#i don’t know if i want to be associated with this anymore

[papaya-twinks]

masquerade - l.n - p.2

Warnings: Smut, 18+ teasing, dom!lando

Pairing: Lando Norris x fem!reader

Spy Au - part 1

Well, as luck would have it, or rather fate, you and Lando had yet another party.

The mansion was just as good as the last, big and spacious, with plenty of rooms for you and Lando .

But obviously, you couldn’t play any tricks this time.

He already knew, he hadn’t last time but he did now, and you didn’t have anymore games to play.

“Hanging by the refreshments like a little loser,” Lando sighed, walking lazily behind you as you leaned against the table.

“Ha, ha,” you said sarcastically, rolling your eyes.

“Guess you’re a loser by association,” you said as Lando scoffed.

“I don’t associate with little girls trying to play spy,” Lando rolled his eyes as it was your turn to scoff.

“Playing spy? Let’s keep in mind who actually got the diamond last time?”.

“Through trickery,”.

“It’s called being ‘good in your field’,”

“It’s called being a cunning little bitch,” Lando said.

You were about to retaliate with your own little snippy comeback, had it not been for a thick Italian voice behind you.

“Hello,” the man said, “I believe you know who I am?”.

Obviously. The leader of the Italian Mafia.

“Yes sir,” you bowed your head as Lando’s tightened round his glass.

“Ah, none of this ‘sir’ business!” he chuckled loudly, “please, call me Lorenzo,”.

“And besides,” Lorenzo said, “at my party, I think it is due I dance with the prettiest lady, no?”.

That pissed Lando off.

You just giggled, sliding your hand into his as he led you to the dance floor, leaving Lando.

God, every giggle and every smile…it pissed him off, to no end.

But no one, only Lando, saw the tiny little tape pressed on the pad of your finger as you walked away from Lorenzo.

“Idiot,” you mumbled.

“What’s that?” Lando leaned forwards as you rolled your eyes.

“None of your business,”.

“Is my business if I can go and tell Lorenzo right now,”

“You wouldn’t,”

“I would,”

“It’s just something to get his fingerprint,” you grumbled.

“Uh huh, put it to use then,” Lando smirked, discreetly slinging an arm round your waist, squeezing your ass as you batted his hand away.

“He was gettin’ touchy,” Lando muttered, following you calmly.

“He was being nice,” you corrected.

“You didn’t look like you were against it,” Lando said, slipping into the office behind you.

You said nothing, taking the thumb print and pressing it to the reader.

Lando hummed, his gaze instantly dropping to your ass as you bent down.

“You know,” Lando said, slowly running a hand over your backside.

“Thought you’d know to keep it in your pants,”.

“Excuse me?” you said, raising a brow, your eyes almost fluttering as his hand roved over your ass.

“I said,” Lando scoffed, “‘I thought your know how to keep it in your pants’,”

You stood up immediately, turning round to throw a punch.

“Nice try,” Lando smirked, dodging your punch a you growled.

You swung again, missing once more, trying to kick his shins. He just laughed, shaking his head as he watched you.

“Let’s calm down,” Lando smirked, his hands holding your wrists, grip tight as he pushed them against your chest.

“Behave,”.

“Why were you lettin’ him get touchy with you? Tryna annoy me?”

“…yes,”.

“Just what I thought,” Lando smirked, pushing your body over the desk, stepping forwards, get bulge pressed to your ass.

Your eyes fluttered as you whimpered, hands gripping the desk.

“Needy, aren’t you? D’you want this, Y/N?”.

Again, you said nothing, refusing to admit your feelings, cheeks tinged a subtle shade of pink.

“No,” you lied.

“So why,” Lando said, lifting your dress, “are you wearing no panties?”.

“Forgot,” you mumbled.

“Yet you so willingly bent that little ass over in front of me,” Lando smirked, dipping a finger into your heat, his cold ring adding pleasure to the feeling.

“Now tell me the truth,” Lando said as you whined, mouth falling open. “D’you want this?”

“Yes!” you squealed as he curled his finger inside of you.

“Oh fuck,” you gripped the desk, eyes rolling.

“Thought you were professional,” Lando said, unbuckling his belt, dropping his formal dress pants, his cock springing hard onto your ass.

“I am,” you choked out, his hand running down your spine, cock twitching over your supple flesh.

“Awfully professional to get bent over by your rival, is it?” Lando hummed.

“Is it? Is it professional?” Lando sneered.

“Is it professional to take your rival’s dick,” he said, slowly inching his cock into you as you mowed, “all the way to the bottom,” he said, bottoming out, “and not complain,”.

“Is it?” he said, refusing to move, hand gripping your hair.

“No,” you choked out as Lando smirked approvingly.

“Good girl,” he said, slowly rocking his hips into you from behind, his hand lacing into yours.

You moaned, eyes going fuzzy as his hips slammed into you at a bruising pace, his hand moving yours to the fingerprint reader.

“Scan it, whore,” Lando hissed, opening the safe as his thrusts became sloppier and sloppier.

“L-Lan,” you whined, clenching round him as he admired the little jewel in the safe. And it was all his.

“Now I’m gonna take this,” Lando said as you moaned.

“And you’re gonna clean yourself up in the bathroom, and meet me outside, got it?”.

“Y-Yeah,” you moaned, gaze going black as you orgasm washed through.

Lando groaned, pulling his cock from your folds, his seed spilling onto your thighs as your body shook, hands gripping the desk tightly, chest heaving.

“Get going, then,” Lando sneered, “don’t want that idiot, Lorenzo, to see you bent over like a little whore, do you?”.

“N-No,”.

Lando smirked as he saw you walk outside, makeup slightly smudged, and hair slightly astray from being tugged at.

“Look who came,” Lando smirked.

“You told me to,” you mumbled, looking down.

“Wow, how obedient of you,”.

“Don’t start,”.

“You liked it,”.

“Doesn’t mean I wanna hear your bullshit,”.

“Wasn’t bullshit when I was balls deep in your little-,”.

“Shut up…I need that jewel,” you said, looking to it in his pocket.

“As do I,” Lando said, shrugging.

“Maybe next time,” Lando smirked, “we can settle this fair and square,”.

You nodded.

“Best of three,” Lando hummed, “till next time,”.

And then he was gone.

[smxlbuddy]

johnnie and jake lalalalala

do you guys like johnnie guilburt and jake webber

[luna-the-cretar]

So we know that Taishen’s healing magic makes the target feel warm, inside and out, like drinking a hot drink on a cold day. So what if Jornir’s healing magic was the inverse?

Like, Jornir’s healing magic is cold. Like enjoying a cold treat on a hot day. Or applying an ice pack on inflammation. It’s not freezing, by any means, but noticeably cold. It makes you feel cold, but not in a way that’ll damage you. Just…cold.

Also, this is kinda irrelevant but for some reason my brain is also supplying me what their respective healing magics would taste like, if you could taste them.

But like, I imagine Taishen’s healing magic would taste like chai tea, perhaps. Maybe not chai, exactly, but if you were to taste Taishen’s magic, you could taste hints of cinnamon, cardamom, nutmeg, etc. Basically the taste of fall. It would taste as warm as it feels, ya get me?

Likewise, Jornir’s healing magic would taste like peppermint. It tastes sweet, but comes with the unmistakable cold feeling in your mouth that the menthol within causes. It essentially just tastes like winter.

Idk, my brain latched onto Taishen and Jornir all of a sudden and like I just. Want to talk about them. And how they’re like. Polar opposites in so many ways. But so alike in others. I just. They make me unwell.

[roseofcards90]

Yuri save me…save me Yuri

[cafephan]

?

[tariah23]

Whoever keeps sending me asks about the anon post I deleted, it’s over.

[placeinthisworld]

.

[seilon]

been having an overwhelming on and off feeling of dread all day over the thought of opening my email or getting a text or whatever and it’s Yet Another job rejection. like good god that’d fucking kill me

[seventh-district]

of course i finally write something for the first time in nearly two months and it’s the most fucked-up, self-indulgent thing i’ve ever written

[quiltedlovers]

unfortunately every memory comes on when i hear that old song that we used to sing with the words all wrong and i remember the faces and familiar places and i sing along but acadia is gone

[malachitezmeyka]

Sometimes I wish I wasn’t 12 when I came up with Suiren and Midori cause why the fuck do both of them have Japanese names

[bookishdiplodocus]

The Neurodivergent Writer’s Guide to Fun and Productivity

(Even when life beats you down)

Look, I’m a mom, I have ADHD, I’m a spoonie. To say that I don’t have heaps of energy to spare and I struggle with consistency is an understatement. For years, I tried to write consistently, but I couldn’t manage to keep up with habits I built and deadlines I set.

So fuck neurodivergent guides on building habits, fuck “eat the frog first”, fuck “it’s all in the grind”, and fuck “you just need time management”—here is how I manage to write often and a lot.

Focus on having fun, not on the outcome

This was the groundwork I had to lay before I could even start my streak. At an online writing conference, someone said: “If you push yourself and meet your goals, and you publish your book, but you haven’t enjoyed the process… What’s the point?” and hoo boy, that question hit me like a truck.

I was so caught up in the narrative of “You’ve got to show up for what’s important” and “Push through if you really want to get it done”. For a few years, I used to read all these productivity books about grinding your way to success, and along the way I started using the same language as they did. And I notice a lot of you do so, too.

But your brain doesn’t like to grind. No-one’s brain does, and especially no neurodivergent brain. If having to write gives you stress or if you put pressure on yourself for not writing (enough), your brain’s going to say: “Huh. Writing gives us stress, we’re going to try to avoid it in the future.”

So before I could even try to write regularly, I needed to teach my brain once again that writing is fun. I switched from countable goals like words or time to non-countable goals like “fun” and “flow”.

Rewire my brain: writing is fun and I’m good at it

I used everything I knew about neuroscience, psychology, and social sciences. These are some of the things I did before and during a writing session. Usually not all at once, and after a while I didn’t need these strategies anymore, although I sometimes go back to them when necessary.

I journalled all the negative thoughts I had around writing and try to reason them away, using arguments I knew in my heart were true. (The last part is the crux.) Imagine being supportive to a writer friend with crippling insecurities, only the friend is you.

Not setting any goals didn’t work for me—I still nurtured unwanted expectations. So I did set goals, but made them non-countable, like “have fun”, “get in the flow”, or “write”. Did I write? Yes. Success! Your brain doesn’t actually care about how high the goal is, it cares about meeting whatever goal you set.

I didn’t even track how many words I wrote. Not relevant.

I set an alarm for a short time (like 10 minutes) and forbade myself to exceed that time. The idea was that if I write until I run out of mojo, my brain learns that writing drains the mojo. If I write for 10 minutes and have fun, my brain learns that writing is fun and wants to do it again.

Reinforce the fact that writing makes you happy by rewarding your brain immediately afterwards. You know what works best for you: a walk, a golden sticker, chocolate, cuddle your dog, whatever makes you happy.

I conditioned myself to associate writing with specific stimuli: that album, that smell, that tea, that place. Any stimulus can work, so pick one you like. I consciously chose several stimuli so I could switch them up, and the conditioning stays active as long as I don’t muddle it with other associations.

Use a ritual to signal to your brain that Writing Time is about to begin to get into the zone easier and faster. I guess this is a kind of conditioning as well? Meditation, music, lighting a candle… Pick your stimulus and stick with it.

Specifically for rewiring my brain, I started a new WIP that had no emotional connotations attached to it, nor any pressure to get finished or, heaven forbid, meet quality norms. I don’t think these techniques above would have worked as well if I had applied them on writing my novel.

It wasn’t until I could confidently say I enjoyed writing again, that I could start building up a consistent habit. No more pushing myself.

I lowered my definition for success

When I say that nowadays I write every day, that’s literally it. I don’t set out to write 1,000 or 500 or 10 words every day (tried it, failed to keep up with it every time)—the only marker for success when it comes to my streak is to write at least one word, even on the days when my brain goes “naaahhh”. On those days, it suffices to send myself a text with a few keywords or a snippet. It’s not “success on a technicality (derogatory)”, because most of those snippets and ideas get used in actual stories later. And if they don’t, they don’t. It’s still writing. No writing is ever wasted.

A side note on high expectations, imposter syndrome, and perfectionism

Obviously, “Setting a ridiculously low goal” isn’t something I invented. I actually got it from those productivity books, only I never got it to work. I used to tell myself: “It’s okay if I don’t write for an hour, because my goal is to write for 20 minutes and if I happen to keep going for, say, an hour, that’s a bonus.” Right? So I set the goal for 20 minutes, wrote for 35 minutes, and instead of feeling like I exceeded my goal, I felt disappointed because apparently I was still hoping for the bonus scenario to happen. I didn’t know how to set a goal so low and believe it.

I think the trick to making it work this time lies more in the groundwork of training my brain to enjoy writing again than in the fact that my daily goal is ridiculously low. I believe I’m a writer, because I prove it to myself every day. Every success I hit reinforces the idea that I’m a writer. It’s an extra ward against imposter syndrome.

Knowing that I can still come up with a few lines of dialogue on the Really Bad Days—days when I struggle to brush my teeth, the day when I had a panic attack in the supermarket, or the day my kid got hit by a car—teaches me that I can write on the mere Bad-ish Days.

The more I do it, the more I do it

The irony is that setting a ridiculously low goal almost immediately led to writing more and more often. The most difficult step is to start a new habit. After just a few weeks, I noticed that I needed less time and energy to get into the zone. I no longer needed all the strategies I listed above.

Another perk I noticed, was an increased writing speed. After just a few months of writing every day, my average speed went from 600 words per hour to 1,500 wph, regularly exceeding 2,000 wph without any loss of quality.

Talking about quality: I could see myself becoming a better writer with every passing month. Writing better dialogue, interiority, chemistry, humour, descriptions, whatever: they all improved noticeably, and I wasn’t a bad writer to begin with.

The increased speed means I get more done with the same amount of energy spent. I used to write around 2,000-5,000 words per month, some months none at all. Nowadays I effortlessly write 30,000 words per month. I didn’t set out to write more, it’s just a nice perk.

Look, I’m not saying you should write every day if it doesn’t work for you. My point is: the more often you write, the easier it will be.

No pressure

Yes, I’m still working on my novel, but I’m not racing through it. I produce two or three chapters per month, and the rest of my time goes to short stories my brain keeps projecting on the inside of my eyelids when I’m trying to sleep. I might as well write them down, right?

These short stories started out as self-indulgence, and even now that I take them more seriously, they are still just for me. I don’t intend to ever publish them, no-one will ever read them, they can suck if they suck. The unintended consequence was that my short stories are some of my best writing, because there’s no pressure, it’s pure fun.

Does it make sense to spend, say, 90% of my output on stories no-one else will ever read? Wouldn’t it be better to spend all that creative energy and time on my novel? Well, yes. If you find the magic trick, let me know, because I haven’t found it yet. The short stories don’t cannibalize on the novel, because they require different mindsets. If I stopped writing the short stories, I wouldn’t produce more chapters. (I tried. Maybe in the future? Fingers crossed.)

Don’t wait for inspiration to hit

There’s a quote by Picasso: “Inspiration hits, but it has to find you working.” I strongly agree. Writing is not some mystical, muse-y gift, it’s a skill and inspiration does exist, but usually it’s brought on by doing the work. So just get started and inspiration will come to you.

Accountability and community

Having social factors in your toolbox is invaluable. I have an offline writing friend I take long walks with, I host a monthly writing club on Discord, and I have another group on Discord that holds me accountable every day. They all motivate me in different ways and it’s such a nice thing to share my successes with people who truly understand how hard it can be.

The productivity books taught me that if you want to make a big change in your life or attitude, surrounding yourself with people who already embody your ideal or your goal huuuugely helps. The fact that I have these productive people around me who also prioritize writing, makes it easier for me to stick to my own priorities.

Your toolbox

The idea is to have several techniques at your disposal to help you stay consistent. Don’t put all your eggs in one basket by focussing on just one technique. Keep all of them close, and if one stops working or doesn’t inspire you today, pivot and pick another one.

After a while, most “tools” run in the background once they are established. Things like surrounding myself with my writing friends, keeping up with my daily streak, and listening to the album I conditioned myself with don’t require any energy, and they still remain hugely beneficial.

Do you have any other techniques? I’d love to hear about them!

I hope this was useful. Happy writing!

[amazinglyashy]

Hi hi I just found your blog like an hour ago and I’ve been scrolling and am obsessed with the way you write for the l&ds!! ❤️❤️ if you don’t mind I love a little angst and was wondering if you could write the boys reacting to MC showing up at their doorstep heavily injured from like a fight with a wanderer.

Oh my gosh thank you!!! And I don't mind at all, my friends make fun of me for how much I enjoy hurt/comfort and angst :'D Thank you for the request!

LaDS men react to you appearing on their doorstep, injured and bleeding

Xavier -

If you end up at his door, it's more than likely because your unconscious decided to hit the button for his floor rather than your own. You just wanted to get home, not bother anyone, but he's stood right there. Having just come home from grabbing a late night snack from a nearby convenience store, you stumbled out of the elevator right as he's unlocking his front door.

He drops his keys and his bag.

It's a good thing too, because your legs gave out right then, so it's much better for him to catch you if his arms are free.

He's calling your name, and while you're still conscious, you're not really processing anything anymore. You're in too much shock, and you've lost too much blood by now.

He'll get the door unlocked and rush you inside his apartment, setting you down on his couch as he runs for a first aid kit, calling the association for emergency services while he does so.

"You're going to be okay. I promise. Just continue to breathe, alright?"

Xavier doesn't know if he's saying that to comfort you or himself, but he also isn't stopping to think about it, as he rapidly administers first aid to your wounds to at least slow the bleeding until help can arrive.

It's three in the morning but he's wide awake sitting next to your bed at the hospital, something unnatural for someone so sleep deprived usually.

He can't bring himself to shut his eyes though.

It's not work the risk.

Not until you wake up first.

Zayne -

It's like his brain splits into two the moment that he sees you standing there.

One side is his medical knowledge rushing forward as he moves to catch you as your feet stumble beneath you, trying to impossibly assess the extent of the damage before even getting to see it all. It's the half that's taking you to his kitchen table, because it's the easiest workspace for him right now. The one that's pulling out his doctor's bag from the closet in the hall, and the first aid kit from the cupboard in the kitchen as he cuts your shirt open.

The other side?

Oh honey, his heart is breaking.

If you think there's a day at work where he doesn't pray to any existent or nonexistent god that he doesn't see you today, spread out on a gurney or operating table without warning due to your unconscious state, then you'd be painfully wrong.

It's amazing how well he works while panicking on the inside, his skilled hands patching your wounds after meticulous sterilization, any sutures needed placed perfectly even through your pained groans tugging at his heart.

He knows he needs to get you to the hospital, even though he's taken good care of you in his own home. But he needs to sink to the floor for a minute, his back dragging against the wall as he heaves a deep sigh. It's a heavy toll feeling the stick of the dried blood on his hands- your blood on his hands.

With all his knowledge, he knows you'll be okay. He knows he himself will be okay. But right now-

He's not.

Sylus -

The N109 zone is beyond dangerous, mostly due to the criminals and leeches lurking in the dark shadows, but there's also no shortage of Wanderers, including ones that have been genetically altered to be even worse than they normally were.

So when Sylus sees you stumbling at his doorstep, bloodied hand reaching for the knob as he glances at the camera feed, he's not sure he could say he's ever moved so fast in his life otherwise. "Sweetie-" He breathes, as he catches you, scooping you up and rushing you inside as quickly as he possibly can without aggravating your already extensive injuries.

Luke is already running for first aid, and Kieran is already contacting the doctor. Mephisto is shrieking in the hall as he follows Sylus to his bedroom, protesting the fact that Sylus had needed him for surveillance of a target today instead of watching you.

Sylus knows.

He knows this is his fault.

If he had had someone keeping an eye on you, this wouldn't have happened.

His eyes are glued to your barely conscious form in his arms, the guilt in the recesses of his heart digging deeper with every slather of red that painted your skin.

Sorry to say, you're going to have your work cut out for you when you wake up. It's going to take a lot of heavy lifting on your part to convince him that he's not at fault for what happened to you.

And you will be waking up.

Sylus will make sure of that.

Rafayel -

Don't make his nightmares a reality.

Not again.

He's catching you before you can even begin to sway, and he'll be lucky if he remembers to shut the door behind him, his body melding against yours as he picks you up and runs down to his car.

"No, no no no. You stay awake, cutie."

He's definitely breaking at least a dozen laws just trying to get you to Akso hospital as quickly as he can. His mind is racing as fast as his car is moving down the streets, wondering what could have happened to you, what he should be doing right now, if he should have administered first aid to you before taking off-

But he's there so fast, it would have been nearly identical on the clock regardless of him still choosing to rush you to the hospital, or run to get and administer first aid for you from within his home.

He's there until you wake up- wide awake no matter how long it takes. It could be minutes, hours, days- he can't sleep. The image of you dying before him- the image of you standing on his doorstep as well- etched on the back of his eyelids every time he tried to close his eyes.

He talks to you even when you're not awake, stroking your hand, your cheek, the side of your neck- trying to make sure you're as comfortable as he can make you.

When you wake up again, he has to hold himself back with everything in him from squeezing you too tightly. He doesn't want to burst your stitches or harm you, but his body and arms are all-encompassing on you as he hugs you firmly, his face buried in the crook of your neck.

He really doesn't need you to see him cry.

[significant-narratives]

one major flaw with this web weave is it severely downplays the significance of the nylander sisters which is horrible and tragic but i need y’all to know that i am keenly aware their importance okay. just because they’re not centred in this specific narrative doesn’t mean i don’t Perceive and Understand the wider story!!

urge to post this damn web weave and be free of it vs the need to wait for leafs admin to drop the nylander brothers pregame picture to complete The Narrative

[sleepy-seal]

google search how to stop being friends with someone you have a class with and therefore cannot avoid no matter how hard you try

[1-800-kami]

late | satoru gojo drabble

satoru who falls in love with you, a non-sorcerer. when you finally confess to him about how you feel, he realizes that the feeling of love is mutual.

he’s supposed to feel ecstatic, but he can’t find it in him to feel that way. instead, he feels nothing but dread.

he feels dread because before he knows it, he freezes up and rejects your confession. “i’m sorry, y/n. i just don’t feel the same way.”

god, he was such a shit-faced liar.

his words weren’t true at all. satoru has never wanted someone so badly in his life, but he knows that things’ll be better off this way. satoru knows that you’ll be safer if you don’t associate with him anymore. after all, with the rising number of curses in japan, it’ll only be a matter of time before you’ll be used as a target. and what if he can’t be there to protect you? satoru doesn’t even want to think about what could possibly happen to you then.

he thinks back to riko and frowns. he can’t let that happen again. he promised himself he’d never let something like that happen ever again.

at first, he thinks that rejecting you was the best move he had to make, all for your safety… but satoru has never felt stupider in his life.

because as the months pass by without you in his life anymore, he slowly realizes.

“…i’m the strongest alive, so why am i letting this interfere with who i want to be with? i love y/n, and i’ll kill any damn curse that even thinks of laying a hand on her. so why should i let this stop me from being with who i love?”

before he’s even realized it, he’s teleported to your place. he just needs to talk to you. he needs a few minutes to just explain everything.

except… satoru’s a few months too late.

he sees you. you’re as beautiful as ever, and you’re leaving your house… but you’re not alone. you’re with another man, and you look at him with nothing but love and adoration as you leave to go on a date with him.

that man could’ve been him.

still, satoru won’t interfere anymore. it seems that this is life’s cruel message that’s been sent to him. you’ve moved on, and he thinks that maybe, just maybe, it’s better for things to end like this after all.

but fuck, satoru still can’t help but feel hurt in the end.