#no experience writer

[femmefruit]

having your dom sit you in their lap with a vibrator pressed between your pussy and their thigh.

a simple enough variation to your usual routine of thigh riding, you let out a pretty sigh and rock your hips forward once before you feel their hands grip your hips to stop you.

“be still for me, baby. no grinding, can you handle that?” you know the sweetness behind the question is all for show, that it’s designed to make you feel small and disgustingly needy. it works. you’re nodding stupidly, already letting the vibrations between your legs overtake your thoughts. they appraise your expression, the way it starts to shift from attentive to blissed out, and turn the vibrator up one setting for good measure. “good, baby. i knew you could do it.”

it’s harder than you thought it would be, holding still through the pleasure. your brain, warm and gooey, keeps trying to urge you into your usual routine of humping away at whatever your partner puts between your legs. every time your hips twitch or shake, their grip tightens around you. you wonder if it’ll bruise. you hope it will. you know you’re getting close, drooling as you kiss and bite at any inch of their skin you can reach without moving your hips. a particularly insistent throb of your pussy threatens to drag you down into an orgasm, and you remember your manners at the last second.

“can i cum?” shakier than you would’ve liked, followed by a long moan. a beat of silence hangs in the air as you realize the answer, but it doesn’t stop you from pleading again, “can i? please?”

“no, baby. wait.” your ensuing cries are hushed, one hand coming up to stroke your hair gently as though you’re not being tormented. you wind up to object again but you’re silenced by a tug on your hair that forces you to look them in the eye. “quit, baby. you know you like how it makes you feel, so wait.”

your cheeks flush hot at the accusation, knowing how much truth it held. your eyes start watering as you try to look for a way out, knowing just by their tone that this will not be a time where you could get away with cumming on accident. you drop your head to their shoulder and try to lift your hips, only to be forced back down onto the toy. your brain vaguely registers the instruction to “sit your ass down and be still,” but it’s nearly drowned out by the wail you let out as you connect with the vibrator again. you start shaking your head, pushing back against their chest in an effort to separate yourself from the overwhelming pleasure while your hips stay locked in place by strong hands. how long have you been holding this orgasm? a few minutes? seconds? it feels like it’ll never end, like you’re letting them dangle you over a cliff for their own pleasure, watching you fight and cry while you try your best to follow the instructions given.

they pull back again to admire the distress on your face, letting out a pleased hum at the state you’re in. you’re whimpering constantly, head resting pitifully on their shoulder. they know they could stay there forever, keeping you desperate and pliant as you pant into their neck. they give an experimental bounce of their leg that sends you into another fit of moaning and begging.

“please, please! i need to cum, daddy. i wanna be good but i’m going to cum, can’t hold it anymore. need you to say yes,”

the grin that spreads across their face could only be described as lecherous, listening to the way they’ve absolutely ruined you. they have to get in close to your ear to ensure you hear, holding you still through the fight you’re still putting up as they press a kiss against your temple. “go ahead baby, give it to me,” they groan out, hearing your moans start to pitch up before they even get the sentence out. as if you needed any help to ride it out, they press you down harder against the vibrator, coaxing out sob after sob as your orgasm tears through your body.

“shh, baby, i know. it’s good isn’t it? why don’t you do it again for me since you were so well behaved?”

[inkskinned]

you know, you know. no gods, no masters, no kings on pedestals. everyone is fallible. death of the author. you know! you are balanced about your intake of media - you allow the wiggle room, the grace, the gratitude, the skepticism. nobody above criticism.

but still. a weird gut-punch feeling, something akin to betrayal. you read the article. surprise! an author you love is actually: a serial fucking predator.

well, shit. what now. no, you knew he was a person (all people are), but now you're wondering - what have i overlooked by accident? what messages have i internalized that are strange and cruel? and also, like, what the fuck?

his actions lay a thick glaze on top of everything. like each place is now ruined, opaque in a new way. but okay, fine, you've done this before. you knew better, right? you've been betrayed by many a cherished childhood author.

still, this stickiness. fuck. can you pick up that book again. will you read it to your children. you've recommended it to others - will you ever do that again? and of course, of course, no parasocial relationships. you were theoretically above this kind of sentiment. but the artist informs the art, right.

so it's not something as clear-cut as feeling he owed you, specifically (a stranger) better behavior - just that you kind of, in a distant and odd way... sort of trusted him to do better. it's not like a real trust or something speakable, just the faint hope that the product (good books) was a thin representation of the soul. now it feels like the product (good? books?) was a mask. in some small or insignificant way, your previous support of this person lent them power. your money and your time and your laughter.

and the thing is - you have this terrible, echoing sensation. how many times will this happen? over and over. you find out that the singer you love is actually a predator. you learn over drinks that your favorite high school english teacher is in jail for what he did to her. you listen to the news idly and suddenly discover that a woman you used to idolize has been abusing her kids for an actual eon.

what can you touch without the static melting off. you can't even really complain about it too much (you were supposed to know better, and besides, you don't want the same re-split "it's not your fault, love what you love" basic advice), but now it's here. somehow, it feels like - you let him into your life.

it's not that things need to be pure or an artist has to be like, endlessly perfect, mindful. demure. it's more just this terrible truth that has been replayed through your veins so often it feels criminally vain. power corrupts, absolute power corrupts absolutely. did you want any one person to be worth that power?

it's just that he wrote books where he seemed to understand that. he seemed to know about hierarchies and unfair systems and bigotry and privilege. you thought they were books about what it means to struggle. you thought they were about having power and still using it for good rather than for control. he spooned you a narrative of being a good guy, a kind soul. you fucking bought what that fucking monster sold.

maybe that's why they were fantasies, after all.

[praline-elegy]

What I think is so crazy is that you can essentially immortalize yourself through writing. My fanfiction? It contains pieces of myself in it. The mannerisms of my characters, the random line about an allergy, or how they slice their sandwiches—it’s me. It’s all me. I am them and they are me and each and every one of my characters is a fragment of myself. I’ve never been truly whole when I’ve poured myself into everything that I’ve ever loved. All my characters, every facet and every detail. It’s all me. I love writing and it’s everything I’ve ever loved.

[daylily-diary]

How would I describe girlhood?

Dance, dress up, lie in bed, bake, isolate, yearn, clean, explore, blankets, candles, validation, cry, scream, kiss a friend, gut wrenching films, miscellaneous trinkets and wall decor, hangover, social anxiety, sunbathe, laugh, hold someone, be held, run away, unfinished books, sing, crushes are hell, stickers, parental issues, sexual trauma, pink, nostalgia, matching pjs, smell good, fear the calorie, fall in love with anything and everything, break your own heart, grow your hair long, cut it short. Who are you?

[twinkbutchblog]

They just threw everything at Robert Chase just to see what stuck. He's lived like 8 lifetimes and has been in every situation possible. They needed a guy to do something and Chase would be that guy. Everyone could be talking about how they need an expert on finding the male g-spot, then all of a sudden the scene cuts to Chase putting on gloves, and we will never hear about it again.

[rawhoneybliss]

Things you'll experience in August:

faith that everything is working out for you

peaceful energy washing over you

angelic and divine guidance

remembering who you are

opening of your heart chakra

calm and smooth transitions

serene moments that bring out trust

powerful and healing light codes

support while manifesting your dreams

awakening to more spiritual gifts

deeper realizations about existence

trust in divine timing

assistance from higher realms

gentle reassurance when you most need it

the feeling of freedom as you walk your path

— Written by Raw Honey Bliss

[mixelation]

one of my many pet peeves with The Way People Tend to Write Children is when people call kids as old as five or six "toddlers." five year olds (usually) do not toddle and are (generally) at a vastly different development stage. also, they can (usually) speak in full sentences. toddler usually means ages 2-3. i'll listen to arguments for four year olds being toddlers but you're on thin fucking ice and must demonstrate you've met a four year old

[prettybluebro]

i loave doodling

[our-queer-experience]

if i see one more person say “but the writers strike directly impacts me and interferes with my life 🥺🥺🥺” i will lose my fucking shit. that is the entire point of a strike you goddamn neoliberals will be the death of me.

[jomeimei421]

Felt a bit nostalgic watching RT shut down…Here are the og faves again for old times sake 💙

[keferon]

May I ask what were the best transformers media you ever saw/read?

Well Transformers Prime, Transformers 1986 and IDW comics are having the first place that’s for sure

And then the second place is kind of shared by Fall of Cybertron, Exodus, Prime wars trilogy, Robots in disguise(2001) and Transformers One.

The third place goes to G1, Animated, Earthspark, Armada, War for Cybertron Netflix series, Aligned Robots in disguise, Bumblebee, Rise of the Beasts and Cyberverse because I only liked some little parts of them.

And then I also saw some of the Bay movies, Victory and Headmasters and didn’t like them at all.

Separate first place for J-Decker. It is not exactly Transformers but it is a show about giant robots and I loved it

[crazy-ache]

I’ve been interacting with new fanfic writers and also been seeing some folks share the fact that they care about hits, bookmarks, and comments on their work as if they’re embarrassed by that fact.

I’m just here to say you shouldn’t ever ever ever feel that way.

Writing, in this case fanfiction writing, can be a very lonely journey at times. If you’re brave enough to post online, there’s nothing wrong with wanting to receive validation. Because when you don’t, I think that’s the equivalent of playing or singing a song and nobody claps once you’re done. Imagine the Olympics or local sports arena or little league game with empty stands. Not a single soul cheering at the end of a concert. Nobody shows up to the art gallery. Nobody eats the baked goods you made with love at the party. All of those scenarios undoubtedly hurt.

Yes, you did it for yourself. Because you love this passion of yours. Because you’re working on your skills. Because you’re proving something to yourself.

But there’s a reason so many of humanity’s passions happen in front of a crowd.

Art is meant to be seen, music is meant to be heard, and yes, fanfiction is meant to be read.

We all want to know our art made an echo.

And yes, we all want to know somebody clapped for us. It validates us, it encourages us, it motivates us to keep going when we’re burnt out. It’s also just plain fun. All of these apply to world class musicians or athletes. For fan fiction writers, the audience cheering is as simple as a hit or a comment. It’s someone engaging with our work in a positive manner. So if you’re feeling that way and you feel bad about it—remember you’re human. And your passion and hobby is just as worthy of receiving audience reception as anybody else.

Fanfiction is a communal space, not just a solitary act. Give love back. Engage wherever and whenever you can. Open yourself to viewing this as a two way dialogue with other writers and readers. Give yourself grace and compassion when you’re disappointed. And when it’s your turn—don’t forget to clap.

[radley-rambles]

My enjoyment of writing, my productivity, and the quality of my work improved tenfold when I started embracing slumps and taking them as an opportunity to read everything I could get my hands on, watch lots of films and shows, go to the theatre, play games, hang out with friends, visit new places, and generally absorb life and marinate my brain in the art of storytelling.

Take from that what you will.

[theoverstimulated]

"You might think that because you’ve had COVID-19 and lived through it that repeat infections will impact you similarly, but “reinfections aren't harmless. As cases continue to rise and more variants arrive on the scene, infectious-disease experts are warning that repeat infections could have cumulative, lasting effects.”

...If you want to maintain your current level of health and avoid potential damage to your body & organs (up to and including your brain & your heart) and/or want to live as long as possible, taking precautions to prevent COVID-19 infections is crucial."

[moopsoup]

nerd!gojo loves coming home to you after a long study sesh. he loves how easy it is to just sink into you, his back against your chest, legs spread wide as your hand works his cock, slow and teasing. his head tilts back against your shoulder, breath shaky, body melting under your touch. “f-fuck…feels so good” he exhales, voice all soft and wrecked, hips twitching up like he’s chasing more.

you hum, lips brushing against his. you love the little whimper he lets out when you slowly squeeze around the tip before spreading his mess back down his length. “just like that” his fingers clutch at your thigh, grip weak, like he’s trying to ground himself, but he’s shivering through every slow stroke.

his moan breaks when he cums, cock pulsing in your fist, spilling hot over your fingers as his whole body trembles. he’s still catching his breath when he turns his head, pressing a messy, open-mouthed kiss to your lips, smiling against them

slut.

[rawhoneybliss]

Things you'll experience in October:

the feeling of a new beginning

letting go with ease

releasing old and outdated energies

clearing and cleansing

reconnecting with your essence

prioritizing what truly matters

reassessing your goals

focusing on health and healing

allowing more time for rest

grounding solid foundations

taking time to go within

making positive shifts

the fresh feeling of autumn

magic in the air

outgrowing comfort zones

— Written by Raw Honey Bliss