#and I have written over 2k words for this rough outline

[fayes-fics]

Comfort

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Benedict comforts his new wife when her courses arrive…

Warnings: mentions of menstruation, non graphic references to period blood. Otherwise, just the fluffiest of fluff.

Word Count: 2k

Authors Note: Unbetaed. Thanks to @colettebronte for help with the title. Request fill for anon HERE, where Benedict comforts his new wife when her period arrives overnight. This might be the most saccharine-sweet fluff I have ever written. For my usual smut peeps… err, apologies? Normal filth will resume shortly, I'm sure lol. <3

You stir from your slumber to a dreaded dampness you know far too well. 

Oh dear heavens, no! 

Overnight, your courses have arrived without warning. Or perhaps, with hindsight, there were some signs, but you had assigned blame for the symptoms elsewhere. You had put your tiredness down to the exhaustive social whirlwind of your first ball as a Bridgerton. The dull lower back pain you had felt merely due to traipsing around the extensive grounds the host was keen to show off to all and sundry.

For a few moments, you lay staring frettingly at the ceiling, unsure what to do. You can tell that your nightgown and, likely, the bedsheets will carry evidence of this unwanted early arrival. You had plans to inform your lady's maids to prepare the following night. Trust your body to be at least a day early when you least need it. 

Next to you, your new husband of just fourteen days, Benedict Bridgerton, is sleeping soundly. You roll your head to look briefly at his handsome face in repose on the adjacent pillow, then bite your lip in anxiety.

Oh god, he cannot see this!! He simply cannot! What am I to do?!?

____

You had been taught a few things in the run-up to marriage by your Mama. One of them was never to mention or address the “monthly visitor” to your husband—it was a matter for you and your maids to deal with. On the nights you were “visited”, you were strongly counselled to sleep in your room rather than with your husband so he would not have to deal with “such unpleasantness”. This may have been logical advice for a regular wife of the Ton, but your mother probably never considered how non-traditional your husband would turn out to be. 

Hours after your nuptials, upon arrival at your new marital home - a wonderful brick townhouse just a few streets from Bridgerton House - you had politely inquired where your bedchamber was. At first, he laughed, then frowned when he realised you were serious. It turned out he had not made plans for, or indeed, set up a room for you separate from his.

“We are husband and wife now. We shall sleep together,” he explained, drawing you into his arms and planting a tender kiss on your forehead.

“But… every night?” you stuttered, still grappling with what exactly was expected of you as a wife.

“Yes darling,” he confirmed, still sounding vaguely bemused.

____

Since that day, you have shared a bed every night, which has been delightful for so many reasons. Indeed, you have never slept better in your life than in the two weeks since your wedding, falling asleep securely in his arms and awakening to his handsome, smiling face…

…Well, that is until now.

Now, you have no earthly idea what to do. 

You surmise it must be early, dawn breaking, a grey, feeble light peeking around the top of the heavy velvet drape curtains over the windows. Barely enough to see shapes and rough outlines as your eyes adjust. Not wanting to awaken Benedict by igniting a candle, you gingerly push back the bedspread and slide out as quietly as possible. In the mirror across the room, you catch sight of a scarlet bloom, visible even in this low light, so stark against your white cotton nightgown. Turning back around, your fears are fully realised when you see a mirror imprint left upon the sheet where you slept.

Horrified, you fly into a flurry of movements. Wanting to hide both your nightgown and the sheets you have sullied, albeit unintentionally. You slip as silently as you are able to the linen supplies cupboard and gather terrycloths designed for bathing. One, you wrap around yourself; another two, you decide to place upon the bed, hoping it will conceal the stain until your husband leaves the bedroom.  

You cannot wait to bathe but know that running a bath would surely awaken Benedict, the noise of water being poured into the echoey copper, even if across the hallway, being bound to rouse him.

Once back next to your side of the bed, you push the covers towards the middle and start to pull at the edge of the undersheet, hoping to slide a cloth under the stain and one atop, to stop the evidence from spreading. You glance furtively at your husband as you work, who unfortunately is turned onto his side facing towards you, as he often is when you awaken. 

In all heavens, could you not turn the other way just for once, my love? 

You move as stealthily as you can, so very keen to be unnoticed. The most challenging part is trying to wedge a cloth underneath, the sheet pulled taut by your husband's weight pinning down the other side. Just as you are fighting with both hands shoved far under the sullied sheet, you hear a sudden sharp intake of breath.

Oh no! He is awake.

His eyes fly open, and he squints as he takes in the sight before him. Then, a frown passes over his features.

“What on earth are you doing, my love?” his voice is deep and rough with sleep.

You whip your hands out from under the sheet, belatedly realising you are also muttering a repeated “no no, no no” under your breath as you attempt to reach for the upper cover and hide what has happened, but it is just out of reach, kneeling as you are beside the bed.

“Darling,” he sits up slightly, rubbing his eyes, obviously thrown off by your agitated state. “Please, whatever is the matter??” his tone rising in volume and concern.

Your eyeline falls reflexively upon what you are trying to conceal on the bedsheets, and his tracks yours. Unable to handle your embarrassment, you bury your head in your hands and slump backwards onto your heels, certain this will be repulsive to him.

“I am so sorry, husband; I was not expecting this to happen today; please forgive me,” you mutter defeatedly behind your hands, ashamed.

You are expecting a noise of derision or disgust. What you do not expect is a chuckle and then a large, warm hand brushing your shoulder.

“Darling, please get up off the floor,” his ask caring, no rebuke to be heard.

Your head slowly tilts up, and to your shock, he is leaning over onto your side of the bed, not far above the stain, and is observing you mildly befuddled benevolence.

“But, I…” you trail off, even as he reaches for your hand.

“It is fine,” he cuts in, squeezing reassuringly with his fingers. “You are a woman. Such things happen. There is no need for shame,” his eyes are soft with understanding. “I do have sisters, you know,” he adds with a sanguine laugh, a shorthand to explain his knowledge of your situation.

Your mouth falls open a fraction, completely taken aback by his affable, almost nonchalant reaction; it is very different from what your Mama taught you to expect. While you flounder in surprise, he rolls away and gets out of bed, padding around to your side, crouching next to you and drawing you into his arms.

“You… you are not repulsed?” you stutter as you recover, your brow creasing.

“Of course not, my love. It is perfectly natural, and there is nothing about you or your body that repulses me,” he assures, kissing your cheek. “In fact, it is very much the opposite,” his tone sincere and soothing.

You get lost in his hazy eyes and gentle smile, accepting his doting kisses that make you feel warm from head to toe. It is then he looks down and spies the bathing cloth you have swaddled yourself in from the waist down.

“I assume your nightgown is in a similar state? And that you would like to get clean?” he guesses empathetically as you nod demurely. “Then I shall summon the staff to run you a bath,” he hums, delicately brushing the stray strands of hair that had fallen askew in your scrambling efforts.

“Thank you, Benedict, so very much” you exhale, relieved and still slightly unmoored by his reaction.

His face breaks into that crooked smile that makes butterflies flutter under your ribs. 

“Please, my love, it is literally nothing. We have promised ourselves to each other for life. I expect to see this many more times,” he explains calmly as he rings a bell to summon his butler and presently provides instructions for a warm bath to be drawn and the bedding to be changed by the maids.

“You do not wish for me to sleep elsewhere when I am so afflicted?” you check as soon as you are alone again.

He chuckles as he did before. “Whatever for? You are my wife. I want you beside me all the time. It matters not to me if you have your courses. I still wish to fall asleep with you in my arms.” His sweet sincerity makes your heart skip a beat as he nuzzles your temple. “Although it has been a few short days since our wedding, I have rather gotten used to you being beside me. I cannot sleep soundly without you, my love. Nor would I want to try. We shall share our bed every night,” he adds solemnly.

“But, what if one of us is sick?” you inquire as he helps you to stand up from the floor, pulling you into his arms.

“‘Tis no bother. We shall surely both contract the same, seeing as we reside under the same roof; at least we can suffer in company,” he jests warmly into your ear as his hands rub your lumbar spine with a pattern that soothes the ache you feel there.

“What if you must travel for your art?” you challenge.

“I would be heartbroken if you did not come with me,” he volleys back with a playful pout that you can't help but giggle at.

“What if one day we have a child, and they will not rest without their mother?” your question is almost timid, knowing there is a bloom on your cheeks at the very thought.

He cups your jaw gently and tilts your face to look up into his. His mien is so devoted that the air is stolen from your lungs. 

“Then they shall simply sleep between us, my love. It will be my child, too. You will not be alone. Not when you have your monthly courses and not in the raising of our children. Of that, I promise,” his cadence is lilting and ardent.

“Thank you, Benedict,” you breathe shakily, scarcely able to believe that the man you married is nothing like how your mother had warned. It makes you feel so grateful you cannot stop your emotions, heightened at this time of the month, from bubbling over.

A large, warm thumb blots the tears that gather at the corner of your eyes without comment; he just accepts your state, bussing a kiss onto your forehead.

“I love you, y/n,” he breathes, warm air gusting over your skin.

“I love you too, Benedict,” your reply muffled into his neck as you mould into his strong embrace, remaining there until a lady’s maid taps on the door to convey that your bath is ready.

And true to his word, over the years, you are never a night without your husband. Through many monthly courses, through sickness and health, through children and even grandchildren. It is always his face you see just before your eyes droop closed and the moment they flutter open again. Your safe space. Your comfort. 

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @amygdtjhddzvb

[notjustjavierpena]

Wake

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: Finally another part of my darksugardaddy!joel. This has been sitting in my WIPs for a while, and I’m so pleased with how it turned out. Be kind to me as I haven’t written in a while and I feel terrible about starving you all of content.

Summary: Joel comes home to fuck your lights out. 

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: +18 smut, dub-con with non-con elements, painful and rough sex, p in v sex, choking, passing out, degradation, abusive behavior, creampie, dirty talk, no aftercare, sugar daddy, daddy kink

Word count: 2k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50908876

Wake

It’s a late afternoon when you come to a realization; you don’t love Joel Miller, and you don’t think you could ever love Joel Miller. He is everything that you’ve been taught to hate if you want to believe in fairytales. Your parents would disapprove of him so immediately that you’d be terrified of them cutting you off from them if they knew of his existence.

You’ve never had a man be this rough with you, and only occasionally stroking your hair in apology afterward, but you suppose that the copious amounts of money spent on you - clothes that feel like armor around regular men and expensive bottles of wine that might as well have been potions designed to make you insane - is enough to make up for any unpleasantries within what you don’t dare call a relationship. 

You don’t love him but you can’t hate him. Not in a way that any other person would. How else would you surround yourself with pretty things? You’re no good at anything else than being what he needs.

Whenever he has had a bad day, you know the roughness will increase. It always starts the same; with a slam of the mansion door and a hungry search for you through the obnoxiously large building. He calls for you and you don’t dare not to answer, and in the end, he finds you in the extravagant living room - one of many - with its gold-rimmed glass tables and Chesterfield couches. You’ve been reading a book, but you put it down the second he enters and don’t even bother asking to read to the next full stop. 

“There you are,” he almost heaves for breath with exhaustion from his anger. He isn’t angry at you - you know this - but still, you find yourself treading lightly when his voice is so cold that the living room seems to drop a few degrees in temperature and causing your nipples to harden at the sudden change.

Then, as part of your ritual, he gets a thick wad of bills from the inside pocket of his suit and places it on the nearest surface. A bank transfer won’t do in these situations. He needs something physical, something he can hold in his hand and flash before you, and you know that he wants you to fall to your knees and beg for the warmth and dirtiness of the printed bills against your clean skin.

You’re just about to when he interrupts you.

“There will be more when you wake,” he promises, voice almost too quiet and restrained. Like he is saving his strength. 

You notice his choice of words; when you wake.

Wake.

You gulp. You’ll have to take it in stride. You’ll have to play the part.

You rise from your seat and he watches you patiently. You say nothing as you lower yourself onto the glass table and then lie down on your back, knowing it can hold because Joel would never buy a surface that he couldn’t have you on. 

You’ve learned not to wear anything too difficult to get out of, so it takes little time for you to pull off your skirt. Though you struggle a bit with your underwear since they’re already damp, sticking to the outline of your cunt and the sight makes Joel smirk like the Devil. Curse him, you think, for knowing that you can barely function when he looms over you like a giant, like a dangerous predator that hasn’t tasted blood for weeks. 

When you manage to maneuver your panties down your thighs, he twitches with impatience and curls his whole fist around the cotton fabric. He yanks them down and watches them twist into themselves as he pulls them down over the length of your legs and off your feet. 

They catch on your heels for the tiniest second. He gracefully undoes the ankle straps of them and drops each one onto the floor after taking it off. The anticipation is killing you, toying with your ability to breathe properly and even moreso at the humiliation of only wearing your top now. 

“Pull it down,” he commands, gesturing to it. You start to yank at the bottom to pull it over your head but he growls, “Down. Not off, stupid bitch.”

Oh. 

You pull the neckline down to settle it underneath your breasts, feeling like something on display with the way that Joel takes you in. His cock strains against the front of his pants, his breath uneven, when he cups both of your tits in his hands and pushes them roughly together. His thumbs skim over your hardened nipples, causing you to moan and he responds by pinching them instead until the moan transforms into a whimper.

“I’m gonna fuck you until your pretty little lights go out,” he mutters, pinches, and then tugs a bit on your nipples until you move involuntarily, “Lie still. Don’t give me any shit.”

He takes a step back, his gaze pinning you down whilst he undoes his belt. You refrain from shivering in case he tells you off once more, but you’re so close to doing it when you hear the noise of his zipper. A gush of wetness seeps from you, possibly smearing the glass surface that you are lying on. 

“Please,” you say pathetically.

“Please what?” He asks as if he doesn’t care.

“Daddy,” you present your cunt for him by opening your legs and Joel instinctively looks at your quivering slit, “Please fuck me.”

Joel steps between your legs, using his knees to push them even further apart. He towers over you, cock standing impressively into the air after he has shoved his pants and underwear down his thighs. He tuts at the desperate look in your eyes, “I barely make it through the front door before you’re spreading your legs for me.”

You want to argue that he was the one who sought you out, but he might leave you with a throbbing cunt if you have the audacity to play smart with him, so instead you just nod with a breathless ‘yes’.

He places one knee on the coffee table, following up with scooping a hand underneath the small of your back to align your lower pelvises. His grip is so strong, his bare skin, the amount you are allowed to feel, burns against your own. Like King Midas, his touch enriches you, turns you into something as valuable as gold. 

His cock breaches your tight cunt moments after. He watches you intently as your eyes screw shut with the inevitable sting that it brings due to his generous girth. He seats himself to the hilt inside of you and reaches something you didn’t even know a man could get to when he presses his hand into the spot where it rests on your back. 

“Good girl,” he praises with a strained moan, “How do you feel?”

“Full,” you say shakily and teasingly clench around him. 

He takes in a sharp breath, and before you know it, his free hand has come down on your right breast in a harsh slap. He adds to it by palming your throat afterward, tightly gripping it when you try to squeeze around his length again after not having been given time to react to the consequence of doing it the first time. You smirk up at him and he nearly loses his mind. 

“God, you just want it bad, don’t you, little girl?” His hips draw back and he keeps you waiting for the briefest second before slamming them forward again. The force behind his thrusts is borderline painful, but the way his hand arches your back makes his cockhead pound your front wall. 

The moans you let out are barely there, high-pitched or silent with the way he knocks all wind out of you whilst simultaneously cutting off oxygenated blood to your brain.

He fucks you like an animal, all groans and grunts, sweat dripping from his brow because he is too hungry for dominance to undress. He loves being able to quickly flee the scene afterward and loves leaving you with no clothes on so you cannot follow him. 

But it’s not the amount of clothes that he wears compared to you that gets you close to the edge. It is the fact that nothing around you feels real except for him. Even you don’t feel real but rather closer to an inanimate object that only comes alive because of the dark eyes that penetrate your own. 

You’ve known this fact for a while. Despite the love not being there, you know that after this arrangement has started - you don’t know what else to call it - his mere looking at you is what makes you materialize. 

Your fingers come up to curl around his wrist. You cannot breathe and it fucking hurts, only dulled by the way that your cunt starts to flutter with how close he has gotten you to the edge. You hadn’t expected him to make you come. 

With wide eyes, you look up at him in an attempt to tell him what is going on. He holds your gaze, pleased with himself as he drives into you, “I know, little girl, don’t have to tell me, I can feel you.” 

You don’t have the guts to fight his harsh hand. You take it with tears forming in your eyes and the feeling of your pulse pounding in your neck where it’s fighting to get past his bruising grip. 

“Say it, say that you love me, that you’re nothing without me,” he commands, but when you try to speak it is nothing but a squeak. He has his hand so tightly around your windpipe that you cannot get a word past your lips, drooling and shaking underneath his lack of mercy as your tongue feels too big for your mouth. He grins maniacally down at you as your vision blurs around the edges, “Made you speechless, did I? You filthy whore.”

You have always been familiar with the term putting someone’s lights out, but you’ve never understood the true meaning until Joel came into your life. You come hard, unfolding beneath his touch, with tears on your cheeks - and then there’s nothing.

Like a child falling asleep in a car seat, you have been carried up the stairs and into your bedroom. You sit up in your comfy bed and try to piece together how you have gotten here, and when you realize, it is because of your underwear and skirt messily and hurriedly sitting around your ankles. 

You tug your bottom garments up again. There is something sticky between your legs, and you know, immediately. what it is when you start to shift your legs and are hit with soreness. Everything hurts, but nothing seems to be broken or damaged. 

You glance to your right and spot the stack of bills that Joel had flashed earlier. It is neatly placed on the edge of the table along with a glass of water and some aspirin. You’ll take them soon, need to feel the ache a little while longer.

Instead of doing what is most comfortable (like taking the damn pills), you reach for the money instead. A delusional person would argue that they still feel warm, the temperature somewhere between newly printed and body heat. You take a few of them in your hand, and then you press them against your skin. The fact that you find it soothing is pathetic.

The wonder and innocence of being carried upstairs as a kid doesn’t translate into adulthood, you think, and then you lay down to fall into a deep sleep.

.

.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

[creepling]

FICS FOR GAZA !

hello peeps! i am taking part in wip sponsorships for @ficsforgaza to help out with donations for the many fundraisers they have linked.

to meet with the terms, i am only offering sponsorships of works about video game characters. this includes my usual tcm game wips, alongside one i have of boomer from ssktjl.

here is an outline of steps to participate; send a screenshot that is proof of donation alongside the wip you are sponsoring into my inbox. $1 donated to a fundraiser = 100 words written for the sponsored wip. the word counts i provide are just rough estimations and i am willing to go over if the donations go higher! once a work is completed, i will give special thanks to donators for their contribution to the fic and the aid for gaza!

my limit is $20 for 2k, but feel free to donate as much as you can seperately from my wips!

click here for a further explanation from ficsforgaza if you are still unsure. their blog also has tabs on FAQ, fundraisers and all the info you need.

reminder: do not donate to ME. only send me proof of donation.

MY WIPS

BAD TINDER DATE WITH BOOMER (title still to be decided)

ssktjl!captain boomerang x fem!reader. bad first impressions. enemies to lovers. eventual smut? mini-fic series.

you have a reputation for liking the bad boys. your friends have warned you'll get your heart broken and it's time to move on to better things. after a horrible date with the aussie boomerang-slinger, you decide to finally take their advice. but it's not that easy moving on. there is something about him you can't get enough of...

progress: 676/6000 words

TO DEVOUR IS TO LOVE: CHAPTER 2

tcm game original character. multiple ships. dead dove - do not eat. general tags on this post.

in the second chapter, winona slaughter is navigating through the city life. fate aligns with her hunger and she crosses paths with maria flores and her group of friends. all is well as they take the abnormal, but intriging rural girl under their wing. but winona is struggling to cope with the buffet that she surrounds herself in. let's see how long she can last before things get messy...

progress: 4312/5500 words

THE BABYSITTER (title still to be decided)

johnny slaughter x fem!reader. babysitter trope. stalking. violence and gore. non-con. minor character death. dark smut. dead dove - do not eat.

reader finishes up her babysitting shift and expects the usual routine of her boyfriend picking her up. she doesn't know that someone is watching her, and is waiting for the right time to prance. when johnny finally digs his nails into reader, he knows a sadistic way to get her to succumb to him and have some derranged fun.

progress: 0/1500-2000 words

FOXY (title still to be decided)

johnny slaughter x fox-hybrid!reader. smut. petplay. dom/sub. minor injury. primal. humiliation. tags still to be decided.

fox-hybrid!reader gets caught up in one of hitchhikers traps when trying to snag nugget from the family property. unlucky for them, johnny's been working outside and spots the commotion. finding the hurt, scared reader, johnny takes them in with a devilish smirk. now he's got a little pet he can play with, and he ain't gonna play nice.

progress: 0/1000 words.

IN THE BLUEBONNET FIELD (title still to be decided)

johnny slaughter x fem!reader. smut. stalking. yandere. primal. non-con. knifeplay. bloodplay. dead dove - do not eat.

johnny has been stalking the reader for weeks, relishing in their scared state. as the days go by, the reader feels like she is being watched, catching glimpses of an unknown man following her every move. with morbid curiousity, the reader decides to treck through the bluebonnet fields to finally come face to face with her stalker. when he takes her advances, he finally has her at his mercy.

progress: 0/3000 words.

dividers by @thecutestgrotto.

FROM THE RIVER TO THE SEA, PALESTINE WILL BE FREE.

[astramachina]

an update of sorts

hi, yes, hello! it is i, tumblr user astramachina who was been relatively MIA for the past month or so. life has been a bit much so i stepped away from social media and tbh i don't think that's gonna be changing much going forward. whenever i do hop on it's usually on my alt blog and it's mostly to just vent so none of y'all are missing out on much.

HOWEVER. ON THE TOPIC OF WRITING. a couple of updates:

an indie pub put out a submission call for a collection of short horror stories from a single BIPOC author to be published in 2026 and my ass went "oh heck, that's me, i can do that!" only to realize that

I only had 6k words of well polished work

The other 10k were hot fucking garbage

oh fuck oh no even if i do clean up what i have on hand i'd still be 24k words under the minimum word count.

so i did what any sane, well-rounded author would do in my shoes.

i scrapped it all and started from scratch. :( 40k words across multiple short stories. in four weeks. (deadline is "mid february")

i've done nano before and 50k in 30 days is usually a breeze when it's just a single story that i approach with a detailed outline. this was 30 days to create, outline, write, and edit multiple pieces.

i don't have particularly high hopes of making the cut considering i know for a fact i will not have the time to sharpen these stories 110% but i'm doing it anyway. if the publication goes "ew, what" and hits the reject button, i'll be sitting on 40k (if not more) words of juicy, spectacular short stories to do with as i please.

this is getting long so everything else is going under a cut (there's CHARTS down there) ↓↓↓

to end with a raw 40k by feb 5, giving me about ten days to edit, i'll have to deliver a little under 1.5k a day. which is a great minimum HOWEVER.

my hubris is going "i can finish by the 2nd if i write 2k a day" so that's what's been happening there. my brain is fried. exhausted. my eyes are killing me BUT it was been a great distraction from the fuckass dumpster fire that is the world right now.

last night i briefly talked about these stories as a whole over on my alt, and came to the decision that while they're all standalone pieces, they all happen within the same "universe". that universe being the TSP universe.

it's something i've been wanting to do since i first started writing because i thought it'd be cool or whatever, but back then i only wrote fanfic so it was a little hard to do. (kinda doing it with my ongoing fnaf series anyway but that's different) i like the idea of having TSP be a sandbox, a sort of "Goosebumps" but for grownups. not all of it is horror, some of it can be considered "new weird", but it's all certainly uncanny.

if you want a rough list of the stories:

green means it's 100% completed, down to edits.

yellow means fully written but not edited.

pale red means currently being written.

dark red means not even outlined yet (and might not even make the cut of getting ready for this round).

so as you can see. i seriously have my work cut out for me. once these are done i'm probs going to take a more serious break from writing because the last thing i want to do now is burn myself out. i seriously started this year with the intention of working on the mainline TSP story with Cy and the gang, but alas. hubris consumes me.

what happens if i don't get selected for publication? i don't know. some of these are a little too extreme for casual anthologies, and Monitor Screen keeps screaming at me that it wants to be longer. it's already almost too long for a short story at around 7k, and if i let it fester it would absolutely push into novelette or novella territory. so who knows.

i would love to like self-pub the collection if it does get rejected, but i'd do it a bit more professionally than my ongoing self-pub works. like run a kickstarter or something because i would adore to have some illustrations to go with it as well as actual physical copies.

so yeah.

on a more general note, DHTM (my folk horror novel) is still in the trenches tho i do have two agents currently going back and forth and i'm trying to be real chill about it (one one of them is a big shot and the other formerly worked on supernatural which is fucking crazy to me).

i'm also on bluesky... kind of. at least my "authorsona". i've been self-pub'ing my erohorror and people seem to like it over there and i've been, GASP, actually making sales on itch to the point where i was able to preemptively purchase some HRT supplies, so that's nice. my limited online time has to go towards fucking marketing myself and shit (tho i've met some very nice authors so it's not ALL bad). i'm not linking to it because i want to put down a clear-ish line between.... idfk. i don't want to use my government name anywhere so instead i've splintered my internet existences. mitch miller [fandom/unfiction creator/gen online existence name] versus [authorsona name]. SIGH.

if you do want to follow me over there, shoot me a message. like i'm not TOO bothered/worried about it but i feel like going forward, as a trans POC author, anonymity is the best way to go.

so yes. hello. handing you a cookie. you're amazing if you've read this far. please take care and don't forget to hydrate.

ps. i felt like i was getting too annoying with my fnaf posting on main so i just stopped orz. i know it's my blog and i do what i want but it kinda felt bad to be almost at 2k followers and peeps only ever interacting with gen shitposts while i yelled into the void about stuff i was hype about. idk made me paranoid that people just had me blacklisted or whatever which is their god given right btw, but like. just unfollow if that's the case. slkdfjhsdf sorry it's the mental illness.

[bladeweaver-if]

Devlog (12/01/24)

I've been writing at a fairly regular pace, getting down another 2k words today. I'd like to be writing more per day but figuring out where to take things to where I want them is proving trickier than I'd hoped. Once I'm out of this section I should pick up in terms of words written per day, as I have a better idea of what happens after this slower section.

I've also been writing and concepting future scenes as they come into my head, just short sections that I don't have a concrete place to fit them in yet but don't want to forget, so I write a rough outline down.

I'm hoping to get a lot more done over the weekend!

[waterfallofspace]

WIP List

A lil WIP list to keep track of projects~ If you've requested anything and you want to know if I'm working on it, or have seen it, or just want to see what projects might be upcoming, here's the list for that!

(It's not a guarantee I'll finish everything on this list, but if there's ever a certain project you really want to see, feel free to shoot me an ask or message and just say 'hey! I'd like to see this!' and I'll see what I can do)

Requests (think 2k or less words):

Soukoku (Chuuya) for Anon

A selection of requests for Soukoku from Anon

Fyodor (feat. Dazai) for Anon

Other Fics (think 3k or over words):

Buddy Daddies 3/3 Completion (outlined)

Prompted by -this post- Soukoku thing (started!)

Hotwings Prompts To Flush Out

lil lurker Dazai prompt

Wavs/Art (still quite new to these~):

Dazai Wav Request for Anon

Teasing Partner Wav (rough, ROUGH recording, might scrap)

Collection Of Digital Art Ideas

A & B Scenario -waved (script written)

Personal Projects: (Mostly just for me but I may post them if I get the motivation/interest hahaha~)

Angsty TDDK thing with minimal snz (started)

Creating/Playing with my OC's (ongoing)

[rosebury-archives]

CalmWriMo 2023 Wrap Up!

It is done! It has been done for like four days! IT IS DONE!

I have taken part in @winterandwords' CalmWriMo, here's my goals and how I did!

At the start of November, I sat on 81450 Words for my project To Put On An Act. My current word count is 111793 Words!!!!! WHAAAAT!!!!!! It's safe to say that I reached my writing goal! But what else did I do?

Get to Chapter 16 OR write 30k words - safe to say that I reached both of these goals! I'm currently working on Chapter 18, and I've written 30343 words. Yippie!

Plan later chapters post breakup - eh. I collected some ideas and have a rough plan but there's still some proper outlining missing. I do have a little bit of a better picture now though!

Post progess more frequently - This worked semi well? I would've loved to post more logs to be honest but. Oh well. I did post a couple logs though, and I want to try to make this a habit, maybe to at least yell on here once a week (if I do happen to write that week of course).

Make some Moodboards - I did that! I've not posted them here yet but I did make some little moodboards for a bunch of the characters :)

Make an intro post for this account - did that as well! Yippiee!

Plan for another mysterious project - heheheheheheeheheheh >;)

Now the other, just as important part of CalmWriMo, the Calm. I was not as calm as I should've been. Let's see. What's the goals.

Get more sleep - ahahah. uuh. ahhahehheah. hm. well. let's move on.

Be less anxious/worried about What The World Thinks Of Me - hm. Well. Well? I mean I guess. I think it's fine. I still think every single person in the world is better than me but it's okayyyy I'm alive what more do I want.

KILLING THE CRINGE - happy to report that the cringe dies again every day

Read More - OOOOHHHH LOOK SOMETHING I DID!!! Listened to my audiobook in the beginning of November, however, I did not finish it. Oh well! Instead I did some reading of fellow writers on Wattpad. Some of these really are the most written stories of all time, but there are some real gems hidden in there that I can learn from. Also great for networking [wink]

Less Stress about posting - no stress at all I Am So Calm. I actually caught up to my posting schedule! I took it slow and posted every two weeks to give myself some time, and now I can go back to my regular weekly schedule! I think it's fine. i think I'm fine. I can post when I want and do what I want.

ALL IN ALL! THIS WAS GREAT!!! THIS WAS GENUINELY SO GREAT!!!! I'm really proud of myself and what I did this past month, I got a lot done, I feel motivated, I feel excited! I can't believe I've already hit over 100k words, and at this point I have no idea when this will end, but I'm just really excited to see what the future will hold for TPOAA.

Having a goal for the month really did help me to get a gentle kick in the ass and to sit down and write. I was writing an average of 2k words a day and I hope to kind of keep that even if I don't have a goal set for the month.

If it wasn't for my incredibly draining job, I probably would've been able to hit an even higher word goal, but I genuinely think this was the best I could do and I'm so genuinely proud of myself. Maybe next year I'll aim even higher? Who knows!

Great job to everyone else who took part in CalmWriMo/NaNoWriMo, no matter if you hit your goal, you did great and I'm so proud of you and I kiss you btw. Also thank you winter tumblr dot com for coming up with this idea and making my first steps into the world of November writing challenges a little easier!

remember that Alex and Youngbin love u all <3

[faeassassin]

I've been getting down on myself because I don't feel like I'm making *enough* progress on The Madness of Verwyn. But then I look at the word count and realize that at least I *am* making progress. Plus, I've got over 2k on Children of Chaos written, so that's nothing to sneeze at.

The problem hasn't been the writing at all. It's tucking in all the loose threads and answering all the promises I made in the previous books and stories. That takes more concentration and planning than I anticipated.

And no, an outline wouldn't have helped. These silly people go off script as often as I do already, from draft to draft, because something that will make the story better pops into my head. Or I write an offhand comment that's just decorative and then realize that it contradicts something else I put in a later rough draft. Sure, sure, unreliable narrator *IS* very deliberate in the Agrad POV novels, but unreliable author needs to be beaten down as much as possible.

I'm getting there. But there's a lot of work behind the scenes in wrapping up a series. Worth it, absolutely, but it's not as easy as I'd assumed it would be.

[akechi-stole-my-heart]

remember (remember) annotations because why the hell not

I've always wanted to make annotations for something I've written and I figured this would be a good opportunity, since this is a short and yet somewhat complex fic with a lot of parallelism/references. I'm writing this for the hell of it and because I think it'll be fun, I'm guessing it'll be pretty long and so for that reason I'm putting the rest under the cut. Without further ado, here are annotations for my recent 2k word one shot persona 5 fic remember that you can't save everyone (remember that you have to try).

part one: the writing process

My writing process varies for each project. I definitely tend more towards outlining, but this fic was somewhat of an exception for me. Since I knew it was going to be so short and very dialogue-heavy, I basically just had the rough idea planned out when I started drafting. Normally I might outline the whole thing, if not on paper then in a note or at least in my head, all in great detail. For this fic, I decided to write it on a whim, so there wasn't much time for the outlining stage.

I wrote the first draft in chunks of 500-ish words at a time over the course of a single night, pausing whenever I hit a roadblock or a good temporary endnote and returning to it a bit later. My drafting process is pretty basic. I tend to hyperfixate on whatever I'm writing and get into a flow state--and if I can't reach that flow state, I struggle to write anything at all. The words just kind of come to me, usually even a bit faster than I can write them (though I've started to catch up with my typing more recently--it helps that I write on my phone more often than not these days and I'm a lot faster that way).

Once the first draft was finished, I let it sit overnight, and since I was hyperfixating on it, I started work on the second draft basically right away once I woke up and kept working on it until it was done. Normally I don't work nearly this fast, but it helped that this was a hyperfixation-driven fic and that it was so short and simple.

My editing process is basically just a lot of rereading, tweaking/reordering/deleting/rewriting until I have something I'm happy with. In this case, I added about 200 words worth and deleted a lot of dialogue that I didn't think worked or didn't sound therapist-y enough. It's extremely hard writing Maruki's dialogue--just in general, but especially when he's in therapist mode.

The following is an example of the changes passages go through from the first draft to once its completed. The first draft is in italics, anything I cut is struck through, and anything I added is in bold.

-

Kurusu sniffles, and there's another long silence. Takuto gets up to refill his water glass in the meantime. While digging in the fridge, he ends up grabbing a beer too. Takuto tucks the phone between his cheek and shoulder to pick up his water glass and carry both back to his room.

He hates knowing Kurusu is suffering while so utterly helpless. He wishes more than anything he could do to something other than offer what must sound like empty platitudes.

After a long while Kurusu takes a deep breath and sighs. "Thank you, Doctor Maruki. I think I feel a little better now."

"I'm glad to hear it. If you ever need me, please, call me, at any time of day. Don't ever feel like you're bothering me."

"I'll keep that in mind."

Takuto runs his hands through his hair, a tiny bit of tension dissipating–but most of it remains.

Takuto sets the drinks down on his bedside table. He grabs his phone with one hand and runs the other through his hair. "Would you like to talk about anything else?"

"No. I'm good now. Promise."

"I'm glad to hear that. If you ever need me, please, call me, at any time of day. Don't ever feel like you're bothering me."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"All right. Don't forget what I said, Kurusu-kun. It's natural to be feeling a lot of conflicting emotions right now. If you ever need to talk it out more I'm here. It's okay to need help navigating the this grieving process."

"Yeah. Thanks." A door opens, and Takuto assumes Kurusu is headed back up to the attic for the night. "Goodnight, Doctor Maruki."

"Goodnight, Kurusu-kun."

Kurusu hangs up. Takuto sighs, allowing himself to slump forward and hold his head in his hands. He's so helpless. Not only with Kurusu, but also with his Kurusu's friends, and everyone else. At least with those like Rumi and Sumire Yoshizawa he'd been able to help, but the rest of them…there's nothing he can do. Absolutely nothing. Takuto opens the beer bottle and takes a swig.

-

I reordered the dialogue in one instance because I realized it sounded like Maruki was ending the call before Akira gave any indication that he was better/done talking, and it surprisingly still worked without having to change much. As you can see, there's a lot more added than subtracted. I'm an underwriter, and I wanted to break up the dialogue and indicate Maruki's what reaction was to what Akira told him through his actions. The rest of the changes are pretty small and were tweaked during the final few proofreads before I posted the fic on ao3.

Fun fact, I was debating for a long time whether he should refer to Sumi as Sumire or Kasumi in his head (on one hand, she believes she's Kasumi because of him and maybe he wants to respect that, on the other hand he's well aware she's not Kasumi and only believes that because he made her do so), before I remembered he pretty much exclusively refers to her as Yoshizawa out loud in the game and that that worked as a good compromise.

part two: commentary

Now we get to the fun part! This part is going to be pretty much nonsense unless you've read the fic already, so I recommend you go do that first, and then you can come back here. I'm going to take out passages and explain my thought process behind them/any parallels/deeper meaning behind them. This might take some of the magic out of it in the same way explaining a joke takes away its humor, so if you'd rather not see this peek behind the curtain, I understand.

Her back is to him, but she's closer than she's ever been. If only he could get her attention–Takuto reaches out, and he could swear, the tips of his fingers graze the back of her head, just barely tousling her hair. She's so close.

Bzzt.

Takuto is ripped away from her.

The fic opens with a dream Maruki is having of attempting to reach Rumi. This is pretty straightforward--he misses her and wants her back in his life, but he knows that's impossible, so he can't reach her no matter how hard he tries. I started here because I wanted to remind the reader where his mindset is at and the trauma that's led him to this place as context for the rest of the fic.

He fumbles with the phone, nearly accidentally rejecting the call as he struggles not to drop it. He manages to press accept and presses the phone to his ear.

I love how awkward and clumsy Maruki is. I headcanon him as ADHD and I tried to reflect that in this fic by describing how restless he is later on, constantly pacing around his room as he and Akira talk. But anyway, as for this little section I wanted to include his clumsiness without breaking the tone of the fic, so this happens early on before the more serious stuff happens and it'd be jarring to hear about Maruki stumbling around.

"Kurusu-kun?" he tries.

Silence. Then, a very soft and quiet, "...Yeah."

"Is everything alright?"

More silence. An even softer, "No."

Takuto switches on his lamp. Kurusu has never called him before, let alone in the middle of the night. Whatever this is about, it's serious, and he's trusted Takuto with it above anyone else. "Do you want to talk about it?" Kurusu mumbles something inaudible. "I'm afraid I couldn't make out–"

"I'm sorry," Kurusu says. "I didn't realize it was this late. It's nothing. Forget I even–"

While Akira is the one who called, I wanted to make it clear that he was hesitant about talking to Maruki, since I think it's in character for him to be afraid of making himself a burden. He called because he was so overwhelmed with emotion and immediately regretted it, and he continues to be hesitant to share his feelings for the rest of the fic. He just isn't used to talking about them out loud with anyone, not even his own counselor.

"We don't have to talk about anything if you prefer. I'll sit on the line with you until it's safe to hang up."

"It's not like that." Kurusu's words come out rushed, almost panicked, like he's desperate to clear up a misunderstanding.

"Like what?"

"I don't want to hurt myself. Or…whatever."

Oh, Akira. He called Maruki in the middle of the night and yet he's still worried about making Maruki worry about him. He doesn't want Maruki to think he's weak, either. My sweet, sweet child and his debilitating hero complex and aversion to vulnerability...

There's more quiet sniffling from the other side. "I'm sorry," repeats Kurusu. "I'm so sorry…"

Somehow, Takuto doesn't think Kurusu is talking to him anymore.

This is probably my favorite moment in the fic. Akira has already been apologizing, but this is the moment he breaks and starts talking about Akechi, even if he doesn't fully realize it himself yet. My baby boy and his overwhelming crushing guilt. ;-;

Kurusu's apologies deteriorate into sobbing. Takuto listens silently, his heart aching for the kid who helped him so much with his research. He swears to himself, right then and there, that he'll do whatever is in his power to end Kurusu's suffering, no matter what.

Here's the first obvious parallel between Maruki and Akira--they both want to save everyone else. In fact, they believe its their duty to do so, to their own detriment. There's another parallel in here too, with Maruki feeling like he owes Akira for how much he's helped him in his research. I think Akira feels the same way about owing people, since his confidants are all structured as give-and-take deals.

More creaking steps. A squeaky door opens and shuts. Kurusu sighs softly. "I took us back down to the bathroom. I don't want to wake Mona and…the café isn't exactly…um. Forget it. It doesn't matter."

Takuto sets that aside. It's not important right now that he understand Kurusu's situation, so long as he's comfortable where he's at. "Are you feeling any better, Kurusu-kun?"

"Um. I guess?" A pause. He sighs. "No, not really. I'm not." He sniffs again. His next words are muffled, almost unintelligible. "Ugh, fuck."

Obvious reference to Futaba's bugs is obvious.

Since I'm not sure how clear Akira's side of things is from Maruki's perspective, I'll just explain it here. Akira left to "clean himself up" in the bathroom after crying. In reality, the moment he tried to calm down, he just ended up breaking down all over again and cried for almost five minutes. Eventually he forcibly gathered himself so he could be coherent for Maruki and prevent him from worrying about him too much. Akira is assuming when he goes back upstairs to retrieve his phone that he'll be able to have better control of his emotions now that he's let himself cry for a bit. Him saying "fuck" is when he realizes that's not the case, and he hasn't regained his composure the way he thought he did. He's already on the verge of crying all over again.

"No, it's not–I just. I don't…really…talk to people. Anyone. About this stuff. Or…anything." He pauses. "I just…I mean, last month, I went through hell, and even then, I didn't–I didn't talk to anyone. Because I was fine! It was okay. I was okay. But now I'm just–I'm falling apart, and–" He breaks down again, starts to cry. "Goddammit. I shouldn't be–I'm sorry, I never should have called you."

Akira's partially convincing himself he was fine, of course. Akechi's death was just the straw that broke the camel's back (though it was a really huge straw). In a way, though, he's not lying either, because Akira just. cares more about others than he does himself. He can deal with his own suffering and trauma--its the suffering and death of his friend that breaks him.

Takuto wants something to chew on–something to distract himself from this listlessness he feels just listening to Kurusu, unable to help him in any meaningful, measurable way. He settles for the inside of his cheek.

"ADHD Maruki loves his snacks" but angst.

"He was right there," Kurusu continues, "but I couldn't do anything. And then it was too late, and…it's all my fault. I should have done something. I should have reached out sooner, but I didn't know what to do. Maybe if I wasn't so helpless and stupid I could have stopped him but now he's gone and it's all my fault."

Takuto waits until he's sure Kurusu's finished. "Forgive me if my assumption is incorrect, but this friend…did he take his own life?"

Kurusu laughs, and he hasn't sounded more miserable all night than he does now. "Yeah. Something like that."

Yeah. I mean, that's really the only way for Maruki to understand Akechi's death at this point. Once again, Akira blames himself and unrightfully puts all the responsibility on his own shoulders when the circumstances were out of his control. Remind you of anyone else?

"You don't need to apologize," Takuto repeats. He takes a breath and sits back down on his bed. "I'm terribly sorry for what happened to your friend. It's a horrible thing to lose someone that way. But it's important to accept that sometimes circumstances are out of our control and there's nothing we could have done to save them."

Maruki take your own advice challenge (IMPOSSIBLE!)

Seriously, though, Maruki having a double standard for himself and everyone else, where he breaks every rule he sets for his ideal reality because he is the exception, he is the one who must suffer for the sake of everyone else, is so incredibly interesting and tragic to me and I wanted to explore that here. How it doesn't even occur to him to take his own advice because of course it doesn't apply to him. He's the one who must save everyone, because he's the only one who can.

Of course, that complex of his gets a whole lot worse once he's offered the power of a god.

"What do you think he'd say to you now, if he were here?"

"Um…well." Kurusu sighs. "He'd…tell me to move on. That it's stupid to blame myself and that he made his choice."

"He'd want you to forgive yourself and live on for him, then?"

"Yeah. Yeah, he would."

Maruki, that's an incredibly generous way to put what Akechi would have to say if he saw Akira crying over him. (He's not wrong, though. That is what Akechi would want, even if that's far from how he'd put it himself.)

"You're a very strong young man, Kurusu-kun. You've endured so much this past year, trials you didn't deserve to face. And yet you've triumphed over them every time. That deserves recognition. It's okay to need help. Losing a friend to suicide is not an easy thing to deal with."

"Yeah. I just…" His voice lowers again. "I wish he were still here. I miss him so much."

"I know."

Okay, there's a lot going on here.

First of all--Akira is definitely misinterpreting Maruki's words right here. Maruki means to be saying that Akira's already dealt with so much that its okay to need help, but he's unintentionally supporting the narrative that Akira's been told by so many other adults. "You're so strong and capable and mature, it's incredibly impressive"--and Akira is internalizing this as they have high expectations for me, I can't fail them. He's seen as strong and capable so he's not ever allowed to be anything less. Its another way that the one adult Akira thought he could rely on ends up failing him by putting far, far too much on his shoulders.

This is something Maruki consistently does throughout the confidant by turning the person he should be counseling into his therapist, and later by placing the fate of the world on Akira's shoulders by forcing him to make the decision of which reality to subject the whole world to all by himself. This isn't a choice Akira should be forced to make, and yet Maruki is making him do it anyway, because he sees Akira as the ultimate arbiter of true justice. Akira is seen as incredibly mature and capable for his age by every adult he befriends and they each tell him so, which absolutely cannot be healthy for a sixteen year old kid to hear.

Second of all--"I wish he were still here." There it is. Akira's wish, everyone. The phrasing was entirely intentional. This is how Maruki finds out about Akechi's death. Once he gains access to Mementos and learns what happened in Shido's Palace (likely through Shido's Shadow), he puts two and two together and realizes the "friend" Akira must have been talking about was Akechi. This is how Maruki knew.

And here's the thing. Akira hates being vulnerable already. This phone call was incredibly difficult for him to make as it was. And now, because he talked to his therapist and told him something so deeply personal--that's why Akechi's brought back. That's why he's forced to go through the trauma of 2/2 and let Akechi die all over again. This is Maruki's ultimate betrayal, to use Akira's vulnerability as a weapon against him and hold Akechi hostage.

I believe Maruki when he says he doesn't want to do this to Akira. But that didn't stop him from doing it anyway. Because he believed his reality was worth putting that huge of a burden on Akira's shoulders, one he'll have to live with for the rest of his life. Imagine the toll that's going to put on Akira now. Imagine how much more difficult it'll be for him to talk to anyone about his problems ever again, for fear it'll be used against him like Akechi was. For fear he might put his friends in danger simply for the sin of opening his mouth and daring to be vulnerable.

Takuto gets up to refill his water glass in the meantime. While digging in the fridge, he ends up grabbing a beer too.

This is a reference to that one cut scene that implies Maruki may be something of an alcoholic. "Ends up" was intentional phrasing--Maruki doesn't see it so much as an active choice. He needs it to cope.

Takuto wishes he could do something, anything, to help him. But even with his powers, not even he can bring back the dead.

✨ Foreshadowing ✨

He finds himself in his office. His research paper is sitting here on the desk, already printed out. This is all he has–that, and his powers, which are currently limited and mysterious, but with the proper research might be able to grow into something that could help so many more than the very few he's helped so far. If only he had the resources to actualize it.

He has to find a way to help people like Kurusu and his lost friend. What he has now isn't much, but it's something, and he's determined to turn it into something more. Something that can save everyone from their suffering for good.

Takuto finishes off a third beer bottle. "I swear it, Kurusu-kun, on my own life," Takuto whispers. "I'll save you and all your friends."

Obvious foreshadowing is obvious. Once again, this is Maruki doing the exact thing he told Akira he shouldn't do--place responsibility on his own shoulders for other people's suffering.

"All your friends" is very intentional phrasing as well. He's including Akechi in that. He doesn't know how yet, just that he has to...well...try to save everyone.

Speaking of the title, its referring to both Akira and Maruki. Akira feels he should have been able to save Akechi, while Maruki feels he must save Akira and everyone else. The title was really what tied the whole one shot together. I realized what the title had to be while thinking about the one shot in the shower, and that's when I discovered what thematic throughline was. It retroactively justified my arbitrary decision to have the one shot be from Maruki's perspective (I initially thought it would just be an interesting experiment since I've never written anything from his perspective before). This one shot is about how Maruki does the exact thing Akira feels he should do. Its about how they're thematic foils, and yet similar in so many fundamental ways. It foreshadows their ideological struggle in the third semester and how they're driven by such similar motivations. And how easily Akira could have become like Maruki if he'd been alone.

[therealandian]

there's something really satisfying about going back to work on a project and immediately knowing how to make it better

like i've messed with this story a bit over time, but i never really put a whole lot of thought into the pacing because i just wanted it On The Page

and sure i still haven't written the entire story out yet, but with the rough draft as rough as it is, i think reworking the beginning is going to make things a lot more coherent when i finally do get it all written (and i do have an outline so that helps). cuz wow i breezed through the inciting event with such little substance (around 2k words) which leads to so much expository dialogue in chapter 2 lmao

in the meantime, though, please enjoy this little bit that i pretty much kept word-for-word because it's cute and i love this cat

“Hey there, little guy,” Tayn said, holding out his hand to the tiny black kitten that had materialized in his front garden. It sniffed a few times, tickling his skin with its whiskers, before shoving its whole face into his palm with a happy chirp. He laughed, scritching its cheek while it purred in appreciation. “I don’t have any food to give you right now, sorry.” “Mrrp,” said the cat. “Bit far from town, aren’t you?” “Half an hour's walk for me, but I’m sure it takes you longer.” He stroked the fur on its back. “You’re a pretty tiny little guy.” The cat circled around his legs, weaving beneath them and tickling him with its tail. Then, once it had gone too far for his arm to reach it anymore, it turned around with an indignant Rahh! before pushing its face back into his hand. “You know, I can’t really pet you if you walk away,” Tayn laughed. Its ears twitched, and it squinted at him. Pet me more, human! it seemed to be saying. “You got it, little guy.”

[lialialow]

Lost and Found

Fluff Tasm!Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings none

Requested by @iceyarrows

Hello! I just found your work and I'm already obsessed! May I request something for Tasm!Peter Parker where he has a crush on the reader and writes their names in hearts in his notebook (it all just gives me lovesick puppy vibes), but forgets it somewhere and reader finds it and asks him out the next day? Just cute and fluffy I guess lol, literally anything for him is perfect. Thanks for considering!

Word Count 2k

A/N Thanks for the request! Wrote this on the plane, but it’s cute. Ly mwah ♥︎

Peter was hopelessly in love.

You were all that crossed his mind.

During lessons he was constantly distracted, and it wasn’t helpful in the slightest for him that you just happened to be next to him during half his lessons. He loved your smile, your laugh, the way you would slowly fall asleep in classes.

You guys had grown up together, your parents being the closest of friends and you constantly being around at his house. It was bad, Peter had begun to fall in love with his best friend. Even worse was the fact that you were the only person he had told that he was spider-man; and in doing so had placed you in a mountain of danger. Falling in love with you only heightened the prospect of you being caught up in his reckless life.

It wasn’t until a few weeks ago when he realised he was truly and irrevocably in love with you.

It was the middle of autumn, it was sweater weather, and so you and Peter decided to go out to central park on a stroll. You had found a spot located under a tree of auburn and gold, and was now sitting on one side of the bench, your legs lying on Peter’s lap. His hand was aimlessly rubbing circles on your ankle.

A notebook in hand, Peter had originally intended to draw a tree or something, but seeing how peaceful you looked reading a book, his mind immediately wavered and he set out drawing you instead. You truly were the most beautiful person he had ever seen, and it seemed truly hilarious to him that he had never seen your beauty before, the cloud of friendship had prevented that.

He loved your eyes, they way they would shine when you saw the bright blue sky. He loved it when you laughed when you read that particularly pleasing part of a novel. He loved the way your hair would be blown all over the place on a windy day, and how annoyed you would be afterwards. Most of all, he loved it when he made you laugh, or when you would make him laugh.

Peter loved you, he just had no idea how he could tell his best friend that he was in love with her.

- - -

It was the worst day of the week, Monday. Peter only had one thing to look forward to, and that was science, the only lesson that day where he would sit next to you and he would be so delightfully graced with your presence.

The teacher was droning on and on, Peter had a pen in hand and a notebook that was originally for school, but was now exclusively for drawings of you; on the desk. Yet he had lost focus a while ago and was aimlessly staring at you. He watched as your head lay on your hand, adorned with rings. His pen began to drift on the same notebook, writing your name over and over.

You were incredibly sleep deprived, your favourite show had come out the previous day and your genius self had decided to stay up the entire night to finish the brand new season. It didn’t help in the slightest that Monday just so happened to be the day filled to the brim with the most tiresome lessons.

Words began to blur right in front of you, numbers became letters. Everything written in your notebook was complete nonsense, and you were sure you would have to copy up notes from Peter.

Thank god he’s awake

Oh how wrong you were, Peter was completely distracted by you. Every feature of your face was being committed to memory by him. His hands moved on his own accord, sketching out a rough outline of your face. The more he drew the more he saw. A small freckle of the tip of your nose, just how long your eyelashes were, the way your lips would pout every time you disagreed with what the teacher was saying.

You were a ray of sunshine in his life, a shot of espresso, the only thing that kept him from collapsing and giving up when he felt like he could no longer go on. Only after a few minutes did Peter come to the realisation of what was in the notebook. The most picturesque sketch of your face, only picturesque because it was a drawing of you; surrounded by dozens of small hearts, your name written multiple times across the page.

The lesson carried on and you were no longer aware of a single thing that was happening, finally, after what seemed like an age, the bell rang and once again you were free to endure the torture of yet another lesson.

Peter still hadn’t recovered from seeing the image that he had created based on your sheer beauty, it haunted his every thought and therefore he barely acknowledged the fact that the bell had rung. The classroom seemed bare and all he could see as he walked out was your face.

Everywhere.

Not that it was a bad thing, of course, he loved seeing you, it was the only thing that made his days bearable. Peter carried on down the corridor in his thoughtless stupor; almost walking into a pillar in the process.

- - -

You had suddenly jolted awake at the sound of the bell, and were now scanning your eyes around the classroom, trying to look for Peter. His looming figure was nowhere to be seen. Instead, in his seat, lay a single notebook that you recognised to be his. Being the amazingly nice person you were, you decided to grab the book and give it to him at lunch.

That was the plan until curiosity got the better of you and you foolishly decided to open up the notebook. It fell open on the one apparent page covered in murals dedicated to you. A portrait of your face was displayed front and centre, your name was carelessly scribbled around the drawing- hearts covered the double page spread.

You flipped the page, yet another page dedicated to you. The more pages you flipped, the more you saw. It was beautiful, his drawings, they were amazing; yet you couldn’t help but to have mixed emotions. What were you supposed to think?

Your best friend, someone you had known since you were both in diapers, had drawn half a dozen portraits of you; that you had been completely unaware of. There was no doubt in your mind that the portraits were beautiful, but it was ever so confusing. The fine line between platonic and romantic was becoming smaller every second.

It was the doubt in your mind that had prevented you from confronting Peter, what if he just used you as his muse? This could all be some kind of ridiculous prank for all you knew.

Yet you hoped it wasn’t, throughout your friendship you guys had been mistaken as a couple. When you went out for lunch together, the waiter would mistake the two of you for a couple. Most of the time you would correct them, but sometimes it was fun to imagine what it would truly be like to be with Peter.

Years ago you had a crush on him, which was so embarrassing considering he was your best friend and if anyone knew you were sure they would tease you endlessly, so you got over it, kind of. The sheer possibility of him liking you was enough to drive you to maybe take action on it. You got it, an idea, your mind was made up.

- - -

It had taken Peter far too long to come out of his stupor, by the time he had it was well past lunchtime and there was no chance of him seeing you again; until tomorrow that was. When he arrived home and was rummaging through his bag, he came to the sudden realisation that his notebook was gone. A notebook filled with drawings of you, was gone.

Dozens of scenarios ran through Peter’s head, each seemed to be worse than the last. Some random douchebag could have picked it up, opened it, and discovered Peter’s best kept secret; or some random guy could have picked it up, not opened it, and was planning to give it back to him the following day.

That was the dream scenario, though indeed unlikely considering half the year school was made up of douchebags. Still, Peter had no choice but to wait until tomorrow to confront whoever had his notebook.

- - -

The following morning Peter was already expecting the worst, photos of his drawings put up everywhere perhaps, though when he walked into school and was greeted perfectly normally, it all seemed to be fine. That was until he saw you walking into school, and sure that was amazing. Until he saw what was in your hand.

It was his notebook.

Filled with drawings of you.

This was simply worse than whatever scenarios he had thought up the night before, what must you think of him, how horrifically embarrassing.

“Y/N!” Peter shouted louder than he meant to as he ran to you.

Heads in the corridor turned to stare at him after his loud outburst. You too were startled and jumped back, hitting your head on the door behind you. Was Peter okay? This was most unlike him.

“Woah, sorry, you okay? Didn’t mean to be that loud, god, also how are you? Not that you’d be okay after hitting your head,” Peter had forgotten how to formulate words and was becoming more and more red each second he was talking to you.

“Yeah, fine, bit worse than I was a few seconds ago though,” You replied with a laugh, Peter was acting strange.

“Um- Cool notebook!” Peter stuttered as he pointed out the notebook laying in your hands, his notebook.

Realisation dawned over your face.

Oh

“Right yeah I was going to, um, return it,” you told Peter your face growing brighter with each passing second, he surely suspected that you had opened the book to have a look; which was entirely true. “It’s beautiful by the way, the drawings, they’re amazing.”

Peter’s pale face lit up at your comment, you liked them, you thought they were amazing. Maybe his affection for you hadn’t been revealed just yet.

“They were only beautiful because they were of you, darling,” Peter said to you, his eyes meeting yours.

You felt your face flush with blood, since when was Peter so forward, and since you when did he call you darling. Though the nickname did make you blush an awful lot. Good lord, maybe he did truly like you. You were on a roll, you weren’t going to let this opportunity pass you.

Peter hoped, prayed, that you liked him back, that over the years of friendship, you too had fallen in love with him.

“Would you-”

“I was wondering-”

You both began talking at the same time.

“You go first,” he said.

“I was- I was wondering if you maybe wanted to go out on Friday? Or we could like watch a movie at mine or something,”

“Like we usually do?” he teased, though he knew you bette than that and was simply overjoyed at the prospect that you were asking him out.

“No, like- like on a date?”

“You’re not pranking me are you?” Peter asked, looping his arms around your waist.

“You’re not pranking me? With those drawings? Are you?” You mirrored, placed your hands around his neck.

“No,” he grinned.

“Nor am I” You smiled right back at him, placing your hands either side of his face. He leaned down and your lips finally met his, after so many years of pent up emotions. So long you spent just falling in love with one another, the line between platonic and romantic was crossed, just like that.

“So? Friday?” You whispered, your foreheads touching.

“Yeah, Friday.” Peter replied, placing his lips onto yours yet again.

Never before had he been so thankful to have lost a notebook.

[wastelandcth]

5, 11, 17 & 21 pretty please 🥺💚

5. Show me your favorite under-appreciated fic; why do you wish it got more attention?

So 5sos wise, I've been obsessed with Don't You Forget About Me by @be-ready-when-i-say-go. I read it a few weeks back and it's been on my mind ever since then. The way Calum is written is amazing and I have not gotten it out of my head since I read it one night while it was raining outside, I am also excited to read through it again soon!

Non 5sos, Yaim'la on ao3 is....wow. The writing and the way the stories have left me floored are amazing. I know a lot of people follow me for 5sos only but I don't really read much for 5sos anymore because this story has led me down a rabbit hole of Mandalorian fanfic that leaves me breathless and even if you don't like Star Wars, this story is an AU so it's very easy to read and I love the idea of this being two stories that are slowly connecting to one another.

11. Do you have any writing rituals you do before (or during when) you write?

If I'm writing a song fic, I like to listen to the song a few times and read through the lyrics. Most of the time I have a rough outline of what I want to write but it's always nice to stop and relisten to what I'm writing for and get new ideas.

17. What’s your overused word/phrase that you have to keep an eye out for when you edit?

Oh god, there is probably a lot of them but I think I like to go overboard with things like "actually," "and that was..." "but that blah blah blah" and it's a force of habit now oops!

21. Do you have any stories you’ve written completely but never posted? Why? Please tell us about them?

I have a couple Star Wars pieces I've written, nothing too crazy just like 1-2k blurbs to try and test out my writing in a new fandom. There's also a couple fics for the other guys that I tried out to see how I could write for someone other than Calum but they're not too exciting (one of them is sitting on the couch with Luke and talking about that one time I thought I had broken my ankle or the one with Michael where we are in the car fighting over which Marvel character had the best ending) but they just help me find a voice for both the reader and the 5sos member!

writing ask game!

[ashkazora]

Ashka’s Writing Commissions

Hello everyone! Since it’s the new year and I have some more free time on my hands, I’ve decided to open up fic commissions. If you’re interested in commissioning me to write something, all the details are below!

Standard commission prices:  $1/100 words $10/1k words $18/2k words (10% discount) $24/3k words (20% discount) $35/5k words (30% discount) Anything above 5000 words will have 30% discount! If you want a word count thats not listed here, a different price can be sorted out. This word count is a minimum, and there’s a large chance I will go over it. This is also just a guide, and other word counts can be worked out.  

Payment methods: All commissions can be paid via PayPal or Ko-fi. 

Fandoms: To keep it short and simple, I’m most experienced in the Voltron: Legendary Defender fandom, however other fandoms I can write for include: The Dragon Prince, The Umbrella Academy, Percy Jackson (and other books in the Riordan universe) Warrior Cats, Lucifer, Avatar: The Last Airbender, Glitch Techs, She-Ra (2018), and more. The fandoms I’ve written for previously are italicised. If you’re interested in commissioning a fic from another fandom, DM me and we can sort out if that’s doable.

Original characters: A commission for original characters may be doable, provided sufficient details (backstories, base appearances, etc.) is provided.

Additional notes:  - In regards to ships, certain content (i.e. explicit content, whump, graphic depictions of violence, etc.), and other aspects, I reserve the right to reject a commission if it’s uncomfortable.  - In general I have not written smut before, so if you’re looking for that type of commission I can give it a go or refer you to some other talented writers! However, I have written saucy content before. - Before writing, I’ll write a standard outline for the fic that will detail rough plot points and the progression of the commission. Changing things at this stage is free, however major changes in the writing phase might cost extra depending on how drastic they are.  - Different word counts will take different lengths of time to complete. In general, I’ll try to finish smaller commissions within a couple weeks. If time is an issue or the fic is longer, a timeframe will be sorted out in the quote stage. - Commissions with whump/angst/graphic depictions of violence is fine.   - Payment is required either upfront, or half upfront and the other half after the outline has been completed. However if this is an issue please let me know so I can sort it out. 

If you wish to commission me, DM me here on Tumblr or on Twitter (at the handle @azorashka) so we can iron out the details.

If there’s any additional questions, contact me privately so I can answer them. Reblogs are greatly appreciated! Thank you all for your support this year with my writing! <3

[lovehelpmewrite]

And The Award Goes To...

Title: And The Award Goes To...

Pairing: Gwil x reader

Word Count: 2k

Summary: It’s award season and while you love Gwil, you can only handle so many awards ceremonies and fashion shows. However, you’ll never get over seeing him in those expensive outfits.

Warnings: smut, giving Gwil a blowjob, swearing

[A/N]: Thank you to @o-holynight for helping my title-troubled ass because i suck at them. Also thank you to her for sending me the ig post he made with that picture so this idea popped into my head. I know i haven’t written in a while and i dont really have any excuses so,,, yeah just enjoy this lol. Next I’m gonna work on what is essentially a mini series off of my old joint series ayhtdifil thats based off a Spring Break trip we planned and never got to post. ANYWAYS i hope y’all like this one i cranked it out in a day.

- - -

Award season had come around again, rearing an ugly head of stress, self-consciousness, busy schedules, and apprehension, all dressed nicely in the latest couture. But of course, as he had the year before, Gwilym asked me if I'd accompany him to a few of the outings and well, who was I to say no to an all-expenses-paid trip into the celebrity world? 

At least... For the first few shows. After the third in two weeks, I was starting to wear a little thin. Gwil had agreed, no problem, I could sit this one out and then next week come back fresh and ready to go again. Then two more awards ceremonies and a few too many cocktails at an after-party had sent me back on my ass again. I sat one out. Then I went to a spring season fashion show for 6 hours and well, now here I was as another awards show was appearing on the horizon as the sun had set for the day.

I sat on Gwil's couch, all comfy in a pair of flannel pajama pants and one of his old shirts with a fluffy blanket I was slowly burrowing into. 

Meanwhile, Gwil was in the bedroom getting dressed in the freshly pressed outfit his stylist had helped him pick out and sent over. I'd huffed when I asked to see it this morning and he said to "wait like the rest of the world." However, he'd just laughed at my half-pout and kissed my forehead.

Now, while still eager to see him all done up in the newest outfit of this award season. I was also about elbow deep in a bag of popcorn and rewatching the last season of Stranger Things on Netflix, but that was more to pass the time than anything.

Billy was just about to crash his car when Gwil called out into the living room.

"Are you ready for me?"

I grinned and scrambled to press pause on the remote, setting aside the near-empty bag of popcorn and turning to face the hall entrance.

"Show those models how it's done!" I joked, waiting a few seconds before Gwil entered with an overly-exaggerated model walk. All crossing lanky legs and popped hips and 'Blue Steel' in the face.

"Yes, mama! Show me the jacket! Yass," I cheered through laughs, pretending to click a camera. 

He grinned before falling back into his smize and dipping the shoulder down and pull it back up teasingly. 

When we’d both finished laughing I really got a good look at the outfit and just… damn. 

I reached a hand out to him and wiggled it until he grabbed it, helping to pull me up to kneeling on the cushions in front of him. Once he was within reach I was quick to snake my arms up around his neck and pull him down to kiss me.

“You- look- so- good,” I complimented in between pecks. 

He grinned against my lips. “Thank you, love.”

“No seriously,” I said, surging forward to kiss him again a bit more fiercely.

“Woah,” he smiled, gently holding me back by my shoulders with a sigh. “As much as I very… very much want to, I’ve got to leave at six-thirty be at the show for seven, love.”

I turned and looked at the clock on the wall. 6:17. I turned back with a grin.

“Y/N…” he said warningly, though he gave no resistance as I moved to stand and started pushing him back until his back softly hit the wall.

I quirked my eyebrows up at him with a smirk before sinking to my knees in front of him. Slowly, my fingers trailed up and down the lengths of his thighs, warming him up while he started to grow in his pants. I smiled up at him and started to tug open the button and zipper of the trousers. I pulled them down teasingly slow, letting them come to stop at his spread knees. I moved forward a little closer and lightly nuzzled my face against the heated outline of his hardening cock.

Gwil let out a shaky breath above me. 

I let my fingers carefully trail up once more and gently tug the top of his underwear down until the band was sitting halfway down his thighs, his length finally released. When I finally leaned forward and let my hand grasp the base of his cock and guide the tip to sit against my lips his eyes fluttered watching me. 

And the groan he let out when I took him in was downright pornographic. “Good girl,” he complimented, eyes hooded but determined to stay open and watch me slowly work his length into my mouth. 

I was doing my best to work up to each inch of him, my hand working what I couldn’t fit yet. Already his cock was nearly covered in my spit, my tongue working diligently against the underside of his cock. When I finally had gotten most of him in my mouth and edging towards the back of my throat I gave a final push onto him so my nose was pressed against his pubic bone and tried not to gag too hard, though I knew he liked that too. The proof of that wasn’t given too far after that when a gag caused my throat to tighten around the tip lodged in my throat and he moaned loudly, knees buckling slightly and his hand coming to rest at the back of my head.

“Fuck, that’s it, take it,” he breathed. 

When I peeked up through watery eyes his head was dropped back against the wall, no doubt his eyes were pulled shut and he was trying to hold off just a little bit longer. 

When it became just a little too much I tapped my hand against his thigh lightly twice, a safety we’d created after I’d learned to deep throat him the first time. His head tipped down and his hand dropped, blown pupils watching me slowly pull off him and cough for a few seconds.

“You alright?” He asked, eyes still half-lidded in arousal but still genuinely concerned.

I nodded, wiping at the tear stains on my cheeks absently and then shuffling just a bit closer to him, pressing soft kisses to the length of him. “Wanna finish you,” I said hoarsely. 

“Christ,” he groaned, cock twitching at the offer. He carefully gathered up my hair in one hand, holding it away from my face before nodding. “Go ahead, princess.”

I had to work up to it again but this time was much faster, both in the time and in the speed of my hand working against his skin, tugging his cock just right while I sucked and licked at the tip and down the shaft. Finally, I got to the point where I could take him down my throat to the hilt again, pull back, and take him down again. I could tell Gwil was close when it wasn’t me leaning forward anymore, my hands were only braced on his thighs gently while he rocked into my mouth, fucking my throat.

“Such a good fucking mouth, love,” he groaned, thrusts moving just a hair faster, just a tiny bit harder.

I hummed, his arousal easily transforming into my own so I could feel myself throbbing and he hadn’t laid a hand on me.

His eyes closed and his eyebrows furrowed in concentration when I hummed again, his rhythm turning jagged and rough while he throat fucked me. My grip tightened on his thighs but I didn’t tap out. I couldn’t. Just watching his face, even through tears and the drool starting to drip down my chin onto my shirt, it was enough that I could have honestly gotten off on it alone. 

He was moaning, face pinched in pleasure and hips pushing forward into my mouth seeking his end over and over and over. 

It was like heaven.

Then I could see it happening, the minute way his eyebrows pulled upward for a second, the way his hips stuttered ever so slightly, the feeling of his hand tightening in my hair and tugging just a little more. I moaned around him and that seemed to be it. He pushed the back of my head onto his entire length harshly, making my eyes water even more. He groaned loudly and I could feel his cock pulsing in my throat as he fed me his cum straight down my throat. I continued to moan at the thought, him emptying himself into my stomach. 

A few seconds later I remembered why I didn’t deep throat him often though, my lungs starting to burn ever so slightly, my vision starting to spot… I tapped his thigh, my eyes closing for a second before he let go and I dropped back onto my butt from knees, sputtering out a sticky cough from the thickness covering the inside of my throat and the thick spit still trailing from my mouth to his now soft cock. 

“God, so good,” he breathed. He leaned down and carefully wiped my chin before leaning in and pecking my lips. “So good to me.”

I smiled at the praise, sitting up a little straighter in pride while I watched him pull up his underwear and slacks and tuck his shirt back in before zipping back up. Once he’d finished he pulled me back up to stand on slightly wobbly oxygen-deprived legs and pulled me into him, kissing me deeply. He sighed into the kiss for a second, seemingly completely at ease now before he pulled back and peeked at the clock over my shoulder. His head dropped to lay on my shoulder. 6:32.

“I’ve got to leave now or I’ll never make it.”

He didn’t move, arms still tight around my waist. I gently ran my fingers through the short hairs on the back of his head. 

“Gwil, you gotta go,” I said, my voice still rough and low.

He groaned against me.

“Do I have to?”

“Yes,” I laughed, rubbing his back slightly. “Come on, I just sucked you off, the least you can do is do what I say.”

He leaned back with a faux frown to look me in the eyes.

“Go on, you’ll be late,” I said, pecking his lips a final time before starting to push him toward the door. 

He gave one last groan of protest before opening the door and starting to walk out but he stopped just before it closed and peeked his head back in. “And uh, I’ll be returning the favor when I get home so keep your hands out of those panties, yeah?”

I cursed him as I went and plopped back on the couch. “Fine. Asshole.”

“That’s my good girl.” I could practically hear the grin in his voice.

- - -

Feedback is always awesome! Also feel free to peruse my prompt request list! It’s updated and requests have just opened back up!!

[chickenscratchingdotcom]

This month has been a bit of a whirlwind.

I started out with no clue what I was going to do for NaNoWriMo. I just knew that I wanted to do it this year. If only to distract from everything else going on, and to get back into writing on a regular basis, since I kinda burned myself out a bit a couple years ago.

I spent the last week and a half or so of October trying to plan and figure out what I could do. And all I really discovered is that the months spent locked up during the pandemic had pretty much ruined my ability to focus and plan.

So when midnight of November first rolled around, I was wide awake with no story to write. Around 12:30 I finally pulled out my laptop and just started going through things again. Seeing if anything would jump out at me.

(More under the cut)

What burned me out on writing a couple years ago was when I tried to see if I could churn out something simple that can earn money, like romance or erotica. I came up with a pen name for each, and after a bit of dabbling and research, I ended up going with erotica, since it’s shorter and you can put out more stories in a short period of time to see what earns you money and what works for you. I started doing this over the summer, when I was working on a college campus job that meant that I didn’t work during winter and summer breaks. And at first, it worked. I got into a rhythm. I was able to churn out a couple of 10-12 thousand word novellas a week. Then I went back to work, and suddenly I only really had one day a week that I could sit down and write. So I dropped down to one a week. But at that point, I was starting to burn myself out. I would wake up in the morning, just like it was a regular work day, and churn out a 10 to 12 thousand word novella in less than 8 hours. And since it was fairly soulless stuff, basically just word porn, it was starting to wear on me. Eventually I got sick, wasn’t able to work for one weekend, and I fell behind. And once I did that, suddenly I lost what little audience I had. Which is the hazard of trying to produce lots of little things in a rapid succession.

So I stopped for a while. I’ve barely written anything in the last two years, what little writing work I’ve done has been going over old drafts and doing rewrites and edits. But I wanted to sit down and write again, and NaNo was a great excuse.

When I was going through my old stuff, I realized that I’d started to write and plot out a couple of romance novels. One that was more traditional ‘princess and scoundrel meet under rough circumstances and fall in love’ fantasy stories that I probably would have published under my own name, and one slightly sexier urban fantasy romance novel that would really require no worldbuilding, and I still had vague memories to fill in the giant holes in the tiny outline I’d written down. I had a bare-bones 13 plot point outline and a first chapter written, enough to remind me about the voice I was using to write it and the personalities of at least a few of the characters that I had only written down the names of in my outline. And something in me told me to go for it. This was something that I could just churn out for NaNo. No need to make sure I had a cohesive world, it was basically this one but with mythical creatures being real. So I started writing. Three hours later, I was starting to fall asleep at the keyboard, and I’d already written 5 thousand words.

After I woke up that morning, I managed to get another seven thousand done before midnight. In that first 25 hours (daylight savings time added an hour to the day) I wrote over 12 thousand words. About a novella length. And I wasn’t feeling burned out.

Now, the next two days were leading up to the election, and I was a wreck those two days. I barely broke 2k on the second, and only about 1.8k on the third. But on the 4th, I buckled down and started working again. And the next day. And the next. And by day 10... I’d won. The goal for NaNoWriMo is 50 thousand words in thirty days, and I did it in 10. And I had the next day off of work, with less than two chapters left to write. So the next day, I finished the story. I’ve spend the last several days just going over and editing and doing some rewriting. But all in all... I churned out about 60k in eleven days. With editing and that first chapter it’s up to about 68k for the full draft. I don’t even know what to do with myself at this point. I’ve still got half the month left to start on another project. Or try to find beta readers. Or hell, if I think this is something I could do on a regular basis, maybe even look for a publisher or an agent.

I started writing with the thought that I was going to be able to pull this off. I had no freaking clue I’d be able to pull this off in a third the time.

[longassr1de]

Innocence (m)

Pairing: Johnny × fem!reader Genre: smut/fluff, slight hint of angst if you squint Word count: 2k Summary: In which it’s your first time with Johnny, though.. he’s just as nervous as you are. Warnings: slight corruption kink, reader's first time/loss of virginity, random emotional moment, not proofread.

A/N: ....this was supposed to be a fully corruption kink post but it got emotional along the way bc 1) i guess i headcanon johnny that way & 2) i'm in my feels. :( haven't written in awhile so pardon any mistakes in the story,,,

Johnny just couldn't believe you were real sometimes, and that feeling had never been stronger than in this very moment. Lying on your back for him in nothing but your skimpy white lingerie, making you look like both salvation and sin.

"You look so pretty, angel, all spread out for me," he lets out a deep chuckle as his lips trail teasing kisses all over your abdomen, everywhere except where your body craves for him to be. Impatient, you let out a whine, looking at him with watery eyes as you bite your lip. His jaw drops in silent awe, taking in every detail of this wondrous moment.

Like a magnet, Johnny ends up being pulled right back to your lips, mesmerized at how kiss-swollen they already are. Pulling back just enough to look you into the eyes, he murmurs against your lips, "Are you sure, angel? We can take things slow if you want," brushing his thumb gently across your cheek as if you'd break otherwise.

"Please," is all you can breathlessly whisper, "take me, break me, make me all yours. I... I need you baby, I need you so bad." You nearly choke at the end of hour words at the way Johnny grinds his hips roughly into yours, groaning and pressing open-mouthed kisses along your jaw.

"You really are going to be the death of me, my pretty little princess." The change in his gaze sets the current shift in mood perfectly, and you simply couldn't hold back the moan that escaped when his fingers slide your panties to the side, sliding his fingers over your folds.

"So you want me to fuck you, is that right? You want me to be the first one to taste you, touch you, taint you?" You nod fervently, amazed at how much nicer it felt when it was his hands doing the work and not your own. Completely at his mercy, completely unaware of what his next move would be; being on that edge but not being able to jump off it of your own will.

Slowly, so painfully slowly, Johnny slides one of his fingers in, pumping slowly before adding another, rubbing at your clit with the rough pad of his thumb. All of this new stimulation had your thighs shaking, and it wasn't any easier to keep quiet when his free hand pulls down the cups of your white lace bra, fondling one breast while sucking at the other. He continues this for some time before he pulls back with a pop, lips wet with his own spit, and your hips buck of their own volition at the sultry thoughts permeating through your mind.

"Aww, is someone needy? You're just begging to be ruined. You're so cute, angel," Johnny coos at how precious you are, enjoying every moment of watching as your innocence slips further past the brink of no return, soaking in every moan that filters past your bruised lips. The way he compliments you and chastises you all at once does something to you, deep down, and it swirls with the knot already forming deep in the pit of your tummy.

"J-Johnny I'm-" you half-yell, eyes rolling back as your back arches, a silent scream lingering in the air as your mouth hangs open. Your hands claw at your boyfriend's forearm, gasping for air as he continues to thrust his fingers into your core, the sticky gushing noise of it all heightening your sensitive state as you ride out your high.

After he pulls out his fingers, Johnny curiously lets them slip past his own lips, groaning at the taste of you, unconsciously humping the bed as you reach up to run your fingers through his hair. "You taste... heavenly," he murmurs, voice heavy with lust as he licks his fingers clean, leaning down to ravage your lips with his tongue, letting you taste yourself in the process. The longer this goes on, the more you hear the beautiful noises he lets out, and the more you feel his erection pressing into your thigh.

A little worried but still curious, you cautiously slide your hand down his naked abdomen to his clothed erection. Judging by the way he grinds his fully hard length into your palm, you secretly grin to yourself at his desperate state, only to be floored when he sits up and finally discards his pants, the outline beneath his briefs making your eyes widen almost comically.

"Hey hey, look at me, eyes up here," Johnny jokes, and your widened eyes silently obey. You unconsciously gulp, though your thighs rub together without you choosing to do so, simply allowing your gentle giant of a boyfriend to caress your hair and soothe your seemingly frightened state. "We really don't have to go any further than you're comfortable, I don't want you push you in any way," he eyes you warily, smiling to himself as he recalls how nervous he was his first time too.

"I-I'm fine, I promise. I'm just... scared? This is all so new to me," you pause, struggling to find the right words, "having someone else touch me.. where only I ever have before." Johnny nods at you in understanding, placing a kiss on your forehead once you're done speaking. Before he can respond, you unknowingly cut him off, surprising him with your choice of words. "But that doesn't mean I don't want you to be the one to pop my cherry, babe. I want you to give me all you've got." He lets out an incredulous laugh, helping you out of your underwear as you both share a softer series of kisses, languid and loving in their delivery.

"I love you so much, sex or not, I just want you to know how touched I am that you chose me. To love, to hold, to cherish... thank you for allowing me to be a part of your life, and for staying in mine." You're halfway between slapping Johnny and kissing him senseless for choosing such timing to confess something to emotional. But you really couldn't put it past him, you'd always known he was a hopeless romantic.

"I love you too, so much. John Suh, thank you for always being so sweet and caring, for always being the best boyfriend. Thank you for being patient with me, for being the one to wipe my tears, and for being so gentle even in moments like these," you both smile at each other, trying your best to ignore the fact your visions are blurry through the onset of tears forming. "But if you don't help me out here baby, I swear I'm going to fuck myself instead." The snort he lets out would have made you laugh, if you weren't still so damn horny from all his teasing.

"Noted," is all he mutters before pulling off his briefs, allowing you your first glimpse at his weeping cock. He pumps himself lightly, letting out a shaky exhale before biting his lip, consumed by the feeling of finally getting a bit of relief. His eyes slowly open to look down at you, and your breath catches in your throat as how incredibly hot the scene before you is.

You don't feel scared anymore, you realize, you never really had a reason to, not with Johnny. He always put your needs before your own, and respected your boundaries with the utmost care. You could ask him to stop right now, and you know he would in a heartbeat. But you don't want to stop, and you're exhilarated by the realization. For the first time, you're genuinely excited for what lie ahead, ready to become one with Johnny, even if for a fleeting moment.

Sealing the deal with a final peck to your lips, he murmurs another "I love you", helplessly emotional in this moment, absolutely overwhelmed by the loud thumping of his heart in his chest.

Truth be told, you weren't the only nervous one, Johnny had been terrified all night. What if he did something wrong? What if he did something you didn't like? What if he couldn't live up to the perfect fantasy everyone hopes for their first time? His nerves were starting to eat at him, and yet, he could only feel guilty for being wrapped up in his own thoughts and not focusing enough on you.

"John, is something wrong?" your voice calling out to him snapped him out of his daze, feeling terrible when he saw your worried expression.

"I'm fine, just.. also nervous is all," he tries to laugh it off, but you refuse to let it slide, much to his dismay.

"Then why didn't you just say so?," you exclaim, almost exasperated. "You're probably trying to make everything perfect and beating yourself up over it again, aren't you? This isn't a Disney movie, baby, shit is gonna happen and that's fine. Sex can be complicated, but it shouldn't have to be. Just talk to be about it, is that so hard?" Your little pout at the end sends his heart into overdrive, cursing himself for being so utterly weak when it came to you, putty in your hands at the slightest things.

"I'm sorry, you're absolutely right. I just didn't want to add any stress onto you, and yet, here we are. I'm just worried, like what if I can't came you cum, angel? I'd be mortified," he whines out, his face buried into your chest, embarrassed at his own honesty.

"You've already made me cum once, and I have no doubt you can make it happen again. Maybe we don't get it right on the first try, but we'll never know if we don't."

Johnny laughs at the irony of the situation. "How come you're the one talking me down, when it should've been the other way around?"

"Maybe because you've been in your head too much instead of inside me?" And that's all it takes to unleash the lust that had been suppressed by his fears. You take a deep breath through your nose, hands clamped around his own as Johnny slides into you slowly, giving you time to adjust until he's buried all the way between your legs.

"Oh fuck," he mutters, thighs tensing at how wet and tight you were around him. "How are you doing?" he asks, eyeing you carefully.

"Feels a little odd, but it's not so bad," you gasp as he ruts into you a little more, "ooh, definitely not bad."

"Is it ok if I move now, angel?"

"Please do."

The way he moves his hips is both sin and satisfaction, pulling out all the way only to thrust deep into you, leaving you breathless and seeing stars. You wonder why Johnny was even worried in the first place, quickly climbing to your orgasm due to your sensitivity. Clenching around him, he gets the hint, thankful he won't be embarrassed at not lasting for too long with how needy he was himself. It had been far too long since he had last been intimate, let alone how wondrous the you felt.

He grabs hold of your hips to anchor himself as his pace gets sloppy, curling himself into your form, mouthing at the side of your breast as he cums in spurts, fucking you through his own sensitivity as you finally come around his length, buried so deep inside you you swore you could feel him in your belly.

"Oh... ...my god..." he pants, letting out a weak groan as he pulls out of you.

"Thank you," you place a kiss atop his head, "I couldn't have asked for more, that was wonderful, Johnny." He blushes at your praise, doing that silly little laugh he does when he's embarrassed, snuggling comfortably into your side as he pulls the sheets over your sweaty forms.

"It was the least I could do for you, I'd give you the world if I could."

"Oh, but you already have. You're my world, right here in my arms, and that's all that matters in this moment." Smirking slightly, you're proud at yourself for rendering your boyfriend speechless, beating him at his own game of cheesy lines and rosy cheeks for once.

"I really got lucky with you, huh?" he murmurs, mesmerized.

Unable to resist the opportunity, ....you jest "Oh, I'll say, you definitely got lucky tonight.