#This was actually six sentences but then I edited it and... well.

[lazinesswrites]

Crosshair doesn’t sigh in relief when he sees Tech gently easing open the vent grill, if only because his training and his pride won’t allow it. His comm link is still active; Hunter would definitely hear him. He will admit it to himself though: He is relieved. It sounded like they were in the vents, but it could just be a bad signal, or they could be using the vent system to go somewhere else, somewhere Crosshair wouldn’t be able to cover them. The information he's given them is all correct, his intentions sincere, but he understands why they might not believe him. Not after everything he has done. With and without the chip.

[greyias]

Tagged by: @captainderyn -- thank you for the tag! Tagging: @meanbihexual, @keldae, @queen-scribbles (no pressure!) From the little au that could...

—

Valkorion had looked down at his progeny with ill-disguised contempt, lightning dancing at the tips of his fingers as he attempted to silence what he saw as the only threat in the room. He didn’t even look up until the cold barrel of a blaster buried itself at the base of his skull.

Which brought Theron back to where he wasn’t supposed to be.

Here.

Standing in someone else’s moment, stepping into a destiny that wasn’t his, and about to set into motion a cascade of events he had no hope of understanding. He was a disgraced spy. A Jedi washout. The Force-blind son of someone else’s greatness. A man always destined to live in the shadow of others.

“Do you really think that pathetic toy will hurt me?”

[bunny-jpeg]

the jailbird

prisoner!simon 'ghost' riley

a full fic based on this post

cw: prison!au, civilian!reader, pen-pals, smut,romance/romantic!simon, domestic, missonary, wife kink, size kink, nudity, tattoo kink, body worship, cuddling

bunny says: like the fic? leave a comment! really like the fic? suggest your own! reblogs are always welcomed!

it started out as a flyer at the bus stop near your house. it was for a service that connected prisoners at a nearby prison with civilians as pen-pals. you had seen the flyer often over the course of work as you went to work.

you honestly felt bad, those people must be isolated. the organization prided itself on giving prisoners a bit of their humanity back by not cutting them off from those on the outside. so on a rainy friday you took a photo of the flyer and filled out the form on the organization's website.

that was how you met simon riley, or as he was called on the inside 'ghost'. what caught your attention wasn't his face scar that ran from under his nose down to the left side of his chin, but rather his brown eyes. how intense they stared into the camera. it was almost intimidating.

but you kept the photo on your desk as you typed out your first letter to send to him. you heard of places who did it through email, but screen time for those could often be limited and to send a physical letter would ensure that it would be sent to them.

the letter started out simple, you asked how he was and if it was okay to ask what he was in prison for. you asked him other questions, like if his health was doing well, what did he do most days while on the inside. you ended the letter with a little information about yourself.

you thought it would be nice to take a few photos and print them out on photo paper to be included with your letter. just so he had a better idea of who he was talking about. once you tweaked the letter with a bit of editing, you printed it out and thanks to the Royal Mail, your letter was sent to him.

you didn't actually expect for him to respond. nor did you expect for the letter to be do detailed. it was almost three pages double sided in neat hand writing. your eyes went wide when you saw the thickness of the envelope with the stamp of approval from the prison for it to be sent to you.

simon sent you a bracelet made of string that had been braided together. he said you were the first person from the outside to reach out since he got locked up. that broke your heart. it only broke further the more you read.

he was a military man who was tossed aside once the ptsd got too intense. he had been between jobs, and it felt like everything was just too much for him. he got wrapped up in large scale theft, while it paid good, you could only rob so many banks before it all caught up. he had been in for three years now, he was thankful it wasn't a life sentence. not much was stolen, and there was minimal violence. he said that his stature alone intimidated enough people that he didn't need to be violent.

you re-read his letters and it wouldn't be until almost six months of speaking that you finally wore the bracelet. when he said, "i want to see you in it, since i can't buy you a ring." you sent a photo of you wearing it and since then you hadn't taken it off.

the letters were nice, you sent them at least twice a week. even though you two had never met face to face, and the only photos you had of him were mugshots, he knew all the gossip in your work place. he knew the names of all your friends, your favourite saturday night treat and how you took your coffee.

he told you he'd be happy to make you coffee every morning before you went to work. that comment made your cheeks burn.

he often called you his 'wife' to the other prisoners. he had your photos on the wall near his bunk. he even kept the pictures where you looked terrible after you tried to cut your bangs one night. he knew the exact location of where your favourite take out was. he said that he was writing down ideas of where to take you once he got out. "i gotta make the missus feel special."

he even made you a birthday card. his cellmate 'soap' even signed it. you knew all about the explosives expert mactavish. when you looked into his case on the news, your eyes went a little wide. this guy was.. something.

simon did admit that 'soap' had a bit of a crush on you. but he said that 'johnny' was harmless and probably just liked the photo of a woman in the cell.

"he hurt ya, there will be no cell that could keep me from killin' him. no god either."

simon remembered everything.

the way he spoke about you and to you in his letters were nothing but soft. while he had to put on a tough guy exterior, his letters were filled with gentle words. like when he wrote out that he loved you in big text on a spare piece of paper so you could tape it on your mirror to look at every morning.

"i want to be what you get ready to."

"i want to be with you when you wake up."

"i want to come home to you every night. please make me an honest man."

you knew he was a trained killer. he was in special forces before his brief stint as a criminal. he was trained to kill, but in the margins of your letters, his love shined through. despite it all, he was capable of love.

and he wanted to pour all that love into you, his (future) wife.

you two would go on to write letters every week, for almost two years. when you got the letter from him asking if he could put you down as a permanent address when he got out, you cried. of course!

it was a cold spring morning, the sky was misty as you stood outside the gates of the prison. your heart raced, you even arrived early in the hopes he'd be released sooner.

and then you saw him.

those eyes. hard and stern, until he caught sight of you. his shoulder visibly dropped and his pace quickened as he made his way towards you. before you could step forward to meet him, he had you in his arms. his strong arms, littered with tattoos, wrapped around you as he held you close to his strong chest.

you held onto him as the air left your chest from the force he held you. you clutched onto his shoulders and choked out a sob. you squeaked, "holy shit."

he pulled away from you, but still kept you in his arms. you swore you saw minimal mistiness in his eyes. he reached to cup your face. he said quietly, "soft... like i imagined."

you beamed up at him, "of course, si."

"your voice is so nice." he groaned as he then pulled you close once more and buried his nose in your hair. he inhaled the scent of your shampoo and relaxed, "i'm home."

you thought transitioning from being the only person in the flat, to having this hulking, strong man in your home as well, was going to be a bit hard. but that didn't matter when simon got you through the door. his hands were on you, he promised on the universe that he'd romance you tomorrow.

but tonight was just going to be the two of you.

you managed to get his hands off you in order to get your shoes off before you led him to your bedroom. he was close behind you, he had a hand on one of your hips. he wanted to be as close to you as he could, you two had spent enough time apart.

you couldn't even close the bedroom door before he was pulling at the waistband on your pants. his calloused, strong hands felt delicate on you. it was like he was going to break you and he had to be as delicate as possible.

"si."

"i know, darling." he said quietly as he started to undress you. with your help the both of you were soon nude in the afternoon light in your bedroom. you tried to cover your chest with your arms but he pulled your arms away and looked at you.

your eyes met and you got up on your tip-toes to kiss him gently on the lips. soon he picked you up like you weighed less than a bag of potatoes.

he placed you on the bed gently when you half expected him to toss you like a shot-put. he admired your body down on your soft covers and soon got onto the bed too.

you reached for him as he pulled you into a tight kiss. his lips were chapped and you could tease the fresh skin underneath. your nails raked at his strong back, that you knew was covered in tattoos.

you wrapped your legs around him and held him. from a moment he dropped to his side and you two held each other. you tucked his head under your chin as you laid together naked.

it wasn't even meant to be sexually stimulating, you both just wanted to feel one another. to hear your lover's heartbeat meant more to you than anything in that moment.

you kissed the top of his head, you felt his blond hair against your face as you soaked in his warmth. you could almost cry from how nice it felt to be so close to him.

after everything, you had your man.

he said in his low tone, "you feel so soft. after everything, i have you. you made every day in the can worth it." he sighed, "thank you." he kissed at your bare chest.

you replied, "i loved your letters, i have them still." you chuckled, "i didn't want to throw any of them away. it made me feel closer."

"well. i'm not goin' anywhere." he looked up at you and smiled, "you're home and i'm finally here." he pulled away and got him between your legs. he rested on his knees and carefully moved you to his liking. he sat there between your legs and waited for your command.

you looked at him and nodded, "yeah, si. you can go." then tightened your legs around your lover. you held your breath as he slowly pushed his cock into you. you didn't realize how big it was until he was fully inside of you.

"are you alright, love?"

"golden."

the two of you moved together. it took a little bit to get used to the size, but the pressure and speed of his movements made heat spread through your body. like two pieces of the same puzzle, you fit together perfect soon after. it was like you two were always meant to be.

you felt so loved by him, it was so sweet. this was your first time with him and you only had a few sexual experiences with others prior to him. but the entire time you knew each other you didn't sleep with others, you wanted to wait for your man.

"that's my good wife." he groaned as he held onto your hips, "i know, you wanted this for a long time. i bet you thought about me when i was locked up."

you blushed and replied, "i did, si. i thought about you all the time, i even had your picture in my office. i wanted this, i wanted to be with you!" you whined a little as his cock dragged against a sensitive spot.

he chuckled softly, "yeah. i thought about my missus when i was locked up. i used to jerk off to your letters, your photos. messed one of 'em up by gettin' my spunk all over it." he licked his lips, "but now i can see it every day in person."

you smiled when he rested his body against you and continued to thrust up into you. you felt the curl of pleasure of your gut get together which each of his heavy thrusts.

the kisses you shared were intimate and hot. the air of your bedroom was warmed as you made love on the bed you would share together. your soft noises together filled the air.

you clenched onto him, you dug your nails into his shoulders. they were so strong and broad that they were much bigger than your hands.

he kissed you one last time as he quickened his pace. the bed moved against your movements as you both climaxed at the same time. it was like a shock to the system, the heightened euphoria before your head felt full of cotton.

you let out a soft groan as your grip on his loosened and you relaxed into the bed. you felt yourself partially get crushed by your lover but he gave a few more earnest thrusts as he made sure that his cum shot to the back of your womb.

he pulled out and dropped beside you. he tucked some hair behind your ear and wiped the sweat from your forehead with the back of his hand. your breathing was heavy, but you were both so happy. to share your first time together felt so special.

you nestled yourself into his arms and held his hand. you exhaled contently then said, "my husband."

he kissed the top of your head, he felt complete, "my missus."

part two

[collapsedglasshouses]

HOTEL NEIGHBORS || Noah Sebastian x fem!Reader

PHOTO CREDIT: Bryan Kirks

SUMMARY: After you hear Noah talk about liking experienced women, you can't help but feel insecure about yourself. Noah wants nothing but to lift your spirits.

WARNINGS: SMUT, MDNI, friends to lovers, inexperienced reader, slight ? dom!noah i guess, oral sex (female receiving), unprotected p in v (dont do that), slight mutual pining?, not edited oopsie, ...

TAGLIST: @measuredingold @cncohshit @circle-with-me @jilliemiw86 @justeli6

A/N: This idea planted itself in my head last night and I don't even know what to say anymore. I’m more than stressed because of university, but I hope my creative spark is coming back rather sooner than later. Is anyone actually reading what I say here. If you're reading this say hi in the comments, ily. Please, enjoy and consider reblogging if you liked it.

You didn’t exactly know you had gotten into this situation but at this exact moment you were shifting in your place and wanted nothing more but to vanish into thin air.

You were currently sitting in a hotel lobby, exhausted and tired from the show the boys had played, and waited for Matt to hand you the keys to your hotel rooms. Somehow in the course of the last ten minutes, the conversation between the guys had turned. They were talking about previous relationships and the experience it came with since Folio had been freshly separated from his ex-girlfriend.

“I don’t know what it is, but I feel like I just want someone with more experience, you know? I’m not saying I wouldn’t date anyone who doesn’t have much experience but I just-… I don’t know. You know what I mean, Noah?” Folio rambled and looked at the man next to you in hopes to find confirmation.

“Yeah, I know. I prefer women with experience, too. I guess.” Noah just mindlessly mumbled while looking at his phone.

You knew for sure the boys didn’t say this in an ill intend but somehow this exchange began to bother you more than you wanted it to. In all honesty, it felt like a punch straight to your face. You felt stupid that this simple exclaim from Noah got to you, but you couldn’t really help it. It wasn’t like you never had sex. You had a boyfriend that you dated from high school to about two years ago, but when it came to your sex life it felt like you never really experienced anything. You knew almost everything that only concerned you, but when it came to another person being involved, your knowledge stopped. You knew what you liked and what you disliked. But that didn’t make the conversation you just witnessed any less hurtful.

You swallowed hard before standing up from your waiting seat in a rather fast manner.

“Imma head to the bathroom.” You mumbled so quietly you feared nobody would have heard you, before walking away. You didn’t see how Noah looked after you with a confused facial expression.

You slammed the door shut behind you and stared at your reflection in the fancy bathroom mirror. Your eyes were watery and you hated yourself for that. Especially Noah’s sentence echoed in your head and you hated that you had a weak spot for him. You hated that you got along with him too well for your liking. When the band hired you as an assistant for Matt about a year ago, you hadn’t planned that all of this would happen. You thought you were there for only one tour and now you were already on your third with the band. To your astonishment, you got along wonderfully with everyone, but you and Noah had a special bond. You didn’t know what it was exactly but somehow you repeatedly found yourself in deep conversations about literally everything with him. It took you well over six months to realize that you didn’t just simply like him as a friend, but you were starting to fall for him.

Right now, you hated yourself that you never got brave enough to admit it to him. You always acted like nothing had changed and you felt embarrassed about the fact that a small sentence like that could throw you off so bad when you didn’t have the right to act like that about it.

A couple of minutes passed before you had enough courage to head back to the boys. So, you took a deep breath and wiped away the single tear that had managed to escape, before stepping out of the bathroom again. Gladly, you didn’t have to justify your sudden move as Matt approached the group at the same time as you to hand you the keys.

“Finally, I thought we needed to sleep in the lobby.” You managed to say with a lopsided smile while Matt handed you your key.

While your group headed in the elevator, you took up a small conversation with Matt about things that had happened at tonight’s show, before he headed out together with the others. The only two left in the elevator being, of course, you and Noah.

“Looks like we’re neighbors tonight.” He answered you with a sweet smile after looking at your key for a second.

“Cool.” You tried to exclaim as friendly as possible and cringed for your second. Even the most unempathetic person on this planet would have realized that something was going on with you, but you were glad Noah decided to not talk about it as you walked to your rooms.

A couple of hours later, you were finished with your evening and ready to go to sleep but before you could slip under the blankets, you heard a slight knock on your door. For a second, you considered to just ignore it but when it knocked again, you sighed and opened the door just enough to look who was disturbing your peace at these ungodly times.

You were greeted by Noah with a worried expression on his face. For a second, you just looked at him confused, but he was fast to explain, while you opened the door a little more.

“Tell me what I did. You’ve been ignoring literally all my texts for more than three hours at this point.” He exclaimed and crossed his arms in front of his chest. Of course, he was right about his statement. You had seen his texts. Normally, you’d test about the concert or some random stuff until you were both to sleepy to respond, but you had decided you couldn’t deal with him this evening. Not after you got so emotional because of a stupid sentence.

“I have no idea what you are talking about.” You lied and mirrored his gesture.

He lifted his eyebrow, and you already know he wouldn’t let you out of that conversation until you gave him the answers he wanted. “Gaslight someone else, sweetheart.” He grumbled.

You sighed and looked at your hands. “It’s nothing, Noah.”

“Oh, come on. You know nothing you is unimportant.” He encouraged you.

It felt stupid. Stupid how easy it was to open up to him, but you knew you couldn’t just tell him what’s been on your mind, so you simply shook your head. You were about to close the door, when he reached into the doorframe and pressed himself in your room while you protested.

“Y/n. Seriously, what’s going on?” He muttered in a soft tone while sitting down on your bed. He patted the place next to him. When you sat down, he turned to fully face you and touched your shoulder. “Please talk to me.”

“I really can’t, Noah.” You whispered. “It’s so fucking stupid.”

You felt so dumb, you wanted to slap yourself. You didn’t want this to go bad. You hated your feelings for choosing him. For opening up to him. For becoming so close with him. You remembered how you had joked with Matt about how everyone would eventually fall for THE lead singer and how you said Noah is just a really good friend and now look at you. Unable to even look him straight in the face.

“Did I say something?” Noah wanted to know, and you briefly looked at him. You couldn’t hold his gaze any longer in fear you would crack. You looked at his shirt to calm your thoughts but that was when you noticed his neckline and your thoughts instantly began to wander.

“You never not tell me anything.” Noah urged.

“Why are you so desperate?” You asked him in slight annoyance and swept his hand of your shoulder.

He blinked surprised for a couple of seconds before answering you. “Because you can’t even look at me and I don’t like that.”

Your heart jumped with happiness when you heard that confession, even if it was innocent.

“That’s not true.” – “Then look at me.”

You sighed before forcing your eyes onto his for a second just to look away again.

“See?” He mumbled, defeated. “I’m sorry if I said something that upset you. I didn’t mean it.”

“So, you didn’t mean you liked girls with experience better than others?” You spat out before you could even think about it more and instantly regretted it.

Noah opened and closed his mouth in confusion. He knew about your previous experiences or lack of experience.

“See that’s exactly why I didn’t want to tell you. It is dumb.” You tried to brush off what had just happened, but Noah shook his head.

“No, no, no. It’s not dumb. I didn’t mean it like that, I-…” He began to explain but you just sighed and rolled your eyes.

“Just stop, Noah.” You mumbled and laid down on your bed. “We should get some sleep. Tomorrow is another stressful day.”

“N-no… I really didn’t mean it like that. I wasn’t even paying attention to Folio. I-… I don’t care about experience, Y/N. I consider myself lucky if anyone gets close to me at the moment. I’m a stressed mess, you know.” Noah rambled out and you noticed that he was nervous. You couldn’t really think about why.

“Oh c’mon. Everyone would consider themselves lucky to sleep with you, Noah. And you fucking know that.” You joked halfheartedly, but then a smile crept onto his face.

“You too?” He asked with a broad smirk on his face.

“Huh?” You huffed as your eyes grew wide.

“I mean… I know you are worried about not having too much experience… I just-…” He swallowed hard. “I could… help with that.”

“You wanna have sex with me?” You bluntly asked your friend and felt your heart almost exploding in your chest.

“I-… You know, we-… I-…” He began to stutter for a second but then he saw how nervous you looked and stopped in his tracks. “So, you wanna have sex with me.”

You felt your cheeks heat up and you swallowed hard. “Uh… I…”

“Forget it, you don’t have to answer th-…” – “Actually, I do.”

Your voice was not more than a whisper while your thoughts were racing. You just blankly confessed that to him, because you were tired. Tired of holding back.

“You are joking, right?” Noah mumbled; his mouth slightly open.

“Oh, come on. As if this comes as a surprise. There are literally people writing fanfiction about you.” You said and ran a hand through your hair in frustration.

“And you know that why?” He exclaimed and smiled lopsidedly.

Your eyebrows rose for a second when you realized what you had said.

When you didn’t answer, he spoke again. “So, you wanna have sex with me?”

“Trust me, with each word coming out of your mouth, the urge is getting less and less.” You answered him and rolled your eyes. His smile faded slightly, and he looked you deep in the eyes.

“Would you feel better if I told you I’ve thought about it, too?” He exclaimed and the tone of his voice shot straight to your core. This didn’t feel real.

“Yeah… Yeah that would help.” You mumbled and swallowed hard, not knowing how to proceed.

A second later, Noah was hovering over your, his face only a couple of inches away from you and you felt how the atmosphere in the room changed.

“You really wanna do this?” He asked you as your hands travelled to the hem of your shirt. You nodded.

“Tell me, you want this.” He almost pleaded with you.

“I want you to fuck me, Noah. For god sake, should I write it down for you?” You whisper-shouted against his lips and with that he giggled quietly before kissing your lips with such force that you realized he wasn’t joking. You grabbed his face and pulled him even closer to you. It felt like you two grasped onto everything. It felt like you were each other’s last meal. Like you were starved for so long, you couldn’t control it anymore.

You wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him down towards your core that was only clothed in your underwear, and you could feel how hard he was. You couldn’t help but grind against him. He slightly moaned into your mouth as your tongues danced with each other and you moved your hips again.

“Stop that.” He suddenly groaned against your mouth, and you began to grin. “What if I don’t?”

“Then I’m not going to go easy on you, sweetheart.” He warned you. It didn’t take a second for you to grind against him one more time, while smiling proudly about what a hard time he had with you.

“You’re going to regret that.” He mumbled and grabbed your hips with his hand firmly. This alone almost made you cum. It felt like something in him snapped. His pupils were blown wide with lust and then he was underdressing you. It was like he was ripping you out of your clothes.

When he reached your underwear, he stopped for a second and looked at you for reassurance. It was the last chance for you to tell him, but you didn’t want that. You didn’t want him to stop.

“I trust you.” You breathed out and bucked your hips for a second.

“You don’t even know how long I’ve been waiting for his, Y/n.” He answered you as he slowly slipped down your underwear. He didn’t waste any time after that and only a few kisses later to your stomach, you felt how his tongue moved through your folds. A soft moan escaped your mouth and you arched your hips to possibly get any closer to him.

Your hands found their way in your hair. It wasn’t the first time someone went down on you, but never before had it felt so intense to you.

He pinned your hips down to the bed with one arm and his tongue was devouring you like it was the last thing he would do. The sounds you were making only made him go harder. Then you felt how he added a finger inside of you, quickly followed by another.

“Oh my-… Fuck, Noah.” You gasped and you felt the vibrations of his laugh against your core. You felt a knot building inside of you and you tried to concentrate on anything that would help you not to come instantly.

“I can feel that you’re close.” He mumbled against you and flicked his tongue over your clit while his fingers pumped in and out of you.

You nodded, unable to form clear words without moaning them.

“I know, you can go longer than that, Y/n.” He hummed against you, and you felt like you were going insane.

“God, please.” You cried out, fearing you couldn’t hold it any longer.

His mouth and fingers felt so good, you were sure you couldn’t help yourself much longer. You felt your orgasm built up and then-… He stopped. He pulled away from you, his fingers out of your pussy and you whined at the loss of contact.

He grabbed your face with the hand that had been inside of you just seconds before and looked you in the eyes. “When you come tonight, it’s gonna be on my cock.”

“You know, it’s kind of unfair that I’m laying here completely naked while you’re fully clothed.” You breathed out with a small smile on your face.

“Oh, yeah?” He laughed against your lips before climbing of the bed to get out of his clothes. His eyes never left yours and yours never left his.

He was in nothing but his underwear, his cock hard underneath them and you bit your lip as his hands hooked under the waistband and he slowly slit them off. Your eyes slowly widened at the sight of his member, and you suddenly realized that all of this was real. He looked so perfect. All of him.

“You still okay?” He asked as he crawled back to you.

“Yes.” You breathed out when he was on top of you again. He leaned down to kiss you. You could feel him against your core, his cock moving between your folds as if he belonged there.

“Noah, please.” You moaned out and let your hands roam over his back.

“Yes?” He teased you and rocked his hips once more.

“Don’t be such a tease.” You whined and dragged your fingernails over his back. He let out a soft moan.

“Tell me what you want, Y/n.” Noah exclaimed, and you whined, before rolling your eyes.

“Do that again and I’ll make you regret it.” He breathed out.

“Oh, I’m so scared.” You answered him in a mocking tone and he instantly gave his words truth.

For the second time something snapped inside of him. You let out a small yelp as he flipped you over in a swift motion, your chest hitting the mattress. He grabbed your hips with such force, you were sure he would leave bruises.

“You still wanna continue to be a brat?” He asked you in an almost dangerous tone and you shook your head.

“Fuck, you’re dripping.” He almost moaned and you felt this cock against your ass. He positioned himself behind you, his tip teasing your entrance. His hands wandered over your hips softly and you felt a kiss against your neck. “We can stop anytime.”

“Please, don’t stop.” You breathed out. After that he slowly slid into you, your mouth open in a silent moan as he bottomed out.

“Is that alright?” He asked with a soft tone as you tried to get used to the feeling of him inside of you.

“Yes, everything is perfect.” You moaned out.

When he started to move, you thought you were going to die. In a good way. In a way that made you decide right there and then that when your time has come, this was how you wanted it to end.

“Oh, my f-… Noah.” You whispered out and gripped the sheets beneath you.

His right hand slowly reached to the front of your body and found your clit. He swiftly circled it while rocking into you.

His head was buried in your neck and the room was filled with moans and pants and curse words that were almost illegal to speak out.

“Shit, Y/N.” He whined into your neck. “You feel so good.” His thrust became faster and you were almost certain the bed was going to break if he kept that pace. But you were too far gone to care. You felt that knot in your stomach again and you knew this time you couldn’t contain yourself.

“Come on. Come for me, sweetheart.” He whispered against the back of your head, and you screamed. You screamed load enough that you were sure Jolly in the room underneath to you would hear.

He fucked you through it, his pace only slowing down moments later, right before he pulled out and you felt hot liquid painting your back.

You let yourself fall onto the pillow and he soon collapsed next to you. You turned to face him and could help but smile at him. He reached out to brush a strand of hair out of your face. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, but I’m in desperate need of a shower and I don’t even wanna talk about the lack of sleep we’ll have tomorrow.” You answered him and giggle for a second that caused him to smile.

“It was worth it.” He mumbled before leaning in again.

“Yes… yes it was.” Your lips met in a soft kiss and for a second everything inside of you began to tingle. You knew this was a new chapter for the both of you and that this was only the beginning.

“Let’s shower.” He mumbled before getting up and reaching out to help you up. He slung his arms around you for a second. “Maybe you can tell me about those fanfictions while showering.”

Your eyes widened for a second, before you made your way to the bathroom, followed by a laughing Noah.

“I’ll keep that to myself.” You answered him, before closing the bathroom door behind the two of you.

dividers by @saradika-graphics

[yeah-thats-probably-it]

Yes to all of this! I adore the idea of Jeeves and Bertie each separately learning more about poetry in order to impress and connect with the other, not knowing that the other has been learning more about poetry to impress THEM. Their special language is really something they built up together!

Your analysis made me think of a section in Wooster Proposes that I think supports your argument. Thompson (chapter 8 pp. 279-280 if you have the book handy) points out that although Jeeves quotes a lot, his quotations never seem to be from recent reading, like, for example, his BFF Spinoza. "He behaves as if he has a mental file of memorized language and quotations, and his omniscience gives the impression of being timeless." (Doylist explanation is that Wodehouse simply wasn’t a fan of Spinoza so didn’t KNOW any quotations, but this, as you say, is no fun) She then goes on to posit that Jeeves appears to have a fondness for cliches—he often praises them when Bertie uses them, and enjoys using them himself:

For example, in Jeeves and the Feudal Spirit, when Bertie remarks that Stilton could easily beat him up, he agrees in a string of cliches: "'Mr. Cheesewright's robustness would enable him to crush you like a fly. He would obliterate you with a single blow.... He would break you in two with his bare hands. He would tear you limb from limb.'" We must assume that he wishes to foster Bertie's use of cliches (and he may even be appealing to Bertie's delight in cliches in order to get this point across more forcefully).

—Wooster Proposes, Jeeves Disposes, Kristen Thompson, page 280

Point one: it sounds like Jeeves has picked up at least a few cliches from Bertie, supporting the “Bertie and Jeeves developed their language together” thesis. Point two, encompassing the last paragraph as well: Jeeves is not a guy who is naturally disposed to expressing himself with poetical language. Beyond the quotations, his speech generally remains very stiff and dry; he doesn't spontaneously come up with flowery turns of phrase on his own. Like you said, he displays much more knowledge about philosophy than poetry starting from the beginning of the series. So the interest in poetry he takes later on isn’t something you’d really expect to be in character for him. I bet if he told that aunt who used to read Oliver Wendell Holmes to him that he’s reading poetry for fun now she would be like “where did THIS come from all of a sudden?”

I think his later interest in poetry IS probably genuine, as he was familiar with the poet Miss Moon in "The Inferiority Complex of Old Sippy,” whom Bertie didn’t know and certainly wouldn’t have read in school. So he probably READS new poetry, but he never quotes from it (he didn’t even quote from Miss Moon when Bertie asked about it, just listed some poem titles). Like you said, he only ever quotes writers that Bertie also knows. Which is so adorable! He isn’t so talkative about ALL his interests (at least not all the time, he’ll talk your ear off about diamonds if it’s tangentially related to the matter at hand), but he’s trying to get his crush to like him, so he talks about things they both like.

And I agree that that excerpt from MOJ doesn’t prove Jeeves had any prior interest in poetry. It DOES sound like a hypothetical, not a statement about the actual past. It functions as both a quick dismissal of the idea without needing to explain further (they're not quite at the level of open intimacy where Jeeves would say "actually, I wasn't really interested in poetry back then" or words to that effect) and an explanation of why he's not going to use it: it wouldn't have worked before (which he knows thanks to other characters' reactions to him in earlier books) and it's not going to work now.

Fantastic catch about Jeeves possibly telling Bertie he's reading improving books because it's expected of servants. (you're right btw, to the best of my knowledge it's not really a term that has a specific meaning. my first exposure to it was in old books—possibly these books, I can’t remember—and I just took it to mean books that are very dry and boring and intellectual that are supposed to improve your mind. a "suffering builds character" sort of thing. the books servants were given to read don't sound like that kind of super highbrow literature, but they kind of ARE about suffering building character, so I was partially right there. I had plain forgotten about Bertie using the term to describe his mystery novels and such). Actually, on that note, I had a Barenstain Bears moment reading this post because I was SURE I remembered Bertie describing the books Florence gave him to read (which perfectly match the description of what I THOUGHT improving books were) as “improving” at some point during “Jeeves Takes Charge,” but he didn’t! You’re right, he must have picked it up from Jeeves later and misinterpreted it. That’s so funny. I wonder if his inclusive definition of “improving book” has anything to do with the fact that Jeeves brought it up right before going into Rosie M Banks. I certainly wouldn’t say he’s wrong, any type of book CAN be improving!

(side note I think Jeeves bringing up improving books right before his Rosie M. Banks spiel might also have been a preemptive defensive measure, like "I read deep and/or appropriate-for-servants books, please don't mistake me for one of those peons who read trashy pulp novels despite the knowledge I'm about to drop.")

Going back to poetry, I have another suggestion! Thompson (chapter 8 pp. 286-287) also says "Even in the earliest stories, Bertie was quoting, mostly from the literature he would have been assigned at school. In "Extricating Young Gussie," he quotes "Pippa Passes" without hesitating: "God's in his heaven/All's right with the world. Later he will often forget this one and call upon Jeeves to finish it."

Thus, I would like to propose an additional theory: sometimes Bertie pretends not to know a quotation so that Jeeves will finish it for him. Kind of both the equivalent of that thing in TV shows where female characters will sometimes act a bit ditzy around guys they have a crush on so they can flatter them about their intelligence, and also a bonding exercise (hey, this is kind of related to that "bids for connection" post I reblogged yesterday). And possibly also a soothing thing, i.e. he finds it comforting to hear Jeeves reciting familiar quotations. I've written before about how Bertie uses "the lark's on the wing/the snail's on the thorn" from the aforementioned "Pippa Passes" to signal contentedness and security, but a lot of that contentedness and security comes from being close to Jeeves. Their private language made of references and poetry quotations makes them closer, so Bertie naturally sees it as a good thing that wants pushing along.

Anyway, brilliant brilliant meta OP, your encyclopedic knowledge of the series and all the background information related to it staggers the mind

Here's the thing about how Jeeves, at the beginning of the stories, doesn't quote, and only starts after a certain amount of time. I've been digging around in the Annotations again, and found this:

About this scene:

‘You want time to think, eh?’ ‘Yes, sir.’ ‘Take it, Jeeves, take it. You may feel brainier after a night’s sleep. What is it Shakespeare calls sleep, Jeeves?’ ‘Tired Nature’s sweet restorer, sir.’ ‘Exactly. Well, there you are, then.’

This is the very first time in the entire series that Jeeves is quoting anything. Now, Bertie is usually the one who gets quotes wrong. But But we know that, later on, that's Jeeves' thing, he does that frequently, he regularly monologues about poetry, to the point where Bertie has to ask him to return to the point at hand. But he doesn't do that yet, and here, he's mixing up his quotations - this one isn't by Shakespeare, instead, it's from Edward Young's Night-Thoughts.

So if this is a new thing for him, something he's only just learning, that'd explain it, because he just plain doesn't know. He is, in this scene, just saying the first thing that comes to mind, absolutely panicking, and meanwhile, Bertie is blithely unaware of the crisis he's just caused Jeeves, because of course Jeeves knows everything and is 100% trustworthy

[purpledemonlilyposting]

Okay it's time for me to go a bit crouching retard hidden genius here, take off the clown nose and put my thinking cap on. Cause unlike many, many people who reference Nineteen Eighty-Four I've actually read it. Several times. And not as a school mandate.

What does "He loved Big Brother" tell you about media literacy?

Like what even is that point, Lorch? What does just knowing the final sentence of the book tell you about someone's media literacy? What do YOU even think that line means? Cause I'd love to hear it and I doubt you've ever actually read the fucking book.

There are many take-aways you can have from Nineteen Eighty-Four regarding the control of the populace through deception, fear, propaganda, regulation, indoctrination of the young, the dumbing down of language, and sheer hypocrisy. I'd be more interested in someone's take on passages like this to gauge their media literacy:

'It's a beautiful thing, the destruction of words. Of course the great wastage is in the verbs and adjectives, but there are hundreds of nouns that can be got rid of as well. It isn't only the synonyms; there are also the antonyms. After all, what justification is there for a word which is simply the opposite of some other word? A word contains its opposite in itself. Take "good", for instance. If you have a word like "good", what need is there for a word like "bad"? "Ungood" will do just as well -- better, because it's an exact opposite, which the other is not. Or again, if you want a stronger version of "good", what sense is there in having a whole string of vague useless words like "excellent" and "splendid" and all the rest of them? "Plusgood" covers the meaning, or "doubleplusgood" if you want something stronger still. Of course we use those forms already. but in the final version of Newspeak there'll be nothing else. In the end the whole notion of goodness and badness will be covered by only six words -- in reality, only one word. Don't you see the beauty of that, Winston? It was B.B.'s idea originally, of course,' he added as an afterthought. A sort of vapid eagerness flitted across Winston's face at the mention of Big Brother. Nevertheless Syme immediately detected a certain lack of enthusiasm. 'You haven't a real appreciation of Newspeak, Winston,' he said almost sadly. 'Even when you write it you're still thinking in Oldspeak. I've read some of those pieces that you write in The Times occasionally. They're good enough, but they're translations. In your heart you'd prefer to stick to Oldspeak, with all its vagueness and its useless shades of meaning. You don't grasp the beauty of the destruction of words. Do you know that Newspeak is the only language in the world whose vocabulary gets smaller every year?' Winston did know that, of course. He smiled, sympathetically he hoped, not trusting himself to speak. Syme bit off another fragment of the dark-coloured bread, chewed it briefly, and went on: 'Don't you see that the whole aim of Newspeak is to narrow the range of thought? In the end we shall make thoughtcrime literally impossible, because there will be no words in which to express it. Every concept that can ever be needed, will be expressed by exactly one word, with its meaning rigidly defined and all its subsidiary meanings rubbed out and forgotten. Already, in the Eleventh Edition, we're not far from that point. But the process will still be continuing long after you and I are dead. Every year fewer and fewer words, and the range of consciousness always a little smaller. Even now, of course, there's no reason or excuse for committing thoughtcrime. It's merely a question of self-discipline, reality-control. But in the end there won't be any need even for that. The Revolution will be complete when the language is perfect. Newspeak is Ingsoc and Ingsoc is Newspeak,' he added with a sort of mystical satisfaction. 'Has it ever occurred to you, Winston, that by the year 2050, at the very latest, not a single human being will be alive who could understand such a conversation as we are having now?'

The speech had been proceeding for perhaps twenty minutes when a messenger hurried on to the platform and a scrap of paper was slipped into the speaker's hand. He unrolled and read it without pausing in his speech. Nothing altered in his voice or manner, or in the content of what he was saying, but suddenly the names were different. Without words said, a wave of understanding rippled through the crowd. Oceania was at war with Eastasia! The next moment there was a tremendous commotion. The banners and posters with which the square was decorated were all wrong! Quite half of them had the wrong faces on them. It was sabotage! The agents of Goldstein had been at work! There was a riotous interlude while posters were ripped from the walls, banners torn to shreds and trampled underfoot. The Spies performed prodigies of activity in clambering over the rooftops and cutting the streamers that fluttered from the chimneys. But within two or three minutes it was all over. The orator, still gripping the neck of the microphone, his shoulders hunched forward, his free hand clawing at the air, had gone straight on with his speech. One minute more, and the feral roars of rage were again bursting from the crowd. The Hate continued exactly as before, except that the target had been changed. The thing that impressed Winston in looking back was that the speaker had switched from one line to the other actually in midsentence, not only without a pause, but without even breaking the syntax. But at the moment he had other things to preoccupy him. It was during the moment of disorder while the posters were being torn down that a man whose face he did not see had tapped him on the shoulder and said, 'Excuse me, I think you've dropped your brief-case.' He took the brief-case abstractedly, without speaking. He knew that it would be days before he had an opportunity to look inside it. The instant that the demonstration was over he went straight to the Ministry of Truth, though the time was now nearly twenty-three hours. The entire staff of the Ministry had done likewise. The orders already issuing from the telescreen, recalling them to their posts, were hardly necessary. Oceania was at war with Eastasia: Oceania had always been at war with Eastasia. A large part of the political literature of five years was now completely obsolete. Reports and records of all kinds, newspapers, books, pamphlets, films, sound-tracks, photographs -- all had to be rectified at lightning speed. Although no directive was ever issued, it was known that the chiefs of the Department intended that within one week no reference to the war with Eurasia, or the alliance with Eastasia, should remain in existence anywhere. The work was overwhelming, all the more so because the processes that it involved could not be called by their true names.

Also please read Nineteen Eighty-Four everyone. It's a very good book, it's not very long, and it's still scarily relevant to today.

[contemplatingoutlander]

Worried by Florida’s history standards? Check out its new dictionary!

As always, Alexandra Petri is spot on in satirizing the right-wing censorship and educational nonsense happening in Florida. This is a gift 🎁 link, so you can read the entire column, even if you don't subscribe to The Washington Post.

Below are some excerpts 😂:

Well, it’s a week with a Thursday in it, and Florida is, once again, revising its educational standards in alarming ways. Not content with removing books from shelves, or demanding that the College Board water down its AP African American studies curriculum, the state’s newest history standards include lessons suggesting that enslaved people “developed skills” for “personal benefit.” This trend appears likely to continue. What follows is a preview of the latest edition of the dictionary to be approved in Florida. Aah: (exclamation) Normal thing to say when you enter the water at the beach, which is over 100 degrees. Abolitionists: (noun) Some people in the 19th century who were inexplicably upset about a wonderful free surprise job training program. Today they want to end prisons for equally unclear reasons. Abortion: (noun) Something that male state legislators (the foremost experts on this subject) believe no one ever wants under any circumstances, probably; decision that people beg the state to make for them and about which doctors beg for as little involvement as possible. American history: (noun) A branch of learning that concerns a ceaseless parade of triumphs and contains nothing to feel bad about. Barbie: (noun) Feminist demon enemy of the state. Biden, Joe: (figure) Illegitimate president. Black history: (entry not found) Blacksmith: (noun) A great job and one that enslaved people might have had. Example sentence from Florida Gov. Ron DeSantis (R): “They’re probably going to show that some of the folks that eventually parlayed, you know, being a blacksmith into doing things later in life.” Book ban: (noun) Effective way of making sure people never have certain sorts of ideas. Censorship: (noun) When other people get mad about something you’ve said. Not to be confused with when you remove books from libraries or the state tells colleges what can and can’t be said in classrooms (both fine). Child: (noun) Useful laborer with tiny hands; alternatively, someone whose reading cannot be censored enough. [...]

[See more select "definitions" below the cut]

Classified: (adjective) The government’s way of saying a paper is especially interesting and you ought to have it in your house. Climate change: (noun) Conspiracy by scientists to change all the thermometers, fill the air with smoke and then blame us. [...] Constitution: (noun) A document that can be interpreted only by Trump-appointed and/or Federalist Society judges. If the Constitution appears to prohibit something that you want to do, take the judge on a boat and try again. [...] DeSantis, Ron: (figure) Governor who represents the ideal human being. Pronunciation varies. Disney: (noun) A corporation, but not the good kind. [...] Election: (noun) Binding if Republicans win; otherwise, needs help from election officials who will figure out where the fraud was that prevented the election from reflecting the will of the people (that Republicans win). [...] Emancipation Proclamation: (noun) Classic example of government overreach. Firearm: (noun) Wonderful, beautiful object that every person ought to have six of, except Hunter Biden. [...] FOX: News. Free speech: (noun) When you shut up and I talk. Gun violence: (noun) Simple, unalterable fact of life, like death but unlike taxes. [...]

Jan. 6: (noun) A day when some beautiful, beloved people took a nice, uneventful tour of the U.S. Capitol. King Jr., Martin Luther: (figure) A man who, as far as we can discern, uttered only one famous quotation ever and it was about how actually anytime you tried to suggest that people were being treated differently based on skin color you were the real racist. Sample sentence: “Dr. King would be enraged at the existence of Black History Month.” Liberty: (noun) My freedom to choose what you can read (see Moms for Liberty). Moms for Liberty: (noun) Censors, but the good kind. [...] Pregnant (adjective): The state of being a vessel containing a Future Citizen; do not say “pregnant person”; no one who is a real person can get pregnant. Queer: (entry not found) Refugee: (noun) Someone who should have stayed put and waited for help to come. Slavery: (noun) We didn’t invent it, or it wasn’t that bad, or it was a free job training program. Supreme Court: (noun) Wonderful group of mostly men without whom no journey by private plane or yacht is complete. Trans: (entry not found) United States: (noun) Perfect place, no notes. [emphasis added to defined words]

[bitbybitwrites]

And yet, will be more than six sentences 😂. But saw this banner and wanted to use it at least once for this month!

OK . . I haven't done one of these in FOREVER. . so my deepest apologies and many thanks for all you lovely folks who keep tagging me for this and WIP Wednesdays: @thinkof-england, @softboynick, @taste-thewaste, @onthewaytosomewhere, @tinyarmedtrex

@wordsofhoneydew , @sophie1973 , @thesleepyskipper , @forabeatofadrum, @getmehighonmagic

@daisyishedwig , @annepi-blog, @porcelainmortal , @blueeyedgrlwrites ( and I hope I remembered everyone!)

1.) I've been struggling with finishing the latest chapter of my RWRB fic, Puppy Love. It's going through the editing process and should be up soon. You'll find a bit below.

2.) I also got sent a Pride themed Glee/Klaine ask for Ficlet Friday - which is now turning out a wee bit longer than a ficlet. And there will be a snippet of it below as well.

See it all under the cut!

1.) From Puppy Love - Chp 4. (RWRB fic)

With a smirk, Alex pulled Henry down to him, internally grateful to feel the other man straddle his legs as he sat in Alex's lap. While he ran his hands up and down Henry’s thighs, Alex found his brain slightly short circuiting as he imagined himself between them with less layers on than they had now. “Fuck,” Alex gasped as he continued stroking them. “Work out much?” he teased as he gripped Henry’s legs tighter. Henry grinned as he used his teeth to graze the edge of Alex’s jaw. “Horseback riding, actually. Used to do a lot of it back home. Even polo now and then.” “Didn’t peg you for a trust fund baby,” Alex poked fun once more. He shuddered as Henry found a particularly sensitive area on his neck and bit down. “Shut up, you cretin,” Henry growled before he took possession of Alex’s mouth again.

2.) From fire island follies (a klaine/glee themed ficlet friday prompt)

“Porcelain, Starchild, White Chocolate . . who are they?” he wondered aloud. “Well, me for one.” Blaine swiveled around on his stool to find a ridiculously good looking guy in the tiniest gold booty shorts that he had ever seen staring at him from behind the bar. “I . .I’m sorry . . what?” The bartender tossed a rainbow colored bar towel over his shoulder and plunked down a glass of water in front of Blaine.  “White Chocolate.  That’s me, I’m saying.” “That’s . . a, uh. .  . .a nice name . .” The blond grinned, the body glitter shining very noticeably off his abs.   Blaine seriously tried not to stare.  He did. “Stage name.  Used to have a partner called Dark Chocolate I worked with, but he went off and got him a boyfriend who didn’t like him writhing on stage with little ole me. Jake came up with the names.  He said we were both smooth and sweet and it kind of worked cause he was, well, you know, African American and I’m . . .” he gestured again toward his glitter encrusted abs. Blaine swallowed and really didn’t stare.  Really.  He really, really didn’t.

Besides the lovely folks listed above, I'm also tagging: @gleefulpoppet, @14carrotghoul, @myheartalivewrites, @itsmaybitheway, @hkvoyage,

@little-escapist, @madas-ahatters-world, @kirakiwiwrites, @spaceorphan18, @special-bc-ur-part-of-it ,

@kurtsascot , @cryscendo, @rockitmans, @lady-divine-writes, @lilinas

and open tag for anyone who wants to jump in!

[onthewaytosomewhere]

Some Sentences on a Sunday

So, it's Sunday, and well my sinuses have been pounding all day attempting to work their way out of my head I'm certain

Apparently, that means all I write is stuff that is nowhere near where I'm at in what I fondly call 'hockey and books' that makes me wanna cry as if the pain wasn't bad enough lol so I'm a share some of that with y'all - even though it's rough and def needs edits lol

❤️Thanks ever so much for the tags today - @typicalopposite @agame-writes @bitbybitwrites @heybuddy-drabbles @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @england-would-fall @suseagull04 @taste-thewaste @adreamareads @stellarm - I am excited to check out what ya posted ❤️

It's a double six sentence sunday today - which means I counted but didn't like where it ended and I do what I wanna really lol

Alex is soaring across the ice, skating the best damn game of his life, getting open, and putting the puck in the net; he’s got himself a hat trick this game. He, Liam, and their team are ahead and just ready to put this baby to bed. It’s less than 2 minutes left in the third period, and they’re in the middle of a power play. Some goons from the other team have been gunning for Alex the whole game, ramming him into the boards with extra force that the officials apparently don’t see, flinging slurs under their breath as they do so. Two of them had finally got caught when they had decided elbowing and butt-ending Alex in front of one of the officials who actually will call it was a good idea. So, now, here they are in the middle of a power play, fast approaching the end of this game and another win - he’s chasing the puck Liam flings in front of him. When it happens, he sees Henry in his seat out of the corner of his eye. He wasn’t even aware he was here this whole game and assumed he wouldn’t be since he had ripped Alex’s heart out only 3 days ago, but there he is, and Alex is distracted for that moment. That moment allows the guy from the other team to come at him and take him completely unaware, with no chance of bracing for the impact as he is rammed into the boards. His whole body is on fire, as the force of the collision with the wall is felt throughout; he doesn’t realize he’s falling until his ass hits the ice. He sees his helmet roll on the ice before he feels the moment of contact where his head slams into the ice. He thinks he hears his name shouted in a familiar voice, only it doesn’t sound like it usually does when he’s heard it. It’s the last thing he hears before the darkness overtakes him.

Alex will be fine, and our boys will work their shit out at some point, but they are gonna suffer a bit more in this than I had planned

As it is late(and I'm certain everyone has already done this) and I can no longer look at this laptop and need to re-med I'm gonna leave this an open tag for anyone who wants it - SO IF UR READING THIS AND HAVEN'T YET POSTED AND WANT TO PLZ TAG ME SO I CAN SEE WHAT YA WROTE AND DON'T HAFTA HUNT IT DOWN lol

[korovaoverlook]

I Sacrificed My Writing To A.I So You Don't Have To

I was thinking about how people often say "Oh, Chat GPT can't write stories, but it can help you edit things!" I am staunchly anti-A.I, and I've never agreed with this position. But I wouldn't have much integrity to stand on if I didn't see for myself how this "editing" worked. So, I sacrificed part of a monologue from one of my fanfictions to Chat GPT to see what it had to say. Here is the initial query I made:

Chat GPT then gave me a list of revisions to make, most of which would be solved if it was a human and had read the preceding 150k words of story. I won't bore you with the list it made. I don't have to, as it incorporated those revisions into the monologue and gave me an edited sample back. Here is what it said I should turn the monologue into:

The revision erases speech patterns. Ben/the General speaks in stilted, short sentences in the original monologue because he is distinctly uncomfortable—only moving into longer, more complex structures when he is either caught up in an idea or struggling to elaborate on an idea. The Chat GPT version wants me to write dialogue like regular narrative prose, something that you'd use to describe a room. It also nullified the concept of theme. "A purity that implied personhood" simply says the quiet(ish) part out loud, literally in dialogue. It erases subtlety and erases how people actually talk in favor of more obvious prose. Then I got a terrible idea. What if I kept running the monologue through the algorithm? Feeding it its own revised versions over and over, like a demented Google Translate until it just became gibberish? So that's what I did. Surprisingly enough, from original writing sample to the end, it only took six turnarounds until it pretty much stopped altering the monologue. This was the final result:

This piece of writing is florid, overly descriptive, unnatural, and unsubtle. It makes the speaking character literally give voice to the themes through his dialogue, erasing all chances at subtext and subtlety. It uses unnecessary descriptors ("Once innocuous," "gleaming," "receded like a fading echo," "someone worth acknowledging,") and can't comprehend implication—because it is an algorithm, not a human that processes thoughts. The resulting writing is bland, stupid, lacks depth, and seemingly uses large words for large word's sake, not because it actually triggers an emotion in the reader or furthers the reader's understanding of the protagonist's mindset.

There you have it. Chat GPT, on top of being an algorithm run by callous, cruel people that steals artist's work and trains on it without compensation or permission, is also a terrible editor. Don't use it to edit, because it will quite literally make your writing worse. It erases authorial intention and replaces it with machine-generated generic slop. It is ridiculous that given the writer's strike right now, studios truly believe they can use A.I to produce a story of marginal quality that someone may pay to see. The belief that A.I can generate art is an insult to the writing profession and artists as a whole—I speak as a visual artist as well. I wouldn't trust Chat GPT to critique a cover letter, much less a novel or poem.

[j-nipper-95]

Six Sentence Sunday

Yes, 2023 is drawing to a close. Yes, I have been lurking for (I think) months at this point. Yes, I have been writing. Thank you so much to everyone who has been tagging me in recent weeks/months, I'm so sorry I haven't been interacting as much with you all as I have in the past. In the last few months I just haven't had the social battery to do much more than just lurk in comments sections, and sometimes not even that (autistic burnout is not fun, can confirm, 0/10, do not recommend).

But I'm back, and here's hoping 2024 is a good year, and one that's productive where writing is concerned! 2023 was a pretty good year for me; I published my first fic (which was also the first bit of writing I've properly published anywhere!), and I sent off my first query for ASR! To a proper literary agent! Like ... WHAT?! I still can't believe it!

As for the end of this year, let's get one last hurrah in for the year of 2023 with the final WIPsday of the year. Chapter 11 of Trails is coming, it just needs to be edited. Here's an unedited snippet of the chaos you have to look forward to.

“When I tell you to, run like fuck,” Fiona tells us, clicking the hammer back on her revolver.  “How many more rounds have you got?” Penny asks. “Enough to take down half the idiots aboard this ship.” Fiona takes up a position on one side of the hatch, her finger on the trigger guard. As she moves I hear the tell tale clink of a box of rounds, and see the outline of it in her trouser pocket for the first time. “Fiona,” I caution. “Maybe we should try to do this quietly.” “No chance of that, boyo. I’m killing as many of these fuckers as I can before we go overboard.” “Fiona,” I try again, but she isn’t listening. “The lifeboat is on the right side,” Penny whispers to us, eyeing Fiona out of the corner of her eye. We’ll lower you into it, Baz, then follow.” I guess I don’t have much of a say in this, as Snow is literally the only reason I’m still standing right now. I nod, and Penny creeps up the stairs behind Fiona, who does so about as well as a bull in a china shop. She storms out onto the deck and I’m actually surprised by how long it takes for bullets to start flying. There’s a solid fifteen seconds or so, which allows Bunce to make it up the stairs and gesture for us to follow, before an alarm is raised and Fiona does what she does best: cause chaos.

This hiatus with Trails wasn't planned, but work and general holiday madness got in the way of the tentative schedule my beta's and I had. New Year, fresh start, once more into the fray, as they say. I hope you can join us for this fics future shenanigans.

Tagging for the new year: @artsyunderstudy @aristocratic-otter @bazzybelle @blackberrysummerblog @bookish-bogwitch @cattocavo @chen-chen-chen-again-chen @cosmicalart @cutestkilla @dragoneggos @erzbethluna @ebbpettier @fatalfangirl @frjsti @henreyettah @hushed-chorus @ic3-que3n @ileadacharmedlife @ivelovedhimthroughworse @krisrix @larkral @letraspal @martsonmars @nightimedreamersworld @orange-peony @prettylightsbigcity @palimpsessed @phoxphyre @raenestee @shrekgogurt @skeedelvee @stardustasincocaine @subparselkie @that-disabled-princess @theearlgreymage @wellbelesbian @you-remind-me-of-the-babe 

[happiness-of-the-pursuit]

2023 Fic Round Up (Part 1: Fic List)

I have been tagged in about a million different round ups of sorts, so here's Part 1: A Comprehensive 2023 Fic List sorted by month posted (if a multichap, I listed it the first month it posted), featuring the major details and a single-sentence summary/quote (so a fun challenge for me).

I'll post Part 2: Favorite Quotes and Part 3: Channeling Nora Holleran to Bring You My AO3 Data over the next two days (for the data I want to wait til the last possible day).

Without further ado, here is my 2023 Fic List:

January:

Nothing, I was still a lurker.

February:

Prince Henry and FSOTUS Alex Claremont-Diaz Answer the Web’s Most Searched Questions (T, 2.4K, YouTube Script Fic)

10 Things Alex Claremont-Diaz Can’t Live Without (T, 3K, YouTube Script Fic)

10 Things HRH Prince Henry Can’t Live Without (T, 2.5K, YouTube Script Fic)

March:

Prince Henry and FSOTUS Alex Claremont-Diaz Take a Couples Quiz (T, 5K, YouTube Script Fic)

The Super Six Take a Lie Detector Test | Vanity Fair (M, 7K, YouTube Script Fic)

Baby's First Pride (E, 10K, WIP Multi-Chap)

Post-canon, canon-compliant (ignoring bonus chapter) look at the Super Six celebrating their first pride after the emails—I want to come back and finish this (I got interrupted by Life) but my writing has evolved a lot since March and I'm daunted by all the editing I'd have to do, lol

ALEX CLAREMONT-DIAZ COMMUNES WITH HIS ANCESTORS WHILE EATING SPICY WINGS | Hot Ones (T, 3K, YouTube Script Fic)

April-June

Trying to survive the end of the school year as a teacher before I left my job :)

July

PRINCE HENRY SENTENCES US TO THE DUNGEONS WHILE EATING SPICY WINGS | Hot Ones  (M, 3K, YouTube Script Fic)

August

FirstPrince Sings Queen, Lil Nas X, and Taylor Swift in a Game of Song Association | ELLE (T, 2.5K, YouTube Script Fic)

Claremont 2008 (M, 26K, Complete Multi-Chap, Canon Divergence)

A world where Ellen gets elected in 2008 instead of 2016, and the friends-to-lovers path that puts Henry on. If you want to relive the early 2010s, enjoy epistolary fics, or want a glimpse of a world where Alex & Henry go to college together, you might like this.

September

How well you play...that's up to you (M, 4K, FirstPrince Week)

Grey's Anatomy-Inspired AU, where Alex & Henry are both surgical residents—currently a one-shot, but I plan on writing a multi-chap prequel for this at some point.

Keep this Love in a Photograph (T, 2.6K, FirstPrince Week)

Post-Canon: Henry finds Alex's old photo album and they take a stroll down memory lane.

The Starwand (T, 1.7K, FirstPrince Week)

Three vignettes from Alex's life (two featuring Henry) where a sparkler makes an appearance—both a kid fic of Alex and Alex with his kids.

Somebody Call 911 (M, 2.4K, FirstPrince Week)

College AU where Alex is sneaking around with Henry behind his roommate's back—until it all goes to shit.

October

Sets on the Beach (M, 4K, FirstPrince Week)

Crack Treated Seriously, Alex and Henry are on rival queer beach volleyball teams.

Water over Blood (G, 3K, FirstPrince Week)

Post-Canon 5+1 of five times Henry's niece loved Alex, and one time she loved Henry

L(ate) S(leepy) A(morous) T(exting) (M, 1K, FirstPrince Week)

Text-fic of a missing moment from the book, because I am convinced that Alex did, in fact, study for the LSAT (it's just more realistic if we're to believe he scored well enough to get into NYU)

November

Freaky Friday (I woke up in my enemy's body) (M, 9K, Halloween, Huh?)

Canon Divergence, Freaky Friday-Inspired Body Swap AU, Crack Treated Seriously: Between Cakegate and Alex's visit to London, the boys swap bodies and proceed to learn a lot about each other. And themselves.

December

Alex Claremont-Díaz Answers Your Questions | Actually Me |GQ (M, 2K, YouTube Script Fic)

Super Six and the Siren's Call (T, 111K Total, Posting Bi-weekly)

The Percy Jackson AU, co-written with @read-and-write- and @inexplicablymine. Quests and Greek References abound! Check out more @auntiepezzasupdates

(Dil)Do It Yourself (E, 16.7K, New Traditions Advent Calendar)

Alex attends a DIY Dildo Workshop for the holidays, where he meets Henry, who's helping to lead the workshop—and eventually, helps Alex in other ways. The tags will tell you all that you need to know.

Thanks to @rockyroadkylers @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @kiwiana-writes @welcometololaland and anyone else who tagged me that I missed! I was waiting to post all my fics for December before I did this :) Since I'm pretty late, I'll tag @ssmtskw @matherines @affectionatelyrs and an open tag to anyone who's made it this far and wants to do this!

[iamamythologicalcreature]

Six Sentence Sunday Finds Some Art

Thank you for the tags @ic3-que3n, @thewholelemon, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe, and @artsyunderstudy!

I posted chapter one of my very first fanfic ever on November 30, so it's been a minute since I last posted a snippet for Sunday. Right now I have chapter one up on AO3, with an amazing illustration by @bubble-gumhead. I haven't been editing yet on Chapter 2, but only because I'm diligently plugging away at the rough draft for the entire thing. I just entered the final stage of the story last night, and I'm pretty excited about it. XD

Here are six lines (actually six, for once) from Chapter 2, Simon's POV:

I hold my phone’s torch up, and the bright light gleams against the glossy finish of the paint. It’s… Well I’m not that into art, not like this kind of art, but this is really good, isn’t it? This feels like quality. And the guy in the painting— Christ, it feels wrong to even think of him as ‘the guy’— the gentleman in the painting is looking at me like he’s daring me to keep staring. How do some artists do that? It’s like they steal a little life and mix it with their paints so the portrait keeps a bit of spark.

Simon, gaining new appreciation for classic portraiture. XD

A tiny update about me and hello's under the cut!

I've been super behind on just about everything lately. >.> I managed to get my CORB chapter posted (linked above), which was a breathless race all the way to the finish line LOL And I've been doing COC every now and then (3 so far). With everything that's going on, writing and drawing and Christmas and... Well, I'm giving up the ghost on catching up on old WIPsday posts (because I'm weeks behind). :-( But this will allow me to better keep up with current posts, today and onward! So please keep tagging me on things, because I love seeing what everyone is up to.

Hello's and and howdy's: @martsonmars @palimpsessed @nightimedreamersworld @youarenevertooold @prettygoododds @aroace-genderfluid-sheep @alleycat0306 @aristocratic-otter @whatevertheweather @theimpossibledemon @cutestkilla @leithillustration @alexalexinii @ileadacharmedlife @rimeswithpurple @imagineacoolusername @blackberrysummerblog @supercutedinosaurs @shrekgogurt @hushed-chorus @brilla-brilla-estrellita @angelsfalling16 @ivelovedhimthroughworse @theearlgreymage @best--dress @scribble-tier @fatalfangirl

[distracteddream]

4, 6, and 17 for the fic writer asks!

Thank you! I’m going to answer 6 & 17 first and then put 4 under the cut for length.

Six: the word that appears the most in your current draft (wordcounter.net can tell you)

I used the pirate fic: Mobius (855x). Back is the first non-name word that is used the most.

Seventeen: talk about your writing and editing process

Well, writing is just kinda when inspiration strikes. Sometimes I’ll just make notes or write dialogue and start there. Editing? For longer fics, I actually have printed them and hand-edited before. I may do that for my pirate fic because there are a lot of pieces to that one. I edit as I go sometimes and usually once more before posting.

Four: a story idea you haven’t written yet

I might have mentioned this in passing but a Lokius Mafia AU. These are my rough, rough notes.

Mobius calls Loki in. Loki is son of powerful father. Mobius convinces Loki to partner up. 

They do a sting at a speak easy. The target is Sylvie (see also: Season 1 parallel). Loki and Sylvie have their heads together as Loki proposes they team up. Mobius watching. Feds raid bar. Sylvie (and Loki) escape. Loki shows up at Mobius’ office angry about raid. Mobius hadn’t known about the raid. Mobius upset at Loki and Sylvie scheming which Loki denies. Loki points out he came back to Mobius after raid. He didn’t disappear. Mobius says he can’t trust Loki. Loki tells him maybe Mobius doesn’t know him as well as he thought and leaves. 

Loki finds Mobius later, launching into a theory on how to find Sylvie but he needs Mobius and his resources. Mobius is shocked that Loki is back and Loki blows that off. They work together to find Sylvie.

Loki does eventually disappear, leaving Mobius sad but Mobius arrests Loki and Sylvie together. Mobius thinks Loki betrayed him - Loki points out he fulfilled his bargain. Loki tells Mobius that Sylvie said the police are corrupt. Mobius doesn’t believe him or her, leaving Loki locked up. Until Mobius decides what if Loki isn’t lying and discovers the corruption himself. 

Sylvie escapes and Mobius breaks Loki out. Mobius hides Loki out at his place. They have to separate since Loki is a fugitive and Mobius works to bring the corruption down.

At the final sting Loki is at his side and they win. There are still courts and cleaning and they want to promote Mobius.

But he thinks maybe switching to PI work, with a new partner, would be better. 

[pseudowho]

Hi! I've never actually sent one of these before, I'm not a huge Tumblr user (definitely a lurker... I love to read, never post), but it feels fitting that the first time I ever say anything on this site that it's to you. I'm a huge fan and I've been following for a while. I've written for years (a very different format, try written roleplay) and you were the inspiration I needed to start writing independently, and I've been having a blast with it! I feel like I've finally started doing what I've wanted to do this whole time, and never realized it's what I should've been doing all along. JJK is also my poison of choice :) So thank you for the accidental epiphany! Lovely work as always and I adore you so so much from the shadows! My question: WHAT witchcraft have you employed to come up with some of the words and phrases you write with? Was there a ritual to unlock my third-eye that I forgot to do? Light some candles, maybe? I feel like I use a lot of the same words and descriptors over and over again, and it makes my writing feel so flat! The thesaurus is my best friend but that only makes so much of a difference I feel, do you use one too? Because I keep finding myself looking back at my writing during the editing passes and going: "man, I just don't know many words! Or at least not any interesting ones." Your writing is just so rich and colorful, and I would love just a smidge of your sparkle <3 Long winded request for writing advice! Hope you're doing well! <3

Hi!

God, this is so flattering. I've said it once, and I'll say it again: I love when creativity sparks more creativity. It's catching, and beautiful, and I'm so pleased that whatever I do has helped you like this. It's amazing to hear. And I'm pleased you're enjoying yourself and feeling fulfilled, which is the most important thing.

I don't mind being watched from the shadows, so pleased feel free to stay on Anon. It doesn't bother me. Thank you for reading my work for so long.

Honestly, with words, I find them to have colour. I feel like I can make a sentence or a paragraph run with any colour I want, depending on the pace or tone, or language. For the most part, if I look at a piece of my writing and it doesn't stand out as a fucking rainbow, I feel like I've failed.

I don't really think about the words I put down, I go by a feeling. I read a lot (though it's slowed down in recent years with how busy I am), so perhaps that?

I've spoken previously about viewing my stories like movie scenes before I write them. I still very much do this. It helps to capture the vibe of a written scene and makes it three dimensional instead of flat.

I play a lot of word and number games in my head when I'm performing mental tasks. Like...six degrees of separation word games, by choosing two very different words and trying to see how many adjacent words it takes to connect them. Also, trying to make patterns with sets of words in a verbal reasoning kind of way.

I do complex addition and division of numbers in my head, seeing how many decimal points I can divide something down to. I play 'common denominators' a lot, and have recently found some number patterns that I hadn't noticed before, which has been satisfying.

That sounds mental. I'm sorry. My brain is so much sometimes.

I wish I knew what to tell you. I'm very much a maximalist, and I think my writing carries a sort of maximalism too. I like it to be absolutely full, bursting and blooming. I love to read it back to myself and feel the richness on the page. It delights me.

Read more, perhaps?

Always here to give frankly unhelpful and useless advice, lovingly yours,

-- Haitch xxx

[jake-marshall]

Six Sentence Sunday - Cursed Old Man Yaoi Edition

When I said I ship Heinz/Lucas completely unironically I meant it and over the span of 2.5 days I wrote 2400 words of an Idea for them getting together. It's kind of twisting Lucas's confession around a bit, like, what if he were the one to confess first? And it's just overall very humorous and sweet, with lots of focus on his friendship with Alice as well (and there's background Cecil/Alice to celebrate me marrying The Baby in RF5). Here's Alice about to have a stroke when she realizes these two dopes have a crush on each other.

“And I’ve no issue with anyone having a ‘crush’ on me, as you put it, at least not in theory. But in practice? No. I am a divine being. Myself and a mortal being in any sort of relationship? That’s not possible. Although I find it quite unbelievable that someone would be drawn to me in such a manner, to begin with.” Alice sighs, trying to process this startling new information, although she knows it’s a lot more for Lucas to process. “Heinz is a lot of things, but I don’t think he’s that shallow. He obviously cares about you, and it’s for who you are, Lucas. Not what you are. But don’t force yourself to go along with it just because of how he feels, either.” “What ever do you mean?”

“Like, I remember Cecil saying almost that exact same thing to me when we first started dating – he was worried I was indulging him, that I didn’t actually reciprocate his feelings. Luckily I did like him back, but I wouldn’t have lied just to make him feel better. And I know you wouldn’t do that either, as much as it might disappoint Heinz to hear it. He’s used to being let down; I’m sure he’ll get over it eventually.” Lucas presses his fist beneath his chin, even deeper in thought than before. “Hm. Not that I don’t agree with your assessment, Alice, but it appears you’re gravely mistaken. About my feelings.” “Wh-what…?” Alice stammers, although she thinks she already knows the answer. “What are you talking about?” “When you had mentioned previously that it was Cecil who suggested obtaining a manual to use, I had assumed at some point that he’d also divulged to you the, as he described it, ‘earth-shattering deduction’ he made about me. That I, too, have a ‘crush’.” “Wait, what?” “Yes?” “On Heinz?” “Yes!” “But… how?”