#i want to write a fic with them so badly/am in the process of writing one

[skeptical-rainbows]

Double date!!!!

[hyperfixiation-station]

Hi!!

I am totally obsessed with your fics!!! Your writing 🤌💕

I just wanted to request a fic where the reader is new to the task force but she's experienced and tough. Vibez similar to Ghost to elaborate she's more scary than Ghost cuz of her past maybe she was experimented on or trained brutally....

Reader is working hard to prove herself even if everyone knows she's the most lethal person. So one time she gets injured badly while protecting someone from the 141( probably Ghost 👉👈) and she wakes up has an emotional moment Ghost comes know about her Trauma . More like hurt/comfort....

Happy Writing 💝

Guilt-Tripped

CW: Mentions/references of kidnapping, torture, canon typical violenece Part 2, Part 3 Hiii Anon!! First off, thank you! Secondly, I am so, so, so sorry for how long this took😭 I did make this a two parter, the first part is kinda like backstoryish and the second part will be the actual story. I was gonna wait until I finished both to post but you have been waiting for way to long so I'll give you the first part now instead of waiting, again I am so sorry! I hope you like it :)) Summary: F!Reader was a part of a special program(LMK if you can guess what it is) and once she was released she joined the military.

WC: 1467 As always, I didn't proof read so lmk if there are any mistakes :3

Life had not been kind to you. Ripped from your family at a very young age, you had never known the type of love and safety a nurturing home could provide. Instead, you grew up in the confines of a Russian base, with cruel instructors and a dwindling group of girls as your only companions.

From the moment you could walk, you had been told you were a weapon. A lethal force to be honed and trained, nothing more than a tool for others to use to further their games. Brainwashed, tortured, and trained into submission, a perfect puppet. Both your brain and body were sculpted into absolute perfection, a rigorous process most people did not survive. By day, they trained to be a lethal force, an unstoppable, unnoticeable, killing machine. At night, you were handcuffed to your bed, listening to the screams of students who did not make the cut.(to this day you sleep handcuffed)

You watched, at first in horror, then with a sense of detachment, as your friendsrivals bit the dust, unable to keep up with what the program demanded of them. It got better as you got older, less girls died from their tasks. But in some ways it got worse. It was a competition now, a fight to see who would remain victorious, to see who would come out on top. It was not a place for friendship and comradery, and you learned that quickly.

You stopped trying to make friends with the other students when you were forced to shoot your best friend in the head after giving her some of your dinner when she was being punished. You were 8. And you stopped trying to even just be friendly with the other girls at 10 years old, when the instructor broke every bone in your hands after your bunkmate framed you for something you didn't do. To this day your hands are not the same, always hurting and forever scarred.

Your world was kill or be killed, and you'd be dammed if you didn't come out on top.

And come out on top you did. You graduated top of your class, a position you had fought and killed for, won through bloodshed and pain. If you had a conscience, it would have been screaming at you for the things you had done to get to the top(You laid awake every night consumed by guilt and grief)

The program was disbanded(re: destroyed) when you hit 18, just two weeks after your 'graduation'. You were given two options: Join the American military, or face a life sentence in prison. 

You had a lifetime of sins to atone for, and knew there was only one way to even begin to ease your guilt. Two days later your background was sealed up and you were shipped off to boot camp. 

And you excelled. This was nothing to you. What was a six mile run when you used to run until you passed out, then wake up and keep going? What was surviving on four hours of sleep when sleep deprivation had been the norm your whole life? What was any of this compared to what you had been forced to do everyday since you were five? 

You scared your instructors. And the other recruits. And everyone else you came into contact with. And you were fine with that. You didn't like when people got close to you anyhow.

Love got you nowhere in the world. It was a lesson you learned hard and fast. You did not care for others, they did not care for you. And you liked it that way. Until you met the 141.

A woman named General Laswell came to you one day with a job offer. Well, not a job offer exactly, but more of a…transfer of positions. A small, (mostly)four-man team that she oversaw.

You had gotten disciplined for beating the ever-loving shit out of a recruit the week before, and Laswell had watched it all unfold. She went back to her office, read your full file, and decided you would make a good fit for John's team.

You took a look at your bunk, at the trunk that held zero worldly possessions, realized there is nothing for you here, and said yes. 

Price had not wanted a new recruit, and told Laswell as much. She simply said he had a penchant for picking up strays and left your file on his desk. It took him a week to actually get curious enough to read it. A paper copy, the only one in existence that had your full, undisclosed background. He pretended he didn’t see her smug grin when he hit accept on your transfer application. 

You had been trained since youth to fight and to kill, yes, but your true purpose was espionage. You were trained to study those around you, to lie, to mold yourself to the expectations of those around you. You excelled at fitting into your surroundings, at assimilating perfectly with your peers. It was all you were good for, in your opinion. So you asked Laswell for files on your new teammates. And she gave them to you. They were full of gaping holes and redacted information, but there was enough there for you to profile them. 

Soap would be the most receptive to you. He most likely would also be the one to not give up in trying to get you to be open with them. Gaz would be receptive as well, but you know that your sealed background would put him on edge, Ghost, well…Ghost was a lot like you from what you could piece together. Yet another person who learned that the world was cruel and unforgiving, who had learned the lesson that love does nothing but hurt. And because he was like you, you knew he would trust you the least.

You felt a small pang in your chest when looking at this masked photo that you hadn’t felt in years. Not quite sadness, but…pity? No. It was different, it was sympathy. It weirded you out. 

It was hard at first, joining the 141. You had court-mandated therapy you had had to attend, and you had slowly come to realize that some trust was good, necessary even, for life. You knew you wouldn’t be able to open yourself up to them, that you would never be able to feel the sense of brotherhood you had seen amongst other soldiers, but you wanted to try. 

It was harder than you thought it would be. Hard joining men who already had comradery, who had a bond that had been forged with blood, sweat, and tears. men who weren't sure how to fit another person, much less a female, into their group. 

As you suspected, Soap was the most receptive. He was fun, you thought. His Scottish accent and affinity for filling the silence made him a very pleasant conversationalist. You didn’t have to do any of the talking.

Gaz was wary of you, but did a good job of not showing it. As you suspected, he stopped inviting you out after you said ‘no thanks’ for the third time. 

Ghost didn’t like you. You could see it in the slight tensing of his muscles when you walked in the room, the way his eyes pinched when you spoke. 

It was a rough, rocky start, full of distrust and misunderstandings. Everything about you set his senses on high alert. They way you could sneak up on him completely silent, the way you could hold your own when you sparred with him, even the way you moved had his hair standing on end. It wasn’t until a mission that would have ended with Soap's death if you hadn’t risked your life to shove him out of the way that Ghost began to trust you. 

And then he began to notice something else about you. And the more he noticed, the more concerned he grew. He noticed the way you threw yourself into battle, what little regard you held for your own life. He noticed how you never instigated conversation, never gave away the slightest bit of information that could be used against you. Noticed that you always wore gloves. In fact, he's never once seen your hands.

His constant observations of you had an unintended side effect. The longer he watched you, the more he realized you were a lot like him, the more he was drawn to you. And vice-versa. 

You found yourself willfully seeking Ghost out, willingly sharing information with him. Nothing about your past, no, you would never tell anyone the things you had done. But little things, how you liked the food served this week, how your mission went, that your new pants were really itchy. And he told you things too. Told you really bad jokes, told you Soaps stupid Scottish saying of the week. And slowly you branched out, agreeing to go to the bar the next time Soap asked you, telling Gaz that you liked his new sunglasses. 

It was nice, having people who looked at you like you meant something to them. Having people who didn’t know what you’d done, people who didn’t look at you with disgust and distrust. It was nice to have…friends. 

So of course everything had to go downhill from there.

End scene :3 let me know what you think!!6 and be on the look out for pt.2, I hope you're ready for a buttload of angst >:) Also requests are open <3

[just-some-random-blogger]

Hey love! if you're still accepting requests, could I get an extremely wild, rough and feral nsfw Daemon x wife fem!reader please? (feel free to ignore and sorry if the request is weird, but I'm thirsty for this handsome fictional man who unfortunately doesn't exist)

Frost Bite

Daemon Targayen x Stark!Reader

Summary: You were travelling back to home soil in anticipation of your wolf's heat cycle. Besides the fact that you could not stand the sound of your prince husband's breathing and the fact you were certain he would perish in the cold, there was one more reason why you did not want him to join you: the fact the heat was affecting you too.

Word Count: 5k+

Warnings: Basically PWP, 5k+ SMUT T_T (non-con [daemon touches her while she's asleep], virgin!reader, she cries for various reasons, fingering, choking, biting, degradation kink, corruption kink, spitting, marking, edging, oral [fem receiving], breeding kink, cream pie), RIP feminism, opens with a wet dream, brief mentions of near death experience in a snow storm, dark!daemon (but imo its just canon daemon) fem!reader, wife!Reader, soft!daemon, typos, etc.

A/N: YEAH MINORS DNI. LOL SO I was planning to write this for my part 2 of my Stark!Reader, but i got lazy and didn't want to create a whole plot leading up to the smut, so i removed it all together, which I guess worked out swell for you nonnie, since I was planning something absolutely unhinged. I hope you liked that fic of mine since you're basically getting a p3 of it So here's part 1, here's part 2, but you don't need to read any of them to understand, but i suggest you do for background cos lol this is PWP T_T Next part ig but its a blurb "✨Magic✨" OMG NEXT PART BUT ITS NOT A BLURB "Moon Cycle" Also nonnie, i wanted to tell you albeit asking for smut is pretty awkward HAHAHAH you gotta process these feelings somehow you know. i mean, we could have been criminals, like Daemon, instead but we're not, and that's what matters (unless you are a criminal in which case im closing my eyes) this gif of him is so large on pc but idc he's so hot MATT I WANT YOU SO BAD FUCK OFF if someone snitches to big brother again like in In Your Defense /: Idk if you want to be, but I'm tagging everyone I tagged in the previous fic, as well as the others that commented there SO HI THIS IS SMUT YOU CAN GO IF YOU WANT LOL HAHHAH @aralezinspace @em-the-lurker @blue1006 @mukduk-not-murder @min-jianhyung @deniixlovezelda @moonmaiden1996 @thatmysteriousblog

I caught him. I caught him doing the very thing I dreaded to catch him do. The one thing I accused him of doing every night, though in my heart of hearts I wished he did not... not that I would ever admit it to his face. Because why would I? Admitting it would mean- "You want me," Daemon heaved against the neck of the woman beneath him. He cranes his neck up as he thrust into her, smirking, eyes dark, "you want this to be you," he pants as he stares at me, "don't you?" I am in my place, frozen, watching and hearing the woman come undone underneath my husband who kisses her tenderly. "Daemon," I whimper helplessly, teary eyed, "Daemon please." "Fuck off."

I jolt awake, sweat sheening my neck and chest. I turn to my bed, empty, because though Daemon insisted we sleep together and I could not fight him in his decision, he did not return to me until nigh dawn.

I wipe my face as I recall my intensifying dreams.

It seems my travels up North would come quicker than anticipated.

And as much as I wanted to tell him I told you so, oh to all the gods, how badly he deserved it, there was no time for me to gloat when Daemon did the very thing I warned him not to, fall into the icy river.

It was instantaneous. The cracking of the ice, the splashing of water, the scream that escaped me. Maybe I should have left him in the cave we kept Caraxes, who he insisted on bringing. But then again he would have insisted on joining me to the cabin, the way he insisted on joining me here up North in the first place.

And now I had to deal with the consequences of his actions.

It was sheer miracle that I got him out of the river without falling into it myself, sheer stupidity of me to rid him of his coat and offer him mine when the blistering snow storm was not relenting, and quite clearly the sheer will of the gods that both of us made it to the cabin... barely.

The moment we walked in, I shut the door and scrambled towards the fireplace. As my fingers shivered, I thought of Havoc, and how at least I know she would find mine and Daemon's corpses if ever we do not make it. I had sent her away when the storm came out of nowhere because we had to find cover for Caraxes, and she would not have been any of help to us if she were here with us anyway.

My poor pup. She would be heartbroken if she saw me frozen. And Caraxes...

I curse the flint, I curse the cold, I curse the gods, and I curse Daemon for every time I failed to light a fire. I thanked the Stranger for finally allowing me the mercy of my eventual success.

Once the fire was burning steady, I get on my feet and run to Daemon, hauling him over to the fire roughly in haste where he helpelessly kneels in front of. He could do nothing but shiver as I scramble to get some dry clothes and sheets for the both of us.

I yank him closer to the fire and begin to undress him.

Seeing as he is nothing but docile to my actions and how his skin was turning grey, I began to grow frantic, "you cannot fucking die, you prick!"

I rip his top off and quickly clothe him, "I did not go through all the trouble of marrying you for nothing. I refuse to be forced into another marriage because your stupid ass froze to death."

Daemon's shudder comes out in a thick condensation.

"Fuck," I whimper, as I struggle to get him out of his boots and breeches.

I shrivel up at the feel of his frozen fingers then brush against my arm and I shake my head rapidly, realizing there was no choice. The only way I can warm him quickly enough is if I share my own.

I strip him naked, pulling off the shirt I struggled to put on him as well, then wrap him in a fur blanket in the meantime. I then take off my own clothes and hiss at the nipping cold.

The fact Daemon does not even look at my naked form strikes a chord in me.

I straighten him up and fix the blankets on his legs and thighs before I sit on his lap. I press my bare chest against his and whimper at his dangerously concerning coldness.

He shivers against me as his face rests helplessly on my shoulder. His breath that hits my skin is not even hot.

"Remember, you're too fucking stubborn to die," I say as I wrap my legs around his torso and graciously place his fingers beneath my bottom.

His lack of warmth literally brings tears to my eyes.

I reach out for the other blanket and wrap it over myself, consequently Daemon, before I wrap my arms around him and breathe hotly against his face.

I rub his back, "will you allow irony to take you? The hot blooded prince defeated by the cold?"

He releases a shiver and moves his head. He mutters something, but his quaking body does not allow me to make sense of it.

"Do not waste your energy," I chide.

And so for a long moment, we stay like this, wrapped in each other's arms, sharing each other's heat. I do my best to warm him. I even nuzzle against him, the way Havoc did me, just so I could warm his stupid face.

Daemon finally finds it in him to lean against my touch, and when he does, he mutters under his breath, "irony-" shudder, "-would be if the- N-Northern princ-ces-s-ss died in the cold."

My face contorts and yet I cannot help but chuckle at him, glad he can sputter his nonsense again, "then I should make Caraxes burn you for your stupidity."

I shiver when I feel his icy lips kiss my neck. Goosebumps form on my skin when I feel the hot breath that follows. My hands rake up to his nape, where I then dig my fingers as I pull away.

"N-n-nno!" he stutters, hands coming around my hips to brace me tightly, "I ss-swear I'm not warm yet-t-t."

I pull back again though to face him when I said, "I only wanted to tell you," I lean my forehead against his face, "I fucking told you so, you stupid idiot."

I rest my face on his shoulder and close my eyes, knowing I would not be off him any time soon.

I dream about him. I dream about kissing his shivers away. I dream about pulling the fur blanket that separated our legs away, and riding him until he was warm.

I dream about how good he feels, and how he burns inside me. I dream about calling his name, unlike how I did in my other dreams. I was no longer calling out in betrayal, I was calling out in pleasure.

Daemon.

Daemon.

"Daemon," I trail off in a groan, willing my heavy eyelids open. I feel pressure building up inside me before I understand what's happening.

I not know how, but I am laid on a bed, head on a pillow, form still naked. Daemon is sat up beside me, peering down at me and his hands.

I whine.

His fingers-

"Oh fucking hell," he groans as his other hand begins to knead at my breasts, "you feels so good wrapped around my fingers, I-"

I cut him off with my squeak, hands flying to his arm, thighs closing shut, squeezing this hand in between my thighs.

"Daemon," the dazed quality of my voice is gone.

He tilts his head, face twisting, a challenge.

When I struggle and wrangle against him, all it takes is his hand on my throat to make me go still. I barely manage a choke and my breath continues to leave me as his fingers quicken their pace inside me.

He only releases me after I shake and shudder when I come.

It is overwhelming and nothing at all like I have dreamed or imagined, unlike all the times I've touched myself in secret. It was intense but there was a shame tied to it.

My entire body is hot and tears prick my eyes at his relentless ministrations.

"You were too fucking ready for that," Daemon mutters dryly as he quickly pulls away and shifts in his spot, "how long have you imagined fucking me, hmm?"

Before I even have the brain to do something, he crawls down the bed, "was it when you caught me touching myself to you?" He sinks down, grabbing my legs, "or have you done it before and withheld me of your sweet cunt for no fucking reason?"

All at once, he brings his face between my legs and begins to lick all the slickness off my pulsing core.

"DAEMON!" I scream, pressing my thighs close as I push myself up on my elbows, trying to break free of him.

He ignores me and forces my legs open even as I kick them in protest, "you will not deny me something you so clearly want yourself."

He grunts and pushes my legs down before grabbing my hands that were shoving him away, "you fucking bitch," he grips me tightly, "you will not find it in yourself to fight me off once I make a whore out of you."

I growl at his words, feeling my stomach drop along with my tears because of it.

I was realizing just how strong he really was, and how in moments where our arguments got a bit physical, he has probably holding back. The revelation of this does not cease my attempts at freeing myself, but it is as pointless as I feared.

Daemon rises up from his spot, nearing me, up until he is breathing against my cheek and rubbing his hardened length against my wetness.

I turn away from him, unable to really do anything else and shudder as he speaks, "you said it yourself, you did not go through all this trouble marrying me for nothing."

I screw my eyes shut, feeling tears fall, "Daemon."

He shushes me, pulling my arms up above my head, "you should not worry. I refuse to die now that I know of your lust."

I whimper as he rolls his hips against me, "still, the idea of someone claiming you- fuck-" he groans gutturally, "had I died..." he trails of in another groan, "someone else would have gotten my prize and it would have been all be your fault."

Daemon squeezes my wrist in one hand then grabs my jaw, forcing me to turn to him. I keep my eyes shut though as he heaves hotly, "I should utterly ruin every part of you so you can never have anyone but me. Though make no mistake, I would never let that happen as I so fucking breathe."

"Hypocrite," I scoff.

He laughs and I tense at the feeling of his vibrations, "she speaks."

I dare to look at him as I pant, "you do not desire me. You're just a spoiled brat who merely wants to wet his cock, just like how you do every night."

"Oh," he groans, "is this jealousy I hear?" He squeezes my cheeks, "is my pretty whore jealous that she is not the only one?"

"Fuck you!" I manage out though muffled.

Daemon laughs at the feel of tears rushing down his fingers, "do not cry, foolish wife. I'll have you know I have not wet my cock ever since I called out your name when I fucked someone else before our wedding day."

He releases my face. I attempt to even out my breath.

"I hadn't even realized until she asked me who-"

"And you think you deserve an award for that?!" I quip through my heavy breathing.

He lets out a laugh that makes me whimper, "I think you ought to know that mine own want for you has made everyone else undesirable," he licks my cheek, making me pull my head away from him, "I have been so pent up in want and for what? Because you're too bull headed to allow me anything other than my lonely hand?"

I try to wrangle out of his grip again, and he presses his whole body on me in response, "it's quite adorable that you still have it in you act like you didn't just call my name out loud while you dreamt of fucking me."

He rubs his nose against my jaw, "you wanna know how I know?"

"Fuck off-"

"You were rutting against me like a hussy," he sighs, "by the gods, had I known you were so wanton at night, I would have never granted you the insult of sleeping alone."

I could feel myself burn hotter with each word that leaves his lips despite myself. I did not want him to catch me like this, but there was no use; I was already caught.

As Daemon rocks his hips on mine, he hisses, undoubtedly feeling how much wetter I had gotten was beneath him.

"Fuck," he trails off, "here's what going to happen," he whispers, rutting against me rougher.

I cannot for the life of me withhold my whimper.

He chuckles as he presses his face against mine, "I'm going to make you come with my tongue and then I'm going to fuck you until you cry."

"Daemon, please stop-"

"Your heartbeat against my cock and how fucking wet you are disagrees with your protest, little liar," he croons. He lifts his head, then leans his forehead against mine, "don't worry, my little virgin, you will not cry because it hurts, you will cry because you'll want it so bad that it hurts."

"Daemon-"

"You will not refuse me," he whispers, though it is anything but sweet, "not when there is not a sliver of doubt in my mind that you want this too."

He brings his hands to my neck again and I wait for his grip to tighten, but it does not, "now say it."

I look up at him as my breathing quickens.

"Yield," he commands, breathing heavily all of a sudden.

I look up at him feeling my belly swirl in ways I could not ever explain.

"Admit to both our ears that you burn for me just as I have been fucking burning for you."

I yelp when he puts pressure on my throat then releases it.

"Say it," he barks.

"I-"

"Say you want me," he says softer this time.

I am disarmed by his quick change in tone and a shiver leaves me as the cold finds its way to my belly as he pulls away. Daemon releases my hands then begins to crawl down. His eyes are fixed on my as he mutters once more, "say it."

I shudder as he presses my thighs against his cheeks then whispers, almost begging, "say it."

I turn away from him and close my eyes, awaiting his next actions, for it was not like I could stop him if I refuse.

"Say it," he urges louder, "you know you want to."

I clench my jaw, "just do what you want and be done with it."

He growls, and goosebumps form on my skin when I feel him bite at the inner most part of my thigh. I grip at the sheets at the feel of teeth and tongue. I bite my lips tightly to keep myself from making any noise.

"I should, shouldn't I?" Daemon mutters.

I yelp and look down at him when his finger strokes my core.

His eyes are dark as he airily chuckles at my reaction, "after all I have given you my name, my Targaryen queen. You are no longer your own, you are forever mine."

I watch him as he lifts his head up and kisses my sopping heat. I flinch when he nips at me, drawing my nub out with his teeth. He lifts his head as he releases my flesh. His chin is glistening with my slick as he says, "I want you."

My breath leaves me when he says this.

"And I know you want me too, but I have to-- I need you to say it." He repositions himself in my thighs, "you are after all married to maniac," he breathes against me, "now, say it."

He shakes my thighs, "SAY IT!"

"I want you," I snap, "Daemon, I-" a loud cry rips out of me before I can even continue.

The sound of him lapping his tongue on me, eating me out as if I was his final meal, was somehow louder than my cries. I cannot help but so violently react to him as he devours me. He forces me still in his grip and fights off the movement of my thighs with his face.

It seems as though my admittance has reduced me into nothing but needy sounds.

Without another thought, my hands reach down at him and dig into his silver hair. I arch my back and pull at him when his tongue flicks into me.

"Fucking slut," he mutters, squeezing my thighs as he pulls me apart.

I scream out his name as he digs his face deeper into me. I lift my head up when he pulls away to laugh, "look at you, rutting against me like the needy whore you are."

I don't have time to find offence in his words because I still, not even realizing I was in fact moving my hips against him. He laughs as he continues his work, leaving me no time to feel embarrassment and only hot pleasure.

He is fucking good at what he does. He's so fucking good that my mind wanders where it should not. How much practice has he gotten to be this good? It is precisely because of this that I finally break, "all for you, Daemon," I grab his cheeks, "all for you-- all mine."

I do not see how his eyes dart up to me for I then throw my head back and whine. I feel myself come close to my undoing, "fuck, Daemon, don't stop."

I shriek when I bites me.

Just as I am inching so close, all at once, he pulls away from me.

I pant and stiffen as I hear and feel him spit on me. Much like all other moments, I do not have time to react. When I turn to him, he grabs my legs and shoves me to my side.

I begin to panic when he rises to his knees.

"I'll be fucking damned if I don't make you come on my cock right now," he grunts, making my eyes drop down to the very thing, erect, hard, and angry.

"Get on your knees, bitch," he blurts, though he doesn't give me much of a chance to as he drags me up into the position he wants me by my hips.

I haven't even propped myself up on my arms yet when he unceremoniously begins to pound into me.

I am certain if anyone could hear us in the middle of this storm, they would think I was mad, or worse, being tortured.

"I'm going to breed that prurient wolf in you, just as I'm sure your wolf, Havoc, is being bred right now."

I growl at the idea and feel my belly tighten at his words.

Daemon groans before he chuckles, "that's it, isn't it?"

His relentless thrusts begin to grow sloppy. Suddenly, he yanks me by my hair and lifts me up. His other hand slaps to my throat to offer painful support as he pulls me up against him.

I choke on my spit when my form presses against him with difficulty. He sinks down on his knees, my core wrapped around his length as he shifts me in a snug position atop him.

His hands make their way to my breasts to roughly grope them. His teeth sink down on my shoulder.

I release a wild sound as my own hands come on top of his. I am left moaning at how his mouth sinks into my skin.

Daemon makes sure to suck hard before pulling away. For a moment he catches his breath before speaking, "you did not want me here because you are affected by your wolf's heat, aren't you."

The way I begin to slowly bounce on top of him is enough of an answer to him.

He laughs as his hands depart from my tender breasts, one going down to my sensitive nub, the other sealing my throat again, "you are a fucking selfish bitch for keeping your cunt from me."

My breathing becomes arduous when he tightens his grip around me.

"You would have preferred to touch yourself to the thought of me?" he questions as he rubs on my sensitive nub.

"Daemon," I gasp, pushing my head back as his lips latch on my neck again.

He ceases the moment of his fingers as he finishes grazing on my skin. "Yes, my pretty whore?" he mutters in between his kisses, "what do you want, hmm?"

My breathing strains when his hand tightens around my throat more. I catch my breath when he releases his grip to push my hair off to the side, "tell me what you want me to do to you."

I call out his name. He calls out mine.

I find myself grabbing his hands as I moan out, "I want you to fuck me."

Without another word, I am thrown down to the bed. The only reason I'm still on him is because of his hands that latch on my hips.

I am nothing against his strength. He handles me like a ragdoll, fucking me with absolutely no regard and nothing else in mind.

I make sounds that mean nothing. His name is polluted by my whimpers and cries that you cannot make head or tail of.

I would not last any longer with how he was handling me, even if I wanted to, even if I tried.

"That's it my easy bitch," he pants, "come around me like the needy whore you are."

"Daemon-"

"Your eager cunt will take my seed well when I fill you up," his one hand leaves my hip and rips my head back by my hair again, "don't you think, pretty wife?"

"Yes," I reply without thinking, "yes, yes, yes, yes-"

"And you will give me your pups," he mutters, "bare my dragons, like a dutiful wife will you not?"

My only response is my body breaking orgasm. I shiver beneath him, falling powerless as I scream his name and crumble, absolutely boneless.

Daemon lets out a string of curses as he milks out my reaction for all he's got.

He does not waver once bit and it maddeningly delicious.

My voice hikes up when I feel him release inside me not too late after.

"Fucking come slut," he barks as he snaps his hips in me, "take it all just like that."

I bury my screams in the cushions he presses on, unrelenting. When he finally does grow sloppy, I take a moment to catch my breath and relish the feel of him.

I whimper when he pulls away and slaps my ass.

"The absolute mess you've made of yourself," he coos, as he rubs the skin he slapped.

I can feel myself leaking, I can feel it all over my legs, on the sheets, and I could practically feel his pleased smile as he watches the lewd display. I could not bring myself to care at all though, not when my legs begin to fall.

I squeak when Daemon rearranges me on the bed. He is not at all as rough as he was with me a while ago, but his strength and my lack thereof does not really allow him to be gentle.

He falls onto the side of the bed next to me and gathers me into his chest. When I roll over to him, I groan at the feeling of my wet thighs pressing together.

"Do not make issue of that," Daemon says as he watches me squirm. He pulls me close to him, arm over my shoulders. His other hand hooks behind my knee, dragging me atop him. I whimper and push my hand on his chest when I feel core empty out on his thigh.

He does not allow me to pull away and I turn to him because of this. Daemon forces me close against him, "are you so haughty over my come that you cannot bare the thought of it-"

"But it's getting everywhere," I start off loudly but end with a whisper.

Daemon's nostrils flare as he shakes his head, "I should sure hope so."

I feel my cheeks burn and so I decide to hide my face in his chest.

His laughter intensifies, and I do not enjoy how my head bounces on his ribcage because of it.

"Oh meekness suits you well, my dear."

I weakly mumble, "fuck off."

His amusement continues as he rubs my arms, "you mean, 'I want you to fuck me, Daemon.' "

"I did not say it like that!" I quip, lifting my head as I turn to him, finally making him cease his stupid laughter. The sight of his stupid smug face still glimmering in slick renders me frozen.

Suddenly I am aware of how cold the room still was.

"Pray tell, how did you say it?" he hums, pushing hair behind my ear.

I furrow my brows and press my cheek on his chest again, admitting lowly, "I didn't say your name at the end."

"My," he draws shapeless figures on my skin, "I'm glad to know the moment is burned in your very being."

"Fuck off," I mutter under my breath, scratching my eye. It dawns onto me that my face was equally as wet as Daemon's. Heat rises up my face again when I realize I really did cry because of how good he felt.

"Don't fret," he sighs, "there is a reason why you should not worry yourself about how your pretty cunt is leaking blood and come. I shall fuc-"

I turn to him in concern and push myself up.

Daemon furrows his brows and shakes his head, "it is normal," he soothes, grabbing my cheek, "or did you just forget your maidenhood was still intact after imagining fucking me?"

I am suddenly aware how real everything was. My husband has finally gotten me to consummate our marriage and all his talk of me bearing his seed could may well come true. My chest begins to constrict as my mind floods with endless scenarios.

"Well, if you start frowning like that, I might actually feel bad," Daemon mutters, lifting himself up on his elbows, "what's wrong?"

I look at his concerned expression and find myself speaking before I realize, "did you mean it?"

"Mean what?" he clarifies quickly.

"That you want me," I quip just as fast.

He stares at me for a moment, as if he was taken aback or measuring the truthfulness in my voice. When a prolonged moment passes between us, he realizes I was serious.

"Fuck," he drops his head back, "it must be exhausting to be a woman with your overthinking."

"Well, pardon me for not-"

"You are pardoned," he blurts, making me whimper when he suddenly flips us over.

I am beneath him again. He does nothing but press his weight on me, but I struggle beneath him, not enjoying the idea of remaining in an uncomfortable position.

He misreads my intentions and hinders me from moving, as he wraps his arms around me, "I just told I want you, that I burn for you, that I want you to mother my children. Do you honestly think I am one to say that to anyone?"

I gulp as he shifts to nestle his face in the crook of my neck, "I..." he breathes against my skin. He does not continue as he opts to kiss my neck instead.

When I move to wrap my own arms around him, he speaks again, "I am at your mercy. You saved me from freezing to death when you could have easily decided to rid of me."

I press my cheek against him and begin to comb through the long hair on his back, "I was serious about my distaste to remarry."

"Well, you will not," he quickly retorts, "you will have me until the end."

I bring my legs around him as I release a sigh, "consider me overjoyed by the thought."

He chuckles as he shifts, "you do not sound-"

"I did not want to admit it," I cut him off, "but I think I..." I turn to him as he lifts his head, "I think I... care for you, Daemon... I-"

"Love you," he finishes, staring at me with an unreadable expression.

And for the first time since our nuptials, he kisses me. He kisses me not because he has to, not for the sake of showing everyone present, but because he wanted to, for the sake of showing me.

He is nothing but warmth, nothing but fire, nothing but him. Daemon is not sweet, but in this moment he put even honey to shame.

He begins to stir on top me, though he makes sure his lips do not leave mine. It is because of my moan that we are broken apart, the moan that leaves me when I feel him slip inside me.

"Daemon-"

"You know how I fuck," he sighs, rubbing his nose against mine, "but now we'll both know how I make love."

[yayll]

Hiii i hope you're feeling better soon :(( I was wondering if I could request a Dazai x reader fic where the reader has PTSD? Specifically, the beginning of autumn kind of triggers her (sorry if it's a confusing i dunno how to word it lol) Could it be fluff/comfort? Btw I love your writing style so badly so pls tweak the idea if you think it would work better! And no worries if you'd rather pass :33

hii angel i genuinely am sorry that this took me a while! (work and life happened a little more than usual, GOT SICK and barely had time to sit down and write.) it was so ivover but i am fine now thank u so much bub!

i REALLY hope you like this and that it's what u wanted, i've never written someone w PTSD before and i was just rlly hoping i didn't mess this characterization up for ur request ahhh. i had such a nice time writing it and i rlly wanted to explore the impact it could have around reader and dazai and him going out of his way even if it could be a little goofy and sappy to make u feel at least a little better even if u can't talk abt it.

i love uuuu thank u again! <3

~ a little something about Dazai noticing harmful patterns and loving you through them ~

He's been watching you sit by the window for the past half hour as you stare at what seems like the beginning of the new season outside. You were quieter than usual, more withdrawn and jumpy, which could only mean that you weren't sharing something with him- or rather having trouble processing something to the point where you didn't realize he could tell something inside you was on high alert.

Dazai would rather die than see you in such a state, especially during what's supposed to be such an exciting time of the year that's full of the things you usually love to do. Whatever is impeding you from enjoying the leaves falling has to be dealt with the most delicate of methods, but especially with love. If you taught him anything about the past haunting you to the point of mental distress, something he suffered bouts of every now and then when memories made days grow dark, it's that all you need is one person to truly witness you. Just like how you've seen the ugliest parts of him time and time again yet you still look at him with all the stars in the sky, stars he consumes like a black hole waiting to be filled.

Luckily for you, he has an arsenal of things he can try to soothe you with, because he wouldn't be a good detective AND boyfriend if he didn't keep all those context clues in his pocket for a bad day. Mainly though, he was just completely attuned to your every need. You are his happiness, and your wellness isn't up for debate: It's mandatory. He stands up from the loveseat with a deep exhale as he walks over to you, his lips curled in a lazy smile as he tests the waters to see what you could need from him without asking.

"You know, if you stay any more still I could probably paint you like one of those fancy paintings. What do you say, be my model?"

You look over at him from the window, and he can visibly tell you haven't been at ease lately. He suddenly realizes he's just fallen even more in love with you. That there is nothing in this world that could ever let him see you as anything but his heart.

You murmur, a faint smile decorating your serene face.

"Mm, I'm not sure. I don't think I could pose for that long, you know? It would probably be hard to catch my likeness, heh."

He clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes with a playful smirk. Oh how he wants to lean in and worship your likeness with his loving touch, but he decides to take it easy on the physical affection for now, not until he knows you're feeling up for it. He can be a good boy, something he usually isn't.

"Well, I wouldn't mind being the brave young knight who tries~ Shall we take this outside for better lighting?"

You instantly don't give him a good reaction to that. You shrug, seeming conflicted and unsure of yourself, but unable to really bring yourself to explain with words, something uncharacteristic of you.

No problem! Dazai thinks to himself. If you don't want to go outside, he can bring outside to you in the comfort of home. He'll enhance your safe space, and tailor it to just what you need. He hums, tapping his temple in an exaggerated manner as if he were thinking really hard and when he sees that it gets a small giggle out of you, he knows he's on the right track.

"Hm, I know what we should do instead. Wait here, angel.~"

He disappears into the hallway and you sit there as the sound of cabinets opening and rummaging around fills the air. You smile to yourself, and shake your head at the mental image of Dazai becoming a tornado to find whatever he's looking for right now, hoping he doesn't make too much of a mess. You fidget with your hair, twirling it in between your fingers as you take a deep grounding breath while you wait.

A moment later, he comes back with what seems like art supplies and a ton of mini candlesticks.

He knows you're intrigued when you tilt your head in confusion, but then again that's probably just the confusion... Dazai sets down two canvases along with the candles, flashing you a mischievous grin. If you couldn't process your feelings through words, art was always there! You look over the activities he's laid out for you both, awaiting his silver tongued explanation.

"You know when I want to be the little spoon but I don't say anything?"

You laugh softly, and nod.

"Mhm, you get all moody and weird."

He nods back, a half smile on his face as he rests his hands on his hips. He wants to tell you that the only reason he even knew such intimate luxuries is because you showed him that he's worthy of it, of being loved, but he doesn't say anything. He lets the sweet memories between you swim through his mind as fuel for the day he's trying to create for you. His voice sounds more like he's talking out loud now, lost in a thought..

"You make me moody and weird. You also make me want to grab your soft little face and just..."

He then snaps back to the moment, and his tone picks up.

"... But alas, there is no time to waste! Come, sit, I'll get the other things ready.~"

He zooms off to the kitchen, and your heart softens at how much he fusses over you, though you also hope you aren't being too much. You know he'd hate to hear that, so you simply sit down and look over the supplies you had honestly forgotten you had.

Dazai makes tea, because he knows it helps with your fidgeting and you like how the mug feels in your hands, he also begins to set the candle sticks all over the living room, lighting them one by one. You flash him a look of faint concern.

"Feels like Dracula's castle. You sure this is safe, Osamu?"

He simply grins impishly.

"It's called 'mood lighting', cutie. There is an atmosphere to be created!"

"Yeah, and possibly a wildfire."

"Boo, you're no fun. Besides, that sounds like a problem for future us. We live in the moment."

Dazai would never risk your safety and you know that, which is why you don't push the topic any further.

You two settle in, the candles illuminating you both with a warm flame that feels more comforting than you'd like to admit, you feel yourself becoming more immersed in the random little doodles and brush strokes you create as you both talk for hours about literally nothing while sipping on your tea. Nothing feels nice, for once and Dazai can see it in the way you slowly become less and less tense. So mindful, so beautiful.

After you fill your canvas, you set it down, and peer over at Dazai's.

"What'd you paint?"

He smiles sheepishly, and hides his.

"Not finished yet. No peeking!"

He stands up and in one swift motion, runs outside, while leaving you bewildered at the spontaneity of the situation. A few moments later, he runs back inside, huffing with his arms behind his back. He sits back down on the floor with you, criss crossed. He grabs his canvas, and puts something on it as he slowly unveils his work to you.

It's a single crisp leaf he must have plucked from the grass when it fell, the orange and reddish hue placed on the canvas that shows a cartoonishly painted tree as well. He murmurs, eyes trained lovingly on you but with that familiar playful tone.

"I wanted you to get a little air. It's good for one's mood, you know."

You slowly take the leaf, and twiddle it in your thumb as you begin to smile to yourself. You mutter back.

"The weather changes, moods change, it's so overwhelming sometimes..."

He slowly leans in a little closer and places a hand on the small of your back, inching you closer to him too. He wants to distract you from those thoughts affecting you, but it's getting harder when all he can think about is how much you affect him. He whispers.

"My mood never changes, you're the most precious thing I have ever seen all year round."

You look up at him, your eyes communicating what you feel, and he picks up on it with a silent confirmation. You hold each other's gaze for a long quiet moment and when you feel ready you lean into his chest, nuzzling into him. He envelops you in a hug that feels like the remedy you've been searching for this whole time, and it almost brings you to tears. You don't know it also does the same to him. He gives you a soft squeeze and leans down to your ear, his warm breath feeling like the way life is supposed to feel. You mumble, your voice slightly muffled against him.

"Thank you, Osamu. Love you."

He smiles at that. To be something so soothing to you, to be of use for once in his life, it's a feeling that he could never describe. He'll have to find the words when he covers you in kisses from head to toe later, when he makes sure you feel the full extent of his devotion to you through thick and thin. He exhales deeply.

"Change of season, change of mind... It doesn't matter to me. It's still you. It will always be you."

[sockatoothewafflebird]

MAMA'S GIRL, a petra-centered jesstra fic about sapphic cube people confronting demons. if you're looking for a mcsm jesstra fanfiction about petra learning how to put down her sword when feelings are involved then keep an eye on my ao3 account! it's mot posted yet but the first chapter should be out soon, like, maybe a week?

i do not like doing self promos but i have to. for there is such a small fandom on tumblr, and i must feed the starving dogs. love you guys btw anyway

-Summary-

It's been a year since Jesse, Petra, and the others saved the world for (hopefully) the last time; and four months since the two officially set off into the wilderness as a couple. At first they went wherever their instinct took them. Jesse, however, being one to favor a plan over spontaneity, maps out a route for them for the next few months. Petra doesn't really care where they go, as long as they're together.

Jesse, by some stroke of fate, ends up choosing the one area Petra has spent the entirety of the last ten years trying to avoid. The warrior doesn't protest because, let's face it, she's kind of a simp. And maybe it can be an opportunity for her to get some peace of mind regarding her old life!

So, Petra is forced to face her past. The past she's spent years running away from, the people she wanted so badly to leave behind for good, and the memories she's tried so hard to suppress.

OR;

petra, the most emotionally constipated butch in the world manages to nab a girlfriend, and while they're on a romantic getaway they have to (literally) confront the reason she's so emotionally constipated. and OH BOY, she gets WAY more than just peace of mind.

---

yaaay! yay for cube lesbians!! i also made a playlist for this fic on both spotify and youtube, here's a link to both:

spotify playlist teehee

youtube playlist raagh

whenever i write, i am heavily inspired and motivated by music i listen to! so i tend to incorporate elements of songs into the plot of my stories. it helps me better organize my thoughts, gives me ideas, and just overall is a huge part of my process.

all this to say, all of the songs in these playlists are somewhat related to the plot of the fic! some are more important than others, but if you wanna try and figure out what exactly happens in this fic, or what theme i'm going for, then just listen to the playlist and you'll be alll set :)))

and tell me your thoughts about the playlist if you do decide to listen! my music taste is honestly so bad but i'd love to hear how people think the songs could fit into a possible petra backstory

[bad-as-me]

Morgott for the ask meme!

hell yes my boy!!

favorite thing about them

Honestly, Morgott covers the bases for a lot of things I'm weak for in a character. I love a guy who is so single-mindedly devoted to a cause, especially one driven by a need to be loved, that the rest of the world and their own well-being falls apart in the process. Something about the inherent tragedy of someone choosing to die on a hill that nobody asked them to take on, that would really be in their better interest to let go of and start anew elsewhere, and yet you want so badly for their efforts to be rewarded in some way because you know it's all for love.

It's just so terribly romantic in a gothic sense. He reminds me so much of the description of the creature in Frankenstein: someone that tried so hard to fit himself into the image of what his maker wanted, who speaks beautifully and eloquently in contrast to his rough exterior, who boasts an intelligence and a competency that was likely learned while hidden from society. And yet we know in both situations that effort will never be reciprocated.

Also, he growls and purrs and has a giant fluffy snow leopard tail. How can I not be obsessed with him.

least favorite thing about them

His big beautiful horns are so hard to draw :'(

Honestly, he's one of those characters where even his flaws are incredibly interesting to me. I like that he refuses to give up his position of power! It's something he worked so hard for, and to his mind must be the only way he can stay safe in a world that he knows wants him dead. I like that he can't let go of the status quo! As his Great Rune tells us, Omen or not he is the rightful Lord of Leyndell. By all standards of the world they're in, he has every right to be proud of that title. And given the alternatives he's likely had presented to him (Rykard, Mohg, the Frenzied Flame), why wouldn't he believe that this stagnant existence is the best he could ask for?

He's the immovable object to our unstoppable force. There's a nobility in his commitment to that, however misguided it may be.

favorite line

"We are all forsaken. None may claim the title of Elden Lord. Thy deeds shall be met with failure, just as I..."

I love his monologue in the beginning of his fight, but the fact that this is the last thing he says just tears me apart on so many levels. It really hammers home how much of his targeted spite towards us is him projecting his own sense of failure to his lineage. He crawled all this way through the mud, gave every drop of his accursed blood for the Erdtree, and it still wasn't enough. How could we possibly have a chance when all his efforts were for naught?

No matter how many times I replay it, I always take some time just to sit next to him after he says that, listening to the rain over the capitol and the somber song of Leyndell. The city really feels like it's in mourning at that moment, all for someone they hated too much to truly understand.

brOTP

Mohg and Morgott!!! The gruesome twosome!! The dynamic duo! Every piece of art or fic that depicts them having some brotherly squabbles and shenanigans brings a little bit of life back into my eyes :')

OTP

As far as canon characters go, it's gotta be Morgott/Oleg. We love a good knight/master ship around these parts, and I think he deserved someone as devoted to protecting him as he was devoted to his cause.

Outside of that, well. I am writing an ongoing fic of Morgott and my Night's Cavalry Tarnished (who was never a Tarnished but a secret third option, but you know.) I think about them a normal amount.

nOTP

Mohg/Morgott. I just want them to have one single family relationship in their life that is remotely healthy man 😭

random headcanon

He's good with animals, and prefers the company of them to people. Most of his communication to the Night's Cavalry is through carrier falcon, but if he needs to summon them all for a meeting, he can do so with an instrument that's very similar to an Aztec death whistle.

Also, he recanted his blood through the Church of Vows. Him and Miriel have a good rapport with one another.

unpopular opinion

Respectfully, I disagree with both the "Morgott is basically the Lands Between's evangelical gay republican" take, as well as the "Morgott is a soggy baby virgin who will cry if you give him a cookie" take.

I think he is a living contradiction in a lot of ways. He is simultaneously an accursed Omen, the lowest of the low, while also having tangible evidence that he is the child of a god and of a powerful bloodline. He has held Leyndell together for more than long enough both to be aware of its corruption, and to be in a position to change it, but he can't allow himself to believe any of it needs to be changed.

He is too stuck on the idea that he needs to uphold the way things are - to prove himself "better" than his curse - to change anything. This is directly contrasting his brother Mohg, who has made an entire cult around acknowledging the unjust suffering he went through.

Like the sealing of his blood into a sword, he represses that truth, until he is so broken down that it is released all at once - painfully and without control.

Because of this, I think he would recoil at the idea of being an object of pity. He has done too much to earn a respectable position for anyone to tell him that he deserves better - even if it's true, and he should be told that.

song i associate with them

Oh god I have a whole playlist of them. But if I were to narrow it down:

Sonne by Rammstein

Momma Sed by Puscifer

Romans 10:9 by The Mountain Goats

Helvegen by Wardruna

favorite picture of them

I am not exaggerating when I say this illustration by tendermiasma re-wired my brain on a fundamental level

[fearyandear]

Taking Over (Pet! Gyutaro x Reader)

(Continuing @phantasmiafxndom 's Pet Au with Gyutaro)

OK so, Gyutaro lovers, please read the fic I am linking in case you haven't yet, because what I'm writing is just an add-on to it.

And then if you want you can also read this NSFW one as well 👉 👈

Now for my version of building off of that:

You picked him up from the streets after life made it clear how unwanted he is. Of course he thinks hes disgusting and not worth your kindness let alone even your fucking gaze. His anxiety flares up so badly around you that he hurts himself and scratches at his skin so hard it makes you squirm. When you touch him to get him to stop and when you tell him you hate seeing him bleed, he cries. He can't believe it and goes to hide in a corner and sulk.

Yet with time, patience and more and more coddling- (oh god you're ACTUALLY SPOILING him so much???) he slowly learns to let go of the habit. He is so guilty. He knows- he knows he knows he knows hes a shitty person for allowing you, for taking everything you're giving, for not leaving even though you gave him permission to whenever he felt like it.

You shouldn't be stuck with him, no one deserves to be stuck with him, but he cant help it, he really really can't, when it's YOUR fault that he's growing greedy. That he's becoming more dependent on you. YOUR FAULT.

At least, hat's what he keeps telling himself as he lets his guard down. When he hugs you after waiting for you by the door all day, when he buries his face in your chest and sighs, staying like that as you work, when you go to bed and he lays beside you, unable to sleep until you do because he's so mesmerized.

He loves you he loves you he loves you so much. He can't get enough of the feeling; it's a strong and dangerous addiction now that makes it HURT so much WORSE when after all that growth and bliss, letting himself get comfortable, you come back one day, smelling strongly like another demon.

His deep-rooted paranoia over being let go, over you realizing one day how terrible he really is, getting sick of him and dumping him back out resurfaces in the blink of an eye. He's back to crying and fretting and tearing his skin, grabbing your arms, asking you what happened and why, ready to beg you not to let him go, that he'll do ANYTHING. And even if you reassure him now, and later, and forever, he can't let your words actually get through anymore. It's not enough. It stays with him for the rest of the month.

He's extra clingy. Pushing the boundaries on what he can and can't do. Whining when you raise your voice or try to tell him he can't do something. Guilt tripping you. He doesn't care that he's risking his stay at your house by being this forceful. You promised to be HIS owner. His. HishishisHIS- and that means having to deal with some of these 'annoyances.'

Like every morning now, he won't let you go to work until rubs his scent all over you, repeating the process when you come back home. He will start a 'game' where he will hide your things and not give them back until he's had enough fun with you pleading him. But, worst of all, if you try to sit or lay and relax anywhere, like the couch, floor or bed, he will hold you hostage by keeping you pinned under him demanding that you tell him that he's yours. Telling you that no other demon will be abke to take you away. Thinking of these as (subtle threats) reminders for you not to go looking for one to. After the third time this happens, you get annoyed that he distrusts you this much.

"Yeah, you're mine. And I'm yours. Of course, I'm not getting any other demon. You're my only precious pet and I'm your one and only owner."

You said it. You're HIS.

Just like he always hoped you would. You confirmed it, you confirmed it so you're confirming all his other delusions too.

That you love each other and that means he can push you as much as he wants, right? Because you said so- because you don't mind, because you haven't gotten mad at him! You're so nice, you won't mind hin showing you the depths of his depraved fantasies, right? That he wants more than what you're offering... You won't run away, no, you've been so GOOD to him. You can stand his selfishness.... fuck.

He's planning on it.

Lord fucking help you when his heat kicks back in after that. No more of the mewling demon that was ashamed of it, you wake up to him already on top of you, rutting against you and kissing your neck, telling you he's sorry but- 'It's so painful... he couldn't wait... please, before you go to work?' But one handjob isn't enough anymore, uugh he came too fast- and he's still SO HARD. Come oon~ he wants you again, please please, before you go- let him.... just... touch you in return? Again and again, you have tondrag yourself to the door, struggling to finally get out because he's behind you, whining and thrusting behind you, against your thighs, groaning in your ear and groping at you. You're going to be late, you know you are but you're completely glued to where you are and the worst of it is how he cums on your leg and has the nerve to slump on your back and whine and tell you how much he loves you and how much hes going to miss you while youre gone. His hands start moving more down, to a part of you that hadn't received attention yet and you finally unfreeze and open the door to get out in a rush.

You finally get on your car, horny, with splotches on your work clothes now and the lingering feeling of his hands on you. You're stuck thinking about what he's probably doing while you're at your work, burning as you realize the mess that you'll deal with when you get back home. This heat is going to be tougher. Just how far are you willing to put out this time? Will it even matter?

He's always going to want more.

[the-obnoxious-sibling]

birthday countdown 2024, day 4: coma fic snippet

the birthday countdown is switching fandoms today! (yes, shocking, but i do sometimes write about characters who aren’t anime clown pirates. 🤡) 911 friends, today i have for you a buck pov snippet that is probably not going to end up in the final draft of this fic because the story’s gonna work better with a limited pov, which i am calling the coma fic for misleading reasons the time being:

“So, uh.  You guys have all known Tommy a long time, right?” “Oh, sure.”  Chimney takes a large bite out of his sandwich and says, “He was at the 118 before I was, if only by a year or so.” “S-so, then.  You’d know if…” Buck’s throat tries to close up on him.  He takes a deep breath, presses his hands flat against the table to stop them trembling—why is this so hard?—and says, “If he was… uh. Into guys?” Chewing around the table slows, then stops.  Eddie’s staring a hole in the side of Buck’s head.  Hen and Chim share a look. Buck swallows thickly, his ears hot.  Why are his ears hot?  It’s a perfectly normal question!

(800 words below the cut)

“So, uh.  You guys have all known Tommy a long time, right?”

“Oh, sure.”  Chimney takes a large bite out of his sandwich and says, “He was at the 118 before I was, if only by a year or so.”

“S-so, then.  You’d know if…” Buck’s throat tries to close up on him.  He takes a deep breath, presses his hands flat against the table to stop them trembling—why is this so hard?—and says, “If he was… uh. Into guys?”

Chewing around the table slows, then stops.  Eddie’s staring a hole in the side of Buck’s head.  Hen and Chim share a look.

Buck swallows thickly, his ears hot.  Why are his ears hot?  It’s a perfectly normal question!

Bobby sets his sandwich down.  “That’s an interesting question, Buck,” he says thoughtfully, setting his elbows on the table and lacing his fingers together.  “Though as it happens, it’s one I don’t think I have an answer for.  You know, you can know a person a long time—not that I knew Tommy very long—without knowing too much about them.  You remember how… withholding I was, when you first joined us?” Buck nods; he remembers all too well.  “I saw Tommy as something of a kindred figure in that way, keeping a large portion of himself to himself.”  He turns to look at Chim and Hen.  “Did you have that impression, Hen?  Chimney?”

Hen is busy on her phone.

Chimney nods.  “When I first joined, yeah.  Turned out they’d lost a couple guys that year, people Tommy had been close with.  Guess he didn’t want to get to like another new guy just to lose him.  Once I proved that I knew what I was doing—and saved his life in the process—he opened up to me a bit.  With all the captains we ran through before you came along, he might’ve reverted to old ways.”

Bobby makes an understanding sound, nodding.

“As far as people Tommy’s into goes, I never met anyone Tommy was dating while he was at the 118.  He told us more than once that he preferred staying single. I don’t know if he still feels that way,” Chimney says with a shrug, returning to his sandwich.  “Tommy’s a pretty private guy.  Friendly, but private.”

Buck sighs.  This is not helpful.

“So, uh… why do you ask, Buckaroo?”

“Uh.”  Unhelpful and opening a can of worms Buck doesn’t know if he even wants to crack open, not if Tommy isn’t—

“He is,” Hen says, still typing away on her phone.

“Huh?”

“Tommy?  Yeah, he’s gay,” she says, eyebrows going up and a smile crossing her face as a new text alert chimes on her phone.

Heat flares up in Buck’s face.  “Did—did you text him just now and ask?”  God.  If he’d wanted to die of embarrassment that badly, he would’ve just asked Tommy himself.

Hen sets her phone down to give Buck a look.  “No, I already knew.  I texted to ask him if it was okay to tell you.  He’s out, but it’s not exactly common knowledge.”  She gestures at the mildly surprised looks on both Bobby and Eddie’s faces.  Picking up her sandwich, she adds, “And for the record, he was very okay with me telling you.”

“I—yeah?” Buck needs to control his face better, he really does, but.  Very okay?

“Oh yeah,” Hen says with a warm smile.  “‘Hey, Beck’s asking if you’re into guys, okay to disclose?’” she says, reading her text aloud. “Before I could correct the typo, he texted back, ‘Sure.’  I sent, ‘*Buck,’ and he replied, ‘Evan??’” Hen waggles her eyebrows at Buck. “With two question marks.  And then: ‘Absolutely, please do.’”

“Absolutely?” Eddie says, visibly amused.

“Absolutely,” Buck breathes.

“Guess you got your answer, then,” Bobby says, smiling fondly at Buck.  Buck nods, feeling a little sheepish.  “Is there… maybe something you want to tell us, Buck?”

Buck licks his lips, nervous for—clearly—no reason.  They all know now, basically… it’s just a matter of saying it.  His phone buzzes, and he takes the opportunity to put that off.

It’s a text from Tommy.

Hey, when’s your shift over?  Hen just texted me, and I think maybe we should talk?

Buck feels himself smiling, and knows—he knows—he’s not fooling anybody when he says, “Ah… let me get back to you on that, Cap?”  But he wants to be sure.  It feels real, it feels right, but he won’t know for sure until Tommy’s there in front of him.

Bobby nods, expression unchanged.  “Whenever you’re ready, Buck.”

[kiiwiigii]

Night-Time Reading

Alec x Fem!Reader

Summary: You are having a rough day managing your POTS/CFS. All you want to do is relax and Alec is there to help.

Warnings:

Fluff! Nothing but tooth rotting fluff.

Word Count: 400+

Requested?: Yes!

So I'm going through a really rough time, I'm disabled (pots and CFS) and my cfs is acting up badly cause school started and I've been so busy I haven't had a break period, constantly walking and running and being busy. now I have a three day weekend so my body is letting myself feel the consequences of pushing myself too far, so I was wondering if I could suggest some comfort? Alec with a mate that either has cfs or just has some symptoms and just him keeping them as comfortable as possible while they're in pain Common symptoms (including the ones I'm going through) - joint pain (I can barely go up stairs and walk -extreme temp fluctuations (really hot to really cold quickly) -brain fog (brain is foggy. I'm too weak to open a bottle of coke so I left it open and while talking I tipped it over and forgot it was open) -migraines/headaches -sore throat -trembling -really tired but can't fall asleep and/or sleeps for a really long time Thank you for listening 🫶🏼 -🦊

A/N: Hey nonny! I am so, so sorry it has taken me this long to write this. Honestly, I was (and still am I suppose) intimidated to write this, simply because these illnesses are not something I am not even remotely familiar with. But I also want to thank you because it's a good writing exercise for me. I'm also sorry that you're having such a rough time. I can't even imagine. So here's a fic, just for you, darling. I hope you're feeling better.

Another A/N: So the wonderful and amazing @alecvolturi did an amazing edit of Alec reading the first bit of The Hobbit. Please give it a listen as you read. It's PERFECT.

Miserable.

I was fucking miserable.

It began just by sitting up. I could feel the migraine building, and I was already in the throws of a hot flash. It didn't help that the pain in my joints was flaring up again.

It was 3 a.m. and I was already this close to crying. I couldn't remember the last time that I had a proper nights sleep. I just wanted one day, one day where I didn't have to be in pain or worry that any movement I made would set off a whole other series of symptoms, all of which almost all of them were painful.

"Darling?" Alec was next to me, his cold hands running over my heated skin, trailing goosebumps behind in his wake.

His hands were a sweet, cool balm on my flushed skin. It gave me a little relief. I leaned into him, enjoying the cold. His lips pressed to my forehead.

"Scale of 1 to 10?"

"7 to 8." I mumbled.

One would think with how long that I've lived with this disease that I would have a high pain tolerance. That couldn't be further from the truth. I could already feel a few tears slipping from beneath my lashes. I just wanted something to make the pain go away.

I whined as Alec disappeared, only to reappear with my meds and a bottle of water a moment later.

"Here, drink." He handed me the pills and water, and I took them gratefully. He pulled the comforter from the floor where I had kicked it off, bundling it back up on the bed for us to lay down on. He then grabbed my phone, pulling up my favorite playlist, the one he made for me to help me calm down when I felt like shit. The music started flowing through the speaker near my bed at a low volume.

"What book, darling?" His eyes were already scanning my bookshelves.

"Uhm…" I blinked back at him slowly, trying to process what he said.

"How about The Hobbit?"

"Perfect." I rasped with a small smile.

He was next to me again in a flash, his back against the headboard as he pulled me gently to him, a pillow already ready in his lap.

"In the hole in the ground, there lived a Hobbit." His voice lilted over me, and I felt myself begin to relax as his hands gently ran through my hair and along my neck.

The fine mist that signaled the use of his gift began to unfurl from his fingers and I felt myself begin to numb. The first time he had done this it had been disconcerting, but now I welcomed it with relish. A small reprieve from the pain. I smiled to myself, letting my eyes slip closed as I listened.

Then finally, sleep came for me.

{Masterlist} // {Request Guidelines}

Taglist: @alecvolturi @lack-lust-3r @rosedpetal

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[yuri-is-online]

I hope im not the only one who finds it kinda annoying when people write mc/prefect as someone who doesn't have basic table manners just so they can be taught by riddle in riddle x readers, or if they're slovenly and ungraceful just so vil can chide and "fix" them in vil x readers, or any other incompetent reader/yuu x competent LI dynamics out there. I know readers are supposed to be "empty" and flexible for many kinds of readers, but it started to feel alot like self-depreciation for me.

I can't say I've seen too many fics with this specific set up, but there's a pretty good chance I ignored and forgot about them. I am more familiar with the Vil concept though, at least I think? But either way I think the issue you might be finding with these things is that they focus on Yuu's incompetence/inability to function as opposed to the potential for intimacy the scenario could create σ(￣、￣=)

This sort of feels like a weird point to bring up, but table etiquette and basic manners can sort of mean two different things. The type of manners you could argue Riddle would want to see expressed at tea/at an unbirthday party could be much more formal than Yuu is used to, which could make for a cute set up for a fic! Picture Riddle trying his best to teach Yuu about etiquette and finding himself having trouble keeping proper decorum, he wants to hold Yuu's hand so badly, he finds himself letting his finger brush up against the back of Yuu's hand while he tries to guide them through what fork to use... or Riddle trying to teach Yuu to dance and getting too caught up in how excited he is to touch them that he forgets to speak (,,>﹏<,,)

And with Vil, I think people like the concept of having someone dote on them and dress them up in expensive things, but there is also a fundamental misunderstanding of Vil's character that a lot of people have where they think he would see someone in basic sweats and assume they need to be "fixed." The main thing Vil desires is for people to work on self improvement and accept nothing less than the best version of themselves. He's not a Kardashian who wants everything airbrushed and the same, he even admits to being privileged in his upbringing and not understanding Neige's struggles in book 6, he's such a well rounded character, maybe the best in the entire game but back to the topic I am actually on-

Walking someone through a skin care routine or washing their hair, especially if they are having a hard time taking care of themselves due to injury or mental distress is something that can be so painfully intimate. People have different ways of caring for themselves and the VOLUMES it speaks to have someone learn and know your language of self love is sosososo important. Makeup is something Vil loves to express himself with, watching him pick out things to use on Yuu so he can express his love through his work shouldn't be about how he is "fixing" Yuu because that's not how Vil would see it. He is speaking to the beauty he already sees and enhancing it with his own, picture him slowly, deliberately, tracing a lip stain onto Yuu's lips and drawing out the process so he can experience what it is like to kiss them without breaching the delicate line his contract has forced him to walk. How he watches Yuu lick their lips later in the night and swears he can feels it; Yuu worries that they're doing something wrong when Vil keeps insisting on doing their make up because he's always so slow about it but really he just wants to place his claim on them in as subtle and intimate a way as possible.

or something i dunno this was just where my mind went

[amadwinter]

A different kind of WIP Wednesday

Not a fic this time, but after a wonderful post about making bad art from @unspuncreature and a little encouragement from @lilredghost (thank you 🧡), I wanted to share something else I have in progress: my drawing abilities.

I wouldn't necessarily say I'm good. In fact, sometimes my drawings are downright bad. But considering there have been times in the last year where I haven't even been able to hold a pencil due to health issues, I'm happy to be where I am and just keep improving little by little each time.

I've never shared any of these with anyone before so I'm quite nervous, but there's no time like the present.

Many photos from my sketchbooks ahead!

So, for starters, I've been drawing sporadically since I was about 11 (about 18 years). I've never seriously made a habit out of it, and I've never attempted any formal instruction or classes. One day, I'll post images from my sketchbooks from over the years, because yes, I have kept all of them for posterity's sake

Last year, 2023, I made a New Years Resolution to draw something every day.

I actually made a decent go of it and drew more than I have in years.

But then I suddenly had some health problems pop up that made my goal impossible. I struggled to hold a pencil and even write a sentence legibly. I won't go into details here, but after a few months and going through occupational therapy, I was able to write and draw again(My other symptoms, however, haven't been resolved).

I did some drawing here and there, but nothing consistent. And it felt like some of the progress I made earlier in the year had vanished. I was utterly demotivated, and could only see the bad in everything I drew.

In December, I finally decided: screw it. If I'm going to draw badly, I'll just draw badly. And its done wonders for my confidence.

But for every drawing I'm proud of, there are far more that all I can do is laugh at because of how terrible they are.

And each time I draw something I'm not happy with, I take it as an excuse to practice more, practice often, and practice everything.

I don't really have a system or a plan in place. I start out with a warmup of stick figures based on soccer, figure skating, or something similar, and then it's whatever I feel like. Sometimes it's figure sketches, sometimes it's working on hair, sometimes it's just whatever the hell I feel like.

But above all, I'm having fun doing it. Even when it doesn't turn out like I want to, even when it's not perfect, I enjoy just putting pencil to paper with zero expectations beyond doing my best and enjoying the process.

[mana-jjk]

finally someone who actually understands inuokko and doesn't mischaracterize as an alpha sigma male and Toge as an uwu boy! bestie you don't know how happy I am that you came up on my fyp.

omg hi anon !! 🥺🫶

i love analyzing characters way before any shipping, i could actually read nothing but found family fics because i just feel like they always catch the perfect dynamic. with yuuta and toge specifically, i do feel like you can appreciate aspects of how their dynamic is on an appearance level or how they fit certain popular tropes, but i don’t think it’s the driving force behind what makes them so good together.

i do acknowledge that if we default to the stereotypical gay men tropes without tangible reason, it’s more indicative of getting used to knowing how to write LGBT+ relationships and tending to default to what we might be used to in straight relationships. i say that without any offense intended, it’s just a part of the writing process. especially with toge as a character, who has so much of his characterization sprinkled outside of the manga and anime. a lot of his backstory and characteristics are derived from the fun facts, light novel, and now even the unreleased game has given us so much more content. but i also think that’s why he’s so popular, there’s so much freedom in exploring him, especially if you haven’t discovered the existing content. taking that with yuuta who is honestly a fan favorite of the chad dude straight bros and gets a little too much ‘alpha male’ treatment from them, it can be a little confusing. (it kills me a little to see some one say he’s an alpha male with a bad attitude and smoking guns when manga panels will literally have him looking like this (・・?) 😭)

i do have preferences in how both yuuta and toge are portrayed, but that’s just because i care about them so much as individual characters.

for me, toge is soft and kind, but he was also born as a weapon and has spent his life sacrificing himself over and over. you can still have that softness and kindness, even more so when experiencing certain things, but there’s also a degree of hardening from trauma. i do characterize him to be less overtly an instigator lol, but that’s personal preference in how i see him combined with canon material. i find a lot of his trolling to be slipped in and more of a double take than full on gremlin, but that’s less mischaracterization and more preference. i find his relationship with living and death so, so interesting, especially in how he tries to shield the first-years and yuuta from having any kind of blood on their hands. it implicates him to have done that very thing, and he spends his life silencing himself because of it. i do believe his language barrier is almost a relief, because it acts almost as a self-imposed wall. but despite that wall, he still reaches out because while he himself is okay being alone, the thought of someone like yuuta, someone he sees as exactly like him, suffering by himself is painful to him.

for yuuta, i am a big advocate for the continued acknowledgment of his anxiety, depression, and low key craziness. he had a normal childhood, but that somehow makes the transition to everything with rika so much worse. because he had that normalcy and it was shattered completely. he’s hurt, maimed, and killed people both unintentionally and intentionally. but he sees it as necessary in protecting the people he cares about the most. in a lot of ways, i think his dubious morality and how far he’s willing to go is an expression of his love. for example, killing getou in his eyes is the ultimate act of service to gojo, so he himself would not have to kill him. his character is such a juxtaposition compared to everyone we’ve been introduced to. here you have these child soldiers, ready and willing to sacrifice themselves, where death and suffering is more feasible than ever living their life to entirely. then they give us yuuta, who wants to live so badly in happiness that he’s willing to inflict and do everything for and against their society. it’s almost an unhealthy relationship to a degree, but it’s the only kind of relationship any of them know how to have.

together they work so well, because like i’ve said before, they defy each other’s expectations in what they ever believed they could have or deserve. despite their rough edges, the blood on their hands, the years they’ve lost to fighting battles they never started, they treat each other so gently. as if they are the better half, yet simultaneously knowing exactly how much they have done. yuuta who sees violence almost as a love letter, who absorbs toge’s curse as if it’s something to admire and adore. toge who sees himself as unforgivable in his crimes, who self-enforces isolation and barriers yet took a step out just to comfort yuuta from a mild spell of anxiety, because he couldn’t stand to see him suffer even in a minor degree.

i have so many feelings about them so i’m so glad that they come across the way i want them to !! i love all content, and i’m always willing to share my thoughts, but ty so much for the validation bestie, i’m sure i’m eating up your content as well !! 🥺

[msmargaretmurry]

any advice on how to not get overwhelmed at the prospect of writing a longer fic? 😭😭 i freak myself out with “ohhh what if i get too far in and then it turns out it sucks” and “i’ll have to do so much research for certain canon compliant things” etc etc

hi anon! i would be happy to share some of the things that work for me! we all know i love to talk incessantly about writing. thank you for giving me an excuse to. ❤

standard writing advice disclaimer that this is indeed all just stuff that works for me personally. it might not work for you, or you might have to tweak it to work for you, because different things work for different people! like all writing advice, it is best approached as suggestions and not as rules, so while i think this is all stuff worth trying, i also think that if you find it doesn't work with how your writing brain works, you should absolutely chuck it out the window.

firstly: get comfortable with the idea that the story is going to evolve as you write it. when you're writing something long, you ARE going to get far into it and realize you fucked something up at the begininning, or realize you left something out, or realize you need to change or cut something from earlier for the story to work. this does NOT mean that you're writing badly! recognizing those things is actually super smart of you! you are not beholden to what you wrote a week ago or a month ago or six months ago in your WIP. you can simply change it to better suit this story that you now know more about. no one will even know that you originally wrote it differently except maybe your alpha reader or pal you've been bouncing ideas off of, and they're legally required* to take that information to their grave. i will touch a little more on editing long fic in a minute, but i really do think this is maybe the most important piece of advice: accept that your story will change as you write, and think of it as a good thing.

(*i am not a lawyer)

writing your long fic is going to take a long time. that's a huge part of what makes it such a nerve-wracking undertaking! writing long fic is dedicating a huge amount of time and energy to a creative project that you have a lot of feelings about, and it can be really hard! but it can also be so rewarding and so worth it to see all that work turn into the story that you really wanted to tell. just the sense of accomplishment of FINISHING a long-term project like that is really cool and gratifying. it's so easy to fall into the trap of thinking "what if i put in all this work and then it sucks" but i think it's helpful to try to reframe that thought as something like "i'm going to put all this work in and learn so much about this story, and figure out how to make it the best that i can make it at this stage in my writing journey."

also, again: your first draft is not going to be perfect. it might be deeply, deeply flawed. you ARE going to have to edit. that doesn't mean you were writing badly. that is a normal and even essential part of writing. your story doesn't suck if the first draft is kinda fucked up. your story is NORMAL if the first draft is kinda fucked up. especially with long fic, getting the story out and then editing holistically to make it all work is really where the magic happens.

(i know there are people who post chapter by chapter while they write instead of writing the whole thing and editing it altogether; i cannot speak to their processes because i cannot write like that 😂)

if you are lucky enough to have a trusted friend or two willing to read as you write, cheerlead, and help you pick through tough spots in the story, i do recommend you take them up on it! because it can take so long to write a long fic, having people who are excited about your story and to provide that gratification can be really helpful. two things to keep in mind here are to make sure your alpha-readers are people you can trust not to flake on you and who will be reliably able to give pretty quick feedback, and to try to resist the urge to call on them to read every single time you write more. i usually go to mine in 5–10k chunks of long fic draft. obviously this isn't a hard and fast rule at all, but i think it a) gives them meatier chunks of story to give me feedback on and b) helps me get and stay comfortable with writing for longer periods without feedback, so i can concentrate more on the story and be less distracted thinking about how other people will react to it.

on the research front: research can be really daunting!! unfortunately i am a nerd who loves research so i usually see it as a fun challenge. but i think there are a couple of things that might help. when you're getting ready to dive into your long fic, make a list of things you're going to need to research, then divide them into things that you NEED to know to write the story (e.g. dates of important games, for pacing reasons) and things that can wait until after you get the first draft down and are editing. like, if you're writing something set in a city you're not familiar with and want to include local details, you don't need to do that research up front. use placeholder tags to fill in during editing — [RESTAURANT] or [STREET NAME] or [DESCRIPTION TO COME AFTER I LOOK AT GOOGLE STREET VIEW] — or just leave yourself a note to come back and add descriptive details later.

also, remember that fic readers are often super willing to let some inaccuracies slide for the sake of a good story, so it's okay if not everything is perfect! you are also allowed to elect to ignore canon when it does not serve you. like, in HAW, i simply said hello we are pretending that matthew re-signed in calgary, that there were no notable roster changes from the previous season, and, on a smaller potatoes level, that brady is still living with timmy and josh. because that's what i wanted for my story (and also because the matthew trade to florida happened when i was already about 70k into the draft and i was like, fuck it, we're doing it anyway 😂). which is all to say that it's okay and even good to find a balance between doing research/committing to accuracy and saying fuck it for the sake of your story.

on the editing front: try to limit the amount of editing you do while you're writing. you can get so caught up in forever tweaking what you've already written that your forward progress completely stagnates. leave most of your line-editing for after you have a draft. if you notice something that you want to change, leave yourself a note and do the actual changing after you have a draft. if you notice thousands of words in that you totally forgot that one character has a dog, leave yourself a note to go add the dog in later, and continue writing as if the dog has been there the whole time. no one will know that the dog in the first half was added in later.

the amount of STUFF that goes into a long fic can feel pretty overwhelming, so i am big on leaving myself notes and making lists when writing long fic. i know i am not going to remember every thought i have, but i know i will TRY TO remember them and will get totally bogged down. leaving a note or making a list de-bogs me so i can come back to that detail when it's time to deal with it. two essenital lists that i keep in my notes app while i'm working on a writing project are:

a list of ongoing subplots, themes, motifs, and/or mini-arcs that i want to make sure i thread evenly throughout the fic. i do not trust myself to remember these without writing them down. this is super helpful especially if i get stuck, because i can go to the list and ask, okay, what is one of these that i haven't revisited in a while, because that should probably happen next. a HAW example of this is quinn as a side character — at least once i looked at my list and was like, oh, quinn hasn't shown up in a while! i should figure out how to do a scene with him next!

a list of things i will want to review and edit for after i finish the draft. if i stop and edit in the moment i lose momentum; if i don't write the thing down, i might forget about it. so i'll just quickly add it to the list and be able to go back to it when it's editing time! a HAW example of this is me writing on this list "make it more clear that matthew is kind of a mama's boy" and eons later paying close attention to that thread in editing and adding a little more of their relationship to the story.

again this is not a hard and fast rule! sometimes i'll run into an issue with my fic and be like, oh no if i don't go back and fix this then i won't be able to figure out how the story needs to go from here. so obviously in those instances i immediately go and edit that thing! i think it takes practice to be able to tell the difference between "edit now" issues and "edit later" issues but i also think that like 90% of the time it's an edit later issue.

also, always keep a dump doc. (instead of deleting stuff from your draft, cut and paste it into a separate document for safekeeping. this makes it easier to kill your darlings since you are not actually killing them but re-homing them, and can come in handy later.)

one last thing i want to touch on is writer's block or getting stuck in the middle of a draft. with shorter stories, you can sometimes get them out in one or two creative bursts and this can be less of an issue (although obviously not NOT an issue. i am not trying to suggest that people writing shorter fic don't deal with this, lmao. the scale is just different.) writing something long is more about sustained creativity over a long stretch of time, and you are going to have highly productive periods and less productive periods because you're a human being who needs to refill their creative well sometimes. when this happens, try not to panic or despair. sometimes you run into a snarl in your story and you really just need to take a few days to ponder and let the solution come to you. however, if you get stuck and you are getting frustrated trying to figure out what comes next, here are a few things that i find helpful:

get outside and go for a walk or a run. listen to music or a podcast or audiobook. let your brain relax.

talk to a (fannish) friend over the phone/videochat or in person about it, over coffee or dinner or something. sometimes talking about it out loud helps process things in a different way than typing.

figure out what the next big plot point you want to get to is, and then look at where your story is now, and think about what needs to happen to get them to that point. does character A need to trust character B more? devise a trust-building scene. does character A need more self-confidence? think about what kind of scene would help them build confidence.

(this might also involve looking at what you've written already and going, oh, i could build that character beat into that scene from last week! and suddenly everything works better.)

go to your dump doc — is there an abandoned snippet or idea in there that's of more use to you now?

look at your list of ongoing themes and subplots! if there's one you haven't touched in the draft for a while, figure out what's going on there!

you might not get it right on the first try and that's fine. there are scenes that i've completely re-written 4–5 times before they felt right enough for me to move forward. that can be frustrating, obviously, but it doesn't mean you're a bad writer! it takes skill to recognize when a scene isn't working!

okay, i think that's all i've got for now. i really do think that the most important thing with writing long fic is to embrace that it's going to be a long-term project, with ups and downs, productive periods and recharging periods. let the story grow and evolve as you write it. you're not going to get everything right on the first try and that's normal. it is actually so fun to be writing a scene in the back half of your story and suddenly realize you can pull the whole plot together way better by adding two sentences into a scene you wrote three months ago. writing a long fic is not like digging a tunnel, all forward progress to get to the light. it's like building a house and then rearranging the furniture and decor inside until it looks and feels the way you want it to.

i hope that some of this was helpful! good luck with your writing!! 💕

[allastoredeer]

So I just DEVOURED your "just kiss already" series and dude, I was nervous about radioapple stuff because I am very nitpicky about IC stuff and despite how much I ship them, I was kinda nervous about fics and having them actually get together, but the way you've done it so far with that fic is SO COMPELLING and so CLEVER. All of it is so smooth and natural and authentic, I just... I needed to come leave an ask about it and let you know how badly you've broken my brain being impressed by every line. Like every time I think it cannot get better, it does. I cannot waitttt to read more of it. Thank you so much for writing it.

Also that Velvette/Vox off-camera notes exchange made me laugh out loud. Honestly Vox, you must acquire some chill post-haste.

AHHH! Thank you, thank you! (づ｡◕‿‿◕｡)づ

Nah, I get it about being nitpicky. I'm like that with a lot of fandoms I'm in. Which can be a blessing and a curse. I know what I want, which is nice, but when even the smallest thing is off I have to dip, which leaves me like this ლ(ಠ益ಠლ) at my brain. I just wanna read the blasted fanfic please T.T

Thank you so much for dropping by and leaving an ask about it ♥‿♥ it's always such a delight seeing these types of asks in my inbox, and I reread them a thousand times before I even respond LOL

Vox needs to be medically prescribed for chill-pills. Or, at the very least, have the Hell equivalent of an epi-pen on hand every time he see's Alastor, that way Velvette and Valentino can give him a jab so he doesn't go into anaphylaxis.

The next chapter of Damage Control will, hopefully, drop in a few days! I'm currently editing it, so we'll see how the process goes.

[bisexualhomelander]

Hi. I recently discovered the existence of Butchlander and, well, I've read a lot of stories on AO3 and Tumblr about them in the last few weeks. Yours, death by a million cuts, is definitely one of my favorites by far.

I confess that I initially started reading it because the idea of a wedding in the story seemed so outlandish, and I was curious to see how you would manage to incorporate it while still preserving the complex and often tumultuous relationship between these two characters. It was a fantastic decision. I absolutely loved your writing style and the way you portrayed the characters, especially Homelander.

I was particularly drawn to how, despite wanting John to accept the solution to his illness sooner, he refused to do so. It frustrated me, of course, but it felt completely in character, and I truly appreciate your attention to detail. His stubbornness in refusing to show emotion in front of Billy is another favorite aspect of mine, and the way it led to that intimate moment between them... wow. That was one of the most moving hurt/comfort scenes I've read in a long time.

Regarding Butcher, I was captivated by his internal moral struggle and the gradual process of him accepting his love for John. It was incredibly painful to read that part where he asks Frenchie for help. Heartbreaking, for sure, but in a good way, because it had been a long time since I connected with an author's portrayal of these types of moments, and I truly appreciate it.

As for the penultimate chapter, I read it with until the end of time by Xdinary Heroes playing, and I highly recommend you do the same. I think it really amplifies the feeling and makes each scene, especially those near the end of the chapter, hit harder and hurt even more. It's the most painful part of the fic, but also one of my favorites.

I apologize for any parts of this message that might be difficult to understand due to using a translator, but I really wanted to share my perspective on your work. It's been a long time since I cried over a fic, and I'm incredibly grateful for that experience. Never stop writing, you are incredibly talented!

I... am not often at a loss for words, but you managed to get me.

Thank you so much for this, I will cherish this message forever. It means the world that people love and enjoy my fic.

Anon, you made me smile when I badly needed it. Thank you. <3

[eybefioro]

Soon :) when I have the guts to post it :)

(Ramblings and timelaps under the cut)

First of all. I wanna say that tumblr ate this post. Twice. This is my third go at it, so bear with me if it's badly written/confusing/whatever. I am tired.

I still don't have a date to post this fic. I'm having trouble finishing it and letting it go – not because I don't know how to finish it (the last scene is written, I just need to edit the chapters) but because I want it to be the best it can be, and the moment I post it there's no going back; I won't be able to go through over it again and change things (at least in my mind).

Now, that's the thing, it will never be perfect. It will never be as good as it is in my mind. This is the type of situation that will never end if I don't let go. I just love this fic too much. To be fair nothing much happens in it, and there's an extremely high chance it will only ever be special to me and anybody else; this first part (8/7 chapters, a little less than 30k) is just Crowley taking care of Warlock. I do have arcs I want to develop after this, I have a bigger plan (lol) but this part 1 here is the core of it all, and works pretty much alone.

And I love it. So much. With all its flaws, with the weird bits, even if it will never be perfect. I had so much fun writing it. It was so good, and I really wanna share it with everyone (I just need to get over my arse first).

Hence this cover art. This is a promise to myself that I WILL post it (my guess is a week or so). You can see by this time lapse that I did and redid things a bunch of times, and let me tell – you I had so much fun testing different backgrounds, finding the perfect brushes, redrawing them like 5 times until I was satisfied.

This cover isn't perfect, probably not even interesting or good for most people. This cover is... well, it is what it is. I struggled doing it since I almost don't know how to draw, but the challenge was amazing. I found so much joy in the process of creating this – and the same goes for my fic.

If I ever decide to create another cover, it will be better than this one (knowing me I will not be satisfied still but alas). The next part of TBAG will probably be better than the first one.

If I keep on writing, in a few years I will look back to this and probably cringe over each word I wrote. And that's fine. That's good. I just need to let go and accept this story for what it is, in the same way that I did with the cover.

Anyways. I hope that if you perchance read To be a Guardian, you will have a good time 💛💛💛💛 I did it with so much love, I hope that you will be able to feel it a bit too.