#am i un-writer's blocked? i have no fucking idea

[skyfallscotland]

Writing Advice: tips, tricks & helpful links, from your friendly neighbourhood fanfic author ✨ (part one—the advice)

see part two—the resources here

I've mentioned this before, but I truly believe no one's born a great writer. A great storyteller, yes. A great writer? That's learned. I've been reading and writing basically as long as I can remember. Learning to write is like...learning through both practice and symbiosis. In saying that, I get asked about this a lot, so here's what I do and some things that might help you.

Write what you're inspired to write, when you're inspired to write it.

So you have an idea—great! Are you a plotter or a pantser? Some people like to start with an outline, others just jot down a few notes and let the keyboard take them where it will. I'm in the latter camp, generally. For me, the best way to avoid writer's block is to write what I'm inspired to write, when I want to write it. Sometimes I'll write five chapters of a story at once, others I'll switch between a multi-chapter and a one-shot.

What's most important for me, personally, is that I don't try and force anything. If you suffer from demand avoidance, the worst thing you could possibly do (in my opinion), is set arbitrary goals. You don't need to write 500 words a day. If you want to, great! If that helps you, also great, but in my experience, that will generally just make my brain say well no, now we're not writing anything for a whole week, maybe a month, if you test me.

I also personally like to have a whole fic written before I start posting it online, or at least most of it written. I like being quite far ahead of what readers are seeing because I am a pantser. It takes the pressure off and honestly, there'd be so many plot holes if I didn't. Which brings me to...

First make it exist, then make it make sense, after that make it good.

What you see me post is not my first run-through. It's not even the second. I've written, read over, and changed things at least a handful of times before ever posting it, especially when it's a multi-chapter work. Sometimes I'll write a scene I love and then realise it just doesn't flow well, because three chapters back I had someone say a certain thing. In that instance, I'll put the scene aside.

Note that I said 'put aside' not 'delete'. I never delete them until I'm finished with a fic and I'm certain I won't need them, ever. Been there, made that mistake for you! Having a separate document with just various scenes you can insert at a later date also helps you to feel like it's ok to write what you want to write when you want to write it. I'll be honest, I jump around a lot. Sometimes I'll be inspired to write a scene I know isn't coming for another five chapters, but in my opinion it's best to just write it because when I get there five chapters down the line, I might not have the inspiration or I might have forgotten how I wanted things to go. Write what your brain wants to, fill in the blanks later!

Write from the heart.

My most popular work is the one I find the easiest to write and I almost never wrote it at all. Isn't that ridiculous? I almost never wrote it because I know it's cliché and excessive, and honestly...looked down upon. I almost didn't write it because of other people's opinions; then I said fuck it, I want to read it so surely there's someone else out there that does, too? Turns out there were thousands of you. Who knew?

But that work has really resonated with so many people and I think that's because I've poured so much of myself, my pain, my own experiences into it, into her. For that reason, I'd tell anyone starting out to try original character fic if that's what they want to do. Fuck the haters. All their favourite works were original characters once too.

Don't read similar fic while you're writing yours...unless you need to.

Let me explain. If I'm writing a certain type of alternate universe, or a certain storyline I know someone else has written, I won't read theirs until I'm done if I can help it, especially not if I'm actively writing my take on it. This isn't a hard and fast rule, it's obviously up to you what you feel comfortable with, but I would never want to have someone else's work influence my own too much, or get our ideas confused in my head, you know?

An exception to this rule, for me personally, is if I'm stuck with specific things in particular, like smut. When I wrote my first smut piece from a male POV, I was struck by the fact that I had no idea what an orgasm felt like for them, or how to describe it, because despite reading M/M fic for years, I apparently never absorbed that particular verbiage, so I went looking and read a whole bunch of smut from the male POV just to get an idea. Which leads into...

So you suck at kung-fu fighting.

Action scenes. I'm convinced we all hate them just as much as each other. I hate them so much I've changed whole plotlines from canon just so I don't have to include them. Unfortunately, my main fandom features a bunch of knife-throwing, sword-wielding, dragon riders at a war college who spar for clout, so I mean...it's unavoidable.

I still suck at writing it though, so what I now do for sparring and other hand-to-hand combat is search up youtube for sparring videos or self-defence lessons. It's much easier to describe what you're seeing than to imagine the mechanics and positioning of an artform you've never performed. The kung-fu thing was a joke, I like capoeira personally.

Stop being so damn hard on yourself.

Listen, everyone wants to be better than they are when they start out, literally everyone. I know I sure did. That's normal. Accept that it's normal before you start because the thing is, no one's a harsher critic on you, than you are and you'll always want to be better. There's a quote from Ira Glass that I'll paraphrase:

“Nobody tells this to people who are beginners, I wish someone told me. All of us who do creative work, we get into it because we have good taste. But there is this gap[...]It’s trying to be good, it has potential, but it’s not. But your taste, the thing that got you into the game, is still killer. And your taste is why your work disappoints you. A lot of people never get past this phase, they quit."

It's very true. Hopefully you have the support of a really welcoming fandom to reassure you that actually, you're nowhere near as bad as you think you are.

READ. BOOKS.

@justallihere says you can’t be good at something you don’t know anything about and it's so true, I've phrased it before as learning by symbiosis, when you read more, you'll internalise more. You're subconsciously learning how story structure works—plot hooks, transitions, metaphors and similie, grammar, style and punctuation.

Show don't tell.

...yeah this one I haven't mastered, I could use some help with that myself if anyone's got any words of wisdom, thanks.

Take all of this with a grain of salt.

I couldn't tell you how many writer's advice threads and blogs and whatever-else I've read over the years—too many, for sure. What I can tell you is 80% of what I've read was crap. It doesn't apply to me at best and it's unhelpful at worst. Maybe it's the neurodivergence, maybe it's just the fact that everyone's different and all you can do is give things a try, but based on that I can say with certainty that not all of this will work for you and that's absolutely fine! But I hope at least a few things do 😌

For links to more specific resources including thesauruses, generators, and other writers' advice, click here.

[valoisfulcanellideux]

Pixlriffs as the god of undying, in the same way as totems: requiring effort and ultimately temporary.

The god of remembering those that have died, and of keeping the candles that represent them lit. The god of copper, which ages without upkeep and of lightning, which can de-age it. (What brought back the Copper King from his exile other than a symbol that mistakes could be undone, even if it meant bringing something back to life)

A god that believes there are no good deaths, that there is no point where death is unavoidable, but that death is just when you mess up in a way you cannot recover from. (That everyone dies with something left to do)

A god that looks at a dead city, a dead castle and brings it back. Then when he dies, he brings himself back. Because dead and un-dead are not the same. (But un-death cannot last forever and the Ancient Capital will someday be forgotten again)

A god who built a V161L looking over the tools which he built and repaired and repaired until they could not break more blocks. Who said deaths were not his domain. (But the coins to bring them back are still copper)

And finally, a necromancer specializing in bringing people back, starting with himself. His zombies and dreadglares never last forever, but things don't need to be infinite to matter. (And he's still using copper and lightning and candles)

Nonny, you absolutely get why - as a writer - I'm so fucking obsessed with Pix's characters. There's technically also some RL!Pix (as in, Jonny himself) mixed in with that lore - most notably the 'no good deaths' thing, which he's mentioned several times in places like the Survival Guide, but this man has Death as a leitmotif* and he's acknowledged as much:

“I am going to be… a Revenant. Yes, Pixlriffs chooses something to do with death. Again.” — Pix on his Fantasy Minecraft SMP first stream

You're also trying to put ideas into my head for a future fic, aren't you? xD

Dammit! <shakes fist>

*Yes, I know that's more of a musical term, but damned if it doesn't apply here, too.

[rollercoasterwords]

different anon, but i thought we all agreed canon remus is a timid, sheltered boy? unlike the fanon's alphamale remus. i think that was an important point. don't know why you said like it was a personal interpretation. and i think when the anon called it fanon toxic heteronormative wolfstar, they meant the r & s in your fic are alphamale-ed remus & abused, shorter sirius. you can make disabled remus fight, but the alphamale-ification of him is. i think we writers should try to not spread that remus. man, i don't think you have to agree with the anon or me, you do you and we do we. sent it just to clarify a few stuff

you guys have caught me in a bad mood so fine let's get into it lmao

"i thought we all agreed canon remus is a timid, sheltered boy?"

well, you thought wrong!! generally speaking if you're saying "i thought we all agreed..." about something in fandom, you are wrong. this space is huge and there are tons of different interpretations of canon. i don't like all of them, but you know what i do when i don't like someone's interpretation? i unfollow them or block them or simply scroll past their post or don't read their fic!! it is sooooooo easy to ignore a stranger on the internet's take on harry fucking potter c'mon now

that being said, the idea that remus is "sheltered" in canon is laughable to me. that kid became a werewolf at six years old, he was forced to deal with the harsh realities of the world wayyyyyy before any of his friends. and i guess you could interpret him as timid, maybe, but i personally don't!! professor lupin in the books is incredibly vivacious, sarcastic, funny--plus, he spent his youth fighting voldemort + death eaters. none of that screams "timid" to me.

and, again, even if that was my interpretation of canon remus, this is not a canon-compliant fic. i am specifically putting the characters in a universe where voldemort won and they grew up separately, without all going to hogwarts together, and exploring my interpretation of how their personalities would change. remus in this world is definitely not fucking sheltered and he literally could not be timid if he wanted to survive. you don't have to read the fic if you don't like seeing him that way!

unlike the fanon's alphamale remus. i think that was an important point. don't know why you said like it was a personal interpretation.

again, the idea that "the fanon" is a single united entity is laughable. there are tons of fanon interpretations of remus. you can choose not to interact with the ones you dislike!!! and i said the "sheltered and timid" thing was a personal interpretation because it is.

and i think when the anon called it fanon toxic heteronormative wolfstar, they meant the r & s in your fic are alphamale-ed remus & abused, shorter sirius.

let's just say what you mean here: you think interpretations of r + s where one is more "feminine" and one is more "masculine" are heteronormative. i think that's bullshit! the idea that gay couples where one is more feminine and one is more masculine are "heteronormative" is the shit that's been ostracizing + marginalizing butches + feminine gay men within the queer community for literal decades--genuinely, it was (and continues to be, apparently!) a huge lesbophobic talking point in feminist circles that butch/femme relationships were un-feminist because butches were basically just "mimicking straight men." not only that, but it leads to pretty blatant transphobia on account of, y'know, trying to police people's gender presentation based on how you think someone of their gender is meant to present. so i don't have ANY fucking patience for this discourse and if you try to bring it to my blog you will get blocked.

and i'll address the idea that remus in my fic is an "alphamale" in a second, but for now--what about having one person be shorter and one person be taller in a relationship makes it heteronormative?? are short people automatically feminine to you?? and what about having one party being abused makes a relationship heteronormative?? is being abused an inherently feminine trait?? i'd recommend thinking about what exactly you're trying to claim here before you bring it to my askbox.

you can make disabled remus fight, but the alphamale-ification of him is. i think we writers should try to not spread that remus.

first of all, i think the idea that The Fandom is spreading some sort of plague of "alphamale remus" is silly. The Fandom is not a monolith; the majority of blogs + writers i follow portray him as a wet sock. so if you're being inundated with "alphamale remus" content that you don't like, start learning to use the block button.

beyond that, the interpretation that remus is an "alphamale" in my fic at all just tells me that both you and the first anon have not read the fic in its entirety. the only reason i can imagine that the first anon even brought that up is the fact that remus is in a werewolf fighting ring and acts flirty with sirius when they first meet. we get an entire chapter from remus's perspective where we learn that this is a specific persona he has had to adapt to survive, and we also learn that he is fighting in this werewolf fighting ring for reasons that are specifically tied to the way he is marginalized in this fictional society. the fic spends a ton of time exploring the way his marginalization has shaped his life and i spend over 20k words writing his pov in his head demonstrating that his anger comes from that marginalization, and that the "aggression" he is interpreted as having is a) partially stereotyping because he's a werewolf and b) partially a persona he has to adapt to survive in the werewolf fighting ring. again, if you don't like reading him like that then you don't have to read the fic. but the idea that fighting other werewolves specifically as a facet of the ways in which werewolves are oppressed in this society is something that makes him an "alpha male"....i mean if that's what you're taking away from it then i simply don't want you to read my fics in the first place.

man, i don't think you have to agree with the anon or me, you do you and we do we. sent it just to clarify a few stuff

the first anon literally asked me to rewrite my fic. sure, i could have just ignored the message and blocked them, and maybe i should have--but like i said, you guys caught me in a bad mood, and this is my blog, so. to answer that ask, i actually did have to disagree with them, because i had to say, "no, i will not rewrite the fic." and you've put me in a position where i actually do have to disagree as well, by saying stuff like "i thought we all agree," where not saying anything would be tacit agreement when i don't agree. i will do me, and i suggest you and the first anon go do you far away from that, because it seems like it would be better for everyone involved! i don't really care if you think you were being polite or helpful with this message; i didn't need you to clarify, and i did not need the holier-than-thou moralizing about what "we writers" should do when it's not even something i'm doing.

again, i don't care if people don't like my fic. just don't read it!!!! and just don't follow this blog!!! there is literally zero point in sending me messages like this nitpicking interpretations, especially not when the crux of your issue is that i'm making wolfstar "heteronormative," an argument that is deeply rooted in homophobia and transphobia. felt like ranting tonight, but generally speaking i will just block anyone who brings that shit into my askbox.

[b-plot-butch]

for the fic writer ask meme: 11, 15, 16, 26?

Hi Swan! Thanks for sending in an ask <333 (I think you're very cool and talented so whenever you talk to me I'm like. Whoa!!!)

11. What's an idea for a fic you've had that you'll probably never write?

OKAY SO I was talking with @lucienne-thee-librarian once and I came up with a Unity Kincaid x Desire of the Endless human AU. Desire (my favorite human AU name for them is Desmond) is a spy and they're supposed to seduce Unity, scion of a powerful and politically influential family. Desmond's been in the business for quite some time, they know their shit, they have a reputation to uphold. And then Unity Kincaid happens to them, and she's like nothing they expected her to be.

Desmond is fucked.

Title: Code Name Desire

Reasons why I will never actually write this: I am hilariously ill-equipped to write ANY kind of spy shenanigans. I can barely hash out what Lucienne does in her work day when I write her fics. Also, I would rather microwave my entire head than try to write any work of fiction regarding U.S. patriotism and/or British politics. Given the nationalities of Desire and Unity's actors, that would be a major stumbling block in attempting to get this story off the ground.

15. What are some of your favorite tropes to write?

*cups hands over mouth* HURT/COMFOOOOOOOORT!!!! That's my bread and butter. Also I have to stop myself from inserting a forehead touch into 90% of my fics.

16. What are you favorite characters to write?

Well. Y'see. There's a certain woman who is the steward of every story ever written or dreamt, who is vibrant and grounded and sure of herself and exceptional and I just think she's. Very neat. Her name is Lucienne, did you know?

Additionally, Calliope is very, very dear to me.

26. What fic are you proudest of?

Someone asked this earlier and I used that opportunity to talk about "hacia el mar, un lucero: recuérdalo", which is certainly an incredibly special work to me. But another one I'm proud of is "i carried this for years." It was the first fic where I explored Lucienne's trauma and how she gives herself the space to hold it, to not just shove it away or dismiss it in the face of--to her eyes--"larger" issues. And on a technical level, I think a lot of the actual prose in that story is pretty solid as well!

[oofouchstovehot]

Pounces into your kitchen.

Oi! Hello!

Are you a writer? If so, do you have any ideas or AUs you want to scream about? I'd be very interested in listening to a good old-fashioned info dump.

Hoooooooo boy.Yes I am :']

So-like- ik I haven't worked on the fae dca much because of Undertale focus but.... man. I can make it so fucked up.

Open on Smithy Y/N. They just got rammed into a marriage they don't want. Doesn't even know their spouse. Can't yell at their parents cause they're old, frail, and rank higher in the court than they do. Spends all day either in the woods or in the forge, doesn't really have any friends to vent to, and the few smiths that work under them don't need to know their family business and don't deserve the weight of their problems. Gets into an argument with a parent (in public, no less) over "welcoming the future and all it holds with hope and enthusiasm" and decides to go an a night-time ride against their better judgement.

They find themself dosing off, however, and what should have been a short trail just on the edge of the thicket blurred into an un-worn path deep in the forest. They lightly chastise their horse for venturing deeper instead of going home when they slipped away, but can't be mad at the thing. They still recognize these trees, after all.... SURPRISE! Something as small as the crack of a branch breaking in the distance sets the horse into full spook, running straight off the beaten path farther than anything y/n recognizes before they're finally bucked off and left in the dust.... weird... mauve dust.

Laying in the dirt with what is luckily only a minor sprain, y/n finds their mind unusually clouded as a person unlike any they'd ever seen stands above them.

It's a fae. It has strangle splotchy blue skin, wings of a moth, legs of a deer, 4 ears, and strange petals like a blue-bell flow down it's scalp like hair or a hat, similar petals on it's neck remind you of a ruff. It's face covered by a thin veil, held by golden ornaments. Golden bracelets like shackles wrap around it's wrists and ankles, but something tell you they're not the manacles of a prisoner.

It introduces itself as "Moon." Claims to know of your plights. Says it's worried for your health and demands that-hey! why are you getting up? Stay down! Come back!

You know to be polite but can't bring yourself to be careful, half-sure this is some fever dream perhaps brought on by head injury. You introduce yourself as "Smith," tell it you appreciate it's concern, but this is no place for a nap and you really must find your horse and go home.

It yells, it begs, it whines, it reminds you of the young princess before she'd gotten the hang of manners, insistent thing it was yet either unable or unwilling to inflict you with any faerie curses like you might've expected. It trailed after you as you walked, growing frustrated all the while, moving to grab you yet pulling away every time. A lovely reminder of your own jewelry. Cold iron. Wrapper around every finger and ear, your neck, your wrists, the toes of your boots and the clasps of your gloves.

The thing blocks your path. It stomps the ground and clenches its fists. It rants and raves about manners, listening, and sleeping at night, before suddenly stopping like it'd just receive the ultimate paternal glare. Perhaps it had. A growing dread assures you that a bit more care would've serve you well tonight.

The little guy whips around and you peer over it's wings to see a towering thing.

It's horribly out of place in the moonlight. Red and Oranges and Greens. It's sported the same veil, and ornaments of it's own, now in silver, with the addition of studs and loops in it's many ears. The many layered petals of it's scalp remind you of poinsettias. You saw no wings, but the "cloak" along it's shoulder physically grew from it's neck, like the little one's ruff.

It stares down at you like the scum of the Earth, before ignoring you to chastise the little guy about straying too far, playing too loudly, and waking him up at a ridiculous hour.

The little one asks if it remembers the "unfortunate metal worker" it's been watching recently??? When it nods, it simply points at you and says "their horse tried to kill them but they refuse to lay down"

The feeling of hidden eyes narrowing on you keeps your mouth shut. And the ensuing lecture is much more convincing than Moon could ever dream to achieve. Something about self preservation, and healing, and rest, and complying for the sake of those who care for you that gives you some major ick but keeps you nodding your head in an intimidated daze, like a child caught roughhousing with their younger peers.

It wasn't enough to get you to lay down on the spot. however, a clawed hand with too many joints and not enough fingers gripping your wrist, completely ignorant of what was most definitely it's hand lightly crackling like a log on fire, said other things about how tired you were.

You wake up a week later in your bed, father worrying at your side, horse in the stable, all the jewelry you had on your person found in a little silk bag tucked away in your nightstand, every free surface on your room adorned with a bouqet of lillies, blue bells, poinsettias, foxgloves, or strangely coloured roses.

Delivered by "worried servants" he would say.

________

Y/N continues to see Moon on their late night strolls and rides, struck with a newfound confidence after their "rough yet successful" introduction. As time goes on and you continue to grow lax with the brothers (thought not with your iron) It and Fae and Boy turns into Them and He and Moon. Moon loses his veil somewhere along the way, revealing milky pink eyes but an otherwise featureless face. You start growing closer to Sun(whose name you found out later though it was already obvious) when he starts to appear during your daylight strolls and rides. They're much more common than your late night ones, and your scared this unfairness might trigger Moon's short temper, but he claims it would be fine because Sun took such a long time to warm up to you anyways.

They bring you flowers, they bring you trinkets. You see moths and lizards in the corners of your eyes throughout the day. They sing strange songs in a tongue you can't understand. They offer you food that you always decline, distrustful of the oddly perfect bread and strange looking fruits. Sometimes you take your rings off. All except your engagement ring, of course.

Moon gets unreasonably upset over this, wanting to hold both your hands. He says he has to make such a fuss because he's being angry for Sun, too. But whenever you bring up your engagement to the eldest, he changes the subject, ignores you all together, or shows no sign of being upset at all.

Strange creatures.

They make you laugh, though.

______________

You're getting married Saturday.

You met your fiancé today.

It was awful.

They were about as thoughtful as your parents and twice as haughty. They refused to look at you. They refused to talk to you. They interrupted you when you tried to talk to them. You had to listen to whatever they wanted because you were in public, they were a higher status than you, and you didn't want to make a scene.

They made you take off your iron. They called it "unbeffiting." They insulted everything from your clothing to your profession to the way you wore your hair and the length you kept it cut at. A servant brought you a new outfit for the evening. When you hesitated to remove your rings, they ripped them off your fingers. Left them uncovered and nicked.

You were supposed to walk back to your quarters with them to bond until you went your separate ways for bed.

You took off into the dusk ironless, horseless, in dress shoes bare and hands.

The hour is unusual, both brothers appear to you, the youngest stay back and watches the Sun provide you comfort you didn't know he could give.

Nothing crackles when you grab his hands, your own in nothing but useless stone and gold.

"I want to make a deal." A thumb with too many joints rubs over your last ring

Shackles for Shackles, Strings for Chains.

Black across your ankles, silver and gold around your wrists, loose chains bound to a necklace that chokes with precious jewels. Pale white eyes and blood red freckles more beautiful than the sunset you were too busy crying to watch.

"Moon and Eclipse agree they'd be just fine with you as an in-law"

You were getting married today.

_________

THIS ISN'T ALL.

I HAVE MORE.

THEY'RE GONNA BE ON A SEPERATE REBLOG CUS THIS IS HUGE

[fcrmula]

joshua.... is coming

[eclectickss]

Keep My Heart Ticking (blurb)

Pairing: Natasha Romanov x (OC) Reader

Warnings: angst, cursing, reader wants to be un-alive

Word Count: 0.8k?

Summary: Natasha reaches a breaking point with you, and you finally realize just how fucked up you are.

A/N: PLEASE READ! Hi friends! This is a blurb that I had to get off my chest a few weeks ago, hoping that I could turn it into a multi-chapter or extended shot. I have about 1.7k words more written for various parts in the story, but seeing as i'm at a writer's block for this one, I feel as if I should share my favorite part and see if anybody would be interested in the full thing (cause i'm a whore for validation and encouragement) so PLEASE if ya want more, tell me! Also I gave reader a name because using Y/N is not my favorite thing in the world. Your name is Raimy Winters. :)

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Your least favorite redhead walked purposefully into the room, and you verbally groaned at the idea of another lecture. She sat down on one of the benches surrounding the cage enclosure, but you acted like she was invisible. Silence sat among the two of you for an uncomfortably long time, as if all of your arguing and bickering with each other had placed a brick wall down the center of the world. Not appreciating her obscure presence, you flipped over to lay on your other side, now finally meeting her harsh eyes.

The two of you stared down the other, but you weren't giving up the game. She's the one who decided to pay you a visit, so she's going to be the one to address it. You paid attention to her nature, catching how there were dark circles under her eyes and the shake in her left leg. Her glare showed no mercy, and her green gaze treated you like a dog who had tangled its leash around her feet one too many times.

This side of Natasha was new to you.... vulnerable. You didn't know how to feel. You were so used to the assassin being a headstrong, emotionless rule-following drone, that you never could have imagined another side to the redhead. Finally, though, she spoke, but the breath lodged in your chest couldn't escape yet.

"Cut the shit, Ms. Winters." Her voice cracked slightly, but with a darker tone that you weren't used to. You couldn't find any information to process though, so you stayed quiet. "I get it, that you wished I had let you die. I know what begging for death is like. More than you." You already knew a little about her past, so this information didn't surprise you at all. "But your alive, now. So stop acting like a child and get the fuck over it."

Your eyes widened at her new tone and you silently gasped, sitting up.

"It's hard to get over it, Nat, when you don't have anything else to live for. You took away the people I was doing that for." You ground your teeth.

"God, Raimy, stop acting like life is worthless!" She stood up, voice rising and face reddening. "I know I never loved myself that much, but I never wished my heart to stop beating all because it didn't mean shit!"

"Well, my life does mean shit, Natasha!" You stood up too, speeding over to the glass that she was standing in front of. "I CAN'T HELP ANYONE ANYMORE, WIDOW. I CAN KILL AT CONTACT AND I CAN'T CONTROL IT." You spat. "Everyone I love is gone, all because you chose my life over theirs. I MEAN NOTHING, NATASHA. ALL I WANT IN THIS FUCKED UP WORLD IS TO DIE, AND THAT SEEMS TO BE THE ONE GOD DAMN THING I'M NOT ALLOWED TO DO."

"God, We want to help you, Raimy! Let us do that!"

"NO! It puts innocent people in danger, so kill me off while you can."

"RAIMY!" She heaved. "Stop treating me like I'm a bad person for saving your life! That's more fucked up than anything else, Ms. Winters. I did what was best, and it's EXHAUSTING that you won't even TRY to understand the truth in that!"

"The fact that you saved one life over three tells me that it wasn't the best you could've done." You spat. You turned around to lay back down on your bed but whirled around when you heard the cage opening and footsteps headed in your direction.

NO, RAIMY, YOU NEED TO LISTEN TO THE GOD DAMN TRUTH. EVERYONE IS AFRAID TO TELL YOU BECAUSE THEY DON'T WANT TO DIE, BUT HERE THE FUCK I AM, RISKING MY LIFE ALL BECAUSE YOU DON'T KNOW HOW TO GROW THE FUCK UP." Natasha yelled, and you couldn't move. "You don't get to complain to us about who lives and dies. To me about who lives and dies. Do you know why I saved your life? Because I was taking orders. And I don't take orders if I don't think they're the right ones. I was told to save you, because if you died, you would have killed so many more people, Raimy."

You glared at her with tears in your eyes, being told something that nobody else had bothered to yet. Your façade asked so many questions, but your mouth couldn't move. Your eyes begged her to explain.

"Bruce was tracking your radioactivity. You were about to fucking explode, Ms. Winters. Because that's what your body does when you have radioactive powers and your heart runs out of time. You're a bomb, Raimy, I'm just the one who made you tick a little bit longer." She spat angrily and stormed out of the cell, leaving you trapped and alone in the cage.

-

-

-

Hey, Dr. Karen.

I just had a fight with Nat. Again.

But this one was different... she told me that the only reason that she saved my life that day was because it was the only life she could save. Supposedly I'm a bomb. She said I was going to kill a lot more people if I died.

I don't know what I'm supposed to think, Dr. K.

Natasha was pissed off that I didn't care too much before she had said that. She looked tired and scared.

I don't want to scare her though. And I hope I'm not the reason she looked exhausted.

Who am I kidding. I probably am. I've been really harsh with her, Dr. K. And now that I know the truth, I feel... awful.

She had said that there were moments where she had wanted to die too... and when she hadn't loved herself much. She has a greater appreciation for life than I do, though. She's seen more, faced more... feared more.

I mean, my life was thrilling as a detective. Dangerous... but she's faced, aliens and super soldiers. So what the fuck do I know?

...

This journal is probably really thrilling for you to read.

-Raimy

-

-

-

Thoughts and comments are GREATLY appreciated!!

[ragnarachael]

I read your whole post about writing and feedback and I completely agree. I am not fully a writer (I dabble sometimes), but I use to edit videos and posts and people would steal the idea or repost without credit and it’s annoying as fuck etc etc…

Anywayyyssssss, I also agree with the other person, who talked about writing “for you” and not to get upset when you don’t get feedback.

I think (and when I say this I hope I speak for all fanfic writers) that yes, writers do ENJOY WRITING and DO IT FOR THEMSELVES. Because at the end of the day, readers, they owe us nothing. They share their creativity, for free, on their own terms. They have the ability to not post and chose not to write. it is fully up to them, not us readers, to demand when we want the next part. I’d say a good 68% of readers don’t respect or realise how much time it takes for people to write. And they don’t respect creators in general. For instance, when creators ask for feedback, readers fight back and say they are selfish.

They probably say Something like, if writers write for themselves and not others then why do they want feedback?

Well… Have any of you heard of something called WRITERS BLOCK?!? Writers go through stages where they doubt their writing, where they don’t feel motivated enough, where they feel like they aren’t original/creative enough. EVEN MORE SO WHEN THEIR CONTENT IS ON THE INTERNET. Why? Because they can see how people interact with it, and when it doesn’t get attention, like they know it could (especially REBLOGS! ONE BUTTON PEOPLE) it hurts and they start to doubt their ability. Even if they’ve written for themselves and know they are talented. Because as humans it is in our nature to seek approval and seek love.

So Reblogs, likes, and comments like “this made my day” “thank you for all your effort, this made me smile” “ OMG x, y, z WAS MY FAVORITE PART” or even “ADORABLE 🥺🥺🥺” inspire and motivate writers to keep doing what they love, so you can continue to read FOR FREE. Now obviously if you don’t like a fic you don’t have to interact, simple as that.

AND YOU, AS A READER, ARE IN CHARGE OF WHAT YOU READ AND WHAT YOU CONSUME. SO IF YOU DONT LIKE WHAT YOU READ AND IT TRIGGERS YOU, THAT IS YOUR FAULT FOR NOT READING THE WARNINGS,DO NOT BLAME OR SEND HATE INTO THE WRITERS ASKS(and if they don’t have warnings, in a civil manner, go into their asks and explain nicely why they should include warnings. But most writers are very carefully about that so you shouldn’t have to)

(Sorry for the interruption, now back to the program) If you want a part 2 GO ASK AND DESCRIBE YOUR IDEAS IN THE ASKS ON THEIR PROFILE. I know a LOT of writers who love to discuss their work and love to talk about theories, and hear their readers ideas. But when you do it un respectfully it is the most rude and absurd thing ever and makes writers uncomfortable. It’s also, SO HURTFUL WHEN YOU STEAL “THEIR CONTENT” AND TAKE CREDIT FOR ALL THE HARD WORK “THEY DID”.

In short, just because it’s the internet doesn’t mean you shouldn’t treat people with respect. When creators put effort into what they love and someone steals their work, rudely comments, or doesn’t give as much love as it could’ve been (like if you like a fic and you don’t reblog), it hurts. Not because they are attention seeking or selfish, but because what they share to the fandom is not respected. Respect and love is what creators want. Spreading love brings happiness, and when you spread love, you receive happiness. It’s a two way road people. It always will be.

So like, comment, interact with the writers, but most importantly REBLOG. And if you’re ashamed/embarrassed of liking the content you like, and that’s why you don’t reblog, trust me when I say this (and don’t take it personally), BUT NO ONE CARES ABOUT WHAT KINKS YOU LIKE OR WHAT FETISHES YOU HAVE. At the end of the day, all creators care about is that they are being heard and that someone in the world that appreciates what they’ve done, so they will continue to do it.

(I would hate to see ragnarachael go just because people don’t give her the love and respect that she gives to us when she shares her work. Rachael you are so incredibly talented, and you deserve the world for all the incredible content you have put out into the marvel fandom. The internet is a vile place, don’t let anyone ever make you feel less then that<3)

Sending my love to all creators of all fandoms and community’s, you’ve made the world more bearable for so many people <3333

this. all of this.

anon. thank you. i love you. i couldn’t have said it better myself. as far as i know, ragnarachael (rachael, me, hi) is here to stay. i take my breaks, i take care of myself. i assure you.

just. all of this. i can’t scream it enough. i’m speechless you even took the time to write this.

[missmollybloom]

New Fic: Couples Retreat

Summary: Two months after the phonecall from Sherrinford and Sherlock Holmes can tell that things haven’t been the same between the detective and his pathologist. With Molly pulling away from him, will an undercover case at a couples’ retreat be enough for Sherlock to show his pathologist that things can go back to normal between them?

(And, as it’s a Sherlolly fic, do you really think “normal” will remain “normal” for long?)

 A/N: So here I am with another WiP. I’m trying a few new things. In terms of plot, I’ve never written a case fic before - so wish me luck! In terms of process I’ve actually plotted the whole thing out so (hopefully!) I shouldn’t write myself into writer’s block and should hopefully update regularly. Here’s to good intentions. I hope you like it!

Also on Ao3 here.

Chapter 1

Sherlock Holmes didn’t like change. Of course, this fact shouldn’t have come as a surprise to anyone. He was, after all, a man who had lived in the same flat for the past ten years, worn the same make and style of Belstaff coat for just as long, and once mourned his favourite brand of ball-tip pen going out of business by sulking on the couch for two weeks.

But the change which Sherlock found hurtling towards him this time was no mere inconvenience like the pens, or couldn’t be handled by stocking up on a cupboard full of identical coats. This change had the power of turning his whole world upside down.

So shaken was Sherlock by the news that it took John only five minutes in his presence for him to declare the detective’s mood so “un-fucking-bearable,” that he was banned from visiting John’s flat until he “pulled his head out of his arse.” Both of these statements were said by his friend mere moments before slamming the door in the detective’s face.

Sherlock couldn’t help it. So blindsided was he by the change that was coming upon him that he had no means to process it outside of the piercing verbal barbs he had flung at his friend. Barbs that were not received well and would, in any other circumstances, have led to a black eye or two.

Sherlock got off lucky – nary a bruise from John shoving him out the door - and only because John knew the one fact that Sherlock was only just discovering: If Molly Hooper left London, Sherlock Holmes would be lost.

Even though Sherlock had no idea before that day that Molly was even contemplating such a thing, there were hints that he missed.

Although he and Molly had been able to continue working together after the awkwardness of explaining that phone call to her, things in the past few months were decidedly different from before.

Molly, for her part, took his explanation well, understanding the situation Eurus had put him in. Nevertheless, there had certainly been a reserve in their exchanges ever since. Sure, she’d do the autopsies he requested, and would work late to run extra tests, but it was all delivered with the cool detachment of a colleague, none of the warmth he’d come to expect, value, even enjoy from Molly.

Even their companionship, the comfortable silence spent working side-by-side in the lab had evaporated over the last few months.

Earlier that morning, the morning Sherlock’s world fell off its axis, he strode into an empty lab that he could tell she’d only just vacated. At the time, it didn’t even cross his mind that she was making every effort to limit her time with him.

But now, as he lay on the couch in Baker street, reflecting on the day that was, he realised that she most certainly was.

---

Earlier that day, Molly heard Sherlock’s familiar voice echoing down the hallway outside her lab. On the phone to John, she guessed. She didn’t bother packing up before leaving through the side door, escaping before he could find her in the lab. She needed some air, needed some space, needed anything other than Sherlock Holmes, and Beppe’s café just down the road from Barts would do the trick.

Making herself scarce whenever Sherlock came around was a habit she had formed ever since the phone call from Sherrinford a few months ago. Of course she couldn’t keep working at Bart’s and never see him, it was, as Mycroft Holmes had called it all those years ago, Sherlock’s “home from home”.

Molly decided that she’d do what he needed for his cases but nothing extra.

No late night phone calls where he used her as a sounding board.

No walks through London like they had spent in the long nights of his recovery after the Culverton Smith case.

Certainly no invitations to eat takeaway in her flat.

Not that he had tried to resume any of their friendship rituals since that day, either.

What the detective didn’t see, or couldn’t perceive in all his intellect was that Molly was a woman in pain. Not for any lack of the detective’s observational prowess; rather, Molly didn’t trust herself to give him the opportunity to see her, had built a wall around herself so thick and although the cement hadn’t yet hardened into toughened concrete as yet, she knew well enough that time spent in Sherlock’s presence would only weaken the foundations, causing the wall to crumble and herself to be revealed.

That phone call had for a moment fulfilled every hope she had ever held for their relationship, only to have said hopes dashed with the sudden silence of the suspended phone line. Even if she kept a kindling of the flames alive for a few hours afterwards, his explanation was a deluge of rain, making it impossible to stoke the embers of her hope back to life again.

It was early morning the next day after the phone call when he arrived. He looked like shit and this was in the opinion of someone who had seen him after faking his death, had seen him hanging over a toilet bowl vomiting bile because his detoxing body couldn’t handle any food, had seen him at his lowest.

But his sunken eyes had seen ghosts that day. He’d also, she’d soon learn, seen her on a screen with a countdown timer that – with four men already dead at Eurus’ hands – gave Sherlock no reason not to believe counted the seconds ticking away in the final minutes of Molly’s life.

“I had no other choice, I hope you’ll understand and one day, even forgive me.” He had asked.

“There is nothing to forgive.” She had lied.

The phone call was an experiment, just as he had said. Just not his.

And the words, said twice and so convincingly, were mere lies to save her life.

How could she ever be so daft as to believe them to be true?

She needed time and space to rebuild from the ashes – which was becoming increasingly difficult with the frequency with which Sherlock had been visiting Barts in the last week.

But Molly Hooper had another plan. There was another way she could maintain her space and heal her heart.

---

Sherlock lay across the lounge at Baker Street. His hands were steepled under his chin as he replayed the events of the day again, scouring them for any hints at what was to come.

Sherlock was about to follow Molly out to her favourite lunch place when his phone rang. Normally, he’d ignore a call from his mother, but with the wounds wrought by Eurus’ reappearance from the dead still raw, he had softened of late in his treatment of his parents.

The recovered memories from his childhood now revealed why his parents had always fretted over him so much.

“Morning mother,” he began.

“Oh Sherlock, I’m so glad you answered. Are you well?”

“Yep,” he said, popping the P. “Is that why you called? Checking in on my health? Because it’s easier to text.”

“No dear, it’s Cheryl Williamson – do you remember her, from my square dancing troupe?”

“Yes,” he lied, without any attempt to sound convincing.

His mother continued, “Well it’s her son, James. Well actually it’s his wife Melanie. You see, she’s missing and I was hoping-“

“Solved it.” He cut her off.  “She left him.”

“No! That’s just the thing!” His mother persisted, “They’d just been to a couples’ retreat.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. So far, so boring.

“Can you please look into it for me?”

He didn’t have the heart to say no. But he also knew how little attention he could give such a case and still count it as keeping his promise to his mother. Five minutes on the internet should do the trick.

“Of course I will.”

Sherlock hung up before his mother finished showering him with effusive praise.

He needed a computer, and he knew just where to find one.

Having succeeded in avoiding Sherlock earlier, Molly was shocked to find him in her office sat at her computer when she returned to Bart’s.

“Sorry. I had a case,” was his greeting.

“Won’t be long,” he added, all without looking up from the screen.

“Oh, that’s ok, I’ll just-“ Molly placed down her take-away bag from Beppe’s café on the desk and turned to leave.

“You can stay.” He said, gesturing to the visitor’s chair. “It is your office after all.”

As much as she wanted to leave, there was a not insignificant part of her that missed the companionship they used to share as they worked together in the lab. She opened the take-away tiramisu cake and started eating it.

“MrsDawson1976 isn’t a very strong password, Molly”.

“I’ll be sure to change it.”

“I would have pegged you for a Pacey fan, anyway.”

“I would have assumed you would have deleted all knowledge of American teen dramas from the 1990s.”

She should have left it at that, but it was Sherlock and he was on a case, so curiosity got the better of her.

“What’s the case?” she couldn’t help asking.

“Missing woman. Wife of a son of a friend of my mum’s.”

“What a good boy you are,” Molly teased with a wry smile. “Any leads?”

“Not a one,” Sherlock said, frowning, eyes scouring the screen for more clues. “It seems that she left early from a couples retreat four weeks ago and vanished, leaving no trace.”

This was where she would usually chime in. This was where she would have joined him on his side of the desk, standing so close that she could see the stubble forming on his chin, nose filled with the scent of him, a scent she craved and had to admit she had been missing.

But she didn’t join him.

Instead, she stood.

“Good luck with it,” Molly said, standing, punctuating her exit by throwing the empty cake container in the bin.

---

Sherlock watched her go. It was the longest time she’d voluntarily spent in his presence in months, and it had only been a few minutes.

He had seen in her a vacillation, a moment in which she may have come and helped him, but it evaporated in an instant, and Sherlock was left alone.

His searches for Melanie Williamson had yielded no clues. Her mobile phone was dead. Her accounts had not been accessed. Her car remained on the street where she’d parked it in front of her flat before taking the train to North Norfolk for the couples’ retreat.

The woman, it seemed, had evaporated.

Curious indeed.

Online avenues of inquiry all exhausted, Sherlock was about to turn off Molly’s computer when an email alert popped up. Normally, her inbox was full of messages from Mike Stamford, or questions from her various trainees, or subscriptions to online shopping sales from H+M or Topshop, her brands of choice.

He would have ignored all these. But not this one. This one he had to open based on the preview text alone.

 From: Recruitment@Glasgow.Royal.nhs.uk

Subject: Progress of your application

Dear Doctor Hooper, thank you for your interview on Zoom last week. We are in the final stages of reference checks and will inform you of our decision in the coming week.

Warmly,

Jane Harper

HR manager, Glasgow Royal Hospital.

 Molly had applied for another job.

Molly had interviewed for another job.

Said job was in Glasgow.

This wouldn’t do. Sherlock strode out of Molly’s office and upstairs to the one man who could make sense of what was going on.

It turns out that Mike was in the middle of a call when Sherlock arrived, and from what Sherlock heard, it was the reference check that the email referred to.

“Hang up.” Sherlock declared.

“Sorry?” Mike said.

“Hang up!”

Sherlock didn’t wait, placing his fingers on the receiver cradle to cut off the call.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Mike asked, face reddening.

“What do you think you’re doing, Mike? Molly can’t leave Bart’s!”

“She can if she wants to, mate. Do you know how many headhunters have been after her in the past 10 years? She’s said no to every single one.”

“But what has changed?” He asked himself, rather than Mike.

---

Having reviewed all available data from the day, Sherlock stood from the lounge. Taking his violin out of its case, he plucked at the strings, hoping the familiarity of the instrument would give him peace, help him understand.

He didn’t know how long he had been playing, or precisely what he had been playing, but from the look on Mrs Hudson’s face, it had been a while, and not necessarily music that was soothing to the soul.

“I need to sleep Sherlock,” his landlady had pleaded. “I’ve got the ladies coming over to play bridge tomorrow.”

In the past he would have snapped at her. In the past he would have taken out his frustrations on the wall or on the mantlepiece.

Instead, he stood, grabbing his coat and leaving without a word.

He walked for hours through the streets of London. It was a habit he used to do alone, but during his detox and recovery, Molly had joined him.

Over the course of a few weeks he had shown her all the cases he could remember, those details he hadn’t deleted or outsourced to John’s blog to keep an historical record of.

As he walked tonight, he wasn’t recounting cases, he wasn’t even focusing on the case at hand – the disappearance of Melanie Williamson. All his attention, all his mental energy was spent unpacking the curious behaviour of his pathologist.

It was obvious that Eurus’ little game, her emotional vivisection, was not without its cost. He could see that now, so clearly. Molly had withdrawn from him, and rightly so. But, if he was honest, he had allowed her to.

It would only take one visit to her flat with chips, one phonecall to chat through his thinking in a case, one day like the day they’d spent solving crimes together after his return from the dead and she would see what he already knew, that nothing needed to change, they could return to how things were before Eurus came and fucked everything up between them.

And that was the answer – a case – and one staring him in the face!

Two birds, one stone.

---

It was 5am when Molly awoke to a not unfamiliar sight of Sherlock Holmes stood over her bed.

“What is it?” she said, voice horse, eyes bleary.

“I need help with a case.”

Molly reached for her dressing gown, pulling it tightly around her as she sat up.

“Is there a body?” she asked.

“No.”

“Well, is there some test you need?”

“No.”

“Then what do you need?”

“You-“ a beat, the couplet had passed between them on a night completely different from this one.

Sensing the charged atmosphere in the air, Sherlock continued.

“Four weeks ago, Melanie and James Williamson attended a couples retreat in North Norfolk. Melanie left the retreat early and hasn’t been seen from since.”

“So what do you need?”

“I need you to go undercover with me at the retreat.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No – I’m sure you’ve heard the word before Sherlock.” Molly paced to the kitchen, putting on the kettle.

“I’m familiar with it, but I don’t understand,” he said as he followed her.

“I can’t drop everything and go chasing after white rabbits with you whenever you feel like it.”

Sherlock didn’t understand the reference.

“Alice in Wonderland, look it up sometime.”

Sherlock persisted in his questioning “Why not?”

“I’m not John. I’m not your partner. I’m your-“ Molly paused, stuck for words. “I don’t even know what I am Sherlock. But whatever it is it doesn’t entail being at your beck and call 24/7. I have my own life.”

She didn’t say it but he knew. Glasgow loomed unspoken between them.

He wanted her to stay in London, wanted to tell her how important she was to him, how he couldn’t do his job without her help. He wanted to say he was sorry that things got so fucked up by his sister. He wanted to commit to making things go back to just like they were before the phone call.

He was going to say it all, but the sound of a text alert from Greg sliced through the silence between them.

Sherlock read it, then showed Molly the screen.

James Williamson didn’t show up to work yesterday.

“Two people, Molly. I can’t go in there on my own.”

Everything he could see in Molly, the clench of her jaw, the intake of air sharply through her nose, the fingers balled into fists at her side told him she was about to say no.

Which was why Sherlock was so surprised when she agreed.

“Yes. I’ll go with you.” She said, “but I have some rules first.”

[anninhiliation]

Cock Warming With The Boys

Disclaimer: This is my original writing, and I DO NOT permit anyone to copy and paste MY WORK anywhere but on MY Tumblr (@ Anninhiliation), and MY Wattpad (@ AnnsTumblrWriting). If I do find out you are copying and pasting my work, I will report you. I will block you. It is not okay to take credit for other people’s work. It takes writers days, weeks, even months to provide you with our free service and for you to think it is okay to just like our work and copy it, taking all the credit is the last thing from okay.

Chris

It was his first night home and you were very needy after not having him for months. Your facetimes, toys, and sexts couldn't replace having him physically here with you. He was exhausted from the long nights and early mornings of traveling, promotions, and performances. You understood his exhaustion, feeling so guilty at even the thought of getting intimate with him at his state. So didn't push for anything, trying to push away your sinful thoughts but you couldn't hide or conceal your squirms. Laying in his bed with him, you tried keeping your hips as still as possible. His chest was pressed against your back, with his growing stubble tickling your neck and shoulder. His arm was wrapped tightly around your waist as you drowned in his scent. You heard him huskily groan, sending a shiver down your spine and your hips to squirm a little too much. 

“Nena,” he said in his low sleepy voice as his hand moved up the t-shirt that loosely hung to your body.

Chris knew you, and your body like the back of his hand. Even when he was half asleep he could sense your need for him. Your breathing caught in your throat as you felt his fingers graze were you needed him the most. He pushed your panties to the side and threw your leg over his as he lazily pushed his briefs down and slid inside you.

“Thank you Papi” you hummed feeling your walls wrap around him as he dwindled back to sleep

Erick

He was very clingy since he woke up. Convincing you to stay in bed with him for an extra ten minutes, which turned to an hour. His grip on you making it impossible for you to slip away. 

“Erick” you giggled as you tried to push him away and dart to the kitchen as your stomach grumbled

“un minuto mas” he whined as you continued to squirm finally emerging from his grip

You ran to the kitchen grabbing a few snacks and stuffing your face. Erick was quickly behind you wrapping his hands around your waist and nuzzling into the crook of your neck placing soft kisses. Your hands laced in his hair and tugged as an idea popped in your head. 

“Get on the couch” you instructed as an inner dominant side came out of you

He obeyed, excited for what you had in mind. Following close behind him, you let your pants and panties slip to the floor. Straddling Erick’s waist, you pulled his pants down and massaged his shaft until he fully hardened. You replaced your hand with your entrance, sliding him in your warmth. You rested on top of him, placing soft kisses on the crook of his neck.

“Better?” you hummed 

Zabdiel

Zabdiel tossed and turned as you laid peacefully asleep next to him. You were wearing a spaghetti strap crop top and shorts so short they left barely anything to the imagination. He looked over at the clock, reading 2 am. He groaned lowly, at the thought of having to be up in six hours. You whimpered in your sleep as you turned over, with your back now facing him. Blood rushed to his member as he admired all your curves. Zabdiel groaned more annoyed at this point with his new issue, accidentally waking you. 

“Zab?” you asked softly 

“No puedo dormir ignorame nena” he whispered as he laid on his back

You looked over at him, seeing a tent you couldn’t ignore form in his pants.

“Let me help” you purred as you pulled your pants down and moved your panties to the side as he pulled his pants down just enough for his member to spring free.

You rode him as fastly as you could until he came, ultimately making you cum too. However, you didn’t pull him out this time, intertwining your limbs together and nuzzling into him.

Richard

“Richard! - Fuck oh my god!” You cried out as the fifth orgasm of the night washed over you quickly pulling him over his own edge. 

With four loads already inside you, cum spilled out of your folds as Richard moved you around like a little weightless rag doll. Your clit was beginning to grow sensitive, but it was one of those nights where you just couldn’t care. Driven by lust and desire and complete addiction to the feeling of having your boyfriend stretch you out and make you cum again and again. Instead, he laid you on your side with his arms tightly wrapped around you. 

“Since your slutty little pussy is so needy you can sleep with me inside you tonight” He taunted as he kissed every bite and bruise he formed on your neck and shoulders. 

Joel

Your sweet boyfriend came up to you one day, nervous to share a fantasy of his. You were taken back, never expecting him to be as curious as he is but nevertheless were willing to fulfill all his fantasies. If he was being honest, he was expecting you to be upset or disgusted but finding you to be encouraging of sharing any other fantasy brightened his day. Your relationship with Joel was fairly new so it was only expected that you guys would explore new things as you guys became more comfortable with each other. Joel was currently on top of you, with your legs wrapped around him. Your walls fluttering around him as he twitched inside you. Your knot snapping pulling him closer to his edge. Joel went to pull out after riding out your orgasm but you quickly pulled him back in.

“No Joel cum inside me” you whined

Joel obliged with a dark look in his eye filling your core with his warm liquid. He stayed inside you as he held your waist helping you shift as you both found a comfortable position. You laid in his arms tracing idle patterns as he slowly softened inside you.

[kyber-kisses]

Torrential (3/3)

Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: more cursing, more fluff, more Dean being totally in love and not knowing what to do

Summary: Deans tries to keep his feelings buried, but its extremely hard when Y/N is just so damn perfect.

A/n: I’m sorry this took so long to finish, i currently have the worst case of writers block and it feels like I've been stuck in an endless loop of zero inspiration. Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy and feedback is always appreciated!

It was like some sort of weird drug.

That was one of the only ways Dean could describe his feelings. Everything was fine one second, and the next? You’d just waltz into the room and his palms would get sweaty and he would suddenly be stumbling on his words. 

Okay- so more accurately you were like a drug, and Dean was addicted. He partially blamed Sam for this. He was the one that had helped him realize his feelings towards you. His little brother had got him hooked on the drug that was Y/N Y/L/N.

For a moment he also blamed the damn thunderstorm still raging outside. It hadn’t let up and with each passing day Dean swore that he was falling deeper in love with you. You would still sit with the door open while you read and every once and awhile you would just patter into the room drenched to the bone with a smile that out shined the sun smeared across your face.

You were addicted to the rain just like the older Winchester was addicted to you. You came in drenched with water and Dean stayed drenched in love. It was somehow poetic, and the hunter had no idea what to do with it. He’d never felt this way about anyone before.

You had gotten up from your armchair awhile ago, disappearing into the confines of the bunker to do knows what, leaving him to steep in silence as he tried to come to terms with the truth. Even if it had been days, he still found it hard to believe. Should he tell you? Or should he just keep it buried as his little secret until eventually time ran out?

So caught up in his thoughts, He almost didn’t notice your return until you were siding up next to where he was seated, the laptop in front of him going unnoticed as he stayed locked in the zone.

“Grilled cheese for your thoughts?” You smiled, offering over the delicacy you had balanced on a plate, earning his attention as he turned to look at you.

“You made me grilled cheese?”

“Uh, yeah? You seemed a bit out of it earlier so I thought what better way to gain your attention than to bribe you with cheese and bread?” You grinned, sticking the plate out for him to take.

“You know me so well.”

“I know.” Sinking down into the chair besides him, you crossed your arms. “You wanna tell me why you’ve been acting so off lately?”

“I haven’t been acting off.”

Raising an eyebrow, you swiped half of the sandwich. “Try again cowboy. You’ve been awfully quiet these past few days.”

Shit. Had he really been that off? He thought he had been covering it up just fine. Clearly that was not the case.

Dean let out a sigh, picking off little pieces of crust from his portion of the sandwich. He just had to try and cover it up again. Throw you off so you didn’t poke anymore. He was afraid that if you did he wouldn’t be able to hold anything back.

“Do you wanna go on a walk?”

and there went that plan. . .

“A walk? Dean, it’s raining.” You shot him a quizzed look, his question catching you even more off guard. “And no offense but I thought you hated the rain.”

“I don’t hate it!” He fired back, standing up and reaching for his coat. “It’s just not- my ideal weather.”

Watching him walk towards the stairs, you tried to piece together what was going on with him, only to come up blank. You couldn’t for the life of you pin point why he was acting so weird.

“You coming or not?”

“Sheesh, calm down. Let me put on my jacket.” Tugging the canvas material over you body you let your feet carry you quickly across the room and up the stairs, Dean grabbing the lone umbrella that stayed propped against the railing most days.

Holding the door open for you, you stepped out into what felt like a never ending downpour. Rain beaded down the paintwork of the impala, bouncing off of every hard surface. The sound coming from every direction except down and the storm drains bubbling with brown runoff from the lonely dirt road. There was a subtle swoosh sound from behind you and a moment later the feeling of water dripping onto your head ceased, Dean standing besides you with the open umbrella:

“You know, you’re probably the last person I ever expected to just get up and go on a walk with. You shun exercise.”

“Oh shut up. This isn’t exercise.” Stepping up the stone stairs side by side, Dean adjusted his grip on the umbrella, making sure you were both protected from the downpour- not that you cared though. “This is- this is a leisurely stroll.”

“Ah. Got it. . . Still not like you at all.” You shot him an amused grin before linking your arm with his and pulling yourself closer to the Winchester. Thankfully for Dean, you hadn’t noticed his surprised look when you did it, the tender action catching him off guard as he looked down at your linked arms. Everything in him was telling him to pull away, to sever the connection before he fell even further. . . But he couldn’t. It was like a magnet kept him close to you, making it impossible for him to do anything rationally.

The two of you walked in silence for a few minutes, the sounds of your boots hitting the shallow puddles almost being drowned out by the droplets smacking against the material of the umbrella.

“Why do you like the rain so much?” He suddenly questioned, shifting to stick his free hand into his pocket. “You never told me.”

And like so many times before, Dena watched as your eyes lit up, a soft smile pulling at your lips and making the corners of your eyes crinkle. “Why do you want to know?”

“Just wondering.”

“You want the long answer or the sort one?”

Dean shrugged, doing his best to act casual in the whole situation. “I don’t care. Whatever you want.”

You smile grew at his response, taking in the hunter as you did so. How could someone be so complicated and so simple at the same time?

“I love the rain. I always have. It brings life and fills the earth. It smells good too- it smells fresh. Clean.” You paused. “And the sound? People always explain it as a steady pitter patter but I always compared it to the crackle of an old radio coming to life. The rain has always made me feel safe and secure. kind of like you.”

You paused once more, looking over the hunter you still linked arms with, taken back by his expression.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that? Is it really that cheesy?”

“No,no.” Dean quickly interjected, the soft smile on his lips slowly growing, eyes full as he gave you his attention. “I just like hearing you talk about things you love. You get excited.”

At that your grin grew, eyes almost as bright as his. “And what about you, Dean Winchester?”

“What about me?”

“What things do you love? What things make you happy? Besides double bacon cheeseburgers and your car of course.”

Dean tried to hide the falter in his steps, almost soaking his foot in a puddle with the action. So. . . He may have dug himself into a small hole with that one small comment.

Quick, Dean. Give her an answer. . . Preferably not the first thing that comes to mind.

“Y/N, you already know the things I love.”

“I know some things. I doubt I know everything.” You corrected him, giving his bicep a squeeze as you did.

“I love hunting, and classic rock.”

“Dean, I already know those things!”

The hunter shrugged in defense, practically white knuckling the umbrella handle in a futile attempt to keep himself in check. “I don’t know what to tell you Y/N! You know everything about me!”

“Oh c’mon. There has to be something. Give me something that will surprise me.”

“Y/n, I’m telling you. You already know what I love. I can’t surprise you.”

With a groan you un-linked your arm from his, once again stepping out into the downpour, tilting your face skyward. “And I’m telling you: I sincerely doubt that.”

“You do know if you do that your gonna have to walk back in wet clothes, right?” Dean grinned, watching as you hopped into a puddle, the childish part of you shining through with the small action as you got distracted.

“Does it look like I care?”

And then before the older Winchester even had a chance to react to ripped the umbrella from his grasp and snapped it shut, successful drenching him in a similar fashion to yourself.

“Y/N! What the hell?!”

“It’s just water, silly.” You laughed, suddenly choosing to hop from puddle to puddle momentarily. “Sure, it doesn’t look partially nice from under the umbrella, but once you’re out in it, it ain’t so bad.”

Squinting through the sheet of rain dividing you, Dean took in your features. tiny rivulets of water slid down your face, dripping of the top of your nose and collecting on your lips. Your hair at this point slicked back by the amount of water it had collected as well. 

God, you were beautiful.

“You.”

Your childish antics quickly ceased, your figure spinning around to face him. “What?”

“You asked me what do I love. That’s my answer.” He swallowed, suddenly finding it difficult to do so. “You. I’m- im in love with you.”

It was almost painful to stand there and watch you. Your eyes widened and you froze in the middle of a particularly big puddle, the last of the ripples you had made slowly beginning to fade. You blinked. Once. Twice.

“Okay, you gonna say something or you just gonna stand there and make me feel even more uncomfortable than I already am?”

You stayed silent for another minute, successfully stunned to silence by his words. Dean Winchester. . . In love with you?

“Me?”

“Yes, You.”

“Are you sure? I’m fucking crazy.”

“Yes, I’m damn sure. Why do you think I’ve been so quiet lately?” He paused, drawing in a breath.

“That’s why you were so quiet?! I thought you were mad at me!”

“I wasn’t mad at you!” Stomping through the small puddles, Dean came to a halt in front of you, wiping the rain from his vision, even if it only lasted a moment. “I just- I didn’t know what to do. I love you- I’ve been in love with you Y/N. Probably long before I even realized I was.” It was like the rain was a whole different kind of liquid courage, because like a switch being flicked the words just flowed out easily.

There was silence from your end again as you took in his words and then slowly but surely a smile spread across your face. “Dean.”

“What?”

“Well, I thought we were saying things we loved, right?”

It took a minute for the gears to click into place in his brain but you could pinpoint the moment they aligned, Deans eyes widening at the realization. “Wait- you-“ he never finished because you quickly flung your arms around him, and sweetly pressed your lips against his.

And then the bastard slipped. He fucking slipped. You don’t know how but all off a sudden his arms were around you, and his feet went out from underneath him, and Dean Winchester successfully pulled you to the muddy earth with him, your heads bonking during the decent as you let out a yell.

Except this time the hunter softened your fall as you landed on his chest, earning a harsh oof from him.

“Oh god, I’m sorry-“ bracing your hands on either side of his head, you pushed most of your body weight off him, your face hovering bunches from his own.

“You okay?”

“I’m okay. Are you? I think I crushed your lungs.” The words slowly fading on your lips as you quickly lost yourself in his eyes.

“Y/N.”

“Dean.” His name left your lips breathlessly, and then his arms snakes around your waist and pulled you flush against him, and you were kissing again. Dean swore he could taste the rainwater on your lips, and they were even more lush then they looked. His hands curled along your back, tracing your shape as he did.

Okay- so maybe you were right. The real thing wasn’t so bad once you stepped out into the downpour. It might be unsettling at first- but the feeling soon melts away.

*. *. *. *. *. *.

Maybe love is like rain. Sometimes gentle, sometimes torrential, flooding, eroding, joyful, steady, filling the earth, collecting in underground springs. When it rains, when we love, life grows. - Carol Gilligan

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[1-1snailxd-art]

Sanders Sides Oneshot - Babysitting

This is how you beat writers block - you draw and then find your will to write afterwards.   

Characters/relationships: Logan / Virgil (analogical), Patton / Roman (Royality), Kid Thomas

Warnings: none

Words: 1511

Summary: This came about from a post by @fanartfunart and seeing as I’m trying to learn how to draw people better, I decided to challenge myself with a drawing....that drawing then turned into a little fic. FYI, I know there is a lot wrong with Logan’s proportions in the picture (I can see it), but Thomas is cute so whatever.  

_____________________________________

"Don't be such a baby, Logan." Virgil huffed, following his partner into the kitchen. "It's a kid, not a freakin' nuclear bomb."

"I know that, but..." Logan kept his back to Virgil as he absentmindedly took ingredients for dinner out of the fridge and cupboards. "I don't know anything about babysitting a child."

Watching the cook’s shoulders slump at the admission, Virgil softened his tone and moved to lean on the counter next to Logan.

"What's to know, Lo? You give him some food, easy for you, and turn on the TV. Job done." Virgil sighed when Logan didn't look away from the bowl in front of him; hands floured as he prepared a pasta dough. "Look, I only need to be in the studio for an hour at most; then I'll come straight home. You can entertain 'til I get back, right?"

"Are you sure you can't stay?"

 The tone of Virgil's phone gave him his answer as the other man quickly excused himself to take the call. It wasn't that Logan didn't like children; he just didn't think he was good for children. Honestly, he questioned daily what Virgil saw in him; a pensive, workaholic wasn't that romantic and didn't scream partner material. Patton on the other hand was destined to be a parent; they'd wanted to be one since they were kids.

The pasta dough came into shape as Logan recalled the day Patton video called them to announce they had been approved for adoption now Roman had consistent work. He'd shared in their excitement but never fully understood it. Admittedly, Logan was still hurt that Patton had moved so far away to support Roman's career and their relationship took a hit from the distance.  

Setting the finished dough aside to rest, Logan washed his hands and turned to find the dejected Virgil walking back in.

 "Virgil? What's wrong?"

"I've gotta go, Lo. Shit's hit the fan with the computers at the studio and Nate's pissed."

"How bad is it?" Logan moved closer, knowing there would be no way out of this now and accepting that he would have to face Patton alone.

"Backups failing bad. I should have gone in earlier when it was just a glitch. It was stupid of me to ignore it and-fuck I'm gonna pay for it n-"

Logan tilted Virgil's chin back and placed a soft kiss on his lips to silence the worrier.

"I apologise for my earlier attitude and clouded judgements. I will be fine this evening. You should go." Taking Virgil's hand, Logan walked him towards the door. "I will be fine until you or Patton return."

"Yeah, you will." he replied with a half-smile, before giving Logan a final kiss goodbye and heading out the door.

  The silence of the apartment was crushing as Logan threw himself onto the couch; sliding his glasses up off his face as he massaged his brow. It was all too much at once. First, he was just worried about seeing Patton and Roman again after years of dwindling contact; then they asked the couple to babysit while they went to the award ceremony that brought them to town; and now Logan would have to face it all alone. A knock at the door pulled Logan from his thoughts and he was quick to sit up and correct himself before answering it.

 "Hey Specs" Roman smiled from the entry; the pink backpack on his shoulder a harsh contrast to the black suit he wore. "It's great to see you again!"

"It's good to see you too, Roman. You are looking well considering the travel."

"Oh please," With a hand gesture Roman stepped into the apartment and put the apparently heavy bag down. "It would take more than a few hours on a plane to ruin this face."

"Indeed," Logan chuckled, turning just in time to see a pink blur heading towards him.

 "Uncle Logan!" Came a cheery voice as a body slammed into Logan and constricted his middle.

"Um...Thomas, I presume."

Logan looked up to see Patton beaming as they walked up the path in a simple blue gown. They looked so happy and lively that Logan forgot all his past grievances; it seemed Patton was happy and that was all that mattered.

"That's my Thomas," Patton giggled.

"It's good to see you again, Patton." Logan pulled a face as he looked down at the figure still holding his arms by his sides. "Your son is very... Huggie."

Roman and Patton both laughed, and Roman snapped a quick picture of the awkward man pinned by his son.

"Oh, I know. I trained him well, don't you think?"

"Indeed, Patton, but...um," Thomas giggled as Logan tried to lift his arms out of the vice grip around him. "How do I un-train him? I do need to work at some point this evening."

"That will do, Thomas; give Uncle Lo some breathing room."

At Roman's word, Thomas let go and moved to his father's side. Logan's moment of reprieve was short lived as Patton replaced their son, pulling their old friend close and whispering in his ear.

"I really missed you, Logan."

"I..." For a moment, he was lost for words before mimicking the tight grip around his friend. "I missed you too."

  The group remained in the entry as Patton began rattling off things Thomas could and couldn't do. Though he listened intently, Logan's eyes kept shifting to the young boy in the pink jacket that lent against Roman; holding onto his father’s arms around his neck and smiling up at Logan.

".... And if you need anything, just call me and I'll come right back and-"

"Calm down, Pat." Roman interjected, "We're just going for a few hours. I'm sure Lo and Thomas will be fine."

"Right. You're right."

"I always am." "That's not true, Dad." Thomas turned to look up at his father in confusion. "We were late to the airport because you got the times wrong, and you brought the wrong chocolate milk last week, and you-"

"Alright, that's enough." Roman was quick to scoop the boy up and headed inside. "Let's get you set up, hey."

A smile crept across Logan's face as he watched them go.

"Is that a genuine smile I see, Logan?" It comforted Patton to see him looking so content, despite his obvious fear of being responsible for Thomas.

"I'm proud of you, Patton." Their eyes widened as Logan turned; his own shining in the sun light. "You made the family you always wanted." "Almost," they laughed. "It's just missing one thing." "Hm?" Brows furrowing in confusion, Logan wracked his brain for what Patton was talking about. "What could you possibly be missing?"

"Just an uncle to teach Thomas about computers and another to show him how to cook. Any idea on where I could find them?"

"I think I do, but they live pretty far away." "That's okay, we're moving anyway." "What?" Logan was genuinely shocked by the news, mouth left ajar as Roman came up from behind and place a hand on his shoulder.

"You ready to be a full-time uncle, Logan?"

 The question left Logan reeling. Three years ago, Patton left their teaching position to follow Roman's quest for recognition in music and theatre; leaving Logan and Virgil behind in the process. One year ago, they adopted Thomas and their contact became almost non-existent; so to be told they were returning to include him and Virgil in their family...was amazing.

 "I suppose I'll have to be."

This time, Logan initiated a group hug; wrapping an arm around each of his friends and briefly forgetting that they had somewhere to be and he had a job to do.

"Jeez Specs, Thomas rubbed off on you quickly." Roman joked; causing Logan to quickly step back and adjust his tie.  

"Ah, yes, sorry." Logan stumbled over his words, causing his friends to laugh at his sudden display of affection. "I got a little carried away." "It's okay, Lo." Patton assured, waving at the little figure that was poking his head over the couch inside. "But we should get going or we'll never leave."

"Right. Yes. Of Course."

 Logan watched as Patton blew a kiss to Thomas before heading down the front path with Roman. Once the car had pulled away, he shut the door and turned to the smiling figure kneeling on the couch, waiting patiently. Brown eyes looked expectantly at him and he thought about Patton's wish for uncles for their son.

 "So… Thomas. Have you ever made pasta before?" The boy shook his head and slipped off the couch as Logan held his hand out. "Perhaps it's time uncle Logan taught you then."

 *************************

 When Virgil came home, he was shocked to find the apartment lit only by Steven Universe playing on the TV. Tiptoeing around the couch he was greeted to the scene of Logan fast asleep with Thomas laying on his chest. It didn't look comfortable at all, but Virgil had to admit it was an adorable thing to come home to.

________________________________________

Tags: @thequeensphinx

What else have I done:

The Shield to your Sword (WIP - A fantasy/magic au - Prinxiety (Royal Roman and orphan Virgil - they’ll admit to their love eventually), Virgil angst, non binary healer Logan, *spoiler* Patton, cursed Deceit and ridiculous Remus)

Libraries are for Meetings (ongoing WIP - Human/University au with Royality and developing Analogical. Slow burn and heavily focused on a grieving group of friends that Virgil slowly becomes a part of to better himself.)

And more....

Writing Master Post

Check out my other blog for random fandom reblogs and stuff @snail-giggles

[theda-rison]

Camp Nano July 2020 - Results, Discussion, and Conclusion

the Like, wow, Scoob! 

Camp Nano July 2020 is done, and here are some thoughts:

I always knew that writing a comic script was going to be a learning experience - I’ve never written a comic script so it really couldn’t be anything except for a learning experience - but hoooooo boy, was it ever!

Before starting I couldn’t find anything on how long comic scripts normally are; I don’t know why, that just seems information that isn’t really shared? (If anyone knows of a resource, please send it to me!) I’m guessing it has a lot to do with there just being less comic writers than there are say, book writers and movie writers. That’s probably what happens when your interests are niche in some way, it’s just harder to find anything about them.

FORTUNATELY, I have the fancy library-bound volumes of The Sandman, and there’s excerpts of the scripts in the back. Which like… thank you @neil-gaiman​, or whoever made that decision, because being able to look at an actual script and see how it’s formatted and what’s included has been the biggest help. Even the “How to Write a Comic Script!” videos I found on YouTube didn’t have example scripts which... I don’t know, I don’t get it. Please include examples, comic YouTubers. I am confusion.

Now is the time for a sexy graph, because we are the kind of people who keep Excel spreadsheets of word counts and make graphs for fun.

Anyway, let’s look at…

[Good. I was listening to As The World Falls Down by David Bowie over and over, and now this is stuck in my head again. I don’t know why I do these things to myself. Also, I love Peter Tork’s face during some of the “AAAHHHH”s lol]

I can’t remember if I stated this before or during Camp at any point, but my goal was 60k words. I dislike aspiring for un-round numbers like “1667″ every day. Any number I could possibly pick is arbitrary, but for some reason the classic Nanowrimo number of 1667 seems even more arbitrary. “2000″ is a much better number. And, I can generally write 2000 words in two hours before running out of steam, so it works out well. It also divides better.

Having said that, you might be thinking, “Theda, the end Actual number on your graph is a lot closer to 90k than it is 60k,” and you would be right, good eyes. Were I Brandon Sanderson and you were one of my students, I would toss you a gummi bear. As it is, you’re not my student and I have no gummi bears and I’m not even Brandon Sanderson… so life is just upsetting I guess.

[But I am back to listening to As The World Falls Down, so I suppose it all works out.]

Back to the graph: The Actual. Look at this wavy-fucking-scalloped-fucking progression. Look at it. I can’t tell if it makes me happy or angry or what, but I know it gives me some kind of feeling. I think I like it from a purely aesthetic point of view, but from the point of the view of the person who made it, it annoys me.

I had a couple of days where I - in my infinite stupidity - didn’t really elaborate on what was supposed to happen in some of the scenes in my scene list and so I spent my “Writing!” time (as it’s labeled in my planner) not writing, but looking at the page cursing myself for not having written any directions for me, a directionless person.

You may also notice that the Goal bars suddenly jump up on the 24th day,. That’s because - in my infinite wisdom - I redid my goals after reaching 60k. It just makes more sense to me to be like, “Well, I punched that goal in the face. Let’s try and go WAY overboard,” because I have the Too Much gene and as Henry Rollins says: “Don't do anything by half. If you love someone, love them with all your soul. When you go to work, work your ass off. When you hate someone, hate them until it hurts.” I wouldn’t say that’s a personal philosophy so much as a Thing I Am Compelled To Do Or I Will Die.

But that’s just me.

As for the trend line, I prefer it looking more steep because that’s way more gratifying, but that’s what I get for writing parts of my scene list like, “That’s okay, Future Me will take care of it!” Past Me, you are a dick and you need to stop doing these things. You are a bastard.

Now for the table! 

[I’m sorry if that’s very small.]

And this time I’m showing you the actual table I use to write down my words. Complicated? Yes. Sexy? Very yes. A little annoying? Also yes. Do we get a little worried that she works too hard and refuses to take a vacation? We do, but we also know that she does it because she loves her work, and we love and support her and bring her snacks throughout the workday to keep her going. What a great table.

First of all: Yes, my first writing block is at 4am. It’s because I have a day job and if I write from 4-6 I can use my brain right when it’s freshly slumbered instead of using it for nonsense at work all day and being unable to write and aggravated because my mental capacity is nil and I no longer know what words are. In an ideal world I would be able to write all day but, here we are.

You might notice there’s a lot of 0’s in the 4am block, especially in the fourth week, and that’s more so because - in my infinite infiniteness (infinity?) - I am secretly an ice giant (but like, smaller) and it’s summer and the northern hemisphere is Too Hot and I literally will not be able to sleep at night until about December. Until then, I am forced to understand what it’s like to be a jacket potato for half of the year so I can empathize with their starchy pain because this is, for whatever reason, Important.

It me. (Recipe)

Anyway,

My record day was 7519 on the 10th, which is just sexy and fun and cool and everything we want, and my lowest was a big fat 0 on the 16th.

I felt super motivated for reasons I don’t remember on the 10th. This is because I didn’t have my planner yet and was not keeping notes anywhere else at that time. (It’s an undated Daily Passion Planner, in case you’re also a slut for planners and wish to know ;) ). I think I was trying to do a 10k day just for funzies? Which, technically, at 2k words in 2 hours I should be able to do 10k in 5, but cell phones exist (and are too distracting), and until I shed my corporeal form I still have to do things like “make food and eat it,” and “get up to pee,” and “experience all the vagaries and horrors of human existence.” I’m hoping it clears up soon. 

The 16th was the day that Future Me took Past Me by the hand and said, “My good bitch, you need to stop doing that thing where you leave shit for me because you run out of motivation or executive function or whatever the fuck is happening where you decide you don’t want to do something anymore, seemingly at random. You deciding to leave school before the day even started because you were bored may have been cute when you were a kid - and also annoying for everyone around you, and just alarming that time they had to pry your hands off the door molding as you held on to it and screamed - but as an adult you are both the cause of and the person who has to deal with this bullshit, and you need to stop.”

On the 16th I went to the Shrine of the Self (sorry, I’ve been reading a lot of manga lately) and made an offering for forgiveness, and then hunkered down and added a TON of notes and partially written scenes to my scene list. You can see how much that helped; it’s almost like having direction is actually useful, lol.

BUT, despite all that direction and despite punching my goal in the face, breaking it’s glasses, and taking it’s lunch money, the script is not finished!

Here’s some math as of the 23rd:

There are 124 points in my outline On the 23rd, I had completed 44 of those points, at 363 pages or 59,601 words 124 / 44 = 2.81 Now we check: 44 * 2.81 = 123.6 (close enough) So as of the 23rd, the projection for completing the script was: 363 * 2.81 = 1,020 pages 59,601 * 2.81 = 157,479 words

Now, I don’t know what the fuck that means because I don’t really do numbers, but at the time of the 23rd it looked an awful lot like I wasn’t going to finish this Camp project. And uh… hey, that was correct.

So I’m going to be continuing Camp Nano July 2020, but also in August 2020, over about 20 more days (providing I hit my goal every day.)

So:

IF -> I need to get up to 158,000; 158,000 - 86,000 = 72,000 words need to be written. (I'm rounding the total up because I canNOT imagine this script being somehow smaller than that at this point, and I’m rounding my Camp total down because who cares about 72 words?) I divided 72,000 from a few numbers until I got a word goal I was okay with, that I think I can do, here’s that one: 72,000 / 20 days = 3,600 words a day (This would mean I can either do 2k in the morning and then 1600 later, or the reverse. You know, whatever way I feel spicy that day.) THEN -> I need to write 3,600 words a day for 20 days to (hopefully) finish this script before work picks up at the end of August.

And then I’ll chill from the end of August - October (except for maybe some short stories or essays. I have a lot of Thoughts and they need to be purged from my brain for my own good). And then I’ll use Nanowrimo Classic (November) to edit this fucker.

SO… that’s some stuff.

As I said at the beginning this endeavor was only ever going to be a learning experience. Having to write 158k words total doesn’t scare me, the longest thing I’ve written yet was something like 190k words. Trying to finish it before the end of August is the daunting part. Especially since being able to be creative right now just keeps making my brain puke out more ideas, and then there’s too many ideas and I’m just writing them all down and hopefully I can get to them later.

Anyway, good job on Camp Nano July 2020 everyone! We did it!

And if you didn’t do it: don’t worry, you’ll do it next time :D

[cheneyq]

Fat Girl Worries Part Four

Pairing : Original Character x Harry Styles

CHAPTER FOUR

Part 1, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten

————————————————————

WARNING!!!!!!!!

THIS STORY DOES CONTAIN SEX, VIOLENCE, SELF HARM AND BAD LANGUAGE.

TRIGGER WARNINGS!!!!

AND I AM NOT A PROFESSIONAL WRITER.

MY FIRST LANGUAGE ISN’T ENGLISH SO SORRY FOR ANY GRAMMAR, SPELLING ERRORS.

----

Sky's P.O.V

I stayed quiet as I realised I was ranting about it. Harry looked uncomfortable. "I'm sorry that your mom forced you to bring me with you." I mumbled and looked out the window, catching a glimpse of my own reflection and instantly feeling sick. "It's fine." He mumbled.

"If you want you could drop me off before you get there so people won't know I came with you." I added. Avoiding his green eyes and my reflection so I just stared straight forward. "I'm sorry for what I said earlier, don't get me wrong, I don't like you, like at all, but we're gonna have to deal with it." Harry said, sounding annoyed. "I don't like you either, you're too tall and you have moose hair." I heard him snort. "Moose hair?" He questioned. "Yes, moose hair." I mumbled back.

The car suddenly slowed down. "Where are we going?" I asked. "I haven't eaten all day, I'm hungry." He sounded super annoyed with me, like I should've known he was hungry. My stomach growled and I pushed into the seat. "Oh." Was all I replied. I watched as we pulled into a Mc Donald's parking lot and my stomach dropped, then did a cartwheel. "I don't have money." I mumbled more to myself. "I'll get you something." His voice sounded gentle, which caused me to look up at him. He was already staring at me. He snapped out of his trance, opened the door and said, "Just don't order the whole menu." before he got out. My face brightened with colour and I looked down, opening my door and climbed out as well. "Don't worry, I'll only get half of the menu." I snapped back, not being able to help my sassy side.

Harry walked in first, not bothering to hold the door as it swung back and almost knocked my front teeth out. There were a few people in front of us, which gave me time to think about what I was gonna get. I looked at the salad bar and frowned. It all sounded disgusting.

"I'll have the double bacon and cheese burger." The girl in front of us ordered, my stomach clapped hands, hmmm bacon. "What do you want?" That was Harry's voice. I looked at him confused and realised we were in the front of the line. The girl behind the counter looked irritated. "Uhh, I will have the uh-" "She'll have the same as me." Harry just mumbled at the girl. "Thanks." I mumbled. "I'll get us a table." I moved before he could say anything. The restaurant was full, considering it was a Thursday night, but it was also Summer.

I saw a table right in the back, unfortunately there was a group of guys and girls sitting next to it laughing loudly and chattering away. I made my way over there and sat down, okay cool, they aren't looking. I relaxed instantly as I thought about my mom's words.

Just because you're a bit bigger doesn't mean everyone is staring at you. You're chubby, not Angelina Jolie.

Yeah it hurt at the time she said it, but it made sense. I saw Harry walk over with the trey of food and placed it down in front of us. His green eyes met mine for a split second then he looked away. I did the same, accidentally making eye contact with one of the guys at the other table. He smiled at me, before looking away and stuffing a fry in his mouth. My cheeks lit up, my face was on fire.

I looked away and of course Harry was studying me, "What?" I asked as I stuffed a fry in my own mouth, instantly feeling sick again. stop this Skylar, you can not put yourself through this again. I thought as I slowly bit into my burger, trying not to gag. "What are you thinking about?" Harry asked, I frowned and looked away. "Just stuff." I caught that guy staring at me again, this time I smiled back. "Seriously?" Harry asked as he turned a bit to look at the guy. "You seriously think he will be into you?" Harry mumbled and my cool mood cracked a bit. I placed my food in the bag and stood up, Harry looked surprised but didn't say anything as I walked out.

Fuck this shit, I'm walking home. I left the Mc Donald's then realised I didn't know where I am. I grunted in frustration and walked over to the car. Standing next to it.

Harry finally comes out almost 15 minutes later. I felt miserable and tired as he came closer and opened the car. I got in immediately. "Take me home." Harry rolled his eyes, "Not a fuck am I going all the way back home when the party is like three blocks away." My head snapped towards him. "Party?" he smiled at me. "You honestly thought we were gonna go to a bonfire?" He asked. "YES." I over exaggerated and threw my hands in the air. "You know, normal people our age would be excited to go to parties." He started the car. "Do I look like the type to go to parties?" I asked, turning in my seat all the way and staring at him.

He looked at me then looked away as he pulled out of the parking lot. "Stop staring, you're making me un-comfortable." I didn't stop staring. "Jesus Skylar! No, you look like the boring ass chick who would rather stay at home, eat a whole pizza by herself and watch some chick flick movie." I glared at him, "Horror movie." I said, he looked at me. "What?"

I turned around and stared forward. "Eat a whole pizza and watch a horror movie, I'm not the type for chick flicks." Harry grinned, I turned my face to look at him. He honestly was beautiful. Too bad he had an ugly heart.

"Just go to the party and if you don't like it you can take the car back home and I'll find a lift." I rolled my eyes, "No I'm not leaving without you and I'm definitely not letting some drunk person drive you home." I was irritated. This caught his attention. "Didn't think you cared." I glared at him again, "I don't, I just don't want mom's pissing on my head." I snapped. He instantly seemed irritated. Before I could say anything he stopped the car, another car sped past us and hooted at us. "What are you doing?" I asked, shocked. "Get out." He simply said, my body ran cold. "What?" I asked. "The party is around that corner, you can walk, I don't want people getting the wrong idea." Just as I thought we were getting along he pulls this crap.

I didn't say anything as I climbed out, purposely slamming his door. Dickhead.

[thenixkat]

Animorphs notes: 20

Book 20

A Marco book

Marco strikes out with a probably Black girl at the school, who has probably been insulted about her name before

And frankly she’s got good instincts to not trust a class clown

Marco is still a fuckboy, ‘females’ really

Marco’s just shit at pickup lines

The general refusal to make a distinction b/w enslaved peoples and the yeerks controlling them.

So either the Animorphs never checked the spot where Elfangor died to see if there was anything left they could use, that the yeerks didn’t go through shit for anything they could use (I’m just going to assume there was no attempt to make a grave marker) or Toomin put the block there for David to find

Yeah Toomin put shit in places (won’t stop me from using it in a fic if I feel like it)

Have I mentioned that the whole litteral deity who does whatever he fucking feels like means that there are absolutely no stakes in this series? I don’t like that.

Yeah, weirdo stranger that ignores “I don’t want to interact with you” signals would get on the nerves

Ya know. It doesn’t feel like the Animorphs are all that hard up on getting the box if they wait that long to start to do anything about it

I still feel sorry for Ax. He is but a jock forced into the role of the one who knows shit.

Wait. Why can’t the chee just steal the box. Just ghost David, see where he puts it. Take it. And ghost out?

STill not  fan of aliens having any sort of roll in building the pyramids in particular and non-White historical structures as a whole

There’s some yeerk plans involving the President and the UN afoot

The chee piss me off for so many reasons. SO many

Again, it really doesn’t feel like the box is all that important 

Jake attempts to pass of a half bird morphed Marco as his deformed little brother

Very lucky those weren’t Controllers

Why exactly did they not decide to have Tobias the most experienced flyier there do it? Right these characters are dumb as fuck and don’t really care about retreiving the mnorphing cube

I mean its perfictly reasonable to shoot a big fuckoff bird trying to attack you

I am reminded of all the shit Cassie talks about Marco being perfictly willing to end innocent bystandars. Of course Cassie is not a trustworthy source of information.

They were not able to retraive the box through a fuck lot of incompenence and some bad luck

David is def one of those spoiled edgy kids

But the trained birds is not an out there theory given the behavior of the animorphs

Well he’s not that reckless, but Marco would be shit help in a dangerous situation as far as David knows. Dude’s tiny. 

David is also very paranoid

Again, why can’t they ask the Chee to help?

Ax: Have you considered unplugging the computer?

Listen, Ax, do these kids look like they have that much common sense? 

Oh, I see alarm systems exist again

A cobra living under teh bed in a cardboard box would be so unhealthy

The writers really hate nonavian reptiles

Ok. The writers have no idea what a cobra actually is.

According to these writers cobras have heat sensing pits like pit vipers and like to eat spiders

Ah yes, cobras do a threat display towards food they plan to eat b/c the writers know jack shit about anything that isn’t a thermal Those are hork-bajir controller not hork-bajir warriors

Slithering pretty well for a snake with 2 bullet wounds

Aww, David tried to get his pet snake out of danger

You’d think David’s dad would be taking his kid and fucking fleeing

Got damn how does Marco still have venom? Snakes don’t regen that shit instantly and he’s used a fuckload already

David’s dad and snake were captured by the yeerks. I’m going to assume that the cat is either dead or also captured

David was knocked out of a second story window, and def landed hard enough to lose consciousness so very lucky he’s still alive

David’s mom is also captured

So yeah lets recruit this kid who’s just lost everything partially due to our incompetence instead of trying to send him out of town or seeing if he has any other family he could go to.

I will give points to Ax for ya know thinking about recruiting help, this just isn’t necessarily the best time

You could go places and prove shit right now, you just don’t want to risk yer own necks

I feel like you should really be asking David before decding this shit or seeing if he has any intrests in fighting this war the way you do

Ax… proposes adding people to the group and then votes against the idea. There are multiple ways in which this doesn’t work.

SO why exactly does Marco hate David? B/c he’s edgy, a bit paranoid, and doesn’t like his humor?

Like you should ease someone into the yer parents are being tortured and enslaved thing after receiving a huge blow like you are now homeless and have to be on the run

Apparently visser rhymes with kisser

So yall really didn't ask him whether he wanted to join yer team and fight along side you. You decided that he was going to. That can’t end well. And given these writers it won’t end well in the way that it should

of course i know that later David does things like murder animals and try to kill the animorphs but like, how much is that just the writers going... oh, shit um quick how to we make it more clear that the Animorphs are better than this kid?

David whent home with Marco, sure why not

Marco catches him trying to call his parents and leads him to a payphone to use

Ah yes, the Animorphs unnecessarily causing hosts harm once again

Nice way to win him over to yer side guys

So they waste a perfictly good chance to rescue David’s dad

??? They move David… to jake’s house. Who’s brother is a controller…

Oh yer trying to get the kid captured. I see

Tobias get the fuck over yerself, Cassie can release her patients whereever the hell she wants. If you have a problem stop living in the fucking wilderness when you don’t fucking have to

David has very good points. Also you can aquire fucking both of the birds. You are not limited to one of each kind of morph.

Cassie, Marco clearly doesn’t like him and Jake’s trying to boss him around and you all forced him to join you

Like David makes very valid points. You’ve done nothing to show you’re trustworthy individuals not trying to use him to your own benifit

Isn’t there a big yeerk thing happening soon? SHouldn’t yall also be working on that too?

Ya know the controller at the meeting is probably a local, given i assume they have a portable kadrona machine and if that shit breaks or need maintenance they’d probably want to be close enough. And i know there’s no global pool network just from the stuff in like book 7?

And they’re taking the new recruit, in his first morph on his first flight on a damn recon mission. Nothing can go wrong there.

Oh look the other shoe i was waiting to fall. Ya know this would be a lot more interesting if the writers didn’t decide to make David an asshole and he still decided to leave/betray the team

So the yeerk forces on the blade ship are wearing their uniforms. But the ones on the ground? Nudists

ya know goading people into doing shit for the first time in a litteral life and death scenario ()b/c who needs things like practice() by calling them a pussy is not going to build any kind ill will

I don’t think this is a well thought out plan from the yeerk side if what’s happening is what the Animorphs think is happening

I wonder if the Animorphs will remember that roaches can fly

Ends on a too be continued

[roundthatcorner]

"Something that didn't happen but did. But only for a minute" Can you elaborate on what you think this means?

(Okay,hopefully you are still here, anon (carpal tunnel = me reluctant totype much of anything, sadly, bc I need to save my loser hand for myjob…Gird your loins or w/e, this is long…and meandering…)

Ithink I stuck that in the tags of a post, but I was just paraphrasingPaul’s lyrics in ‘The Pound Is Sinking’, where he sings ‘hear me,lover/I can’t be held responsible now/for something that didn’thappen/I knew you for a minute/oh, it didn’t happen/no, only for aminute/your heart just wasn’t in it anymore’ (probably you knowthis, but just for background…).

So,just let me like riff on my interpretation a little, and don’t be toooffended if I get off track, it’s all related in my head:

Incomparison to the kind of nether-world of John and Paul’srelationship with each other, we can maybe look at theirrelationships with their (eventual) wives to see what wouldconstitute, at least in Paul’s mind, something that actually'happened’. No matter what we think DID happen between John and Paul,it was clearly never a 100% fully fledged relationship, right? Theynever got married, they never bought a house together, they nevermade each other breakfast every morning, they never adopted kids,etc. They never actually ran away together – at least not withoutcoming back. Paul wrote those lyrics after 10 years of marriage withLinda and 4 kids, and in comparison to that level of day in, day outcommitment, whatever John and Paul had is something that onlysemi-happened, or only happened for a minute (or happened in 'anotherlifetime’ or 'was I just dreaming or was it only yesterday?’).

Awhole range of possibilities exists for what their relationshipactually was (I have another ask that I am trying to formulate aresponse to that will be more along those lines), and so these lyricscan be interpreted a lot of different ways…but essentially…nomatter how far they went with each other, romantically or sexually, Idon’t think either of them ever got quite what they wanted out ofeach other, you know? Neither of them was ever fully satisfied by it– there was always SOMETHING in their relationship that was out ofreach – unattainable – whether because of their ownpersonalities, conflicting demands and desires, fame on a level noone could possibly understand (I mean…really…the ENORMOUSpsychological pressure on them is simply unfathomable and somethingwe should always try to have deep, deep empathy for), exteriorpressures, homophobia, the hard slog of being in a band together,jealousy, competition (!!), differing drug habits, etc.  

Like,I think we can get a pretty clear idea of WHAT John wanted out of arelationship by comparing his relationships with Paul and Yoko. Whydid John swap Paul for Yoko? Presumably because he was gettingsomething from Yoko, at least in the first couple of years of theirrelationship, that he COULD NOT get from Paul, or wouldn’t ask forfrom Paul, or couldn’t expect from Paul. Paul was never going to beat his beck-and-call 24/7; Paul was never going to go on about himbeing a genius without also expecting him to actually producegenius-level work; Paul was never going to BLOW UP everything theyhad built, their whole world, for John, on an impulse; he was nevergoing to tear the Beatles apart for John; he was never going todevolve into junkie-ism for John; he was never going to stop writinggreat songs because it made John jealous when he did; he was nevergoing to stop being the prince of swinging London because it madeJohn feel stultified in comparison; he was never going to…put hiscock on the front of an album, or mail back his MBE, or put on artshows that are designed solely to rile/exasperate/pull-one-over-onpeople (Paul’s art, in contrast, is almost always 'invitational’). IfJohn was into his 'great debunker’ mode in '68, Paul could not be hispartner in that – but Yoko could, since she never put in thefucking hard work of building their Empire (though she has happilyreaped, for decades, the benefits of what she helped destroy).

(Also– Paul could never stop being a man in order to bolster John’smasculinity, or to quiet his gay panic, or lessen his probablepost-Brian-dying existential crisis about what-the-fuck theirrelationship, or any gay relationship, could ever be. A best friendwho you can fuck but is also a woman (so it’s alright)? That’simpossible for Paul, he can only go two-for-three there.

Also,not unimportantly – for all John described Yoko as a genius, blahblah blah, she was NEVER EVER going to write a number one hit. Youknow? She was NEVER actually competition for him – he never wasgoing to look at her and be like, “Gosh, I like your songs on thisalbum better than mine…”, LOL. Yoko and his post-Beatles work wasa way of REMOVING himself from the game – how better to escape fromthe pressure of coming up with another Ticket to Ride than byproducing Life with the Lions, or whatever-the-fuck? He TALKED a shitload about his genius after the Beatles were over – but by thatpoint his genius (which was being the leader of a ROCK 'N’ ROLL BAND,btw, in case anyone (Yoko) ever forgets) was atrophying. The world will never love Yoko the way it loves John or Paul, which allows John to win that competition BY DEFAULT -- with no effort! -- while also getting to play a bit of a martyr vis-a-vis her and her treatment by the press/society/fans.

Also, Iwould compare what Paul was able to get from Linda to what he gotfrom John (it’s a valid comparison, obviously – Linda and John werevery different Libras), but doing so doesn’t quite make sense here,since Paul never actually made a choice between John and Linda. WhatPaul chose Linda over was dying – literally fucking dying – of abroken heart.)

So,having hashed out some dynamics or dysfunctions that were presumablypresent no matter what 'level’ their relationship went to, and whichpresumably drove them apart, you’re probably saying…what the fuck,dude? Because all of this is sort of putting the cart before thehorse, right? Since John’s impulse to do all of theseBeatle/Paul-ruining things, which necessitated 'Yoko boat’ ratherthan 'Paul boat’, had to come from somewhere…

Myactual shortened timeline-sort-of view of their relationship and myCONJECTURE on how it may have happened: sometime between 1964 ('If IFell’) and May 1968 they moved into a semi-stable phase of theirrelationship which is semi-explicitly romantic (the sexualinterplay/experimentation presumably far pre-dates this period, maybedating back to their first months together ('Baby Elvis’ – John wasphysically/sexually knocked-the-fuck-out by Paul from the start)), inaddition to being ten dozen other things. One or both of them mayharbor the notion at this point that some day – when the demands ofBeatlemania are done, when things are more settled, when they haveaged out of fucking around so much, when they buy an island, when thepress hounds them less, when homosexuality is more destigmatized inaddition to being decriminalized (1967 in Britain, which may playinto this) – they will be in a yet more stable, more exclusive &more serious relationship.

Atsome point it becomes clear to one or both of them that this is notgoing to happen: Brian dies which fucks everything up (nothingharshes a buzz like death, especially the death of one’s gay mentor, which may then precipitate a decisively un-gay turnaround), Paul gets engagedto Jane in a last ditch effort to save their relationship, and Pauland John as-a-couple fizzle out. Possibly it’s even amicable atfirst, like they’ve agreed to put it on hold because they acknowledgethat they can’t give each other what they want – which wouldexplain why Paul is so docile and accepting of the Yoko thing atfirst. Not only does he not think it will last (another of John’swhims – Chip Madinger puts the Two Virgins recording on the VERYSAME DAY that John announces that he is Jesus fucking Christ! (*)) andmaybe it’s actually in-line with what they’ve agreed to, but Paulalso doesn’t yet understand that John will at some point becomewilling to destroy the whole dang thing, all-or-nothing, 'if we can’tbe lovers we’ll never be friends’, etc.

Withouttheir being lovers, all the little resentments John has towards Paul– over leadership, talent, looks, personality, music, etc, that heis able to overlook when they’re fucking – boil over. If John’sperception becomes that Paul has managed to wrest the band away fromhim by sexually manipulating him (**), then that’s one more reason forhim to now try to assert his dominance – by foisting Yoko on all ofthem, which only drives home further how not-the-leader he is (in hisown mind), since if he WERE the leader, they would accept her(especially because he thinks she’s cool, and they generally thinkeverything he thinks is cool is cool!). Having Yoko nearby all thetime also conveniently keeps Paul-and-his-sexual-wiles away from Johnand gives him a continuous alternate sexual outlet. For John to’re-take’ the leadership position (which has always actually been aco-leadership, of course, since the moment John and Paul were theones wearing matching blazers while everyone else had plain shirts)would require that he start writing better songs than Paul – onlynow he’s too heroin-addled to effectively do so and he’s got writer’sblock something major, so instead he withdraws further into Yoko andheroin and non-communication. At the point where Paul is begging himon bended knee – writing Oh Darling for him and then repeatedlyTELLING him it’s for him – Paul is at his lowest point yet and he is STILL writing more songs than John andpretty soon he’s refusing to go along with Klein, too, which onlyfurthers the resentment. And especially if Paul’s love andprotectiveness towards the band partially caused him to put thebrakes on the relationship with John, what better way for John toessentially fuck with Paul and get all his latent heartbreak anddisappointment out than to leave Paul with nothing by destroying theband, too?

(*) John really seems to have experienced a BREAK with reality at this point, and it’s bizarre how rarely this is explicated in discussions of him finally getting together with Yoko. After years of compulsively drinking/drugging they go to India where, at least at the start of things, John is STONE COLD SOBER and meditating for hours on end – anyone’s psyche would be shaken up by this! And then Paul LEAVES – which, even if it wasn’t precipitated by any argument or whatever (I’m agnostic on this), had to be massively destabilizing for John because suddenly he has HOURS to ruminate on Paul and their relationship and what he is and isn’t getting from it, and he no longer has Paul actually physically there to ground him, both in reality generally and in his Paul-ness and how essentially lovable and fascinating and alluring John finds him and will always find him. 

(**)Paul may well have been the first guy that John was physically turnedon by – bisexuals supposedly realize their same-sex attractionslater than their opposite-sex ones and comparatively later than gaypeople do – but moreover Paul seems to have SET and embodied thepattern of John’s male attractions for the rest of his life. Not fornothing was John’s intended panty-dropper line to Tony Manarosupposedly 'you’re prettier than Paul’. Practically every rumor I’veever seen of John’s sexual encounters with males in his later yearsemphasizes that he liked PRETTY BOYS (and who’s the toppermost of thepretty boy heap?). So if John was conflicted about his attraction tomen, it makes sense that he might manage to blame that on Paul, too.

Hopefully this makes a slight bit of sense…at any point in there at all, lol. Feel free to ask me again if I didn’t quite hit the mark or if you want clarification. :)