#connecting with readers

[wotchergiorgia]

fydor dostoevsky, the adolescent

[text ID: never mind a little dirt, if the goal is splendid! afterwards it will all be washed away, smoothed over. and now it’s only―breadth, it’s only―life, it’s only―life’s truth―that’s what they call it now!]

[chantireviews]

Top Revision Tips Before a Manuscript Overview from the desk of David Beaumier

You’ve arrived at the last page of your story and written those crucial, beautiful words: “The End.” Finished at last! Well done! You deserve some time to rest before you dive into the next step of editing your story. Now, one key piece of advice here is there isn’t a wrong time to put your work in front of a professional for feedback. While this article will take you through steps that will…

[majinbangus]

Being sick but wanting ice cream so you try to sneak out in the middle of the night to buy some like a disheveled gremlin all stuffy and sweaty, feverish in nothing but your pajamas and bathrobe, but just as you're about to leave, the light turns on and a pair of arms wrap around your waist to drag you back in bed for rest.

"Ach?! What the-?"

"Thought you could sneak away, huh?" Your man grumbles, unyielding as he (gently) manhandles you along, shooting you a mean stink eye for your attempted misadventure. "I'm special forces; where did y'think you were goin', sweetheart?"

You feel yourself start to sweat and not from the fever. "No-nowhere, darling, I was just-"

"Using pet names won't butter me up." He tightens his hold when you get squirmy. "Stop that. You need rest, y'muppet."

You blame it on your fever-addled brain, but you try to bargain with him. Promise to be good if he lets you go. Tell him how happy it'd make you if he granted this one wish. A lot of woe, is me peppered in your plea. As it turns out, he's got an iron will, and you need to work on your persuasive skills. Not surprising, but still.

"I want ice cream!" You half-heartedly thrash in his arms, making him click his tongue, adjusting his grip as to not hurt you.

"Fuckin'- stop that!"

"No, lemme go!"

Your feverish resistance is no match for his strength. All you pull from him is a frustrated grunt, annoyed with your antics.

"You're sick. Where you need to go is our bed." He leans in close to your ear, lowering his voice to a growl. "Or do I need to tie you down?"

The threat has the desired effect and makes you go limp in his arms, if a little pouty. You know he would do it. He's done it before, and he'll do it again. He's a man of his word, and (majority of the time) you know when to listen.

He successfully wrangles you back in bed, getting you to lie back down in warm sheets with little complaint. No rope is necessary, but he wraps you up in his arms just in case. A tried and true form of pinning you down. You never thought he'd use this method against you while you were incapacitated, but you're a wily one, even when you're sick. He'll make sure you can't escape.

You may have failed your little mission, but it's not too terrible of a loss. Not when it led you to being cuddled in his arms.

You still wish you got your ice cream, though. It's been forever since you had some. Too bad you'll only get to painfully, dramatically, yearn for your lost love now.

There's a deep chuckle puffing against your ear, and then you're being hugged tighter to your captor.

"I know that look. Don't pout. I'll get you your ice cream. Just get better for me first. Alright, mischief?"

... Alright.

[ancientroyalblood]

Finding My Writing Style: A Journey of Descriptive Exploration

Writing is an art that evolves with time and practice. When I started my writing journey a few years ago, I received valuable advice to stick to simple terms like “said,” “asked,” and “replied.” These basic elements provided a solid foundation for my storytelling. However, everything changed when a friend, who had been reading my books, suggested exploring a more descriptive style. This feedback…

[touchlikethesun]

the naming of hunger games characters is absolutely masterful. each one could have a whole page written about it, and tho i can't say anything that hasn't already been pointed out a million times, i do want to highlight one generality. most of the names in the districts are one of two things: common words (altered or not) to become names, often in line with their district's culture (Gloss, Thresh), or phonetic shifts of contemporary common names (peeta being derived from peter). this suggests, without changing how the characters speak, the idea of linguistic evolution, which in turn is representative of change and of local cultural. the districts are a people in dialogue and evolution with one another. and now compare this with the names of those in the capitol. off the top of my head i think of Plutarch, Coriolanus, Flavius, fucking Caesar. these are, one, roman names, which further serves to reinforce the comparison between the capitol and rome and all that entails, but these roman names, names that have been etched in stone and unchanged for millennia, are a stark contrast with the alive and dynamic names of the districts. it's just another (not so) subtle way that collins reminds us of the differences and the values of the capitol versus the districts.

[games-in-love]

Tips👩‍❤️‍👨🌸

[dragimal]

once again thinking abt ORV as one of the most brilliant and self-aware genre commentaries ever, cus' isekai/transmigration is-- in my experience-- a deeply lonely genre. the yearning to be plucked from the stress and apparent dead spiral of real life and dropped into a setting where you matter somehow. the fact that this transmigration is often by way of death, completely abandoning the real world, is particularly telling and... bleak. but whether it's a recognition of being 'the most baddass dude', the narrative satisfaction of trying to 'fix' the plot of a doomed story, or even just befriending characters we've laughed and cried for, we want so badly to be a part of something more.

and the way ORV recognizes that and doesn't mock it, but gently reminds us that... real life isn't removed from that. it may not be as straightforward and 'narratively' satisfying as a constructed story, but we can enact change in the world around us, and we can find connection and solidarity in others. the things we want from escapism are things we often can achieve in real life, at least on a small scale. if only we recognize the inherent depth and complexity of others as, y'know, fully-realized human individuals. hell, if we recognize ourselves as more than simple characters with set paths and tropes.

ORV takes every opportunity to remind us that we are not alone, no matter how bleak and isolated we feel. our lives are constantly touching others and vis-versa, and we leaves marks on the world we can't possibly predict. we matter, we always always matter

[alastorss]

Hello! I'm not sure if you'll be interested in writing something like this, but if your requests are open (and if you're interested), would you be willing to write some fluffy stuff? An Alastor x Shy/anxious reader, perhaps?

a/n: hello!! i'd love to write some alastor comfort fics based off shy/anxious readers but for now here's some good ol' fluff for the soul ♡ (with a mentioned quieter/shy reader)

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

You can always tell when Alastor's smiles are forced.

It's the subtle twitch of his eye, the annoyed little glare he'll stare into empty space with, the way his jaw gets so taut you're afraid it'll snap.

Quiet and observant, you've made it your personal duty to learn Alastor inside and out without stepping on his toes—watching how he grows increasingly annoyed with every brazen sex joke beat into his head from a distance but never actually having the nerves to talk to him.

You think you can read all his little tells by now. How his antlers get a little bigger with every huff of indignation. How his mind is never in the room (he's got a lot of souls screaming in his ears, after all. You learned that, too).

You thought you knew him just by watching, but you were wrong. Dead wrong. Alastor is an enigma, truly one of the great mysteries of Hell. You were foolish to think you could understand even half of him.

He's all bared fangs and glowing eyes right now, a hand squeezing your hip and the other tracing down your face. Waltz music faintly fills the lobby of the hotel where you both stand, but it feels like a million miles away when the static from the Radio Demon is sizzling in your ears.

His smile is impossibly relaxed, not an ounce of irritation in his expression that you've gotten so used to seeing all over his face. You can't comprehend this, can't understand why he's looking at you so softly and cradling your face with so much care.

It's bad enough that he had asked you to dance with him in the first place, and that you'd squeaked out a "yes" before considering the implications of that. He knew you were shyer than the rest of your friends here—perhaps he had been suspicious of you and wanted to get a closer look.

A dreadful chill runs up your spine and you shudder pathetically, eyes screwing shut as you await whatever fate will befall you in the hands of an Overlord.

But your judgement never comes.

Instead, his thumbs gently pull at your cheeks in opposite directions. When your eyes fly back open, you're face-to-face with nothing but warmth.

"You should smile more," he tells you without his usual facade of excitement. "It's wonderful."

You just stare at each other for a long moment, both frozen in place with his hands all over your face and you limply staying in his hold.

Oh no. Oh no no no. You're certain your cheeks are hot as magma right now because of some simple flattery. Then again, you've been watching him from afar for long enough to know that he doesn't flatter just anyone.

You jerk away from him with a nervous cough, but he catches your wrist and pulls you back into his chest. As if nothing had even happened, he guides and strings you along in a waltz once more.

Annoyance, anger, sadistic joy—these are all things that come as easy as breathing to Alastor. But this is a new emotion you're witnessing, with his ears pulled back flat against his head and his eyes avoiding yours even as he dances with you.

It makes you sputter in laughter, head tilting back as you giggle at how embarrassed he seems.

"Thank you."

He softens at this, smile genuine. You'll come to know this side of him, too. You're sure of it.

You don't know why you were ever so afraid of this monster. Not when he's automatically reaching out to trace your smile with his thumb as if it's something he's always wanted to do.

(It is.)

[fishsinsareacknowledged]

Sometimes Nikto feels like he's underwater. Unable to breathe, unable to think. Just wanting to survive, drowned out by the waves.  His eyes sting from his own lack of sleep and his lungs feel rotten from the inside. But then there's you. Slowly, surely. You make him feel less like he's in the abyss of the ocean and more like he's in a bathtub. Getting his back scratched by your hands and sponge feels something just short of heaven.

You weren't the sun no, you were just his dingy bathroom light, the same one that he's had for years. Reliable, nothing could go wrong with you, it was just the way you were made. So he wont blame you when you shy away from him when he comes in uninvited. He wont blame you when you nearly kill him when he tries to sneak his way back into your arms after a long mission.

He just cant blame you when you accidentally spend over 50 with his card. He can't even when you try to brush it off, sneaking an american 50 next to his foreign cash collection. He simply can't blame you when you slice his hand, he did try to sneak up on a person living alone in his few months absense.

"It's me, its me", he tries to usher when your breathing grows faster. His chest squeezed when you wrap your arms around him. Fear and guilt shed into tears that he wipes away with a bleeding palm.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, I'm sorry."

"Not your mistake, come to bed with me?", he'll never blame you. He just can't.

He'll just laugh when you spill the alchohol all over his palm, kissing up to your neck when he drowns his pain away. Patting your hair with a clean hand while he lets you take care of him. He only has one of you, he can't lose that.

[treasuringizu]

“Gimme a kiss,” Atsumu murmurs, deep voice low in your ear. His hands are on your hips, fingers digging into the softness of your skin. 

You pull him away from you, hands cupping his face and thumb running along his cheek in the way you know he likes. You raise an eyebrow, smiling softly, “I’m wearing lipstick, you know.” This causes his eyes to drop to your lips, gaze hungry, suddenly reminded of the fact. 

“So?” he asks, eyes flicking from yours and back to your lips. “Let everyone know I belong ta ya.” 

“You’re going to walk around with my lips printed on your face?” 

He nods eagerly, ducking to bury his face in your neck. “I’d be the happiest man alive if I got ta walk around like that.” 

This makes you laugh, your heart melt, and you reposition your arms around his shoulders to squeeze him closer to you. “You’re going to be late for practice, ‘Tsumu.”

“Just one kiss, baby. Even if it's on the cheek.” 

You sigh, but you know that he knows you’re only faking your reluctance. “Kay.” 

He pulls away from you, giving you his right cheek, and tapping his pointer finger against it with a giddy smile. You make sure to dramatize your actions, making an amplified noise when pulling away, laughing when he gives you his other cheek, and repeating your actions until he finally lowers his mouth to yours. 

He makes sure to deepen the kiss and only chases after you when you pull away, giving you little pecks and placing kisses all around your face, playfully biting your nose when it scrunches in fake disdain. When he finally separates from you, you take notice of the bright red lip marks on his cheeks, and the red tint left on his lips that are stretched into a grin. 

“How do I look?” 

“Like you are definitely mine.” 

His smile widens. “Great. ‘Xactly what I was goin’ for.” 

[improper-use-of-germx]

Imagine an alien that doesn't speak. Members of their species live largely solitary lives and never evolved the need to communicate past basic physical articulation, and in space they mostly just exist as individual workers that work alongside others, but never with.

So when a human comes aboard they don't really think about it too much. You try to talk with them, they stare at you blankly, then someone from a more social species explains the situation to you. If that's where it ended they wouldn't have given you any more thought, but then you start doing things for them.

It doesn't have to be big, either. Maybe wiping down their work area or bringing an extra snack from the kitchen doesn't seem like a lot to you, but they always notice. You work comfortably in silence with them, never trying to make one-sided conversation like others have. It's...nice. They're not quite sure what to make of it.

Eventually, they start returning the favor. Little treats appear on your desk, things you leave messy will suddenly be tidied up when you return. They like when you notice. Sometimes you smile, sometimes you glance up at them and they act like they weren't just watching you from across the room. Sometimes you mumble a quiet "Thank you." out of habit, and for once they wish they had something to say back.

It's more effort than anyone else has ever made with them. Even if it's just a work relationship for you, they appreciate it, and they want you to be happy when they watch you clock out.

[wotchergiorgia]

I don't want you to be young and beautiful. I only want one thing. I want you to be kind-hearted - and not just towards cats and dogs.

vasily grossman, life and fate

[chantireviews]

MailChimp 101: Level Up Your Mailing List from the Desk of Rochelle Parry

MailChimp 101: Level Up Your Mailing List from the Desk of Rochelle Parry

An Introduction to MailChimp MailChimp may be no Rooster, but it’s a great way to start email marketing. With a very low barrier to entry (free!), you can build your audience before your book is published! Why Use MailChimp? Your personal email is great for sending messages to a small group of people, but once you get a higher volume of recipients, limits will apply. For instance, Gmail will…

[hrefna-the-raven]

Home

Horror masterlist - Masterlist - Misc. masterlist

RZ Michael Myers x female nurse reader

Part 1 - 2

Words: 1476

Warnings: smut (18+)

Summary: Michael has escaped Smith Grove's Sanitarium...

Reader: short female reader, female genitals in smut scenes

The voice echoing in his mind persisted, urging him to go to Haddonfield but the back door he was sliding open was miles away from it, for today he listened to another power rising from deep within. Stepping inside, he found himself standing in the kitchen, his eyes drawn to the assortment of sweets and candies neatly arranged on the countertop. A faint smile curled at the edges of his mouth, knowing that you had purchased each one of them according to the list. Right next to it, neatly folded, was a black witch costume with a small hat resting atop of it.

You were sitting on the couch, engrossed in the movie "Bates Motel" when a continued cold draft caught finally caught your attention. With a grunt, you switched off the TV and lifted your body from the comfort of the couch, making your way towards the kitchen. Your fingers fumbled in search of the light switch, and as it clicked on, your gaze shot up, landing on the tall masked man standing at the counter, his fingers gliding over the tiny hat from your costume. You immediately recognised deep blue striped pants and the torn dirty gray bathrobe that seemed tiny hanging on his imposing figure.

"Michael!", you shouted in shock and total disbelief.

Your body froze for a moment. It was something else seeing this mountain of man standing in your kitchen, close to midnight, all alone and far away from the security that Smith's Grove provided. How could he even be here? Did he escape? Just as you wondered why nobody had informed you about the escape of the patient you mainly took care of, the sharp ringing of the wall-mounted phone next to you startled both you and Michael. Without diverting your gaze from him, you reached out and grabbed the phone, placing it against your ear and waiting a moment before speaking.

"Hello?"

"Oh nurse, heavens! I'm glad I was able to reach you. Michael has escaped, he killed several on his way out."

There was a pause on the other side as Loomis waited for your reply. Any sane person would have freaked out while being trapped alone in their home with the sanitarium's most infamous patient. The doctor on the other end of the line was you're only chance to call for help and as the thoughts of what any sane person would have done in that moment flashed before your inner vision, your body had its own surprise in store for you. Your hand gestured for Michael to close the door behind him while you shot a warm smile at him before focusing back on the phone call.

"Oh my god, that's terrible! Did someone alarm the police? Do you know where he's headed?"

Michael blinked in disbelief as you faked a shocked tone while the traces of your smile still lingered on your lips. His eyes never left your figure, his hand fumbling behind him to close the door. The enigma that was you continued to surprise him, eluding the expectations formed by the cruel world around him, only to grace him with the kindness he not only thought lost after his mother stopped visiting him. No, you continued to surpass it and as he stood within your kitchen, he almost felt a sense of home, carrying his thoughts to the one he had back then as he briefly wondered where his little sister could be now.

"No I haven't seen him. Why would he come here? Have you checked in Haddonfield where his sister lives now?"

You winked at him, feeling freed from your confidential oath as he was technically, officially, not near you to overhear such information. Michael felt stunned at your response. Back in the sanitarium he had wondered more than once if you'd be able to peak into his mind as you always seemed to understand him so well and now you had answered the very question that had been lingering in his mind. A strange sensation burned underneath his skin as if he wanted to...wanted to kiss you. His breaths grew heavier and his hands pressed tightly against his sides, trying to hide the trembles.

"I'll keep a look out but I'm sure he won't waste any time coming here. You too. Goodnight Dr Loomis."

You hung up the phone and turned back to Michael, taking a few hesitant steps into his direction.

"So...uhm...what brought you here? You could also have tried to find your sister."

A small shivering breath came from behind the mask before Michael slowly pulled it off his face and pointed at you. Your brows furrowed for a moment and you contemplated on the possibilities before answering cautiously.

"Me? You came here because of me? To see me?"

He nodded, placing his mask on the counter beside your costume and sank to his knees, arms outstretched, waiting for you to approach him. He was aware that you probably knew the circumstances that led to his escape, Loomis would have surely informed you how much blood stained his hands tonight. And yet, you chose to send the doctor straight to Haddonfield all the while wearing a smile on your face. You had a choice tonight and you chose him. Tears formed in the corners of his eyes when you wrapped your arms around him, exhaling relieved at the shared closeness. It had been a long time since anyone had chosen him, and now here you were, gently cradling his face, your gaze filled with nothing but affection. His heart ached beautifully as the feeling of home nestled within. He leaned in closer, his lips pressing on yours in a, first, tender kiss that quickly morphed into burning passion he couldn't control any longer. Strong hands slid beneath your butt and you gasped when you were lifted onto the counter. Long fingers wrapped around your shorts and panties, tearing them off with such force that they were flying off to the corner of the kitchen.

"Michael!", you shrieked in surprise but your legs parting on their own betrayed your desire.

Michael groaned at the sight of your wet folds before him. Not only had you chosen him, but you were also willing to surrender yourself to him, to be his. He silently vowed to worship you as the angelic being that you were, grant you the pleasures of the heavens you descended from. Gently, he positioned your legs over his shoulders and leaned forward, his face coming tantalisingly close to your cunt and you could feel his breath fanning over your wetness. A deep, sinful moan escaped your lips as his tongue pressed flat against your swollen clit. His fingers dug deeper into your flesh as your sweet taste began to fill his mouth, igniting a feral hunger within him. His sloppy licks grew faster, sucking at your clit in between before shoving three fingers into your dripping entrance. You cried out in pleasure as he kept thrusting into you, pushing you fast towards the edge of your release. The man between your legs had nothing in common with the shy calm patient from the observation room, the one standing between your legs ate you out like a starved man, worshipping you for the loyalty you showed him. Your fingers entwined in his hair, urging him closer as you bucked your hips and cried out his name, panting and finally coming undone while pure bliss washed over you. Michael mumbled something against your folds before rising and using his sleeve to wipe away your juices from his face. You still breathed heavily, chuckling as you hopped off the countertop, searching for your pants in the kitchen corner.

"That was....wow....I-I should return the favour", you spoke softly, pulling up your pants.

As you glanced up, a short gasp escaped your lips as you discovered Michael already standing beside you, his arms sneaking around your waist as he placed a tender kiss on your forehead.

"Later", he murmured, his voice coarse and deep, "let's sleep."

Those little words, so simple and yet the desire that gave birth to them ran so deep. Michael never truly had someone, his dark thoughts being the only company he ever knew until, one day, you stepped through those doors in the Sanitarium. He had always wondered it how would to be to lie down in bed with someone, not a single worry in his world as only happiness seeped through his body and the warmth of your touch lulling him into slumber. You led him upstairs and cuddled up to him on your bed, slowly sinking into a blissful sleep in the arms of Haddonfield's most feared man. Michael caressed your arm, eyelids growing heavy as he drifted off, one final thought lingering before surrendering to the irresistible lure of slumber. Home...

Feel free to reblog if you enjoyed the story 😊

[juniemunie]

Broskis ts!underswap is so fun. every single part of it is *chefs kiss*

I went in completely blind and honestly i think it was the best move i could have made

i love how its just swapped roles but not personalities so it leads to stuff like this its so creative

Anyways have some more self insert sansnomaly (and chara)

[sassypossum]

These Days

Logan Howlett x Reader ~ Fluff

It's the slow days that have come to mean the most to Logan.

The lazy Sunday afternoons of slow dancing around the kitchen, of bickering over the dishes. Of chuckling deeply as you squeal in protest as he tickles your sides with soapy hands.

The days where there's nothing more to do than wake to the sound of a heavy downpour outside, feel your warmth next to him as your brows scrunch and you snuggle further into him grumpily.

The easy days where Laura is out in the yard playing on her swing set while you and Logan bicker playfully over the hanging of a picture.

‘Just pound the nail into the wall, Logan.’ You'd huffed in exasperation as he wavered in honor of painstaking accuracy.

‘I'll pound you into a wall.’ He'd grumbled, eyes flicking to your flustered expression before he'd smirked and easily lodged the nail into the wall.

The days when he comes home after a ‘rough’ day of dealing with your brother to the sounds of you and Laura giggling in the kitchen. Of being pulled hurriedly to the table before he can even take off his shoes by an insistent Laura, only to be presented with her latest ‘creation’.

Of course he'd eat whatever it was with a tight smile, awkwardly praising her attempts, but this time his eyes light up.

Donuts.

His eyes raise to meet yours over his glasses and you give him a warm smile. Ever since you'd gotten together, he'd grown spoiled [and to his chagrin,heavier] off of your homemade donuts. Now, it seemed, you were passing the torch on to Laura.

There was no socially awkward attempt at praise this day. The day he bites into the warm offering, eyes closing as the buttery, flakey taste hits his tongue, as an involuntary groan eases its way from his throat.

The day your barn cat, Barnaby, made himself at home in your kitchen. Earning cuddles from you and Laura, and glares from Logan.

Days of falling leaves, fighting for the covers, walks in the woods. Hefting Laura onto his shoulders with a grunt, letting you ease the aches and pains late into the night.

This day, these days, are what Logan is living for.