#trying to get over my perfectionism is HARD MAN

[princess-self-shipping]

"Triple affirmative! Triple affirmative!

In all seriousness though, noticed barely any rain from your can so figured a little support might be in order.

Wasn't that easy to see of course, with Pebbles' shall we say healthy output.

Enjoy the slag keys! Excuse the unorthodox delivery method, equipment eroding etc etc.

Be well, NSH"

[webism]

KINKTOBER DAY THREE: bondage with nanami.

kinktober masterlist

Nanami, your other half, is meticulous and an overbearing perfectionist on the best of days. You love it about him, love the way that when it comes to you, everything has to be perfect to no fault. You love his dedication to the simplest of things, his attention to detail, you love his patience.

You don't love it when he's using said perfectionism to prolong your time being tied up. You see it in his pretty eyes, that knowing look—he's not taking his time for the sake of perfection, he's taking the time to perv on those frustrated whines that you let out the longer he takes.

Your wrists are bound at your front, a soft shibari rope wrapped around your skin. He had picked it out himself, opted for a more expensive option as it was less likely to irritate your skin—after all, you're being bound to further enjoy yourself, not to decorate your skin with marks he'd much rather leave with his mouth.

Still, he works on the rope around your waist with no sign of eagerness or a rush towards completion. Instead, he continues to watch your body in what looks like a clinical examination, hands working gracefully as he knots the rope against your skin and builds a harness, no doubt good to hold onto so you can't start to shift away once thinks become overbearing. You sit on your shared bed, eyes heavy and stuck on his face as he works—calculated ministries become just a little quicker as you pout.

"Ken," you whine, subconsciously trying to pry your wrists apart to grab at your lover. Your fingers find nothing but air, your arms bound, rendering you useless.

"I'm almost done," he says calmly, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips. He finishes before any other complaints can leave your lips, though you suspect he could have been finished fifteen minutes ago if the sight of rope against your bare skin didn't send blood right down to his cock.

He stands back from where he's working with satisfaction, a pleased look in his eyes that makes you want to squirm, wanting to crawl into his lap and beg forgiveness for whatever you might have done wrong in your past life if it means he'll just fuck you already. But you keep your head up, eyes set on his.

Your legs are bound thigh-to-calf, your throbbing cunt forced onto display by your bindings—if Kento were a worse man he'd leave you like this, bound with a vibrator against your pretty clit for hours on end as he files some paperwork or catches up on the novel he's been reading.

And although the thought is enticing, turning your moans and drawling orgasms into ambient music for the house you share, he's a selfish man at heart and could never deprive himself of you—not when you're like this.

"I think you're beautiful, my love," he leans over you, brushing a cool knuckle over your warmed cheek. A flush spreads across your cheeks, warmth blooming in your belly. His touch doesn't last long, his hand trailing off your shoulder and dipping down to tug at the rope that twists around your torso.

"You're perfect, you know that?" He tries again, and pulls so hard on your rig that your back meets the mattress and, all of a sudden, your Kento is hovering over you, cock hard against his slacks. "And you know that I love you."

"I know," you nod.

His hands fumble for his belt, and he's hooking his cock out of his pants in the same breath—too eager to fully undress. "I appreciate your trust in me," he tugs at a rope around your thigh to get you just that little bit closer to him; you can feel the heavy weight of his length against your stomach—and he can see just how deep inside of you he will be soon enough, "Though I fear seeing you tied up like this… it makes it hard to be gentle with you, love."

You lean up to kiss his jaw, his lips, anything you and reach while bound so intently. "I don't need you to be gentle with me. I am at your disposal."

Something in your lilt breaks the band of resistance that holds your lover still—he groans as he presses forward, pushing into you without any preamble. You're beyond wet, he hardly feels bad for not prepping you on his tongue beforehand. He has plans of ruining you with his mouth once he's fucked you full of him. "How can I possibly deny you?"

As he bottoms out inside of you, Kento grabs the rope that binds your wrist and lifts them above your head, pressing them into the sheets and rendering you completely motionless. Try as you might, you can't move an inch—you're entirely at his lust-glossed mercy. "That's better, hm? Much easier now, yes?" He pushes deeper into you, grunting out as he fills you in. "You don't have to think, don't have to move, you don't have to anything but take me."

The words are familiar to you—you've heard them hundreds of times before. In the throes of ecstasy, they sound like a lullaby to you—though this time there's some truth to his words. A genuine lack of need to move, to speak, to try and keep your hips at pace with his. As Nanami pulls back, drags his aching cock out of you before rutting right back into your tight core, you're able to completely relinquish control.

And god is it narcotic. The ruthless pace that he sets, muscles that cord his arms keep you in place as he bullies his cock into you. His mean thrusts are occasionally broken up with an open-mouthed kiss to your waiting lips, though the world is spinning too fast for you to register much other than raw, undiluted pleasure. You barely have the voice to announce your orgasm, let alone ask for permission to cum, so when your orgasm wracks through you like tropical waves against a cliffside, your lover can't help but bite at your exposed neck in feigned disappointment.

"Oh, love," he coos, but doesn't slow the roll of his hips even slightly. "You know I don't like it when you don't use your words."

You can't, not with the way he's fucking a second orgasm into you before you've even recovered from your first. Not when you're bound so tight that you know you have no way out of his ministries, not that you want one. You haven't felt so blissed-out in a long time, and there is no place safer to lose your mind than in Kento's arms. Though there's a dangerous lilt to his voice when he leans own, thrusts sharp into your overstimulated pussy, and whispers against your ear. "You're going to wait, and you're going to cum alongside me, love."

It's all too much, your vision is near-white with hot pleasure and you worry that you'll never think a straight thought again if he keeps rendering you dumb like this. You try desperately to climb up the bed, away from his overwhelming size, but he's got an iron-wraught grip on your bindings. "Ah," he chides. "Don't run, take me- I know you can."

The moans that rip from your throat are made for porn, especially in conjuncture with his groans and bitten praises. It's not long before his ruthless pace starts to falter, and the slap of skin against bruising skin starts to stutter as your lover reaches climax.

"With me," he chokes, the hand that had held your wrists up finally falling down to rub relentless circles over your sensitive clit. You're overwhelmed, orgasm cresting almost painfully as your mind blanks and you come harder than you think you ever have before. Nanami releases inside of you, his free hand holding you as close as humanly possible through your bindings.

And once he's cum, stolen a few breaths to steady himself enough to lift himself up and look down at you, Kento Nanami fears he might be a bad man. Because with the way you look, tear stained cheeks and complete lack of freedom, he can't help the words that slip from his lips.

"You can handle another, can't you, love?"

tags: @medusamara5 @echodead @aliisinwonderland @curiositykilledthecatx3 @hirainne

@plinkuro @sooouth @megumiiiswife @nyxiswrites1200 @yveiscringe

@sharks31 @lenahathunger @aydene @dreamyokai @n0tviv

@chiiinglebells @timetoletmyimaginationfly @nayely45 @waffless-simp-blog

@zoozvie @gothicchildofthenight @repnights @flwerie @soundofraindropss

@ushijimas1simp @aliidarling @aeswin @peachygelic @silvermet

@rinadisapproves @theshxaverse @cipher00 @milkkteary @snackeyalleyjuice

@cvipped @toadtoru @keiette @satosugu4-ever

@sugurubabe @wickedpoison6 @simp-plague @tojis-ball-sack @ventila98

@xxbookdrunkdemigodxx @oikawasthirdleg @yogichi @theycallmesia

@kdrama-anna @vurelliex @anonnieghost @tadabzzzbee

@luvofbows @crywolfix @hhonaoin @gigiiiiislife @aviesnapkindoodles

@ninikrumbs @bijuu-naginata @baekhyunsbestie @grimmshold @dalnimmie

@domainexpansionmypants @5tarx @1depressedsimp @beachaddict48 @jadeis0nline

@sukunasbbygrl @luna-v-roiya @sukunaspillow @starsval @vamqyx

@laaalaaaloooppppsiiieeeee @mermaid-jewels @sugusmonkeyy @sammywo @noyaskneepad

@astrideverstar @lordchula-thagrandrula @chuuminn @angel1of-death @flooftoof

@rumi-rants @dysphoricsanity @coolcephalopod @satoruslxt @xoxo1mira

@whosmarjj @kikosaidbye @iceddragonfruit @amisuh @lotties-ashwagandha

[onepieceisreeeeaaalll]

Don't Stop - Law x FemReader

Hey all! This is my first attempt at writing smut that I feel like is good enough to publish. Since it's kinktober, I wanted to contribute to the community in some way. I typed it up this morning and went over it a few times. Its fairly short, a little over 3k words and features mutual masturbation.

Edit: I keep going back and making changes when will the perfectionism leave me lol. I also changed the title bc I like it better.

This is for my Law girlie's. Hope you enjoy!

--------

Law had decided early on that day that he wouldn’t allow any distractions. He had let the paperwork build and build over the past couple of days, something that has greatly troubled him. It’s not like him to avoid work, but he couldn’t get that damn woman off his mind no matter how hard he tried. The feeling of her curves, the valley between her breasts, the sounds she’d make-

Today is different, though. Today will be productive and disciplined. He’s the damn Captain, a surgeon - he can handle a little discipline. But no matter how many times he reads through his paperwork, fills out variables and dots his signatures, he struggles with maintaining focus. He’s never felt so needy before, so goddamn horny. It’s annoying the way you completely flood his senses in every way. More than that, it’s irritating. After what feels like hours, but has likely only been maybe one hour of mindlessly dragging his eyes along the papers, he groans in frustration. Law leans back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose.

He can’t. The moment he closes his eyes, all he can see is your beautiful smile. The way the light shines through your hair, the sway of your hips and the shape of your ass. How your lips looked wrapped around him last night. His thoughts get more jumbled, more needlessly arousing that he feels his cock twitch in his jeans. Fuck. Goddammit. This is bullshit.

Get a grip, Trafalgar. Get a goddamn grip on yourself.

He can’t take it anymore. In one swift motion, he stands abruptly from his desk and exits his office. Law can be a patient man when he needs to be, but today is not one of those days. He can’t focus until he sees you, until he gets the opportunity to bring you both to a fucked-out state of bliss. He needs to feel his body against yours, to light the fire in his veins that pervades and itches beneath his skin. Law barely even registers the faces he passes, the familiar friends and colleagues of his crew with their faces twisted with either concern or a knowing expression. They aren’t even on his mind. His feet move fast, echoing through the metal halls of the Polar Tang. He needs you. He needs you like air.

Law makes it to his quarters where he had left you this morning. He’d exchanged a few sweet chaste kisses in the early morning hours to try to convince the both of you that he’d come back for more later. Later arrived far sooner than either of you might have anticipated, but his control had snapped and he's now a man on a mission. He takes a deep breath, his hand lingering on the doorknob. This is it, Trafalgar, your one last chance to walk away before you-

“Fuck.”

A breathy moan reverberates from inside of the room. Law feels his heart stop and his blood turn cold. He knows that voice, the quality of swears that leave you when you’re in the throws of passion. Are you…?

Another moan, this time longer but softer. His eyes widen and his heart suddenly quickens at the sound. He can’t believe it. You are.

An internal, agonizing debate begins in his head. Should he walk in, give you what you need? Should he walk away, try to take care of business himself? At this point he’s too far gone - he knows what you’re doing and god does he want to join. With the sound of another wanton moan, his primal urges win out and he gently pushes open the door. He's careful to move it in just the right way that it won’t creak, unsure if he wants to get caught and possibly interrupt it. He slips in, quickly closing the door behind him to observe the debauchery going on in his bed.

And fuck, is it debaucherous.

Law takes in the beautiful feast before him - you lying back on the mattress, only a thin sheet haphazardly resting against your lower waist, blocking the full view of your activities. Your back is arched, eyes closed as your hands move desperately in tandem beneath the sheets. He can hear the wet sounds of your slick being invaded by your digits and, judging by the trembling of your legs, you’ve been at this for a while. A small, shaky breath leaves him as he hears your noises - god, those noises that haunt him and invade his dreams. Those enchanting, goddamn helpless sighs, little gasps and hiccups that escape you when you’re really enjoying yourself. Law swears he could listen to them on repeat and never tire of hearing them. The flush of your cheeks is so mesmerizing that his eyes linger there in particular for a moment, a growing desire rising in him to make that blush deeper. His eyes trail back down, and this is the part that really makes him really feral; you’re wearing his shirt, and it’s hoisted just above your breasts to expose the beautiful peaks of your areolas. Everything about you is so intoxicating, and the fact that you’re completely surrounded by him, his scent, his private quarters - all of it just sets him off. He is immediately hard in his jeans, feeling the tightness constricting him like a vice.

“Fuck…” Law breathes, accidentally falling back against the door.

That’s when you hear him. With two fingers still curled inside you, your finger desperately rubbing your needy clit, you halt your movements dead in your tracks. Your eyes widen at the sight of your boyfriend leaning against the door, his own face slightly flushed despite his usual resting-grumpy face. Your heart is racing and you can’t even think for a moment from the combination of the lustful haze and embarrassment filling you. You’re both quietly observing each other, watching with acute awareness that this isn’t what either of you were expecting. Finally, you can’t stand the awkward silence anymore, and you decide to speak.

“I thought you were working.” You say breathlessly, your voice still shaky from the intensity of your actions only moments ago.

“Yeah, I can see that.” You respond quietly. You’re trying to get a handle on your breathing, but your hands are still posed to attack at your aching center again. You don’t know why you haven’t moved them away yet, but now it feels awkward to call attention to that area.

“I was.” Law answers simply, a little more quickly than even he meant. “I’m not now, though.”

It doesn’t matter if you do call attention to it or not, though. Law’s eyes are already trailing down your body with a silent reverence and a hidden, predatory intention. His throat bobs as he makes it to the sheet that’s covering you. It’s silent again but only for a few moments this time. It doesn’t take long before Law’s self control breaks.

“Don’t stop.”

Your breathing hitches at his words, the way they sound so firm yet strained making your walls clench around your fingers automatically. Don’t stop - don’t stop? Your brain doesn’t even fully comprehend the command before your hands are already working you over again. The middle and ring fingers of your right hand rub slow circles at your clit, the same fingers on your left hand beginning to pump back into you. It’s not as intense as it was when you were interrupted but it’s enough to elicit small, needy whines from you. Your eyes stay trained on Law’s and the way his pupils seem to have darkened over his expression. You trail over his body in a quiet admiration for your boyfriend. His muscles that are taut beneath his shirt, the way his belt buckle rests on his waist, and his cock that's so hard and dying to escape his pants. The sight makes you groan and you have to bite your lip to keep yourself from getting too loud.

A small smirk rises to Law’s lips. He sees exactly what you’re looking at and it drives him crazy with need. His arms are crossed over his chest as he watches the show, but he’s not sure how long he can last with the throbbing in his groin.

“Move the sheet.” He instructs, his voice smooth but commanding. It’s the same voice he uses when he’s giving out assignments or instructing a surgery. It’s also your favorite voice he uses in the bedroom.

You take your hand away from your clit, shakily moving it to remove the sheet that blocks his view. Once you’re fully exposed, your hand returns to your clit and a soft whimper escapes your throat. You’re pulsing around your fingers again when you see the way his eyes zero-in on your pussy and the good work you’re doing. Fuck, it’s such a turn-on to see the way his cock twitches in his jeans. Through breathless gasps, your hands increase their speed and your own gaze is fixated on Law.

“Touch yourself.” You instruct, using your own commanding voice despite how much you’re falling apart.

You don’t need to tell Law twice. His hands move to undo his belt with practiced ease, but his eyes never leave you. His smirk stays fixated on his lips even with how flustered he’s feeling. You’re so beautiful to him, you hung the goddamn moon and now you’re putting on the most perfect show for him. He can't get enough.

“You want me to get off to you touching yourself, (y/n)?” Law asks in almost a mocking, teasing tone.

You nod weakly, biting your lip when you see him toss the belt aside carelessly. His hands move to his buttons and zipper, and the sound of the zipper echoing in the room is enough to make a few needy sighs leave you. It’s only heightened when his cock springs out eagerly as though it was dying to greet you and make an appearance.

“Fuck, you’re so hard…” You groan, your eyes shutting briefly to try to get a grip on yourself.

That’s not good enough for Law, though.

“Hey, eyes up here. You’re the one who wanted me to touch myself.” Law says, his tone both firm and somehow still laced in mockery.

Your eyes snap open at his command and you can see he’s already making quick work of his shaft, his hand pumping in slow, measured movements. His tip is already red and inflamed, glistening beautifully with his precum in a way that makes you lick your lips. Without your permission, your hands have already started picking up the speed. Your two fingers are curling and moving in and out of you with a force that makes your body tense. Your fingers at your clit circle the bundle of nerves furiously, causing your body to shiver from the pleasurable sensations. You’re already so close from building yourself back up. This scenario, it’s the hottest thing that you and Law have ever done, which is saying something.

It’s so primal, so horny and hungry that both of you have to watch each other masturbate while longing to touch the other. The sounds in the room are absolutely sinful - moans, low curses, huffs, and the sound of skin being assaulted echo against the metal walls. Pure unadulterated lust fills the room and it's enough to make both you and Law feels completely enraptured by it. You’ve never seen Law so undone so quickly before and you’ve certainly never seen the way he touches himself. It’s almost hypnotizing to dart between the focused look on his face and the way his hand eagerly strokes his cock.

“Add a third finger.” Law commands, his voice breathless and strained.

You immediately do as he says, a third finger poking into your core with little regard. Another whine leaves you and the way your face contorts with pleasure causes Law’s hips to buck towards his hand involuntarily.

“Fuck, (y/n)...you’re so goddamn needy for me. You couldn’t wait a few hours?” He mocks breathlessly.

“No, I-...I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

“Clearly. You’re so wet for me, I-” Law hisses, his hand clenching around his cock. “God, you’re so beautiful like this. Using your hands and pretending they’re mine.”

You groan, your body arching slightly at his praise. He always knows exactly what to say to get you there but you always give it right back to him. Dirty talk has almost become a game between the two of you. Ordinarily the surgeon is very introverted and stern, but in the bedroom he has a way of opening up far more than you’d ever expected.

“Yeah? You like that I couldn’t stop thinking about you, that I- ah-...that I needed to fuck myself?” You respond just as breathlessly before biting your lip to suppress another whiny moan.

Law doesn’t respond immediately, a strangled huff leaving his throat instead. He’s not one for making a lot of noises, but you have a way of bringing out the worst - and best - in him.

“What were you thinking about?” Law asks quickly, almost like he’s compelled to.

Your hands increase their speed, your fingers almost slamming into you and dragging along your walls. Every now and then you touch that beautiful, spongy g-spot that makes your pussy clench tighter.

“You bending me over your desk, slapping my ass and calling me a good girl.” The words fall out of your mouth, and you’d almost be embarrassed if you weren’t so worked up.

That doesn’t matter to Law, though. He groans, his head falling back against the door he’s still leaning against. He can feel his heartrate quickening and every word you say is pushing him closer. Your voice alone is like a goddamn aphrodisiac.

You’re not doing much better, either. Seeing him almost lose himself from your admission sends a shiver down your spine. You can’t take your eyes off of his cock - you’re completely fixated by the way his veins decorate his shaft and the tattoos on his hands moving fervently to bring him to a release. You can feel yourself reaching that peak, teetering on the edge towards absolute nirvana.

The noises coming out of you are not even controlled anymore - they’re animalistic, urgent, and your hands are moving with that same energy. It’s been quiet for a minute now since your admission, but Law speaks up quicker this time than the last.

“Look at you, taking your fingers so good. You're such a mess.” He breathes, his hand stroking his cock a little faster now. He can see the sickness of your fingers when they exit you and it's so delicious looking. “A goddamn mess. So fucking tight you can barely move your fingers.”

“Law.” You whine, your body tensing. He's absolutely right - with how much you're tightening and pulsing on your fingers, you can barely move all three of your fingers. Your walls have a firm grip on you as if trying to swallow you whole.

“Yeah, baby? You say my name so goddamn perfect. Say it again. Say it.” He commands, small huffs of air leaving him. If you could hear anything over the noise of your pussy and the sounds leaving you, Law can be heard groaning so softly.

“Law. Fuck, you feel so good.” You gasp, your mind completely hazy. It's not even him in you but you're so preoccupied by the movements of his hand that you can't help it. It's what comes out.

“Mm…do I? You wish it was my cock stuffing your pretty pussy instead?” Law groans, his head falling back again. He's so close that he can't even begin to hold himself together anymore.

“Yes. Please, I want…fuck, I-...oh my g-...” You choke out, your words barely even coherent anymore. You're so close, right on that precipice, and it makes Law let out a breathless chuckle.

“You gonna come already? Fine, do it, then. Be a good girl and look at me while you cream on your fingers.” Law commands breathlessly, his voice strained but stern.

That's all it takes for you. With a final curl of your digits, you're sent firmly over the edge and into complete unfettered ecstasy. The way you tremble and keen makes Law finish too, though his is more controlled and fairly silent save for one quiet groan.

Law can't peel his eyes away from you as you finish. It's mesmerizing watching you writhe and work yourself through your orgasm. It feels like he's watching some taboo art he's not supposed to. Your body is so gorgeous to him that it makes his heart pound. How in hell did he get so lucky?

After a few moments of panting and quietly recollecting yourselves, Law pads off across the room to grab a towel and clean his hand. He'd managed to catch most of his release, though he has to wipe some of it from his shirt. With a sigh, he removes the material, chiding himself silently for making such a mess. He finally glances back over at you, seeing the blissed-out limp expression on your face. Law smirks before making his way over to the bed, taking a seat next to you.

It's quiet for a moment and he can tell that you've fully come back to yourself. Your flushed cheeks indicate the embarrassment that seems to have finally settled in. He chuckles softly, taking a hand to brush some hair from your forehead.

“You have a good time?” He teases quietly.

You groan, annoyed, and avert your gaze from his. You've never been caught masturbating before, much less masturbated with someone else. It was as vulnerable and shameful as it was hot.

“Shut up.” You pout. “I didn't think you were coming back for a few hours.”

“I know.” Law says gently, moving his fingers delicately through your hair. “It's fine. Nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“Yeah, well I disagree.”

“What? You didn't like it?” Law asks with a small smirk. Judging by how you two got off, he knows that you'd be full of shit to deny it.

“Tell you what. I still have some work that I need to get done. At lunch, though, I want you to stop by my office.” Law leans in close, his breath tickling your ear. “Maybe we can make that fantasy of yours a reality.”

You don't even bother answering. You know he knows the answer. After a few moments of silence, Law clicks his tongue his fingers moving to drag his knuckles across your cheek gently.

[mtsyik]

The babysitter and the babysittee♡

Chapter one: Meet Cute

This is my first time posting a story with many parts, so I hope that it is an enjoyable read! Reblogging is permitted, and please know that english is not my first language, so excuse any mistakes that I make!

Tags: 18+ satoru gojo x reader, babysitter!reader, babysittee!gojo, friends to lovers, one-sided pining, age-gap relationship, a whole lot of flirting, smut, mentions of drugs, angst, mentions of death, lovesick!gojo, engineering student!gojo, architecture student!reader

Masterlist

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The party is definitely crowded, to say the least. People making out in corners, the sounds of plastic tennis balls bouncing and people cheering, cause your eardrums to hurt. You're pretty sure you can hear someone vomiting in the backyard over the music.

All these people and you still can't find Yuna, who forcefully brought you here, with the false hope that you will end up with your tongue stuck somewhere else than those chocolate puddings you love so much. You told her it was a lost cause, that you have about 3 papers to write due the end of next month; she didn't budge. Which ultimately led you here, troubled and alone, bumping against every hormonal teenager without being one yourself. Maybe you are too old for frat parties.

You sigh as you finally find a door amidst the sea of people, hoping it wasn't some closet that doubled as a hook up spot. Luck must not be on your side, because the noises inside made you turn on your heel with a disappointed sigh (and disgust, who hooks up at a party full of people?) As you make your way outside. You make a mental note to check if your closet at home is being used a hook up spot when Yuna hosts her one-of-a-kind parties when you're away.

Freezing from the cold, the simple dress you had put on did little against the chill of January, and you hit your head with your palm as you realize that you had left your cigarettes in Yuna's (your) jacket. This night had been nothing but an emotional rollercoaster for you.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me right now."

You turn to your left, and notice some film majors smoking (what you hoped was just) nicotine, and made your way towards them.

"You mind giving me one?"

You thank them as they give you a cigarette from their pack, and you catch the name of the label, "leader".

The smoke wasn't awful, just really dry and almost made you cough a few times (picking up smoking after 2 years of quitting wasn't for the weak) but you guess it's better than nothing. You inhale the smoke and close your eyes at the feeling, trying to savor the somewhat quiet that engulfs your surroundings.

When somebody crashes into you.

You fall down dramatically, and wince at the throbbing pain of the hard concrete on your ass. This is so not the way you had planned for this night to go. It's like the universe doesn't even give you one moment of peace, with finals and the beginning of the new semester and your perfectionism together you have absolutely no time to do anything than stick your head in books. You've reached a point where not holding a 0.2 pen feels weird, but the cigarettes help with that. It's been SO LONG since you last hooked up that you can feel your virginity growing back.

You get up hastily and wipe your hands on your dress as three more guys appear out of nowhere to drag the one that crashed into you away.

"Choso what the fuck man! Is this you being able to hold him?"

"I am but one man! How am I meant to hold this mountain of a man?"

"Ma'am, are you okay?"

The scene in front of you is surprisingly hilarious, with three guys trying to get their friend to stand up while simultaneously dropping him to the ground so they can bicker about who's to blame. The one with space buns in his hair (choso, you realize) is waving his hands frantically to the pink haired guy that is obviously way too young to have beer stains all over his white shirt. You wonder if becoming 23 is when you started caring about underage drinking. You snap out of your trance when the third guy (possibly the most handsome out of the three) reaches out to grab you while asking if you're okay. He has his hair back in a ponytail, and his eyes, although slim, captivate you. His ears are decorated with all sorts of piercings, and if you notice how his mouth forms to speak, a little silver ball sits prettily on his tongue. You wonder what else can sit nicely on that tongue. You blink upon realizing the thoughts you are having about the 20yo guy in front of you. It's really been a while since you've hooked up.

"NOOOOO Geeeeto she is mine!"

"What the fuck!"

You almost fall back from the impact, and your eyes widen. The guy that literally crushed you with his body mass is clinging unto you for dear life as if you'll slip away. You try to push him off of you, but to no avail. What are they feeding 20 year old dudes these days?

"Satoru get off of her!"

"NOOO she is the- lob ove my lifeeeee"

"Get off of me man"!

Choso and one of the most handsome men you've ever seen attempt to get (Satoru? Why is that familiar?) off of you. You should be pissed off about the whole situation, you should be yelling at the man-child that has his claws on you like a hawk trying to protect their baby, you should probaply be super awkward with your cheeks flushed and your pupils dilated at the sudden affection from the stranger.

But surprisingly you are none of these things. That is until you glance down at your holy savior through life, the one thing that has never in the five years of knowing her betrayed you in any way; laying on the ground with her smoke slowly going out.

And now you are pissed.

"Can't a woman even smoke in peace these days?! What the fuck is up with your koala man?!"

"Listen I'm so sorry, I'll buy you a whole new pack i swear- Satoru get off the sweet woman!"

"Hey man, is there any way we could wrap this up? My mom wants me home by 1"

"You skipped laundry again? I told you man, you gotta help your mom out with these things"

"I F-fiiinalllyyyyy found youuuuuuu hic you are hic neveeeeeeeeer leavnggggggg"

The street lamp you've been under starts to flicker, together with the headache you've started to get from all the noise around you. And you feel something dripping out of your nose, maybe it's blood. Maybe this unfortunate situation has made you realize you have super powers - nope. It's just snot from the cold. You've watched Stranger Things too many times just for Steve Harrington. And now, with snot dripping from nose, the thought of you being curled up in your bed makes you relax a little bit.

Finally the nameless stranger drops to the ground from exhaustion, and oh that just means you fall with him with a loud thud. You are hoisted up from the drop-dead-possibly a Calvin Clein model if he wanted to- guy, (that surprisingly is the only one who seems to care about your well being) and placed on the ground and you finally can get a good look at the koala that has been harassing you.

Huh, if it wasn't for the most bothersome meet-cute of your life, you would find him incredibly attractive. White hair and even whiter skin, wearing a black sleeveless shirt that has you questioning whether you imagined his body warmth or not, and fluffy hair that moves where the wind is taking it. Not bad, not bad at all. But why do you have that nagging feeling in your brain telling you-

"Oi Satoru, why do you have to drink so much? Idiot, idiot, idiot. Ma'am, I am so sorry for the trouble he caused you. He usually, well, usually you would be the one bothering this pretty boy in front of us, no? Quite the charmer, isn't he?"

You glance at the man Mr. Worldwide Handsome is refering to. His mouth is open with saliva dripping out and he is snoring. You glance back up.

"What? How desperate do I look?"

"N-No, I didn't- damn they left"

Apparently the pink hair boy's mom is someone you do not want to get on her bad side, because he together with space bun boy had been gone from the moment they talked about laundry. My god. You are reminded of your mom and how her wrath still makes you scared to reject her advances for family dinners every once a week (even when you are too busy. You can never be too busy for family).

You grimace at your mother's voice in your head and bend down to grab your fallen comrade who was lost in the middle of the battle. After failing to protect her, the least you could do is offer her some peace in the trash can. You stop in your tracks at daddy-longlegs voice.

"well, alright. Here we go. You helping or not?"

'You've got to be kidding".

"Ma'am I'm sorry, but you think I can carry a 1,87 meter and 89 kilos man alllll the way back to my car, all on my own? I am flattered"

Okay maybe daddylonglegs was annoying you just a taaad much. Shame. It's always the hot ones.

"Oh, and I apparently look like the desperate version of She-Hulk or something? He is your friend, you can take care of him on your own!"

◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇

And that's how you ended up at the backseat of handsome boy #1 holding down annoying koala fuckboy from turning in his sleep and chocking on his own vomit. Although you would rather him choke on it than coat you with it, but you don't share that information with the driver.

Geto, who you've come to find out does actually have a name managed somehow, (guilt, puppy eyes and using your pure heart against you) to convince you to drive him and where's-my-hug-at back to campus, after alerting your friend for you that he would be dropping you off.

(Yuna finally remembered you after forever and called you to make sure you're okay, but Geto snatched the phone from your hand to let her know that after some business he would be driving you home tonight. From the sounds of excitement that came out of her, you now have 2 people aware of how little you fuck.)

Unaware of your surroundings as you are clouded by thought by how easily you were convinced by a stranger to drive you back to his house with his drunk friend in the backseat, (wow dumb decisions don't just magically disappear after 23?) You are also unaware of the blue eyes that are set on you.

"Hey...hic yo..."

Satoru attempts to get up but is stopped by his own body weight as he is currently too weak against the mass power of gravity, and groans.

"hey your friend is waking up-"

"shhhhhh don't tell him....hic wanna-wanna be alone with youuuu"

Geto catches your reflection from the rearview mirror and smirks at how confused you are.

"aaa don't mind him y/n. He is usually a liiittle bit too friendly when he is drunk"

"shhhhh Geeto I wanna- wanna propose, man. You don't - I foun-found her man. Found her..." Both of his hands grasp your left one and caress it softly with his fingers. His palms are rough, you think. With callouses and tiny burns, slightly dry from the cold. The beautiful cream like color of his skin more than makes up for it though, and you find yourself drawn to the blue veins that run along the entirety of his arm and-god you really need to hook up.

"Does he usually fall in love with every girl he sees? I mean, not that I'm surprised. Look at me- but is this a common fenomenon? If so, I will be offended."

Geto smiles and shakes his head slightly before pulling the lever on his right to lock the car wheels.

"No. It's not"

◇◇◇◇��◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇

You sigh as you finally enter your room, freshly showered after a long night out. Yuna is still not back, so you have successfully avoided at least one torturous night of her asking for details about this Geto-guy. You put on your pajamas and shudder at the sudden cold that engulfs you when you remove the towel wrapped around your torso.

Your phone dings with a message and you lean over to see what it is.

@geto_suguru has requested to follow you

@geto_suguru has sent you a message

piercingguy: Hey, you home yet?

you: yes, I am. You didn't have to force me to give you my socials to make sure I get here, though.

piercingguy: Gojo says hi.

piercingguy: will tell him to follow you too, so he can keep an eye on you ;)

Your eyebrows furrow as another notification pops up

@satoru_gojo has requested to follow you

You furrow at the name, blinking three times as if to refresh your brain as to why it sounds so familiar...

and then it clicks.

That poor sweet boy you babysat for one summer is now a hot, handsome attractive idiot running around telling women that they are the loves of his life while simultaneously dropping them to the floor by his incredible body mass? All that while having so so incredible hands and being cute even while drunk and confessing his unyielding love right before he faints at the arms of his friend? That's the kind of boy you helped raise? An evil grin reaches your face.

Oh, now you can't wait for family dinner.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Chapter two!

[chvoswxtch]

just wanted to hear your voice

pairing: billy russo x fem!reader

summary: billy hasn't been able to stop thinking about you all morning, and he just wants to hear your voice.

warnings: swearing, explicit sexual content (minors dni)

word count: 1.4k

a/n: this is a very special birthday gift for my baby lea, @thyme-in-a-bubble. i'd send you a cake, but you're the superior baker between us, so i'm giving you the slutty gift of billy instead. i hope your birthday is as magical as you are, and i hope you enjoy your present. i love you endlessly. 🖤

as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated.

Billy very rarely had a hard time focusing. He approached everything, especially his empire, with tenacious determination and an insatiable thirst for success. There was no detail too small, no risk too grand, and no stone he didn’t personally overturn. His desire for perfectionism and order may have appeared as obsessive and controlling to some, but to Billy, appearances and status were everything, so it was imperative to give every task at hand his full and undivided attention.

But today, his thoughts couldn’t stop wandering to you.

All the blocks of black ink on the documents in front of him blurred into a mirage of you in that emerald green silk robe that was carelessly wrapped around your figure this morning while you got ready in the bathroom. It took him fifteen minutes just to knot his tie because he couldn’t stop staring at your alluring reflection in the mirror. The dark green fabric looked absolutely decadent on your soft skin, pulling taut against your body in all the right places. The belt was loosely tied around your waist, leaving a large expanse of your chest on display for his viewing pleasure, the edges of the robe just barely stopping right before your nipples.

It took every ounce of self control Billy had not to bend you over the counter, lift the hem of the robe just a few inches upwards, and make you watch in the mirror while he fucked you.

But he had an important meeting in twenty minutes that he couldn’t miss.

Sometimes he really fucking hated owning his own company.

Billy hadn’t even heard most of the pitch during the meeting. The monotone voice of the talkative investor should’ve been the perfect combat to dull his half hard cock into submission, but his mind kept wandering to you, and that only made his throbbing problem worse. He wasn’t a religious man, but he silently thanked whoever might be listening that black was his signature color, and that it slimmed instead of emphasized the prominent bulge in his pants.

He tried to busy himself with all the tasks that needed his attention, and fuck did he try, but his eyes could only decipher a few words before everything went blurry and shapeshifted into your form again. He should’ve just taken you over the fucking counter and been late. He could’ve made you both come in a matter of minutes. He had never regretted a decision so fucking much as he did right now.

Billy made it forty-five minutes before he absolutely couldn’t stand it anymore. His cock ached within the confines of his briefs, and he wasn’t going to make it through the rest of the day without some relief. Without giving it another thought, Billy grabbed his phone and dialed your number, placing his phone between his ear and his shoulder while swiftly unbuckling his belt and zipping down his fly. He had just slipped his hand past the waistband of his briefs to wrap his slender fingers around his cock when your melodic voice sounded on the other side of the line.

“Hi handsome.”

Billy sank his top teeth into his bottom lip, giving his cock a gentle squeeze, letting out a deep exhale through his nose as he leaned back in his chair to get comfortable.

“Hey darlin’. You busy?”

“Not particularly. Why, what’s up?”

“Nothin’. Just wanted to hear your voice, s’all.”

Billy swiped his thumb across his weeping tip, letting out a silent hiss as he used the spurt of his arousal as a lubricant to coat the length of his cock. His eyes fluttered shut when your soft giggle sounded in his ear.

“Baby, you heard my voice an hour ago.”

“S’too fuckin’ long, doll.”

Another harmonious string of giggles played in his ear, and he began to slowly flick his wrist upwards in a light jerking motion, doing his best to keep his voice steady.

“Tell me how your mornin’s goin’.”

Billy caught almost every other word of your exposition, the pleasure building in his lap nearly clouding his mind entirely with lust. He kept his eyes closed, conjuring your figure in front of him on his desk in that little robe he had gotten you for your birthday, thighs spread apart enough to display your soaked cunt to him while you spoke. God, the things he would do to you if you were here right now.

“Billy?”

“Hm?”

“I said how did your meeting go?”

He was so wrapped up in his fantasy of you that he had completely missed your question. A layer of sweat had started to bead along his hairline, and he hadn’t even noticed that he’d begun to steadily buck his hips upwards into his own hand.

“Fine. It was fine.”

There was silence on the other end of the line for a moment before your voice rang through laced with concern.

“Are you okay?”

“M’fine, darlin’.”

“Are you sure? You sound a little out of it.”

If you were here with him right now, you would’ve caressed his face in your soft palm. Physical touch was one of your love languages, and it awoke a craving in Billy he hadn’t realized he had blocked out from a lifetime of being touch starved. 

He adored all your little touches. He loved the way you held his hand proudly wherever the two of you went. He enjoyed how you always touched his arm to get his attention when you wanted to show him something. He felt a rush of warmth every time he felt your arms wrap around him from behind in a hug when you were watching him do something, or checking on him if it was late and he hadn’t come to bed yet. He liked that you were always absentmindedly adjusting his tie for him or fixing his hair back into place if it got unruly.

But he really loved the way you touched him when he pleasured you. He savored the sharp sting of your fingers tugging roughly at his dark roots to bring his face closer to your pussy when he ate you out. He got off on the pain you inflicted clawing into his back when he fucked you hard and rough. He reveled in the way you held his hands above his head when you rode his cock with a pleased grin plastered on your lips. He cherished the way you held his face in your hands when he made love to you.

All those images in his head caused him to let out a desperate moan, and he didn’t miss the way your breath hitched on the other side of the phone.

“Billy…are you-”

“I shoulda fucked you this mornin’ like I wanted, doll.”

He heard the sharp intake of breath you took. The quiet and soft moan that slipped past your lips went straight to his cock and nearly had his eyes rolling into the back of his head.

“Billy-”

“Looked so fuckin’ good in that robe, darlin’. Gonna buy you one in every fuckin’ color so I can fuck you in all of ‘em. God, I been hard all fuckin’ mornin’ from thinkin’ ‘bout you, baby.”

“Are you-”

“Fuckin’ my hand wishin’ it was your pussy instead? Yeah, I am.”

A delicate noise of desire echoed through the phone’s speaker, and it sounded like the exact one you made whenever he sucked at that sweet spot on your neck. 

“Billy…”

Your voice came out in a breathless moan, and it only made him fuck his hand faster.

“Say my name like that again, baby. C’mon, lemme hear it again.”

Billy was panting heavily now, that tight band within him dangerously close to snapping. His hand was moving furiously up and down the base of his cock, and he slipped his other hand into his briefs to gently squeeze his balls. 

“Billy.”

Throwing his head back against the chair, Billy groaned your name loudly when he came, his jaw hanging open as he fucked his hand through his orgasm. Warm ropes of his release painted wet stripes along his crisp white button up, and he let out a quiet moan from the overstimulation of emptying himself completely. 

A wolfish grin spread across his lips as he tried to catch his breath, wiping his sticky palm off on his shirt.

“I’m comin’ home to change suits. You better be there waitin’ when I get there.”

[bitchfitch]

idk my stained glass post is going around again and a lot of people are saying it's inspiring them but they're still hesitant to start whatever craft has their fancy rn, so here's a dipshit's guide to getting from horsey to whale when you're starting out a craft

Step 1: skim a tutorial.

don't take notes, don't pay all that much attention to it, give it like. at max 10 minutes of your time. Just get the general shape of the process into your head along with any relevant safety precautions.

the point of doing this is to stop yourself from forming expectations. Expectations are the motivation killer. Strangle them to death.

Step 2: Tool time

You may want to start right in on a project, you might even have one in your head already.

Don't. Stop that, see the point above about expectations. Your first project is going to suck major nuts, it doesn't matter what you do, so you simply must plan to make your first project as nut-sucktastic as physically possible. Burry your expectations so deep in the ground that you will leap over them by simply faceplanting.

So here's what you do instead, gather the necessary tools and materials then set aside an amount of material that you are ok with just pissing away. just absolutely wasting. If you went right in and got discouraged enough to drop a project while doing it, youd be wasting the materials anyway. Might as well get the wasting over and done with Before it eats hours of your mortal life.

Ok, now pick the first tool and associated skill involved in your new craft and just practice That. Don't try to make anything, just learn the motions and teach yourself how things move or break or bend or etc etc etc. all the real basic boring parts that don't produce anything.

Then move onto the next steps associated skills and tools. Connect them back to the product you got from practicing the first step if you can, then the third and so on, so that at the end of this ordeal you too can have a horrible abomination you can pretend looks like a horse.

Step 3: nap

With that done, fuck off and do something else for a bit. like for at Least a few hours if not a full day. Take a nap. do some drugs, play a hentai gatcha game, fuck if I care man. Just don't do the craft. This is the best way to kill expectations: fuckin forgetting what you're capable of.

step 4: learn it right this time

Actually watch/read that tutorial now. like. for real. give it your full atten and take notes on where you fucked up and how you struggled back in step two. like actual written/typed notes. You're going to be focusing on those areas and having a neat list to keep thing orderly in your head can help.

at this point it's also a good idea to try to find other tutorials that explain the Thing, but have a different person explaining it. or tutorials that are more granular. like ones that talk about the skills involved in a single step instead of the whole process. having that little bit more detail can be a game changer.

step 5: visualization

Come up with the easiest and most basic project you can think of while referring to that list of areas you struggled. You want this project to primarily focus on those weak spots and give you room to practice and improve them. ok. and now scrape the top 10% off the project. Make it easier make it smaller, make it less detailed, find a pattern instead of making your own, whatever just simplify it that little bit more.

Step 6: just do it

actually do that project while referring to your tutorials and notes.

Let yourself fuck up. Let yourself waste shit. And then move on. Don't get tangled in expectations, or let your perfectionism strangle you. Look it in the eye and strangle it back, make your shit uglier just to spite it.

Skills take time to develop. Give yourself that time and don't let your brain issues take the joy of creation from you. It's fuckin hard, but you've Got to do it if you want a modicum of happiness in this hell world. the vibe is Cognitive Behavioral Therapy but done with pure violence and vitriolic hatred of what your own neurosis are trying to take from you.

step 7: aw shit it's a never ending cycle

repeat step 5, but go for something a bit harder, then step six until you find a new muse to start over at step 1 with.

[scandistar]

Exceptional Young Man: Part One

(This is a Rolan short fic that I've split into multiple pieces about my headcanon for his childhood. I'm quite a slow writer since my perfectionism can get the better of me, but I'll publish it on ao3 once the whole fic is finished. Constructive critisism is appreciated.)

(I hope I’ll break your heart with this one <3)

Parts two, three

Word count: ~1700

“I should’ve thrown you out the moment he was born!” the yell boomed through the house, beating against the tall ceilings and flickering in the flames of the candelabras. “You had me believe he was my mistake, woman!” the roar sounded, but not louder than the abrasive thrash that shook the hallway shortly after. 

He gripped the cedar frame and left small, yet noticeable notches from the tips of his nails. He caught himself and retracted with a sharp gasp. Father is fuming, who knows what he would do if he saw this.

“Look at you! I should’ve known your blood was filth!” the boy’s small ears perked to hear the man hiss. “And I shared a bed with you... You’re a devil in porcelain skin and I shared my bed with you!”

A moment's silence swept through the halls that had just been rumbling and the absence of thunder made his little heart squeeze and his pointed teeth clatter.

He hid around the corner, by the arch before the hallway where the dark covered him. But he braved the rapid thumping of his heart and peeked past the frame, through the large hallway and into the dining room. He saw the candlelight hit his father’s tensed back while he rubbed his face in both hands, but all else was hidden by a wall.

“Love, I-”

“Get out of my sight!” his father spat and shoved her at the table. She yelped and the chairs groaned as her weight pushed them aside. “Tomorrow-- Tomorrow I’ll make it official! You will not taint my lineage with another hellspawn!”

Fit to lose his last ounce of composure, he decided to turn and leave before the rest of the house suffered his wrath. There were none here but them, but the floors were fine cedar and one scratch would require him to refurbish the entire intricately arranged parquet.

As he barged out, the boy caught his father’s rough look from head to toe. Strands of loose hair draped his rage-flustered face and his dark, bloodshot eyes were cloaked by his hard brows. Those eyes met the boy’s in the man’s retreat and widened in what appeared to be pure bewilderment. 

He huffed, staring at the child for seconds that might've as well been hours.

“Why are you still up?!” he snarled and yanked the boy out of the dark. 

“Please, I- I’m sorry, father!” he cried out and prepared every fawning excuse he could think of, but luck has it the brute only sighed in exasperation.

“Don’t be difficult. Get back to your room.” he said, and much softer than expected. A tone edged with exhaustion and a look in his eyes that wasn’t coloured by rage, but something just as sour. It was disappointment - he could tell. That same dull regard he received for every little mistake he made, but it didn’t linger on him. However, it didn’t leave his father’s eyes either.

The man promptly left up the stairs and after his steps had softened into nothing, the boy bounded to the other room where he peeked past the archway again. 

He was silent as can be before he saw her.

Thankfully, she only stood there, leaning against the table while she rubbed her tender cheek bruised by her husband's temper. It was a burning red layered over her powdery skin and it deepened in the contour of a palm.

She bit down on her bottom lip, trying her darndest not to burst out in tears, even if her breath quivered and her shoulders shook. The rosy colour under her puffy eyes stained by her mascara tells she’s already been crying, which is why he got out of bed to begin with. She had been wailing as her husband wouldn’t stop yelling.

The boy struggled to name the feeling, but there was pain in his chest. Pain for her. A deep wound that he felt everywhere and it gnawed at him from his stomach to his throat, so he clung to his shirt tight to force it away until his nails pricked holes in the fabric.

“Mama?...” he asked like a pitiful chirp that made the poor woman jump.

“Oh dear lord Torm…” she gasped and pushed both her hands against her chest to pull her breath back in. And again and again, over and over until she could form a sloped smile on her slapped face. Until she could look at her son.

“Did he hurt you?” he dared ask, but silently began berating himself over the obvious. Of course he did, he heard it himself. That choleric bastard had done so before, in front of the child, and the boy had memorised the sharp snap that his father’s slap rang.

There was overwhelming concern in her child’s eyes, but his mother took a moment and another breath to count the little details scattered on his face, but she made an effort to avoid his gaze. 

“I’m fine, darling.” her brittle voice spoke softly and turned her cheek to hide the bruising.

She stepped ahead and put a gentle hand on his shoulder to usher him out of the dining room. “Now, let’s get back upstairs.”

--

She lit her candle by the door before she opened it for him. “Go on - get to bed.” she nodded inside and he ran over to slip in under the toasty sheet and curl up with the blanket tight to his chest. It felt safe like that, balled up and burrowed into the mattress. 

“You’ve stayed up long enough.” she said as she walked over, holding out the candle to meet him before she knelt down beside the bed and looked into his big eyes that were plastered on her, still asking millions of unuttered questions.

Was she okay? Would she be okay if she wasn’t? Would they be okay? What will they do if they won’t be okay? Why was father so mad? What made him mad? What happened? Was it something he did? He had mentioned him, so it must’ve been something he did. Was there something he did wrong? Was there something he didn’t do? Was there something he could’ve done better? What could he have done better? What did he miss? Father didn’t get angry at him. He should’ve gotten angry at him, he always gets angry at him, but this time he didn’t. Why didn’t he get angry? What is going on? Something must be bad. Really bad.

His mother placed the candleholder down softly on the nightstand, then turned to him with lips that smiled, but eyes that mourned. Why did she look so sad?

“It’s okay.” she whispered and brushed his hair out of his face. “I’m okay.”

She could say that a hundred times over and she wouldn’t get close to convincing. He heard their fighting - he still saw her bruise. Of course she wasn't okay. None of this was okay, so why would she bother to say it? Did she think that he couldn’t see it? Did she think he didn't understand? Did she think that he was stupid? Father did and so did she, but he’s not stupid. He would show them, but… He didn't understand why he had to. Why did father force him to?

“Why do you think I’m stupid?” he asked genuinely, but his voice was tinged with jagged hurt.

“Why I-” she froze and stuttered. She leaned back and bit her tongue before she shook her head and returned to him. She stroked his brow tentatively down to his cheek, her touch avoiding that which pronged from his forehead. “Who said that I did, love?” 

“But you do.” he pouted and turned away from her hand. “You do and father does, too. That’s why he’s always so nasty!” and as he huffed through the ball coiling in his throat, he flipped to his other side.

“Oh, dear. No, you misunderstand.” she said with a wilt in her voice. 

He felt her weight slump down on the edge of the bed and he saw her reach out for him, despite how desperately he tried to hide his face from her. From this room and from father. From everyone that could see him and think less of him for whatever reason they had.

“He’s only hard on you because he loves you.” she cooed.

“No he doesn’t.” he sniffed.

“He does - and dearly so.” she put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed it as lovingly as she could, but she was shaking. By the gods, she was shaking. “He only wishes to see you become the best version of you, which he knows you can become, but you need to trust him.”

He begrudgingly paid her a glance, then a look and at last turned to her where he met the gentle touch of her fingers tracing the line of his cheek down to his chin. She then brushed a tousled lock of hair back behind his ear, so careful not to touch his horns.

“I promise you - he loves you.” she said, but before she could trip over the rest she had to say, she stopped and withdrew. She was holding it back in solemn defeat, instead smiling to assure: “He just shows it in a different way.”

He shifted beneath the blanket and looked down at her clasped hands in her lap before he chose to accept her words. It hurt to do so and the twinge in his chest drew a sobbing breath from him, but she was smiling at him so comfortingly, so he said nothing more and cuddled into his pillow.

“It’s time to sleep now, dear.” she said and traced his little nose and tapped it. “The sun will rise soon, so you better get some sleep before it does.”

Then she stood, picking up the candle and looking down at him with a smile as she asked him to close his eyes, only blowing out the candle before he had done so. She probably believed he was none the wiser, that he didn't notice how she waited for him to look away and shut his eyes before she turned out the light, but he did. He’s not stupid.

[rememberwren]

Any advice/tips/wisdom for writers looking to improve their work

I so admire your writing

Most of this advice is advice I’ve been told by others, writing teachers and authors along the way. I have very little to say about writing which is my own tbh. These are things I TRY to follow but…I’m not perfect in any sense of the word haha.

1. Write often! As often as you can. Like any practice, you get better with exercise.

2. Read even more often! Find the time. Be selective over what you’re reading, especially if you’re a new writer. The instinct comes to mimic the voice of whatever you’re most often reading.

3. Know your rules before you break your rules: this goes for grammar too.

4. Find a hard truth and then don’t flinch! The best writing IMO contains some measure of truth in it, any truth from the broadest sense (the nature of man!) to the most narrow sense (the nature of me). Find that truth and stare it in the eye until it blinks first.

5. If you struggle with perfectionism in your first draft, you might need to consistently make the choice to be imperfect and move on for the sake of getting it out into the world. Yes you know all the proverbs about shitty first drafts. But is your subconscious still clinging to perfectionism? I have to remind myself again and again “put it [perfectionism] away. Put it [words] down.”

6. Get space between yourself and your first draft. After you write something, put it away for a while and come back to it later. This is so hard for me to practice because I want to post immediately haha. But you often can’t see the forest for the trees, and giving yourself time to forget every little detail about what you wrote only to experience it again as a reader this time is excellent.

[persephone11110]

A Different Dialect | b.bradshaw

prompt: “You can’t keep hiding this stuff.”- credit: @memesomething

tw:illness—hiding said illness, past child abuse, self esteem issues, protective b.b, readers a mom| dad bradley bradshaw, reader is masking her pain, the word throw up is mentioned and vomit— also the act of throwing up is mentioned, perfectionism, pushing yourself to exhaustion, 15 years into the future

reader goes by angel

children names: Cobie and and Nicky

this a random one-shot/ apart of FALLEN ANGEL Series

AN: Its been awhile since I posted to this series, random idea was born after listeing to Because of You. And i also pulled a quote from one of my fav shows ever Bojack Horseman , ever have a hard time trying to write the middle of a fic

—

Self care….not your biggest strong suit, which is pretty funny for ER/n. Lets just say Bradley doesn’t find it so funny.

This is all started because of your weak immune system. It was shameful how someone who’s been a ER/n for the past decade and half didn’t recognize the severity and symptoms of the flu. For crying out loud your a mom and a wife, your the definition of unstoppable,someone who doesn’t get the chance to fall apart. And yet here we are—laying on bedroom floor, curled up in pain. Weakness doesn’t look good on you Y/n Bradshaw.

Let’s turn the clock back.

This time, you had the chance to hide your sickness from your other half—since he recently taken promotion of Captain he had been busy with students and paper work. As evil as its sounds—you just didnt want him fretting over you, ruining his work schedule because of you, missing out with friend’s because of you.

Being sick today wasn’t any different, you usually toughen it out—pushing yourself while sick was a familiarity, well before you became an adult. You gone to school with body aches, slight fevers, the twins sports game with severe nausea—taking medicine to soothe it. Nothing made you stop—as you learned at a young age age,“Y/n the world doesn’t stop just because your sick.”

You could remember the last time you got sick as a child and the memories are faint but some of it is ingrained into the back of your mind.

“Y/n remember what we say about crying... crying is stupid!"— Dad had grown tired of your loud wails, having come home from a important dinner, he grabbed you by your jaw and gripped it tightly. “Don’t make me have to tell you again”.

You cupped your forehead once again, it felt like someone was taking a knife pulling it in and out. Only couple more hours and your teenaged twins would grow tired and retire to their rooms.Then you could fall apart—cry if you needed to, throw up if you needed to.

What you didnt expect was your husband to come home early.

“Honey its just a little cold”, you mother batted your hands away from your nose, she stood behind you smoothing the sides of your dresses perfectly.“Your father needs at your best for this dinner, the governor might be considering giving him the funding he deserves”.

You didn’t deserve to be cared for, you didn’t earn the right to stay home like your parents did.

You rolled your shoulders back, you looked in the mirror, praying to god that your mascara didn’t smudge. You put on a fake smile because god forbid you didn’t you smile hard enough infront of strangers your father would have your backside and a belt.

“Come on Y/n, Linda!”’your father shouted from downstairs, he stood at the end of staircase. His shoulders squared straight, his eyes portraying nothing but coldness, it really added to the whole army man persona. “Don’t have all day”.

You sniffled one more time, you swallowed the snot down your throat. Mom hated the way your nose looked after you blew it too many times.

You spent the entire night politely turning down men old enough to your father,while also keeping the bile of vomit down. Multitasker

“Dear god Y/n loosen up, your father needs all the support he can get”. Your mother walked past you, whispering into your ear.

“Yes ma’am, let me go freshen up real quick”, your were face down in toliet, biles of vomit coming up. Remembering where you were, you quickly stood flushing the toliet— you held onto the stall wall.

An older woman passed you onto the way to the sink. “This generation,what makes you think a man is going to want you like that if cant even hold your liquor?”. The silvered hair woman voice held a certain amount of digust that even your own mother couldn’t beat.

Pull yourself together Y/n.

You can do better than this, you were taught trained better than this.

—

Walking through the front door Bradley expected two things, his wife helping the twins with last minute homework Or Cobie and Nicky chasing after Orbit, causing a mess to happen around the house.

Quiet house. Bradley allowed his feet to bring him to their shared bedroom.

He didn’t expect for his wife to laying on the floor curled up in a fetal position.“Angel!” Bradley shouts as he slides on to the ground, he didn’t have time to panic—years of being in miltary and being father kicked in. He pressed his finger into your neck hoping and praying to god there was pulse somewhere.

“Brad?” You open your eyes, your confused the worry look Bradley was wearing.“Whats wrong?”.

“Whats wrong Y/n?” His voice dripping with sarcasm, “I just found my wife unconscious on the floor”. You and Bradley are sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Bradley lets not be hysterical, I wasn’t unconscious I’ve worked a graveyard shift while also taking care of the kids”. Your was voice strained, you lost it while at Cobie soccer game.

You squeezed your eyes the ceiling light was starting to bother you, and because you didn’t want Bradley to see you cry.

Bradley gave you once over and started to feel his bubbling anger starting to faint away. “Angel we’re partners remember?” He’s caressing your face, “I have your six, you know that right?”

You peered your eyes back open, and whispered“I know that, I just…..nevermind it doesn’t matter”.

You start to move away from him“the twins need some important forms signed Brad-Brad and Orbit needs to be let out again”.

“Y/n dont worry about that, right now we need to talk about your lack of self care”. Bradley pulls you back to him, “Please let me take care of you”. The amount of emotion that filled Bradley voice broke your heart, you didn’t mean to make him upset.

“We also need to talk about I didn’t even notice my own damn wife was in so much pain”. Bradley ran his hands through hair, “I mean how I couldn’t I?”.

“Well Brad you’ve been working long hours since becoming a captain, the navy needs you more than usual to”. You smile weakly, the last thing you wanted to do was make Bradley feel bad for being promoted.

“Oh angel Im sorry, thats it I’m taking a leave of absence”. Bradley tone held a no-none sense tone.

“No,no Bradley I’m fine this something im used to, sometimes you need make sacrifices”. You speak like its fact, you’ve never been told otherwise.

Bradley sighs his eyes rimming with tears, its got this far without Bradley noticing.“No Y/n your just used to making unnecessary sacrifices for everyone else”.

“When the last time you’ve been taken care of— when’s the last time I spend the day taking care of you?”. Bradley voice was soft, careful to not wake the kids. “Y/n let me take care of you, my wife the mother of kids deserves to be loved , cherised and taken care of”. His voice is quiet, he puts his hand into yours. “I love you Y/n Bradshaw”.

“I love you to Bradleu Bradshaw”.

[greenerteacups]

hey gt! So, I’ve been writing for many years- either poems, ff, or my own stories and one thing I struggle with ALWAYS is finishing…. The damn…. Story…. I know it’s kinda stupid to say that I write but never finish the work but I truly struggle with it. I find myself 1. Stuck on a scene and over editing 2. Fearing I’m forgetting parts from the previous chapters and creating plot holes 3. Questioning every decision from the story that has made me come to x point !!!!

Maybe my niche is writing one shots or something idk- I’m to anxious to have anybody beta read my stuff, too so that doesn’t help I guess. Any advice?

It's not stupid, and it's also not a bad thing! If you're a hobby writer, especially a fanfic writer, you are not actually obligated to finish anything. You're doing this for free, you're not on a deadline, and (assuming you haven't published) there is no one except you counting on this story to be finished. Don't beat yourself up for not finishing a story. I have like 30 unfinished drafts and oneshots sitting in my Google Drive. They're never gonna see the light of day. But I don't care! Because I had a really great time writing them, and when I stopped having a great time, I stopped. Neither of us are paid, man. Life is hard enough without acting like the overseer of the Fanfiction Factory is gonna come beat my ass if I don't crank out finished products.

Perfectionism is a horrible disease that kills art. It often grows out of a desire to make your art better, which is good and productive, but perfectionism chokes artists with the belief that it's better for something not to exist than for it to be bad. Because bad is embarrassing, and creating nothing is not embarrassing. Plus, nothing will ever be as good as the version of it that exists in your head, so why not keep it in your head, right? It's perfect there.

One helpful thing to do, in my experience, is to take off the expectations that it has to "Be" anything in particular. Nervous it's not gonna be Deep or Interesting or In-Character enough? Well, maybe it won't be, but you're still going to write it, because you're a writer, and it's fun, and it's interesting, and you're trying something new. You gotta trust your skills. and if you don't trust your skills, then — well, fuck, dude, you gotta write until you can trust them. You need to write things you don't like, and write tons of it — hundreds of thousands of words, I'm talking — until you get to the point where you trust yourself to write a sentence. Write until writing something bad isn't scary any more, because you know you've already done it, and you trust that the next thing you write after the Bad Thing will be better. So if you think your ending is bad, you need to write it. Writing it badly will still make you a better writer. And if you hit a problem and want to change it, then do that, and that, too, will make you a better writer. The only thing that won't make you a better writer is not writing.

Also: I would seriously try to find someone you trust and ask them to beta for you. Sharing your work is a really good way to break the cycle of perfectionism, because it proves to the animal hindbrain that someone can enjoy your work without thinking it's perfect. And it takes the pressure for noticing plot holes and editing mistakes out of your hands.

Or you can shrug, go "fuck it," and publish with the plot holes and editing errors in there anyway. And then so what? You've published something imperfect? Dude, me too. High five.

[duskspring]

Chores and a Show - Copia/GN!Reader fic

Domestic December - Day 2

Summary: You help Copia with his paints before a ritual

Content (do let me know if I forgot anything!): Google translate Italian as per fandom tradition, some insecurity on Copia’s side but it’s all ok in the end

Word count: ~1.7k

“Stop being so squeamish." You said to Copia, trying to sound gentle and not make him feel bad. He could be extra sensitive before a ritual, but you’d already told him to settle down twice.

"It's not my fault you tickle me, amore."

You playfully scoffed, trying to resume getting him ready. You added some black onto the brush.

"Close your eyes for me.” When he did, you started dragging the colored hairs over his eyelids and the surrounding area.

You were laser focused. Copia deserved nothing but perfection.

You startled the brush back slightly when he put his hands on your hips. You'd been straddling his lap the whole time to get as close as possible, but he’d kept his hands down up to this point.

"Copia." You say in fun-loving warning as you color his other eyelid.

"I'm behaving." He claimed, though he smirked like he had more up his sleeve.

When you moved to add a second layer, his hands dipped a little lower to your rear.

"Preshow's already on, we don't have forever.” You reminded him.

“All the more reason to enjoy your company while I can.” You had to pull back again when he smiled, not being able to work if his eyes were crinkled up.

Stopping for a moment did give you the chance to take a good look at his face. His freckles and any blemishes you usually loved mapping out were already covered up with white, but his wrinkles, the proof of his fast life experience and wiseness were still visible clearly enough for you to admire. Not that you’d admit to that, knowing Copia didn’t like them being pointed out.

“Does it look ok?” He noticed your staring, taking it to mean something was wrong. His voice sounded so small, almost childlike.

Your expression softened further, but still you took the chance to tease him a bit, “It will, as soon as you let me do my job.”

He chuckled briefly, trying to get his worries out, before straightening his face. His hands dutifully moved back to your hips.

The rest of the work went well. You’d gotten plenty of time to practise back at the abbey. Doing this for him was just another way for you to prove your devotion to him and try to help him out any way you could. He, in return, appreciated your perfectionism in the act, always insisting on starting over if it wasn’t just right.

He would never understand just how hard it was for you, however. He was still shirtless, apart from his suspenders you couldn’t believe he could wear against his bare skin. He looked good enough to eat. Though the only person you had to blame for that distraction was yourself. You were the one encouraging him to not be in costume yet when you painted his face. You had faith in your skill but the last thing you wanted would be to accidentally stain that beautiful military style jacket of his.

You took a steady breath, before holding it in. You refused to allow yourself to mess up the thin lines on the sides of his face.

Copia would love nothing more than to cheer you on or tell you something to calm your nerves, but it was his job right now to remain still.

You pulled back after the second line was done, letting out a big sigh of relief after having not messed it up.

“Stay very still.” You told him next, angling his head a little further back.

He wasn’t sure what you were gonna do, but he would never question your process. Not after your flawless track record. Because it was you.

You were shaking slightly, the small adrenaline rush you always got catching up with you. Still, you smiled. You smiled at the man that made everyday just a little better. A man that you knew would go through hardship and hell to make you happy. He was everything, with or without the paint, because it was him.

You lean in closer, his hold on your hips instinctively tightening to help keep you steady. You press your lips to his. They were the only part of him still unpainted.

Still, you kiss him softly, not wanting to blemish the surrounding paint. Copia sits up the slightest bit, trying to follow you when you pull back with a self satisfied look on your face.

“Almost there, love.” It was a matter of coloring his lips and you’d be done at last.

Still you didn’t allow yourself to slack in that department. You couldn’t speak for the rest of his audience, but you certainly enjoyed looking at his lips a lot, so they too had to look pristine.

You wished you could stay and look at him for another few hours, but a quick glance at the clock revealed the disappointing need to start wrapping it up.

You patted his hands on your hips, “Up we go.” You smiled, standing up and quickly stretching you back as Copia followed you.

As soon as you straightened your posture he stepped closer to you and put his gloved hands on your cheeks, “I would kiss you again if I could. Thank you so much, amato mio.”

You lean your head sideways into his hold, “No need you thank me at all. I love getting to do this for you.” As a last sign of affection before having to move on, you turned your head a little to kiss his palm.

You stepped away to the clothing rack that stood against the walls. All of his costumes for the night were hung up in order, ready for his quick in between costume changes. You grabbed the one on the end of the rack, the previously mentioned beautiful military style suit. It gave Copia an edge, a sense of authority he deserved as Papa.

When you faced him again, he looked the part as well. It was like watching an actor morph into character; he stood up straighter, exuding an air of confidence that suited him so well.

You took the jacket off the hanger and held it up. He obediently held his arms out without having to be asked. You helped him into the garment, closing it quickly, but with care.

After that he knew to sit in front of the vanity, you coming up behind him to brush his hair back. You loved getting to make his hair look all neat to then see it get progressively more messy throughout the night. As much as you loved watching Copia all dolled up, it was even better to see him let loose and have fun. It was clear as day that the stage was where he was at his most comfortable.

You looked away from his hair for just a moment, noticing how he looked at your reflection in the mirror, the slightest of smiles on his face. You knew exactly what he was thinking.

“I love you too.” The words left you oh so delicately. He needed to know you weren’t just saying it to say it.

“Ti amo più di ogni altra cosa.” More than anything. It was far from his first love declaration but this one, right in all the chaos before the show, somehow felt like the most meaningful one you’d ever heard.

A frantic knock interrupted the sentiment, “You’re on in five!”

You sighed, excited to see Copia perform again but upset your time together was so rushed. You leaned down and very delicately placed a kiss on his neatly brushed back hair.

“Go get ‘em.” You winked at him through the mirror.

He got up, examined his full reflection before finally turning to face you again.

"How do I look?" He already looked confident as can be, but still he asked you that same question before every show, as if you wouldn’t always respond the exact same way.

You stepped closer, putting your hands on his chest, "Like the most beautiful man I've ever seen."

His confident look softened. He wished so badly to kiss you, but knew his paints would mess up from it and your hard work had to be admired on stage for all to see. Instead he brushed his hand over your hair.

“I will look for you in the crowd.” He promised.

You pulled back, already grabbing your bag and making your way there, “Remember, I’m on the left balcony.” You didn’t really jive well with big crowds. As much as you’d miss seeing Copia up close, you were happy you got a spot in the VIP camp. Less people, but still a good overview of the stage.

The next few minutes we’re a bit of a blur as you had to rush to make it up there on time. You only hoped Copia could take it a bit easier.

You knew he was nervous, he always was. But as soon as the white screen fell down to reveal the band the energy in the room was electric.

He had such a way about him, capturing all eyes in the room with his strong voice, silly dance moves and sometimes eyebrow raising words in between songs.

And he made sure to keep his promise, looking over in your direction multiple times. It was clear to you that he didn’t truly see you at first. But when he did, he made sure you knew. He waved his arm in a gesture towards you and you immediately understood he’d found you.

It was almost an art, making you feel like the only person in a fully packed arena. As if all those songs were especially for you even when he interacted with the crowd and wasn’t actively engaging you.

You’d probably never get the full scope of it, but when Copia was up on that stage, he was there for you. At least in spirit. He thought of you the whole time. Your unwavering faith in him calmed his nerves and the prospect of you telling him how great he did, like you always told him after performances, served as a driving force to do even better than last time.

He needed you, in that way. He wanted you. He could never imagine doing this without you.

He loved you, as wholly as you loved him.

[My Main Masterlist | Domestic December Masterlist]

[fainthedcherry]

ALSO; Here's ANOTHER piece I forgot to post, but was really excited to post. Yeeeah it doesn't get better with my inconsistency and forgetfulness, I know, it's only getting worse haha.

THIS IS A COMMISSION THIS TIME, for my friend Hollowed-Hartlocke on DA and TH!!

Owloette and this outdated, redesigned version of Hoodude belongs to Hollowed-Hartlocke design wise,

Chiri belongs to me (she's in the BG by request of Hart)

Vanilly Hoodude Voodoo belongs to Mattel, and so does Heath Burns (to the right of the drawing.) ((The outfit is not official, I made a random outfit design to fit thematically))

Thank you SO SO much for believing in me, being so patient for me for so many years now!! I am so happy, that you were the first person, to actually pay me in IRL money, what an honour, that my friend is so nice to me man. 🥺💖

Yes, a commission! In this modern day, can you believe it? I've yet to finish 2 more comms, I hope to finish them this year, honest to god. It's so hard to get a grip on some responsibilities, as I gotta figure stuff out appointment-wise with my driver's exams, psychologist-stuff abt my diagnosis still, and ofc, deal with the fact, that I gotta babysit my coworkers (not exaggerating, I keep being bugged on my weekends about my coworkers over some random annoying stuff they didn't wanna do under the normal work-week), and continue to study for tests and finish a presentation until next week.

^As you can tell, it's a bit stressful lately, which is why I had difficulty drawing at home, getting out of bed, to add with cramps post-work, hip- and knee pain in my bones, migraines. it all stacks up, and it doesn't help, that I lately had a spike in my ADHD seemingly acting up again. Been unable to concentrate, been getting overwhelmed, been having some EXTREME time-blindness. It's a bit hard with life lately. :")

It probably makes sense, why I was absent for a good bit. I ache a lot physically, and mentally lately and just. A. LIFE. I DO NOT LIKE IT. BUT MUST SURVIVE IT.

I again, tried something different with the lighting here, being a more direct-light source! I tried to make the lights look harsher, and I think this isn't too bad! Again, in hindsight of 2024, months later, shoulda proooobs made the shading sharper in appearance, still looks too soft, for direct-light hitting this floppy fellow. And also, added a drop-shadow for Heath near the lighting. Dear god, I wish I wouldn't make so many mistakes aaaa.

But oh well, that's what passage of time is, growing up, sucking up mistakes, trying to rid of your perfectionism.

[drsteggy]

Can I get some DVD commentary on Uneasy Lies the Chosen of Farore? I know you have been in the process of rewriting the core fic and there are so many parts of it I love, so if you're able to talk about the rewriting aspect, that's a bonus!

I don't really have a specific section, more of a general point for discussion. Maybe less DVD commentary and more Farore interview exclusive!

One of the things I suspected on my first read through was that Twilight Princess really played a big part in furnishing the world. I went in to your fic having only played OOT and BOTW and there were some commonalities (though I think with OOT it might have been more of a general LOZ vibe because I'm not sure if you had played it at that point). Now that I've played TP and think back to Farore, I really feel its influence in the 'dungeon' design and some of the geography.

What parts do you think the games played in terms of influencing your worldbuilding on Farore?

Thanks so much for the ask, my god I love going on about this fic so much.

The rewrite has mostly been trying to bring it up to the level of how I write now vs how I did then. I lean into perfectionism (though I swear I’m much better than I was) and I will tweak things endlessly. There were a few things I felt were a little rough and never got smoothed the way I liked. The entire back half of the fic got pretty much written and published as I went week to week because I hit a spot where I just had to finish it- I knew how it would end, and I wanted to make sure it hit its marks. I wasn’t comfortable without having the safety net I had at the start, but the people who offered to beta at the start slowly shifted priorities and drifted…and man, if I could not keep a beta readers attention, how well I was doing here?

I mean, part of the fic is about imposter syndrome and learning who you are and all that and. Yeah. I half joke that Link is a self insert. I’m not the train wreck he is at the start of the fic by miles- but there are places where he is very much some hard projection. But by the second half of the fic he was getting his shit together, so I figured maybe I should try and follow that example.

So when I was first trying to deal with my Zelda brain rot, which was mostly Breath of the Wild brain rot, I ended up in a community of people who were very much Gamers who liked Zelda games. When I started Farore in its original six chapter form, I’d only played BOTW and the geography/map is 100% the BOTW map. The Zora’s Domain is differently laid out, but I think that’s it. I can show you where I decided specific things were otherwise.

What I learned from this was people who identify as gamers first don’t really gel well with people who identify as Zelda fans first. Like these guys liked to shit all over BOTW Zelda (a 16 year old girl in the game) and go on about how a non male hero should never be a thing and turned me into a defender of the princess (who I’d only experienced as her yelling at me to that point, and I wasn’t really a fan) Eventually I left because they decided to make fun of cosplay photos I shared.

But these guys were obsessed with Twilight Princess. Obsessed!!! In particular, they talked about the Arbiters Grounds constantly. They claimed, more than once, that it was the best dungeon in the series!! And this influenced me as I continued the fic.

I’m a Switch girl, though my Nintendo introduction involved a Wii in 2009- I was recently married and unable to work as I was trying to deal with state level bullshit about a professional license that ultimately kept me sidelined for 3 months. I was going stir crazy and spouse decided I should learn to play MarioKart. I still had this Wii and started to track down older games to play them.

I scored a copy of TP and had already decided the Arbiters Grounds was going to be the desert dungeon in the fic, but I wanted to play through it first. As it turned out, playing TP with a Wiimote was a bad combination for me and I kept slopping into lava before I even properly entered the Goron temple. I ended up watching someone do a let’s play of that dungeon before I wrote it.

Much, much later I learned my Wii could play GameCube games and I did eventually play TP via a GC disk. I remember getting a chill when I finally rocked up on the Arbiters Grounds, and I do not feel that I made that dungeon as scary as maybe I could have- I don’t think I changed a lot in the rewrite because there’s a lot in that chapter that I really love and thought came out well.

I had also played part of Skyward Sword as I was writing (and I feel that after BOTW, this game has the most influence on the fic, particularly over the Link/Zelda relationship) and I knew spiders were sort of a thing in Zelda games and that’s why I made the first dungeon boss sort of a spider (it only has six legs, so it isn’t a spider) I was unaware that there was a classic dungeon boss that had a spider form, so when people were going on about Lady Ghoma in my comments I was very what about that. I was super shocked when I hit that dungeon in TP lol.

I will say TP has some of my favorite dungeons and the most fun bosses. I kind of wish that I knew about Snowpeak Mansion and the City in the Sky as I was writing, but I think my Link would have had a mental breakdown at the very thought of that much hookshot. He probably would have been into making soup, though.

I tried to Easter egg as many games as I could as I wrote- except I decided this was before BOTW- so that game is not mentioned at all aside from the map. I think I did a pretty good job of it, considering I hadn’t played (and had not completed any) many as I was going. I definitely hit Ocarina of Time, Majora’s Mask, Twilight Princess, Skyward Sword, Links Awakening, Wind Waker and the manga from Hyrule Historia. One comment I got on the fic - one that really touched me, too - referenced the Picori and the reader assured my Link that he wasn’t really alone. And like, I literally teared up reading that, because it was something my Link needed to hear but he also probably wasn’t open to hearing it at that moment. And I had no idea what Picori were…and now I’m sort of sad I didn’t think to go back and try and weave them in, but maybe I’ll do so as the edit goes on.

[danpuff-ao3]

You know...I'm very proud of my playlist crafting skills. A playlist just for me and my jam out sessions is one thing, but making them for my fics was a whole other ballgame. Cue my perfectionism. But my love of music and my love of stories has come together pretty well, I think.

Going back through the Contempt playlist recently was such a great experience. It's like living that story all over again through the songs. Maybe that works best for me as the crafter of both story and playlist, but hey...it's magical for me, at least.

"Pressure" by Muse

I'm trying to keep up to speed with you Your lane changing is oscillating me I'm hitting the ground and I'm sprinting I'm falling behind now I'm tuning out

"I Feel Like I'm Drowning" by Two Feet

All my friends think you're vicious And they say you're suspicious You keep dreaming and dark scheming

"Obsession" by Joywave

There's something Lurking in the back of my mind And lately I feel it sliding into the light

"I Hate You So Much" by Alexander 23

I close my eyes but all I see is you I hate that, I love you so much

"Say It" by Maggie Rogers

I cannot fall in love with you I cannot feel this way so soon I cannot be this way with you I cannot fall in love with you

"Do I Wanna Know" by Arctic Monkeys

Maybe I'm too Busy bein' yours To fall for somebody new

"State of Seduction" by Digital Daggers

You keep my heart under the cover of night Could be the devil in a clever disguise Temptation leads us, it's too late for goodbye Say you're here on my side Want you here on my side

"Mind Over Matter" by Young the Giant

And when the seasons change Will you stand by me? 'Cause I'm a young man built to fall

"Neptune" by Sleeping at Last

Thread by thread, I come apart If brokenness is a work of art Surely this must be my masterpiece

"A Little Death" by the Neighbourhood

Touch me, yeah I want you to touch me there Make me feel like I am breathing Feel like I am human

"Animal Impulses" by IAMX

I'm tired of this human duet No civilizing hides Our animal impulses

"I Don't Mind" by FNKHOUSER

I am not afraid to Let you be who you wanna be Let you do what you do to me Close my eyes but I wanna see

"Stargirl Interlude" by The Weeknd, Lana Del Rey

A vision of my nails in the kitchen Scratching counter tops, I was screaming My back arched like a cat My position couldn't stop, you were hitting it

"Ride" by Lana Del Rey

I am alone at midnight Been tryin' hard not to get into trouble, but I I've got a war in my mind So, I just ride

"Kiss Me You Animal" by Burn the Ballroom

Kiss me you animal I need to take you in real slow Cause dying on your lips is how I wanna go

"After Dark" by Mr. Kitty

I've been waiting for this moment We're finally alone I turn to ask the question So anxious, my thoughts Your lips were soft like winter In your passion, I was lost

"Bloom" by The Paper Kites

Can I take it to a morning Where the fields are painted gold And the trees are filled with memories Of the feelings never told?

"Don't Let Me Go" by RAIGN

Forever is not enough Let me lay my head down on the shadow by your side Don't let me go Hold me in your beating heart

"Comatose" by Mikky Ekko

In another life we can work it out But we never speak So it's hard to do We don't really want to live this way

"War of Hearts" by Ruelle

I can't help but be wrong in the dark 'Cause I'm overcome in this war of hearts I can't help but want oceans to part 'Cause I'm overcome in this war of hearts

"You're the One" by Rev Theory

You are the hurt inside of me And you are the one that makes me weak Shadows that crawl all over me Swallow the light that lets me see

"I Wanna Be Yours" by Arctic Monkeys

Secrets I have held in my heart Are harder to hide than I thought Maybe I just wanna be yours I wanna be yours, I wanna be yours

"Unintended" by Muse

I'll be there as soon as I can But I'm busy mending broken Pieces of the life I had before

[gtunesmiff]

What is the single biggest mistake writers make?

They're ants when they should be spiders.

Let me explain... Here's how most people approach writing a song:

They write on a section;

Once they're happy with it, they move on to the next one;

They continue in this way until all sections are written

I call this the "ant approach", because it follows a clear path from A to B. You start somewhere, and you finish one thing after the other until you end up somewhere.

t seems plausible. We like clear-cut processes like this. There's something soothing in formulas like this.

Here's the problem: this process doesn't work

(or at least it makes your life a lot harder than it needs to be)

Why? Let me explain it from the lyrics perspective (most writers have an easier time seeing the issue here).

For decades, here's how I used to write my lyrics:

Verse I: I got this! Man, some of these lines sound so cool!

Pre-Chorus: Starting to run out of ideas here... I guess I'll have to lower my standards somewhat.

Chorus: Right, chorus time. Time for a summary of everything I already wrote... well, if I'm honest, I don't quite know what it means myself...

Verse II: Ugh, I hate this! Why does lyric writing have to be so hard? What haven't I said yet? And what else rhymes with "broken"? I wonder what ChatGPT would make of this.

Chorus: Gosh, this makes even less sense now, but I'm so used to this chorus that I don't want to change it anymore.

Bridge: Maybe I'll just do a "who-oh" type section or repeat the same phrase over and over.

Chorus: Please don't ask me what my song is about, because it has so many layers that even I don't know (and honestly, maybe it's about nothing).

Recognizable?

Well, this happens in music, too, it's just that most writers don't recognize it there (probably because they don't know it any other way).

What's the alternative?

I present: The Spider process.

Consider the spider web:

We don't care where the spider began crafting it.

We don't care that it didn't look like a web for the first few hours.

We don't even care that the spider had to undo some of its work.

All that matters is that all the right connections were made at some point during the process and that the spider ended up with a great, working web.

The Spider Process doesn't work from A to B like the ant, it starts with a rough version and iterates on it over many drafts.

(And if you're not slapping your forehead yelling "of course!" right now, let me elaborate because this makes a MASSIVE, MASSIVE difference.)

Instead of fabricating your song as you go (which makes it easy to lose focus, lyrically and musically), you start with a rough draft.

Your goal is NOT to write and finish a section - it's to write the ENTIRE song, and quickly.

And if you think your song's not going to be good at that point: You're right! Your first draft is going to suck!

But that's the beauty of it: You can write something that sucks! And you know how to make something terrible better.

Think about it, what's more fun, what's easier: writing perfectionism... or making something bad a little better?

The Ant Process sets you up for failure because every single thing you write needs to be great. You don't move on until your section (your line, your sound) is perfect.

The Spider Process on the other hand sets you up for success because with your first draft, you're not trying to change the world. You're just trying to write something. You're having fun, you're fooling around.

The quality comes from rewriting your draft and iterating on your ideas. You're approaching perfection step by step instead of having to write something perfect right off the bat!

So when I write lyrics now, I don't write them from start to finish and line by line, I write a few words here, a few words there. A little for the verse, a little for the chorus, get an idea for the pre-chorus, then jump to the bridge, and so on... that's how a spider works: little by little, weaving that web, until it all comes together.

Here's another way to look at it that might help:

Don't think of your song as a blank page or a void where you have to create everything from scratch. Not only is it unhelpful, it's also not true.

Instead, think of writing as shaping a statue out of a giant block of marble. As Michelangelo said: “The sculpture is already complete within the marble block before I start my work. It is already there, I just have to chisel away the superfluous material.”

Fun fact: the word decide comes from latin "decidere", literally "to cut off". By writing down a line, by recording a riff, by picking a chord progression, you're getting rid of everything your song is NOT. You're cutting off your options. You're not "creating", you're deciding what your song is.

This is one of several basic principles that have shaped the process I use now, what I call the 24-Hour Song. I wrote my last album of 15 songs in 14 days (6 hour days), and it's the best music I've ever written. I wouldn't have been able to do that a few years ago (it used to take me MONTHS to finish a song).

If you want to be able to do this, too (maybe you're a dad like me or you have a full time job on the side), keep reading my emails. I'll show you how you can write your best songs at record speed, too.

Stay gefährlich,

Friedemann

Holistic Songwriting

[furrbbyx]

Unfinished! “Mummy”

I was not able to finish this story, but I'm working on rejecting perfectionism.

So here's the unfinished version of the "mummy" prompt from monster march.

Don't worry I'm still working on "The Mummy" fanfiction.

man x woman

cw: based off of the mystery crew, sex with a mummy (or would be if I'd got that far.) didn’t edit for typos or readability

approx 1500 words

Somewhere in the Andes mountains, probably Cuzco. It was mild summer day with a cloudless, infinite blue sky.

Four young adults and their pet dog have been contracted by the public officials of the town to investigate the strange and disturbing sightings of ancestral mummies . For nearly two months the people of the town have been crowding into the bureaucratic offices to complain about lurching, desiccated figures chasing them down narrow alleys and showing up at back doors, moaning. One man even claimed he was attacked in broad daylight when one of the creatures knocked him down while he was working in his garden. By the time the man got up to chide the rude person, he had only seen a figure shuffling around the corner and out of sight.

The small group of mystery investigators had been debriefed on the details at hand, and given leeway to explore many of the cultural heritage sites in an effort to investigate and gather clues. All day they had driven from site to site without trouble, but now as the evening advanced things were getting a little weird. Exploring one of the burial places, a many chambered volcanic caldera, is how the group ended up split from one another. A strange dweomer had risen up with a thick fog as they navigated the area. Of course spooky strange happenings were nothing unusual for the gang. It was the two scared-y cats of the group, who rushed headlong away from the supernatural, that made things more dangerous than needed.

That's how Miss V ended up alone, crawling over dusty rock, trying to find her glasses and her flashlight. Mister S and his hound had ripped through the chamber she had been investigating like they were being chased by the ghost of a bad all-you-can-eat buffet, and got Miss V all turned around in the Process. She'd been minding her own business, trying to understand some of the pictures the ancients had made on the walls.

"Those two!" V grumbled and patted the floor in front of her repeatedly. She squinted in the near darkness and hoped that her flashlight hadn't been broken when it flew out of her grip. For the millionth time she argued back and forth with herself, under her breath, about getting contacts.

"I just need to channel my inner Evelyn O'Connell. I'm clumsy but I'm going to solve this case" V said to herself. She crawled forward a little further, thinking she might have seen a blob that would turn out to be her flashlight.

A rattling sigh curled through her senses and made her body shiver with anxiety. She stilled her crawling and listened, on edge.

"Hello?"

Something moved behind her. Something hitting the ground, causing a gust a air to rush under her skirt, between her thighs.

"Hey, Mr F. Miss D, this is honestly not the time for..."

A long strangled groan filled the chamber.

Miss V froze completely. Her heart started racing as she tried to decide what to do next. She wasn't alone, but without her glasses trying to run would be foolish. She tried to breath steadily.

The chilling groan vibrated through the air again, causing Miss V to flinch.

"H-hello? Oh!"

Hands, like vice grips clamped around her hips and pulled her backwards

"Ouch! Hey!" V called out, annoyed now with the stinging cuts on her knees and palms.

"You can't just..." Her voice died suddenly as she felt rough fabric brush the backs of her thighs. A strange warmth came from the whoever was behind her, spreading over her skin.

V gulped.

Still trying to maintain her cool, she craned her neck slowly back, to get a look at the intruder. A man! Maybe. Honestly it was hard to tell for sure without her glasses. A figure not much taller than Miss V, covered in a faded cloak was kneeling behind her. V knew that instantly it wasn't one of her fellow investigators, yet the longer she stared, trying to get her eyes to focus, the more she felt sure that he belonged there, with her.

A foggy haze was seeping into her mind like the cool mist seeped into the mountains. Then her vision did clear, miraculously. Kind of. Her glassed were placed a bit awkwardly on her face but she almost make out the entire scene.

A man, bronzed skinned with high sculpted cheek bones and bark thick eyebrows, gazed back at her with a charming smile playing at his lips. His jet black hair was fashioned into a crest with the sides shorn and a thick lock of hair draped over the shoulder where the cloak was tied. The cloak looked as old as the ancients buried in that same chamber, the designs faded.

V was confused for a moment. This man was obviously a local, had a right to be here, but why was he dressed so? She looked up into his eyes, with that question on her lips but it rushed out of her head. The dark shimmer of his eyes held her, as more of the strange warmth eased her anxiety. Suddenly she felt an interest , an unchecked attraction, that could only be explained by magic.

Miss V looked at this cloak again and tried to remember if the marking meant he was a priest or sorcerer. Suddenly she felt sure he wasn't a local...well at least not a contemporary one. Her mind spun with the implications. Could the mummy that was causing such a stir be a real reanimated being?

"Beautiful". The word seemed to fill the chamber and to push out her inner voice. His mouth spoke a language V had never heard, yet she comprehended the voice as if spoken in English. It made a reverberating timbre of his voice, a little distorted.

"It's been too long since a beauty  like you came to visit me"

V felt herself bushing, and a cramp developing in her neck. With wince she realigned herself and took the time to straighten he glasses too. She found trying to turn around was a bit more difficult as the handsome stranger was now leaning over her his stomach pressed to her back.

" My Chuquiragua" His strange resonating voice filled her mind and ears again. Miss V shivered at the sound and clenched her legs, squirming under him a bit. A hand of his groped her thigh. She reached back and grasped his hand, guiding it under her thick sweater to her breasts and pulling down her bra so he could caress her tingling nipples. She felt mesmerized by his touch and by her own growing arousal. She let  him palm and squeeze at her large tits. Each time he pulled at her stiff rounded nipples, she shifted her hips against him seeking friction.

She writhed on the ground of the dusty old cavern with a possible mummy, feeling like a bit of a monster fucker. It sent a thrill trembling down her spine.

"Who are you?" V's voice wavered on the question

His rich resonate chuckle seemed to vibrate down her clit.

V was still as he leaned over her again. "I am your lover, do you not remember?" he cooed into her ear.  Miss V closed her eyes and shivered. When she opened her eyes again she gasped. The cavern was now an ornately painted chamber and she knelt on a wide flat platform among rich textiles and fresh flower petals. The room was cast in dim light from shallow oil lamps. The flame light seemed to shin and glow reflecting in the man's skin.

He  had sat back so V could face him. He was  kneeling but no longer in his ancient covering. He was naked. He was of a similar height to her with a wide chest and heavy arms. His torso and large thighs hinted at strength and rigorous physical activity, and had V wondering at his position in society. This bedroom and the fine linens, and his jewelry, for V now saw his piercings and the collar of gold around his neck, these hinted but did not reveal more about this mysterious guy. V would just have to imagine how he got such a good body. He was oozing rizz and it was potent enough to make Miss V feel like her head was filled with fizzy bubbles instead of rational analysis. He proved her right about his strength as he reached out and pulled her closer by one ankle. V giggled, happy to play the part of his lover as he kissed the bottom of one foot, not the least worried that she as now as bare as him in this unnatural vision.

The admiration she felt must have shown on her face. He seemed very affected. He grinned widely and spread his thighs further thrusting forward his cock. V smiled back, leaned forward to grab his golden collar and pulled him into a kiss. His mouth was hot and slick and Miss V didn't hold back from trying to shove her tongue down his throat. He urged her into his lap and squeezed her ass in both hands. V rocked against him as she straddled him and enjoyed the way he gripped her and pressed her closer. It wasn't long before they were pulling apart to gasp a few breaths of air. There hearts seemed loud and reflected the lustful insistence building between them.

When Miss V could speak she asked, "How did a man like you earn my favor?" She wrapped her arms around his chest under his arms and nuzzled his neck with kisses while he chuckled. He helped V off his lap and laid her down under him so he could kiss her breasts.

"You make it sound as if you don't remember how my tongue feels inside you" he cooed, managing to also sound as if he were pouting before he sucked.

V didn't immediately answer because all she could think about at the moment was his tongue curling around her tightened nipple.