headed above deck though, he was anxious to look at the gift his stepson had brought him.

Taking a seat on the edge of his bed, Killian picked up the book, opened to the first page, and began to read:

“Once there was a little boy with an old soul and a heavy heart. Though he believed in heroes and good and fairy tales, he didn’t know if anyone really loved him or where he truly belonged.

There was also, once upon a time, a man who had lived for centuries, but had lost his boyhood much too soon. He was alone in the world with nothing and no one to live for.

In truth, the two should never have met. But meet they did, and the story of how it came to be, brought love and joy back into both of their lives…”

Killian kept reading, through a sheen of happy tears, all the way to the end; the warmth in his heart spreading throughout his whole body until he felt it might escape in beams of light from his fingers and toes. He could hardly wait to thank Henry for this precious gift, and though words would not fully express it, attempt to tell the lad how much it meant to him.

Neither of them had lived through very happy starts, but they were now embarking on their happy ending at last…

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