#freewriters

[onlyone4me24]

Sick will attract Sick, is what my father told me growing up as a child. To learn now how to love thy self so when the right time comes .. You too can be able to Love holy and that much more Freely. To receive that Love in return as you once so freely gave it away …

Unconditional love isn't a free pass to hurt me.

[96kurtswrld]

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚🦋˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡

guys tmi i'm ovulating i'm so sorry i gotta share my thoughts nsfw 18+ minors shoo, fem reader, thigh riding, regular riding, creampie (whoops), wrap it before you tap it guys pls, a little nipple play. steve is so handsy and so mouthy i'm sorry. fem nicknames like honey, pretty girl, good girl, baby ect. flustered fem reader (is that a warning? idk but i'll include it anyways), really just pure freaking filth tbh and it's probably a little inaccurate i am not a smut writer at all but i had to share okay enjoy pls

thinking about riding steve....it started as an innocent afternoon on the couch together. a rare day off of work for steve. there's a movie playing on the tv but you've since long forgotten about it, too focused on steve's hand that rests on your thigh. and then his hand had inched higher. and then before you knew it he had you in his lap, straddling one of his thighs as you ground against it. your head resting on his chest as you moved, his hands on your hips helping to guide you as he pressed soft kisses to your jaw. eventually the tent in his jeans is too much to ignore, and your undoing his button and pawing off his pants before he can even register it. he's slide his hands around to grab the front of your shirt, lifting it up and tossing it on the other end of the couch. his hands softly trace up the curve of your tummy until he's cupping a boob in each hand, kneading them. your head tilts back in a moan, steve taking advantage to lean forward and kiss your throat, his lips moving down your chest.

his hand cups your left breast while he kisses the right one, his lips closing around your nipple as he takes it between his teeth, gently biting on the hardened bud. a gasp leaves you, causing steve to smirk as he pulls off and does the same to the other side. his hands eventually fall to your hips, glancing down at the space between your laps. "gonna ride me, pretty girl?" he asks, his voice a low hum as he speaks to you. you nod your head at him, reaching down between your bodies to grab his hard, leaking cock. he shakes his head at you. "words, honey."

"yes, stevie. wanna ride you, please?" you beg softly, your hand still wrapped around his cock. he smirks at you again, the tease that he is, and gives you a nod of approval. "there's my good girl. go ahead, honey. make yourself feel good" he tells you, his eyes lidded as he licks his lips and leans his head back against the couch, eyes staring down at you carefully. he watches as you hover above him, lining yourself up before you oh so slowly slide down on his cock. you both let out small breaths of relief, giggling at each other as steve leans forward to press a kiss to your lips. he hums contentedly as he rests his hands on your hips, his grip gentle for now.

you start slow, rocking your hips back and forth on his cock as you lean forward to wrap your arms around his neck, bringing you closer to him. you press some light kisses to his jaw and neck, pulling more low moans out of him. eventually you move start to move faster, lifting yourself up and down. your walls feel delicious around his cock, warm and tight, gripping him the way you both enjoy. small pants escape youu as you work yourself up more and more. the wet sound of his cock slipping in and out of you filling the room. steve buries his face in your neck, small moans leaving him as you bounce on his cock. he pulls back slightly to look at you, captivated by your tits bouncing as you move.

steve leans forward again to bury his face in your neck, a low guttural groan leaving him as you work yourself closer and closer towards orgasm. he grips the fat of your hips roughly. "slow baby, slow...y'gonna kill me" he slurs against your neck. you whine at his words but do as he says, slowing your movements down to a soft roll of your hips again. "i was s'close" you pout, pulling yourself back until you can see his face again. he's got a lopsided smile on his face as he looks you up and down. "i know honey, i know" he sooths, his thumbs rubbing your hip. he leans forward again to press kisses to your chest, biting and kissing the skin until it turns that light purple color he loves to see. you moan out a whisper of his name, his cock twitching inside of you as he roughly kneads your hips. "don't wanna cum just yet" he mumbles against your chest, continuing to kiss across your chest, around your boobs, up to your shoulder, down your arm. you sigh and moan as he goes, it's music to steve's ears really. he loves pulling all those pretty little sounds out of you, making you feel good. he kisses his way back to the juncture of your neck, breathing in deeply before he starts rutting his hips upwards, a gasp turned moan falling from your lips. you grip his shoulders tightly, as he quickly picks up the pace, rutting up into you rough and fast. "steve....oh my god" you whine into his ear, he grips your hips hard. he lifts you up and down in time with his thrusts, making sure his cock is buried inside you deep before pulling out and slamming back in. his tip hits your cervix he's so deep.

"come on, honey. cum for me, yeah?" he begs right in your ear, his teeth gently nipping the lobe as he thrusts. "feel so good baby, christ" he whines, his pace frantic as he gets close himself, but he wants you to cum first. you pant and whine against his chest, feeling the coil in your lower stomach tightening. what throws you over the edge is one of steve's hands sliding down towards your cunt, the rough pads of his fingers finding your clit. your so sensitive and on the edge that it only takes another second after that for you to cum. steve slows as you cum, you can feel his smile against your neck as he helps you ride out your high. you involuntarily squeeze around him as you come down, the feeling surprising steve. he cums inside of you with a gasp of your name, his entire body going rigid as he softly ruts up into you to ride out his own high now. he presses kisses on your chest, kissing up your neck until he gets to your face. he presses three quick kisses to your lips, a fourth lingering kiss follows. he smiles against your lips and runs his hands up your sides, his touch featherlight and a complete contrast from the rough grip he had on your hips. "my beautiful girl, did so good for me" he praises quietly.

the rest of the night consists of actual cuddling and movie watching, snuggled up together on the couch under the same blanket, soft touches and shy smiles shared between the two of you until it's time to get ready for bed. of course, not without a second, proper round where steve can do all the work, letting his girl simply lay there and feel good.

[hollowtakami]

Hii! I followed you from an old account that for some reason didn't let me make requests, but now I went back to my hawks era and with it came my obsession with his fics.

Aniwaaays, me and reverse comfort are one, so I was wondering if you could show how reader (s/o) comforts Hawks after suddenly reuniting with his father or just see a photo of him. like, idk brings back a lot of bad memories for him and I would like to see some of it if it's not too much trouble <3

I love You btw, and sorry if i bother u with this

content: mentions/implications of child abuse/trauma, reverse comfort, keigo has c-ptsd, him and reader are both trying their best

a/n: hiya anon! it’s no problem at all, i will always enjoy answering asks and writing for my darling kei<3 and thank you sm, that really makes me smile to know that people genuinely enjoy my work! ^^

Keigo saw so much flash before him every time he blinked.

He remembered the way his teeth would grit when he squawked, spat; the way his hands looked before they came down crashing, a tsunami of scarred skin that would scar him just the same.

Be it physically, or mentally.

Keigo found himself paralysed by the picture, printed in black and white. It might as well have been blood soaked into the newspaper, crumbling in the hero’s faltering grip.

For a moment, the avian wasn’t sat at the table with a breakfast, made with love, laid out like a declaration. But for a second, he was a beaten fledgling who’d been plucked of his autonomy.

Keigo blinked. He was holding a newspaper, he was not there.

The poor baby bird on the floor had dared to get up, the one wing that still flapped crushed under the boot of his father.

He was eating breakfast, the sun was on his skin.

Keigo was not there, physically.

You were surfing some butter around a pan, ready to make some scrambled eggs for you and your boyfriend. Letting the butter melt for a moment, you smiled.

Turning around, you beamed, “I’m using butter for the eggs this time, not oil, just like Fuyumi told me!”

Mentally, Keigo was there.

Noticing the way your partner looked as though he had been turned to stone, your heart grew cold. You switched off the gas hob, almost gliding through the kitchen to the dining table where Keigo sat, paralysed.

“Baby?” You whispered, your words falling on death ears.

The newspaper shook in the avian’s hand, your eyes flicking to the front page. There he was, Keigo’s father; Takami The Thief.

When he was drowning under the surface of his anxiety, you knew better than to startle him. You pulled out a chair and sat beside him. Your hand gently covered his like unexpected snow. You felt how cold his skin was, be it from the morning breeze or the fear laced in his blood.

“You’re home, birdie,” you said, clearly. “He’s not here, he never will be.”

Your words were firm, and for a moment you swore you felt Keigo’s fingers twitch under the blanket of your hand.

“I- I feel like, like I can’t breathe,” was all Keigo could say.

You inched closer to Keigo, wrapping your arms around him. Careful not to touch his plumage, as to not trigger him further, you squeezed him in your embrace.

“Smell the flowers, spread the pollen,” you gently instructed, “just like the therapist taught you, yeah?”

Keigo inhaled sharply through his nose, a shaky breath leaving his open mouth soon after.

The two of you repeated these steps together, completely forgetting about your cold breakfast waiting for you on the stove.

“I promise you, Keigo,” you lifted up his bangs, kissing his forehead. “I’m not gonna let him get to you.”

[nanowrimo]

Smash Your Word Count Goals in 3 Easy Steps

from our sponsors at Freewrite

Here at Freewrite, we help writers reach peak productivity in order to meet word count goals and create their best work yet. That’s our reason for being.

Today, we’re going to share the three easy steps proven by science to help you reach your writing goals!

1) Set A Goal & Write It Down

The psychology of goal setting is pretty clear. It’s what NaNoWriMo is all about, right? Research has proven that people who set goals experience higher motivation and are more likely to feel accomplished.

However, the type of goal you set makes a big difference to your efforts. Make sure that your goals are (a) clear and specific, (b) realistic, and (c) measurable.

Being clear about your goal will help you hone in on what you’re trying to achieve and ignore distractions. Make sure to write it down, as well. Research by psychologist Gail Matthews has revealed that people who write down goals are 33% more successful than those who simply set a goal in their head.

Next, be realistic. This means being honest with yourself about what you can and can’t achieve based on your other life obligations. Setting goals that you can’t achieve will only lead to frustration and, ultimately, a lack of motivation.

And last, make sure each goal is measurable. “Write 1,000 words each day” is much easier to measure than “Finish this book.” Because we all know it’s difficult to measure a book being “done”!

Breaking these goals down into smaller, simpler steps will help, too. If your goal is to write 20,000 words during Camp NaNo, break that down into 5,000 words a week, and then figure out how many words you’ll have to write each day to reach those smaller goals.

2) Practice Freewriting

Freewriting is thinking. It’s as simple — and as difficult — as that.

While every writer is unique, and there is no one way to be a writer, there are similarities we all share as humans — especially humans in the modern world — that create common obstacles to doing the things we love — like reading, writing, and yes, thinking. There are the obvious external obstacles: social media, email, the internet. But there are sneaky internal obstacles, too — the main culprit being the inner critic.

As humans, we are judgmental. It’s in our DNA. Our brains are constantly assessing situations, imagining outcomes, and making decisions. It’s part of survival at a very basic level. However, that means that when we do anything, including writing, we tend to automatically assess our actions — judging our own words, tweaking and editing them as we go along. That constant evaluation not only hinders progress, it can also stop us from ever getting started. And if we do manage to sit down to write, that inner critic creates an unconscious anxiety that prevents us from experimenting and writing down our most innovative and creative — and weird! — ideas.

We’ve all heard the advice to “write now, edit later.” Or perhaps you’ve heard writers reference “the sloppy/crappy/messy first draft.” Those are just fun ways of referencing the writing method in which you separate the drafting process from the editing process. Or, what we call freewriting.

Many people haven’t written this freely since childhood, but there’s a reason this method is taught in MFA programs. Getting your thoughts down first and revising later increases productivity and yields better, more creative work because it allows you to give your brain fully to each task. It means that when you’re drafting, you’re drafting, and when you’re editing, you’re editing. There’s no context-switching or multitasking.

So, what if you gave yourself permission to write badly at first? And we don’t just mean cheesy or with glaring plot holes — we mean typos, missing words, character names replaced by big Xs because you couldn’t remember them in the moment.

The next time you draft, we challenge you to give it a try. Just let yourself go and give your thoughts and feelings over to the act of creating. Because that’s when the magic happens. 

3) Track Your Stats

OK, you’ve set measurable goals, and you’ve started drafting. What’s next?

Track your efforts!

Here at Freewrite, we’ve created a tool to automatically track important writing stats, like word count, writing days, writing streak, and more! It’s called a Postbox Profile, and it gives you a unique URL that allows you to share your stats with writing friends.

Anyone with a Postbox account — that’s anyone who writes on a Freewrite OR uses our free in-browser drafting tool, Sprinter — can create a Postbox Profile and track their stats.

👉Don’t have a Freewrite yet? No problem! We have a FREE in-browser drafting experience called Sprinter that helps you shut down distractions and make progress — and gives you access to Postbox. Start writing today absolutely FREE at sprinter.getfreewrite.com.

👉Ready to grab your own Freewrite? Our entry-level device, Alpha, is $50 off this June only! Just use code STARTWITHALPHA at checkout.

[inthehoneymoonwithconnorrk800]

FR

PS. Don't try to be a guru. Leave other writers who want to write about Michael now alone. Stop sending anons or comments to other writers saying "how can they do that, it's so silly", "it isn't fiction about character", "that's not what fanfiction is about". No one needs fanfiction police or fanfiction rules reminders.

I'm so disappointed in you guys.

In other writers the most.

Judging and ridiculing people like me or ones who already published they works in they answers for anons and comments because they wanted to write something what supposed to please them. Fantastic that someone is standing in front line to defend real fanfiction content.

What a shame really.

[fruit-teeth]

Little Sister

“I am not stupid,” Zhanna muttered, staring bitterly down at the floor. 

Heavy pinched the bridge of his nose, his heart aching. “Sister…please…” 

“We never said you were,” Medic tried to reassure her, keeping his voice even. “All I said was —!”

Zhanna rose up from her seat. “You think I am too stupid for a baby!” She snapped, voice rising. “You think Jane is too stupid! We are not stupid, you are a stupid!” 

“Sister, please!” Heavy pleaded, putting his hand on her arm. Zhanna shook it off of her with a grunt. 

“Nobody called you stupid!” Medic was clearly trying to be reasonable, but his annoyance was obvious. “Don't you understand that all we were asking was that you postpone having children with Jane until the two of you work things out?” 

Zhanna crossed her arms, glaring down at the floor again. “Do not tell me what to do.” 

“Zhanna,” Heavy stood up, placing his hand on Zhanna’s back. “This is because I care for you. I want happiness for you, I want health for you.”

“But…” tears filled Zhanna’s eyes, though she blinked them back. “Jane make me happy. Having children with him would make me happy. You do not like this! Why? Why?” 

Heavy started to speak, but stopped himself. He put his face in his hands, heaving a long sigh. 

“Why?!” Zhanna asked again, voice a little louder than before. 

Heavy finally lifted his head to look at her. “I want the best for you, and he cannot give you the best!” 

“The man practically runs a raccoon farm, Zhanna,” Medic sighed. “You are an adult and we cannot stop you, but…we just want you to reconsider. That’s all.” 

“Reconsider…” Zhanna muttered, tears falling from her eyes. She quickly wiped them away, before looking at the door. “I am leaving.” 

Heavy tried to stop her. “Zhanna…please listen,” but she was already gone. As the door slammed, all he could do was stare at the door for a long moment. 

“That didn’t go…terribly,” Medic managed to say, trying to reassure Heavy. 

Heavy turned to look at him. “Did I do right thing? She is upset…” 

“She’ll be all right,” Medic leaned against Heavy’s shoulder, kissing his cheek. “She’s just acting a bit immature, she’ll be over it.” 

Heavy rubbed his eyes, though he leaned into Medic’s touch. “I hope you are right…I care about her so much. I cannot imagine her as a parent with Soldier, it is so much for me,” 

“I understand,” Medic nodded. “But she’s grown, you cannot stop her from making choices anymore. She’s not a child, Misha. You'll always be her big brother, I know, but you have to let her choose her own path and just be there to support her when she does. Do you understand?” 

“I understand,” Heavy pursed his lips together in thought. “I just…I am worried for her. I want to protect her all the time.” 

Medic nodded, placing his hand on Heavy’s back. “You’ve always protected her, and you’ve done a wonderful job.” 

Heavy smiled a little at that, and he put his arm around Medic. “Thank you, Doktor…I hope I have.” 

[interroblog]

I started free writing last week and it tripled my daily word counts so I feel the need to evangelize 👀

I’m in the “figuring out what happens in this story” stage of plotting which is what it’s been really great for, but I can see it helping any time you need to solve problems or get ideas. Here’s the rules I use for myself, hopefully someone else will find it helpful

Write every thought. All of my free writing sessions start with a ramble about how I’m going to start free writing, then I write all the things I could explore until I latch onto one and go.

No thought is too undeveloped. Even if it’s a poorly written sentence fragment or idea about an idea… it might lead to something else, so it goes in.

Chase your ideas! If I’m writing about one idea and I suddenly get another, I’ll just immediately swap to writing about that. I can always finish that other idea later, but I know I’d forget about the new one. It’s easier to remember a half-written idea than a fully unwritten one.

Writing something doesn’t mean I’m going with it. I’ve written down ideas then immediately after added “But I don’t like that because (reason)”. It almost always leads me to writing about another idea that I like a lot more

Basically, it’s not about what you write. It’s about the ideas it leads you to. It’s so helpful for making me get out of my head and solidify thoughts so I can build on them. I’ll put three excerpts from my free writing doc under the cut to show off the different levels of “quality”

“there’s only one bridge into this area, it’s closed for flooding after snow melt. So that’s why they’re stuck in this area. Amp brings them back to his cabin? Doesn’t want to let a bunch of kids sleep outside. There’s two layers to his interactions, the truth that he would die for these fuckers because they are his family- and the lie he’s telling them. It’s the latter I’m trying to figure out.

they first meet him at the gas station, then later [note: here I skipped to the next line to follow a new thought I had, then never went back to finish this one because it connected back anyway]

They’re camping in the woods when they see something tall and inhuman. The moonlight reaches it and they see amp with a torch and a bag (torch??? Who am i) of food, fire starter, and a blanket (given to Saint, who then forces tab to share it with him because he feels awkward. Cuties)

He says he saw their car on the road, it’s march and he didn’t want anyone freezing to death. (There’s the hint that he didn’t just see their car but he knew to be looking for them. He didn’t just happen to have all that stuff on him, after all.)”

“time to free write 500 words real fast cause i wanna get to 2k. What are we working with. I think I’ve got some good stuff right now, it all just needs to fall into place. Let’s see how it goes, listing arcs.

There’s Saint’s arc which i still need to define more, it’s been changing a lot as the story develops which is good!! The goal!! I don’t want to solidify it too much, but it goes”

“let’s see… i really want it to build on itself, and the surgery stuff feels too out of place or like a regression, even though it’s literally the point of the story. Maybe it’s the fact they go home? I could try having the surgery take place in the underground with saint only thinking he’s back at a hospital- but that undermines a lot of the stuff with the parents if it isn’t real”

[quicktimeeventfull]

the anniversary of my first suicide attempt is coming up. in a lot of ways i think i’ve passed the point where it’s useful or healthy to keep marking it but it coincided with a different event so it’s actually impossible for me to forget.

anyway. it’s a hard time of year. i didn’t take the actual day off this time but i did book off some time surrounding it because it seemed like proof positive that it’s not sensible to push through. i have a couple stories i’m working on & a stack of novels to read, both of which really take the edge off, and i’ve been trying to book events so the future isn’t just this yawning thing. i saw a play last night that was quite good and the winter season will be coming up shortly so there will be more. cafes are releasing seasonal drinks. in a lot of ways things are worse than the first time and in a lost of ways things are better. this is how it is much of the time. living with suicidal ideation is difficult but it can be done, even if there are long stretches of time where that feels like an empty platitude.

[hogans-heroes]

Seven sentence Monday

Rule: Post seven(ish) sentences of your current WIP - or just a snippet who cares! And tag your writer friends to see what they're working on.

Tagged by @moghraidhs thank you! I felt like a snippet instead so have some feral Buck from my secret wip.

***

Gale shrank against the wall he was sat against, knees pulled to his chin and hands pressed to the cool tile floor as the old man gripped the phone like he wanted to rip it out of the wall.

“I found another one of them vets in my east woods,” he growled into it. “The Millards found another two in their barn last night, now did I tell the town they can’t be shootin’ all them gotdamn fireworks with all them boys just getting off the boat? Don’t care if we won the war and it’s July fourth. We owe it to the poor bastards, don’t we?”

He slammed the phone in the cradle and Gale flinched, but the woman blocked his view as she bent down in front of him, shifting the baby to her other hip to hand him a glass of water.

“Where’s your people?” she asked. “Who can we call?”

Gale clutched the glass with both hands, gulping it all without breathing and had to suck in a lungful of air when it was gone, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and shaking his head without looking at her.

He had no people. Dad was dead, his mother hadn’t been around since he was a teenager, not that he would want to see either of them. He couldn’t bother Marge and her family like this, even if they weren’t so far away, and Bucky was—

He slammed the door on that thought, handing her the glass with what he hoped was a grateful-enough nod. The old man returned and crouched down in front of Gale, looking him over carefully and pulling his shirt neck aside to inspect the scrapes and bruises.

“Where you from?” he asked. His eyes were kind but Gale still trembled hard enough to make his teeth chatter. He blinked, then swallowed, tongue feeling thick his mouth, and when he tried to speak his voice cracked and crumbled in his throat. The man’s hand shifted to his shoulder.

“They discharged me in Florida.” Gale finally managed, voice hardly a whisper.

“When?”

Gale licked his lips. It had been…a while? He had the papers in his army-issued bag with all his belongings, but that wasn’t here. Where had he left it?

“Motel,” he mumbled.

“Diane, start calling the motels around here, ask if any rooms been given to–” He lifted Gale’s dog tags, which were hanging outside his shirt. “–Gale Cleven, major. Damn. What outfit were you with?”

An invisible hand closed around Gale’s throat and he clenched his jaw, fighting to inhale through his nose as spots appeared in his vision.

“Hundredth…bomb group,” he wheezed through his teeth, and the man whistled lowly.

“Pilot?”

Gale nodded.

“Lord, he’s white as a sheet,” said the woman.

“All these questions ain’t helping I’m sure,” the man muttered, rubbing Gale’s arms with gentle, calloused hands. “Alright last one, do you know where you were last night?”

Gale squeezed his eyes shut, flashes of light and gunfire and screams piercing hot through his bones.

“Cannons,” he rasped, and the woman hummed.

“They were shooting cannons in Millstown for the parade,” the woman said, bouncing the baby who had begun to fuss. “I heard Billie talking about how much work it took to get them going, the town was proud.”

The man grunted, then drew a deep breath, rubbing his face. “That’s thirty miles away, you mean to tell me he ran all that in one night? Call the Millstown motels first.”

***

I tag @avonne-writes @counting0nit @onyxsboxes and anyone else who wants to!

[ghostingpen]

i love you freewrite alpha i love you

[war-of-the-skies]

Rain. (Part 2)

Credits to @splutter00 thanks for the idea and for all those who wanted the part two here you go x

The hero almost slips down the stairs as they break through the front door of their apartment, paint peeling from the wooden frame. Rain pours down on them, soaking their hair and colliding with the sweat dripping down their forehead. The streets are shiny with water, reflecting the bright yellow headlights of the cars stopped in traffic, blocking the road. Maybe the rain was a coincidence, a fluke, a deeply misunderstood sign. But it doesn’t matter anymore, whether it was some stupid prank, or it really is some sort of warning, they couldn’t go back, and pretending like they didn’t have a painfully bad feeling deep in their chest isn’t an option.

They hear a deafening bang as they slip past the cars jam packed behind the traffic lights and turn their head to look toward the direction of the sound. A horrible shiver creeps up their back when they realise that it’s their apartment that it came from. They don’t dare look away, frozen by the disbelief that someone had found where they live, let alone break into their house. After a few minutes, a dark, tall figure angrily makes their way to the window of the apartment room and their eyes lock on the hero after a few seconds of scanning the streets. The figure doesn’t dare break eye contact as they back away from the glass. So the hero runs.

With already battered shins and buckling knees, they stumble to the end of the road, running a hand through their dripping hair in attempt to unstick it from their rain-soaked forehead. A searing pain travels up their leg as they push their limp into a hopping sprint; and they can feel the figures eyes burning into the back of their head. The hero is afraid. Afraid of who that figure is, what they are, and of what they can do. Running down the streets isn’t an option. It’s too predictable. They need to find a way through to the other road that the figure won’t think to consider looking.

The hero slips into a tight alleyway, taking deep breaths to hold back the rising fatigue of claustrophobia. They squeeze their arms to their sides and begin to shuffle as fast as they can toward the main road, side stepping to the end of the cramped and gloomy space. When they turn the corner, they’re met with blazing eyes, staring back at them through dark locks of hair falling slightly across their face. The person whom the eyes belong to is a tall figure, dark and muscular. Supervillain.

The hero’s breath is trapped in their throat. They can’t breathe. At first the hero thinks it’s because of the very sight of the big bad standing right before them. But no, it’s the supervillain’s very power doing this to the hero, squeezing their throat with nothing but the air around them, suffocating them. The hero’s feet are steadily being lifted from the ground, their whole body now suspended in the air by nothing but their neck. The hero tries to reach out and grab whatever is holding onto them, but when they try to grasp the hand in front of them, their fingers are met with nothing but air. Telekinesis.

Tears run down the hero’s cheeks as they swipe at the air in front of them, only for them to clasp onto nothing. Every kick of theirs only makes the weight on their windpipe worsen. Only makes the oxygen less interested in their body. Only makes their mind less interested in consciousness. The hero tries to say something but it comes out in strangled chokes. “Please…” they try to suck in a breath. The supervillain throws them.

They hit the stone wall but before they can get the chance to breathe, they slide down, landing on their injured leg when they hit the ground. The hero opens their mouth to scream but nothing comes out, their swollen throat refusing to make a sound. Instead, silent sobs come out as the hero tries to move their weight off of their leg, their attempt unsuccessful. They’ve never felt so helpless. So exhausted. So exposed.

The hero manages to take a breath. Small but relieving. Then they repeat themselves, practicing begging, “please-”

The supervillain picks them up again. The hero hadn’t even noticed they were there, but now the hero was being pushed up against the wall, their legs untangling from underneath them. The hero winces, not knowing whether to be relieved or not that the weight was taken off of their injury. The supervillain looks down at the hero’s limp leg, almost smiling. “Did you know the name of the villain who did that to you?” The supervillain sneers.

The hero sucks in another breath. “What?”

The supervillain pulls the hero away from the wall and quickly slams them back into it. “Did you know their name?” Their shout makes the hero’s ears ring.

“No.” The hero coughs out. “…but why-”

The supervillain slams them back into the wall and whispers into the hero’s ear with the voice of insanity, “did you know that they died after you left the fight? After you ran?” The hero’s eyes widen. supervillain’s breath is hot against the hero’s ear, making them tremble in fear. “I’ve got a problem, hero. Do you know what that might be?”

The hero’s breath is stuck in their throat again, and an exhausted expression is covering their face. When the hero tries to reply, their voice breaks, and their eyes swell with tears. The supervillain studies their pained eyes, before quietly whispering again, “I’m running out of players, and you’re the reason.” Before the hero can even absorb the information, the supervillain throws the hero again, and they fly straight into a house window, shattering it. The hero gasps as broken glass pierces their skin, and they reach behind them to pull a larger piece from their shoulder, dropping it in front of them. The hero’s own hot, red blood dyes their fingers and flows in lines down their back, staining their clothes crimson.

The hero practically whimpers as they stagger to a stand, hissing as they pull another piece of glass from their thigh, reopening the barely healed wound. Black spots appear in their vision, and they lean against the wall, limping to the nearest street they can see. The hero knows they can’t win. Not in this condition. So they trust their instincts and try to get away. They don’t dare look back, knowing that it will only slow them down. They shudder when they feel the rain again, washing away the blood and diluting the water falling in rivers to the ground. The drains turn a horrible colour of burgundy, and the hero can only look away and hope that they’ll make it out alive.

Just as the hero thinks that they’ve escaped the supervillain and turns round the street corner, they run into someone. A heaving chest and dark green eyes, they blow out a breath when they speak. The voice is familiar, yet horrifying to the hero. The last person the hero wanted to see. “Hero.”

Villain.

Hey guys thanks for all of the support on the part one of this post I hope you like this just as much it took me a disgusting amount of time to post this and I apologise for that but I might start making this a bit of a series now if you wanted to tag along so tell me if you want a part 3

[writelikethrollope]

watched a skillshare course about freewriting last Saturday and I think I will try to make this a daily routine just for funsies, just to see how it goes. I'm already writing more in my journal that I used to, which is good, but I'd also like to get back into fiction and this seems like a way to ease back into it. I'm starting with 6 minutes a day because making it doable is better than making it grandiose (and once I start I don't wanna stop anyway)

[twcfaces]

He comes home. He goes to work. He kisses his wife. He goes to work. He stares up at a poster that reads RO-DENT. He goes to work. His wife is getting worried. You used to come home earlier. If you can't talk to me about it, talk to your doctor, please.

She knows she doesn't know what happened.

I barely see you. This isn't good for you. I know you're hurting, but I can't help you if you don't tell me how.

He kisses his wife. He has a headache. He goes to work. He calls his doctor mother. He needs help.

He looks up how to get gasoline out of his clothes. He watches a man set himself on fire. He watches it again and again. It's someone from the Youth Center. He looks up how to get gasoline off of his skin. He still smells it for days. Everyone does.

A man on trial tells him he deserved it. No, not the gasoline. No, his son is the one who deserved it. He's saying he deserved it. He deserved it. The bailiff pulls him away and he rages against it. No, let me kill that fucker I'll beat his goddamn brains out I'll let him rot in the dark fighting the rats for scraps fighting the rats for scraps.

Sick all the way to his heart.

His wife holds him. He's ruined everything. She doesn't know what happened in there. Down there. If he was good, his father wouldn't have done it.

What kind of monster would tell their child that they deserved it?

My monster. My father.

He goes to work. He goes to work.

[risingsoleil]

Modern AU Linzin getting hot and heavy in his office.

Long and overdue spontaneous smut for you. Not really edited and it's imperfect.

Oh well lol

Bonus: Linzin Teacher AU

"I fucking hate you so much."

That's the last thing Lin remembers before the lock turned and her body slammed against the wall. Pure muscles and raw strength pinned her down, a smoky taste on his tongue swirling on hers. Her breasts expanded tightly against his chest. Hands slid underneath her skirt and hooked along the edge of her silk panties, and roughly forced them halfway down her knees. Out of instinct, Lin spread her legs further and gasped into his mouth when several fingers slid and stretched the soaking depths within her.

Warmth danced and curled as liquid desire coated his fingers and dripped slowly down her inner thighs. Lin hardened her resolve. There's no fucking way she would let him have all this power over her.

Not Tenzin Wang.

As he kept himself busy attempting to find her g-spot (while she tried to pretend he wasn't stroking it in that moment), Lin tugged at his belt and forced his pants to loosen under her command. His own pants slid down to his ankle and her hand dove beneath the cotton fabric, gripping the thick length of his cock. Tenzin's teeth bit down on her lip, a low groan and soft hiss clashing between warm breaths.

"Asshole," Lin muttered, firmly stroking the entire length of him from head to base. When her fingers crawled back to the tip, Lin rubbed circles along the edge of the head with her thumb and Tenzin thrusted into her touch.

"Bitch."

Lin growled and pushed him off of her, forcing him to fall back clumsily on the couch. He should be thankful that a comfortable couch was there to catch him, rather than the hard desk hurting his spine while she had her way with him.

Unzipping the back of the skirt, it pooled on the floor in one puddle besides her panties. Her thighs settled on both sides of his hips, locking him down before he could escape with his dick out in the middle of her office. Lin pushed his chest, fingers splayed out until Tenzin's complete weight was pressed into the couch.

Tightening a hand around his cock, a small whimper escaped his lips and a smug smile grew on her face.

"You need to use words to tell me what you want," she whispered in his ear, guiding the tip of his cock right in between slick folds. Tenzin squirmed and attempted to lift his hips upward to meet the heavenly heat. Lin granted an inch to enter her, eyelashes fluttering close at the familiar beginning of a filling sensation.

Tenzin moaned.

And she raised herself off of him.

"Use words, Wang." Her juices smeared along the base of him, the underside of his cock aligned perfectly between wet folds. Soft moans trickled from swollen lips with every subtle shift and grinding movement. She felt him harden even more, his skin reddening slightly with more heat. "I thought you were a smooth talker."

His fingers dug into her hips, nails scratching her sensitive skin. Tenzin locked her in place and palms caressed over her hips, and squeezed her ass. Lin bit her lip, a moan cascading out.

Smack!

"Show me how well you can ride me, Beifong."

"No protection?"

"I can pull out."

A smirk. "We'll see about that."

Hands massaged the supple flesh of her ass, refusing to let go. "You're the one who can't handle me."

"I won't make it easy for you."

"You could end up pregnant."

"Ha! Don't make me laugh, Wang." She leaned closer. "You wouldn't be able to get me pregnant."

Smack!

"Hurry up and ride me then. Show me what you can do, Beifong."

Fingers tightened around his cock and Tenzin's toes curled. "Don't tell me what to do."

Why is she challenging him? They should be using protection. He should have a rubber on. Why isn't she getting the fuck off him and demanding he retrieve on? But most importantly, why isn't she moving?

"You're not even—"

Tenzin's head tilted back, words dying in his throat and fingers flexing into Lin's hips.

Whimpers and high gasps stuttered out of Lin's lips as she slowly lowered herself on him. Lin rotated her hips in a small circle to help her body accept him more easily. Her hand gripped his shoulder, only relaxing when every inch of him disappeared.

Both stilled for a moment, allowing their bodies to process the union. Tenzin subtly raised his hips upwards into Lin. Her eyes clenched shut at the sensation of him tickling deep within her.

"Fuck, Wang," Lin moaned, peering down to see her success.

His hands slid underneath her blouse, trailing up her spine and pulling her lightly toward him. A trail of pleasurable shivers followed his fingers, igniting Lin's skin. Tenzin returned back to her waist.

"Ride me, baby," he breathed against her neck, tracing his tongue on her skin. Hints of perfume pricked his palette and he moved to another spot—below her collarbone.

Lin leaned further against him, arms wrapped around his neck for leverage. Her knees guided the movements. Her body bounced lightly up and down. Both attempted to keep their moans leashed to their small bubble to avoid any unwanted interruptions. Lin buried her moans near Tenzin's ears, and she swore she felt him grow more inside of her.

Tenzin's knees began to dance to the rhythm and tempo that Lin created. Somehow, that pulled Lin out of the trance she fell into. She was the one who was supposed to have the upper hand against him. Yet, he was the one taking charge because she could feel himself restraining himself from using full force to pound into her.

Her jaw clenched as another moan spilled out from her.

Oh, that won't do.

She would not let Tenzin Wang win at all costs.

She squeezed her inner muscles.

"Oh, fuck! Lin, what are you—?!" Tenzin stiffened immediately, body almost lurching forward out of instinct. His dominance melted in that moment as Lin's inner walls pulsed and squeezed evenly. Deep and guttural groans dissolved into weak whimpers and soft cries.

Lin shifted, all of her weight resting on her feet instead. She was still adjusting to his size, but the submissive moans dancing in her ears stroked her ego and desire for power. The vibrations of their coupling reverbrated into the pit of her stomach and below her heart. He was hitting deeper and stronger in this new angle, and also crumbling to the divine pleasure only she would allow.

"Oh, baby, please..." Tenzin whimpered, biting his lip. His head leaned back, eyes closed. Lin spotted his pulse and kissed it, tracing small circles with her tongue over the sensitive spot. More waves of moans and unrestrained whimpers flowed in tandem with her desire. "I'm about to cum..."

"You're about to cum?" She kissed his jaw and licked his ear.

Tenzin whimpered and nodded. "Mhm."

Her tempo slowed and a frustrated growl released.

"What are you doing?" Tenzin hissed, raising his hips to pound without abandon into her. But gasped when her inner walls clenched his dick intently. "Fuuuck, baby. Please..."

"I like when you beg," Lin chuckled darkly. "Keep doing it and I might let you cum."

"Lin, please."

She bounced on him harder, faster, and incomprehensible words bled out of Tenzin's mouth. Loud clapping of their bodies echoed into the room, bouncing off othe walls.

"Do you like that?"

"Yes," his voice cracked.

"Are you gonna cum?"

"Uh-huh."

"Where?"

"I-I don't know. Baby, I just need you to let me cum."

"I won't let you make a mess in my office."

Tenzin's fingernails dug into her flesh. "Okay," he whispered, panting loudly and unevenly. Lin didn't stop nor slow down her speed and intensity. "Fuuuuck, baby," came the deep, guttural and raw groan the moment she squeezed Tenzin's cock within her.

"Mmmm."

His cock twitched and she slowed her tempo, stopping not longer after. Tenzin buried his face into her shoulder and Lin scratched his nails at the nape of his neck.

"Don't get too comfortable," Lin murmured. "You need to make me cum now."

[nanowrimo]

12 Tips for Drafting Forward During NaNoWriMo (And Beyond!)

To accomplish your big writing goals, you have to focus on drafting forward. The team over at Freewrite knows how to do that better than most! Freewrite, a 2023 NaNoWriMo sponsor, is a dedicated distraction-free drafting device designed just for writers to separate the drafting from the editing process and get words on the page. Today, the Freewrite team is here to share their top 12 tips for doing just that:

Here at Freewrite, we love when NaNoWriMo comes around, because we’re all about helping writers set their stories free. We’re big proponents of the “write now, edit later” method of writing to help writers reach writing flow and increase productivity. The goal of drafting forward (and NaNoWriMo!) is to get a first draft recorded and translate your thoughts into writing on the page.

We’re going to share the top tips we recommend to writers who want to try this method but don’t know where to start. Try these out during your next writing session to see how they help you ditch the distractions and make serious progress!

1. Save research for later. (Or start with it!)

Yes, research is important. But it can also quickly turn into a form of procrastination. Complete the bulk of your research before you start writing, or, if it’s a topic you know well, commit to doing any research after. When you’re drafting and come to a place where you need to fact-check or gather information, simply leave a note to yourself right there in the text and continue drafting. 

2. Plan well.

With a timed challenge like NaNoWriMo, it helps to plan out your daily benchmarks in order to finish on time. Consider setting a daily word count goal or making a schedule for the month so you know exactly where you stand each day. Make an outline if you’re a plotter, or if you’re a pantser, spend some time getting into the world of your story.

3. Decide you’re going to write a messy first draft.

We recommend stating it outright to yourself, or maybe writing it down on a Post-It where you can see it each day: My goal is to write a messy first draft. Embrace that imperfection so that you can write more freely!

4. Silence your inner critic.

As you write, revisit your messy first draft goal and resist the urge to critique or edit your work as you go along. Instead, concentrate on getting your thoughts down without judgment. This means not overanalyzing each sentence. Did that last sentence sound ridiculous? Who cares?! Anything goes in a messy first draft. You’ll refine and revise later!

5. Turn off your inner spell-check.

Freewrite devices have no spell-check or grammar checker for a reason. Every squiggly line is a distraction, a moment that your writing flow is broken and you have to resist going back to fix typos. Even if your eyes recognize a typo, train your brain to fix it later! Remember: we’re focusing on getting out thoughts and ideas in the first draft, not grammar.

6. Eliminate external distractions.

We’ve done the hard work for you by creating Freewrite. 😉 Now, put your phone in the other room, turn off the TV, and start writing.

7. Write quickly.

This is just another way to trick your brain into writing from that deep, creative place that can’t be reached when you’re overthinking. Strive for a flow state where you’re typing at the speed that your thoughts come to you.

8. Use placeholders.

If you can’t think of the right word or need to look up a source, just insert a placeholder and keep writing. Our favorite placeholder is “xx” because that can easily be searched in editing software later. Other people like the more straightforward “[INSERT SOMETHING FUNNY]” or “[CHECK SOURCE]”. You can fill in those gaps during the editing phase.

9. Keep moving forward.

If you encounter writer’s block or a difficult section, resist the temptation to stop and dwell on it. Skip to another part in your story and return to the challenging section later. We like to add a note to ourselves right there in the draft to remind us to come back to that spot when editing.

10. No back-tracking.

Often while drafting, a brilliant sentence will come to us. But it’s describing something we just described. What to do? Do not go back, delete the first sentence, and replace it. Simply keep writing the new sentence! These redundancies are easy to correct later.

11. Experiment.

Try different styles and approaches without judgement. You can compare and contrast and pick the best one later, during the editing stage.

12. Write!

Relish in the creative flow and the freedom of having one job to do: writing. Don’t worry about grammar or story structure. Focus on the joy of creating.

With a few tweaks in how you draft, we hope you’ll be surprised by how much you write, the creative ideas your imagination comes up with, and how much fun you have while writing.

And if you try the above rules of forward drafting, we’d love to hear your experience!

Reminder: NaNoWriMo 2023 participants are eligible for a special Freewrite offer. Find all the details here. 

[that-expat-girl]

In the moment before you begin, there is only emptiness -- and fear: the fear that you have spent what magic you once had, that the words will not come.

In the silence of the empty page, abandonment calls. Would it not be easier to turn away, to put down the pen, to do anything else but write?

Perhaps. But that is not why you have come to the table, that is not why you are here.

So you take a deep breath...

And you begin.