#you write and art that’s creative enough for many things

[cloudd-nyne]

.

[supernova-151]

the planets, op. 32 by siempre_musica (@assim-eu-sou) poster art <3

[mishkakagehishka]

I wanna be an artist so bad bro what am i doing in college

[seouljazzbar]

GO WITH IT

MARK LEE (이민형)

ABOUT 𓂃 ࣪˖ “have sex with me so I can finish writing this” inspired by this tweet or when mark offers to solve all your problems, it's much better to go with it

WARNING 𓂃 ࣪˖ language, mark is a bit of a slut, 18+ spiderman kiss (you’ll see lmao), allusions to fat cock mark… 😵‍💫, overstimulation, unprotected sex, mark’s name repeated like 78 times (no seriously, it’s up there), reader bent like a pretzel, orgasm denial, this author loves a comma, a pinch of softdom!mark, silly ending

PAIRING 𓂃 ࣪˖ bestfriend!mark x bestfriend!reader

WORD COUNT 𓂃 ࣪˖ 6k

AUTHOR'S NOTE 𓂃 ࣪˖ a little surprise drop for my favorite neo! i guess it's also a wee bit of a belated birthday gift to him :) i skimmed it for typos and stuff but i unfortunately did not edit it the way i should have, sorrryyyyy hope y'all enjoy! omg also reader's room is yu nabi's from the kdrama nevertheless hehehe

Nobody was busier than your best friend, Mark Lee. Between his job, his vibrant social life, and his weekly family dinners, you were lucky to be offered a slot in his schedule. It was always a yes to Mark Lee. Usually.

The last three times Mark had tried to make plans with you were all failed attempts, and the excuses varied each time. There was nothing shameful about the truth, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to tell him that your friendship was being thrown to the backburner while you sloppily attempted to get your life together. He knew all about your small business, taking commissions for art prints and ceramics, but he had no idea how much time and effort went into each piece. Besides, knowing Mark he would offer to help, and that wasn’t going to be of service to you in the slightest. 

All you could do was rot in bed, hoping that something would spark your creative mind to no avail. Frustration was starting to take up every corner of your mind— from the nonstop orders that you couldn’t fulfill, to your supplier raising prices, to the fact that you hadn’t had a good date in two years. You were wound too tight to function, and any minute now you were going to start pulling your hair out in chunks.

The sound of the pin-pad at your door let you know that Mark was about to come barreling through. There were so many times that you’d be in strict creation mode, headphones in at full blast while Mark banged at the door pleading for you to answer; when it started to feel like a normal part of your routine, he just requested the code to let himself in. “Yo!”

Except, this time, none of that was necessary. Your headphones were stuffed in their case on the other side of the room, workstation completely untouched with your multiple projects stacked on top of each other. Despite the custom orders piling up over the last two weeks, you hadn’t had the artistic strength to move forward with any of them. The only thing you could do to  buy yourself a little time was to post a message asking for patience and understanding while you navigate some vague emotional hardship. Realistically, though, it would only buy you another week or so before people would start to get angry. 

“Hi.” Perched on a stool near the kitchen island, eyes locked on the cup of coffee you warmed up seventeen minutes ago, you were out of it.

Mark waved a few inches from your face, trying to get your full attention. “Hello? Earth to ___, are you okay?”

You snapped out of it, looking over at your best friend to see that he was dressed for a night on the town. “Sorry, got a lot on my mind right now.”

White, distressed tank top, loose plaid button-up undone, and his sexiest pair of black jeans. The way the meticulous curls fell around his face, looping around his forehead in a way that feigned boylike wonder. He looked oh so delicious, but you would never tell him that— his ego was big enough for the both of you. “Anything I could help with?”

A stifled chuckle barely reached his ears before you cleared your throat, turning toward him with renewed energy. “No, not really.”

Mark put his phone and keys down on the counter, taking a quick intermission to wash his hands before walking back over to you. He’d never been in your apartment in this way before— an unannounced hangout where you’re clearly just a stop along the way, being so underdressed in his presence. He’d seen you in a swimsuit before, but something about a big shirt and underwear felt far more intimate than the two strips of fabric. “This is like the third time you’ve curved me, if you hate me just say that.”

“Oh, you’re so fucking dramatic. I’m just busy.” You shoved at his shoulder, urging him to take a seat so you wouldn’t feel so awkward with him standing over you. He refused cooly, taking a look around your apartment to make sure you hadn’t been aimlessly rotting since the last time he stopped by.

“Even I'm not that busy. What’s going on?”

“I’ve just…” You sighed heavily, a breath you didn’t even know you were holding in. Talking about everything wrong in your life felt far too heavy, too much to divulge to a friend seemingly just doing a wellness check. “I think I’ve bitten off more than I can chew, and I’ve got all these creative blocks that won’t go away and honestly I just need to be fucked like properly fucked to get my juices flowing again but all of the men worth giving it up to are in hiding.”

Mark stood there, mouth agape in disbelief. He did ask, after all. “Woah.”

“Yeah.” It felt embarrassing to hear laid out like that, but there weren’t too many secrets between you and Mark in the first place. Your sex lives weren’t off limits for discussion, and the two of you had plenty of chats that were NSFW in nature. But blurting out how badly  you needed to be railed? That was a new one.

The silence spoke for itself, apparently. You didn’t want to chance a glance up at him, but you knew that you’d have to say something. Maybe something to cover your ass, let him know that you’re well aware how ‘TMI’ that was. Or even—

“I’ll fuck you.”

You nearly choked on air,“What?!” Now you had no choice but to look at him, scanning the twinkle in his eyes in search of sincerity.

“I’m really good, too.” He took a step towards you, eyes never leaving yours as his hands found home in his shirt pockets. This was a side of Mark you rarely got to see— charming, smooth, confident. There were times, namely on nights out, where you’d get a taste of it, watching him chat it up in some dark corner with the prettiest girl you’d ever laid eyes on. But this, being on the receiving end? Watching his eyes drink you in like sweet tea on a balmy Southern summer afternoon? It was enough to make your heart skip several beats. 

“Mark—”

The smile he cracks at you makes you embarrassed for even considering it. “I’m just messing with you, geez,” Heat takes over your face as you try to hide it from him, palms rubbing at your cheeks as your heartbeat tries to find its resting rate. “Although, given that reaction, maybe I shouldn’t be.”

“Shouldn’t be what?”

“Messing with you. Joking, rather. I can definitely mess with you, if you want,” Running so hot and cold in such a short window of time has you shivering under his gaze, scared to make the wrong move and ruin what you’d beg him for. “Hm? Is that what you want?”

The air is thick with anticipation, nothing but the consistent drip from a ceiling leak as the soundtrack to your staring contest with Mark. He was so close to you in all of his Friday night glory, cologne a cloud around you as the heat from his chest permeated your personal space. You were certain that just one taste, just one night in the throes of passion with a curly haired Mark Lee would solve all of your problems. If you closed your eyes, you could picture it— sweaty bodies intertwined amidst the sweltering heat of your studio after dark, the fanning of his breath in your face as he rocks into you, his strong frame caging you into the bed so all you can focus on is Mark, Mark, Mark! His sighs and whines of pleasure flooding your senses so they’re all you can pay attention to, just his voice and his unrelenting pace as he— “___,” The sound of your name on his tongue snapped you out of your lustful haze. “Offer’s about to expire, baby.”

Mark slipped his jacket off without breaking away from you, dropping it carelessly on the floor while your attention wandered to his arms. He seemed to know exactly what he was doing, crossing his arms against his chest as he awaited your answer. “You’re serious? This isn’t some cruel prank where if I say yes, you’ll tell me it was just a joke?”

“That’s not my idea of a prank, princess, where’s the fun in that?” Mark licked his lips, a faint smirk taking over. “Look, if you’re uncomfortable, we can pretend this never happened,” His fingers ghost along the side of your face, sweetly making their way to your lips. “But if it were up to me? I’d have you seven ways to Sunday all over this apartment.”

That was all you needed to lunge into a kiss with him, throwing him slightly off guard as you practically tossed yourself into his arms. But his lips were ready for you, steaming hot and sopping wet— just the way you like it. The smush of your lips together so suddenly garnered the sweetest moan from him, just enough to tease you of what’s to come. His arms wrapped around your torso like a claw machine, pulling you so flush against him as though he was afraid you’d slip through his fingers. 

Your lips were still tingling as he pulled away to lap kisses against your neck, peppering anywhere his lips could reach. “M-Mark, hmngh.”

It was no secret that Mark had a bit of a reputation in the bedroom, but you never thought you’d witness it firsthand. His hands delved blindly to your legs, hoisting you around his waist so he could move you over to your bed. You almost had a mind to remind him of the three big steps up to your bedroom area, but he was far suaver than you gave him credit for— this wasn’t exactly his first rodeo.

He tossed you on the bed, the slight recoil exhilarating before he was all over you again. “If a proper fuck is what you want…” His kisses had shifted to your chest, lips and tongue sucking in the essence of your skin like he couldn’t bear not to. He was almost more excited than you were, his touch reaching anywhere and everywhere all at once, like he couldn’t get enough of exploring everything you had to offer. It was all starting to feel real as Mark made a move to lift up your shirt and the implication of your best friend seeing you naked caught up with you.

“Wait, wait. We’re gonna see each other naked.”

Mark, with the fabric of your shirt caught in his teeth, stared at you blankly. “Yeah…” 

“Shouldn’t that be weird?”

He rolled his eyes playfully, squeezing at your hip with the hand closest to it. “Maybe, but how do you suggest we fuck then? Through my jeans?” He pulled your body swiftly down the mattress so you could feel how hard he was through your panties. 

“Shut the fuck up, oh, my God.”

“I was trying to before you got all weird and jittery,” Mark made a move for your shirt again, and this time you didn’t fight him on it. The balmy air hit your pert nipples the second they were exposed, and Mark couldn’t stop the gruff  noise that formed in his throat. “Just as pretty as I imagined.” You squirmed at the compliment, cheeks heating up at the sight of him drooling over you. “Like that? Hm? Are you my pretty girl?” 

His lips wrapped around the peak of your breast, tongue swirling to the same pattern his thumb and forefinger followed on your other nipple. “Yes!” It was embarrassing, how fast you succumbed to his commands. He struck with confidence, maneuvering his way around your body like he’d done it before. “I’m your pretty girl.”

“So sexy saying that for me, baby,” Your legs part instinctually to make more room for him, and Mark took that as his sign to shift gears. “You know… sometimes, every now and then, I’d think about you. If I needed a little extra push towards ecstasy, you’d pop in my head. Think about the way you’d look if I got my hands on you. How you’d feel, how you’d taste,” His fingers prodded at the growing wet patch on your underwear. “Gonna let me see?”

Your back arched off the mattress, hands pulling him impossibly closer to you. “Mark, please stop asking, just do it.”

“Mm, say ‘please’ again.”

“Mark!”

His laugh would be even sexier if it weren’t at your expense. “Alright, fine.” Your panties stayed on as his tongue lapped at your folds through them, the flimsy cotton doing absolutely nothing to stop him from devouring you. You jerked at the feeling as his tongue licked a bold strip through your folds, your hands entangling themselves in his curly locs. “You’re so wet, holy shit.”

One quick motion moved your panties to the side, puffy wet lips on full display for his greedy eyes. His eyes sparkled at the sight, mouth watering at the mere thought of getting to taste you. “Smell so good, pretty girl.” He was so hungry and you were the only one who could satiate him. His tongue had a mind of its own, pressing flat against your folds without a second thought, “Taste even better.”

Mark’s grip on your thighs held you in place as he licked you clean, running his tongue against every nerve-ending he could feel for. He pulled them apart just enough to spread you out for him, just enough to be on full display for him. Your taste occupied every corner of his mind as he blacked out in pleasure, lapping up every drop your gushing pussy offered up.

He circled your clit until you saw stars, your squirming uncontrollable as his tongue darted inside of you. “You’re so good to me.”

Mark groaned between your thighs, in love with the praise you were showering him with. There was something about how natural and seamless it was for you to compliment him that turned him on even more, if that was possible. “I don't think I'll ever get enough of how you taste, Christ.”

His free hand slithered up your torso, sinking his thumb into your eager mouth while his continued working at your core. He wasn’t shy, either, licking boldly from your ass to your clit while shaking his tongue side to side. Slurping up every drop that dribbled out of your entrance, twisting his tongue as far inside of you as he could reach. You were dripping down his chin by the time he introduced his fingers, prodding at your glistening hole with just one to test the waters. He took the way you gripped onto his hair as his sign that you were more than enjoying it. “F-feels good, oh, God.”

“Mm, don’t be shy.”

Laving at your clit, he drank up the praises the way he was drinking you up. He only pulled away to fully discard your panties, diving back into center with renewed vigor. “Need more.” You didn’t want to push him any closer to you, scared you’d smother him, but he didn’t seem afraid to drown. He’d awoken something desperately greedy inside of you, and you were slipping further into a haze of pleasure with every passing moment. Two fingers pressed their way inside of you, pumping slowly to get you adjusted before the jerk of your hips told him to pick up the pace. You couldn’t hold still with the way he was devouring you, mouth and hands prying you open deliciously all for his enjoyment. He would die between your thighs if you let him, you’re sure of it.

You had to physically pull him off of you to get him to stop, orgasming bubbling inside of you in record time. “Want you inside of me already.” The entirety of the lower half of his face was a sticky mess of your arousal, from his nose to his chin completely covered in you. “Bro, you need to wipe… that.” Times like these, you were glad that you kept tissues on your nightstand.

“You cannot and will not call me ‘bro’ now that I know what you taste like. How insulting.”

It hadn’t dawned on you that Mark was still fully dressed, sans his plaid jacket-shirt that was curled in a sad pile on the floor. “Is that an order?”

He bit at his lip, eyes darkening as he drank in your bare figure sprawled beneath him. Your hands ran themselves up and down his arms, finally getting a chance to admire his body after all the focus was turned to you. Maybe it was the lighting, the way his hair fell over his eyes, or just the fact that he was the best kisser you’d had the pleasure of test driving— but he looked divine. Halo of light circling his head as he fumbled with his belt, biceps flexing as he lifted the tank top off of his lean frame. Suddenly, he wasn’t your friend anymore; he was something new entirely.

You were so lost in your own adoration of him that you hadn’t noticed he was undressed, pulling you directly underneath him as he kissed at your collarbones. “Where’d you go off to, huh?”

“It’s nothing,” you shook your head, snapping back to reality (which was so much better than whatever was going on in your will they-won’t they fantasy). “Thank you, for this.”

Mark didn’t respond with words, instead opting to kiss you softly, tenderly. Slowly, deeply, passionately kissing you as he lowered himself atop of you. He wasn’t in a rush anymore, pulling you into him like you were made of glass, grinding against your center like you had all the time in the world. Everything was so delicate, like he was savoring the moment for years to come. It scared you, if you were being honest. “Mark? You know you can still kiss me while you’re inside of me, yeah?”

He hummed in approval, connecting your mouths again in a slow, languid kiss, tongues slithering into each other's mouths and twisting messily. You could feel him lining up with your entrance, his hand wrapped around his girth to guide himself into you steadily. Chancing a look down, you tried to hide the way your eyes bulged out at the sheer size of him— he would never let you hear the end of it if you fawned over how huge he was. It took all of your willpower to remain still, your body welcomed him as though it had hundreds of times, the shape of him slotting inside of you like he was made to. His fingers tangled in your hair, angling your head so he could travel to your neck, groaning out his praise against your sticky skin. The absence of his lips on yours made you whine, hands wandering the expanse of his back just for confirmation that this was real. “Tell me how it feels.”

You couldn’t. Months of the worst dry spell you’d ever experienced coming to a head with Mark milking you for everything you had couldn’t be described. All you could do was moan, coiling around him even tighter as he started to rock his hips forward as though he was testing the waters. He was the only thing you could focus on— his scent, his taste, they way his nose pressed right against yours, the feeling of his fingers intertwining with yours against the mattress, the dionysian desire his hips were fulfilling. It was all just Mark, Mark, Mark. “Mark!” His teeth couldn’t resist nipping at your lip, pulling on it playfully before letting go to let his tongues soothe the area.

“I can’t help it, you’re so fun to play with.” He kissed you to make up for the quick dot of pain, relishing in the way you immediately kissed him back with just as much enthusiasm.

“I’m, I’m close.”

He spread your legs further apart to give himself more room to buck his hips, pressing at your thighs as he fucked into you faster. “Hold it.”

“Whyyyy?”

“You asked for the Mark Lee experience,” His thrusts grew pointed, almost exaggerated as his hips drove forward with precision, “and I’m gonna give it to you.”

You could feel yourself teetering dangerously close to the edge, stomach coiled tight and lungs working overtime. The mere thought of being denied your orgasm was getting you worked up— you hate not getting your way. Your legs wrapped around Mark’s waist, locking your ankles together for good measure. If he wanted to play games, you were down for it. “Harder.”

But instead of faster, Mark slowed to a complete stop, hands drifting down to your hips to pin them to the mattress. “Oh, baby, do you think I’m stupid?” He chuckled in your face, shaking his head as the laughter subsided. “That’s a sure fire way to get nothing.”

“Wait, no, please! I didn’t mean it.”

The damage had already been done. His patience with you was wearing thin, and he didn’t take kindly to disobedience. “Have you learned your lesson?” Each second that passed stole a piece of your orgasm away with it, that delicious ball of tension and heat simmering down to a cool pit of nothing the longer Mark held your hips down. Your heart stopped fluttering with urgency, slowing to its resting rate as you dealt with the consequences of trying to outsmart your best friend. “Speak up, baby.”

“Yes,” You hissed out, annoyed that your declaration of needing to be fucked was currently going unanswered. Who is he to deny you of the very thing he promised you? “I learned my lesson.”

It was exactly what he wanted to hear, “God, you’re so sexy when you behave yourself.” 

You rolled your eyes, slapping his chest as he pulled away from you entirely. “What happened to ‘having me seven ways to Sunday all over this apartment’?” 

It was Mark’s turn to roll his eyes, fingers running through his hair as he sat back on his heels. “Up against the wall.” You did as he said, spreading your hands against the wall as you felt him behind you, lining himself up with your sodden entrance. The inward arch felt unnatural at first, but you settled into it as you got comfortable in it. “Look up at me.” Mark was towering over you, quite literally. From this angle, all you had to do to see his face was look up and there he was with that devilish smile. His cock pressed into you as you watched him, the sheer thickness splitting you clean open for him, sucking him in like your pussy had been waiting for him. “Fuck, you feel so good.”

Maybe it was the taboo of sleeping with a friend, but your body was on fire. You felt your entire body heating up at the sudden change in his demeanor, switching your flirty best friend to a man absolutely starved. With your eyes screwed shut, you reached a hand out to hold onto his arm, fingers giving it a squeeze, head bumping the bare skin of his chest.

“Fuck.”

You were even wetter than you were while he had you pinned to the mattress, the feeling of being filled by him more electrifying after a brief intermission. He was all over you again and that was all that mattered, walls tightening around him with a vice-like grip that had both of you gasping for air.

“Shit,” he hiss, already lost in the sensation, “so good to me, ___, so fucking good.” He emphasized the last syllable with a gentle thrust that had your nails scratching at the wall. Your orgasm was building back up faster than you would’ve liked it to, considering you knew Mark wouldn’t let you cum so soon after denying you.

It hit you deeply, in all the right places at the right angle. Mark was that good from the start, and you couldn’t believe you’d been missing out on it. If you knew he was this goof, you would’ve ruined the friendship ages ago. “So fucking deep, Mark, keep going like that,” you moaned, just as caught up as he was.

He captured your lips in a searing kiss, fucking into you with much more vigor than before, gripping your ass with such force you half expected to see the dents after. You moaned all you had to say, all you had to feel into each other’s mouths. When his velvety tongue enveloped yours you could almost taste the remnants of your arousal and the chocolate muffin he ate right in between sweeping and mopping. The water was still running, hitting part of his back and your leg.

You couldn’t pull away from him even if you tried— he was a part of you now, molded into each other’s bodies until you became one. “Wanna keep fucking you forever,” he groaned, pouring his all into every touch. “Keep you on me forever.”

It threw you for a loop. Keep you forever? Mark was a lot more emotional than he let on, sure, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that he meant it in ways other than platonic. You couldn’t even stop him to ask what he meant by that because he was so deep in your guts that you were starting to feel him in your throat. 

“Don’t stop,” you cried out, biting your lip when he hit a certain spot inside you and kept hitting it over and over again— the taste of blood didn’t stop you. “Don’tstopdon’tsopdon’tstop-”  

“Fuck,” he whisper, voice strained and raspy, smacking at your ass before gripping it and bringing you down to meet his increasingly harsh thrusts, the slap echoing throughout your studio apartment. “Wanna fuck you forever, baby.” One hand kept its vice grip on your hip while the other grasped at your neck, forcing you to maintain eye contact with him. “Gimme a kiss, pretty girl.” Your lips found his despite the blurring of your vision, a supple lock as he steadied rocking into your core. Kissing him upside down felt worlds away from the first kiss you shared with him, and yet you still couldn’t get enough of it. The hand on your hip slithered up to cup your breast, rolling your nipple as he pulled away from the kiss. “So obedient.”

All the shame had disappeared from your body, the satisfaction of finally being fucked numbing you to his quips completely. His name was on the tip of your tongue, begging to be set free, but the way his hips ricocheted off your ass made you short circuit. Your skin was hot to the touch, goosebumps littering the expanse of your body as your toes curled around the fabric of your duvet. 

“Who knew you were such a dirty girl, hm?” Mark tutted. You hold back your moans, reveling in the sensation of his tip sliding up and down you dripping folds. Interrupting his own rhythm just to get a rise out of you, giving you no warning before shoving himself right back in. 

“Bet this was your plan all along,” You ignore the fact that he technically initiated all of this, too blissed out to snap back at him cheekily. “Dripping all over my cock, fuck.” He’s thinking out loud, eyes locked at the way your pussy invites him in, grip unrelenting with each thrust. He drew his hips back again to repeat the same unforgiving tempo, laughing to himself at the way your thighs shake in anticipation.

“Wanted this for so long.” You whine, bashful about the confession rolling off your tongue so easily. Mark had always occupied a special part of your mind, but the barrier of your friendship with him always kept you from thinking of him in that way for too long. He’s hot, sure, and one of the most genuine guys you’d ever met— but risking that by dating him felt too stupid to risk.

Mark didn’t keep you waiting for too long, filling you to the brim with one stroke that had your toes curling. You gasp, a shiver running up your spine as he adopts a frenzied pace that nearly knocks you into the wall in front of you. “You’re so fucking warm.”  He can’t help but moan out at the feeling, clutching onto your hips as he pistons in and out of you. Blunt fingers digging into your skin as you let your body fall forward. You felt so full.

“Mark, fuck.” you whine, probably a tad too loud considering how thin the walls feel at night but you couldn’t help it, with the way he held onto you and fucked you like he had never had good pussy in his life. “Faster.”

“Where’d your manners go? Say ‘please’.” He teased, testing your obedience despite knowing you’d obey him. There was just something about knowing he held your pleasure in the palm of his hands, knowing that you’d do anything he asked of you. 

“Please, please, please Mark, need you so bad.” It sounded  pathetic, and it only makes Markn screw his eyes shut as he fucks you harder. All control lost as he watches the drool drip from your mouth down the wall— he was really fucking your brains out.

Mark's rough groans were slowly morphing  into needy moans, the sound causing even more slick to build up between your legs. “Taking my cock like such a good girl.” And you really were, considering you had nothing but the wall to grip onto, you let your body go wherever Mark led it. Each thrust sending you closer and closer to your climax, his dick hitting every single spot that you’re sure you’d see stars.

“I’m gonna cum, fuck.”

“You’re gonna cum? Mm, you can cum. Cum all over my dick, lemme see that pretty face.” You arched inward one last time for him, looking up at the man sending you to heaven and back on a loop. “There you go. Good fucking girl.” Mark smacked your ass sharply, holding onto your ass as he switched his rhythm to harsh, precise thrusts that were sure to throw you over the edge of pleasure. He kissed your forehead as the growing tension in the pit of your stomach snapped, your walls contracting around him in a tight frenzy that nearly triggered his own. He didn’t slow down, though. The clutching of pussy did absolutely nothing to deter him from fucking you with the same rigor, hips just as quick as they were before he finally let you cum.

“M-Mark, I don’...” The aftershocks of ecstasy silenced you in your tracks, the sparks of pleasure like electricity through your bloodstream. “Don’t stop.”

He laughed at the change of your tune, thumb flitting down to flick at your clit. “Baby needs more? Haven’t had enough yet?”

Even with him poking fun at your desperation, you were too drunk on his cock to care. All you could manage was a chorus of fuck me, fuck me, fuck me as Mark held you flush against him. “God, yes, fill me up like that.” Your arousal was dripping all over the inside of your thighs, the sticky slick glistening under the moonlight that peaked through your curtains. 

“That’s right, I’m not fucking done with you yet, pretty girl.” This side of him was lethal. He was insatiable, obsessed with the way your body responded to him, greedy for the way you bent to his every whim. It was such a change of pace from the way he was kissing you in missionary, the way he treated you like a doll that he was afraid of hurting you. “Feel good?”

He was mocking you— of course, it was good. You didn’t have to tell him that for him to know; but feeding his ego was so addictive. The way he’d reward you for praising him was enough for you to fall for the trap every single time. “So, good, Mark, hngh.”

The smack of his hips against your ass bounced off the walls, echoing the depravity that you and Mark were oh so good at acting on. All of your senses on overdrive, the overstimulation pulling at you from every end, you weren’t sure if you could take it all for much longer. Drool slipped from your mouth onto Mark’s arm, the edges of your vision blurring as you could feel yourself bubbling over. “Gonna cum again?”

“‘m gonna cum again.”

He was drunk with the power of controlling you. “Hold it.”

“Mark, I can’t.” You were surprised you were even able to do it the first two times he commanded it, not used to having gratification delayed against your wishes.

“Gonna fill you up and then you can cum.” It only took a few more targeted thrusts before he was spilling his seed into you, an endless leak of evidence of what took place over the last hour or so. Even as his cock began to soften, he made sure to fuck you through it, massaging tight circles into your clit until your legs spasmed. The air was snatched from your lungs, eyes flittering shut in sweet relief. It was only two orgasms, but the build up had really taken it out of you. Mark flipped you over gently on your back, brushing the hair out of your face as you sleepily opened your eyes.

“Look at that. Take a look at the mess we made, baby.” 

He gestured between your legs, a slippery canvas of cum smeared across your most intimate parts. “So much…” You couldn’t stop yourself from gathering some on your fingers, popping them into your mouth for a taste of the two of you mixed together.

Your brain was on fire, neurons alight with the molten sensation that was Mark Lee. Even though you took him up on the offer, you weren’t expecting him to completely change your world. A solid orgasm and a pat of the back, maybe. But now you were afraid that he was your new addiction that you’d never be able to feed. 

You woke up in a fresh sleep shirt to the smell of toasted bagels and coffee. Mark balanced the plates and mugs the best he could as he tackled the steps leading up to your bedroom area. “Mornin’ sleepyhead.”

“What time is it?”

He shoved a mug of steaming coffee into your hands, kissing you on the forehead. “Don’t worry about that. You were exhausted, wanted to let you sleep.”

“Thank you.” The coffee was exactly to your liking, just what you needed after a night of fucking like rabbits. “So, should we talk about… it?”

Blush rose to his cheeks and there was no hiding it, his hair pulled back into a messy bun so his face was on full display. “I mean, only if you want to? I’m okay with proceeding however you want to.”

“You’d be fine staying friends? Never talking about it? Pretending that nothing’s changed?”

He shrugged, “if that’s what you wanted, then yeah.” His attention shifted to his breakfast, eyes zeroed in on his eggs and toast like it was a gourmet meal. “Just don’t wanna make you feel weird about it, you know?”

“Mark?” You placed your coffee and plate down on your bedside table, turning your full attention to him as he continued to avoid your gaze. “What did you mean by all the ‘keep you forever’ stuff then?”

He rushed to try to explain himself, scrambling his words into a whole lot of nothing. “It’s not, like, a big deal or anything. I just get possessive… in bed, sometimes. I’m not a weirdo or anything, I promise.”

None of that mattered to you anyway, your dreams of Mark that clouded your head all night giving you the push you needed to throw caution to the wind. Would it be the worst thing in the world to risk it all with him? One kiss, chaste and sweet, was enough to shut him up for just a moment. “So if I said we should try exploring further, maybe go on a date or something, you’d say yes?”

His eyebrows shot up to his hairline, mouth falling agape as he searched your face for any signs that you were being facetious. “Y-yeah, yes. If that’s what you want.” He was so bad with his feelings, sometimes— but you were more than willing to be patient.

“Well, good, because that’s what I want.”

[augustinapril]

ways that you can support Palestine, other than donating. (from a high school student!) remember that anything counts.

1.) TALK ABOUT IT!! silence kills. Reblog as many things as you can, share posts with friends, post on your stories and accounts. if you're in a safe enough environment, talk about it with family. do not stop talking about Palestine and the genocide isreal is committing.

2.) educate yourself—read up on what's going on, why it's happening. learn about what israel and the IDF are doing, listen to the stories Palestinians are telling. They're begging to be heard, and you have the power to listen to them.

3.) visit this masterlist about Palestine by @palipunk there are so many sources and ways to support Palestine right now.

4.) DON'T LET THE TAGS STOP TRENDING!! try to keep them up, keep people listening and paying attention to what is happening, do not let these people die because people aren't receiving posts and feed about Palestine.

5.) stop buying from brands that support israel. instead, try buying from brands that don't, or better yet, try buying from Palestinian businesses.

6.) wear the colors of Palestine's flag. buy pins, put them on your clothes, on your bags, in your car. Put stickers in your notebooks, on your waterbottles, in your planner, in your journal.

7.) CREATE ART ABOUT WHAT IS HAPPENING !! make art pieces of people in Palestine, draw a watermelon, create anything with the colors of Palestine. Write poetry or stories about what is happening—there are going to be so many people whos attention you can capture with the smallest artistic detail, with a single line, a single phrase. Use your creativity to tell people about the atrocities that are happening. Support Palestinian artists, as well.

8.) FOLLOW JOURNALISTS WHO ARE IN GAZA AND PALESTINE. read and listen to their stories.

[inkskinned]

yesterday while feverish i wrote about how boats can moor next to each other like pigeons, cooing with the gentle rap of water against their hull. you once said that that the way i see things - birds in the water, feathers in marina paint - was "childish and naive." you said i'd been misdiagnosed - "it can't all be adhd. you might be just kind of stupid and lazy."

i still do certain things like how you taught me - turn the pillow case inside out before putting it on. drive defensively. hate myself entirely.

the prompt for this poem is "mahler's fifth." i wish it wasn't, but mahler's fifth was our song. it ended up in my book. every person that knows your name has promised me they'll give you one swift rabbit punch, right to the face. dean read the book and showed up on my front porch, drenched in sweat from running the 8 miles at 4 in the morning. he was shaking. pacifist and gentle - he works with children - i'd never seen him furious. a punch isn't going to do it, he said, and then said i'm sorry. i had to come to see if you were okay.

mahler's fifth was mine first, like my girlhood. i like the way each movement piles onto the next movement, each instrument bleeding into the next. i like the horn version the best. before i met you, i danced to it on grass still-wet from sprinklers.

later you would tell me that the way you heard it was somehow better. you understood something in it that i couldn't quite wrap my fingers into. once, on our anniversary, you asked the classical music radio station to play it for us. we missed hearing it because we were fighting. one of the things people get wrong about abuse is that sometimes victims are, like, brutally aware of the stupidity of our situation. what do you mean that you thought i wasn't good enough for you? you? you're just... nothing.

sometimes people can pull the poetry out of your life. i watched my words become clothesline, and then thin out into kite twine. i watched you chew through every good syllable of me. so many good songs and places and moments were ruined. i am glad you didn't like most of my music - less to tie back to you.

but still mahler's fifth. the music swells, and i am 21 and throwing up in a bathroom on my birthday. a woman i will later refer to as lesbian jesus runs a cool hand down my back, her perfect pantsuit starch-pressed. she told me to leave you. she said - and this is true, and not an invention of rhyme or fantasy - i'm you from the future.

i am 22, and i got home from an award ceremony, and i remember you telling me - you act so proud of yourself when you're actually so fucking embarrassing. i took you to disney world. you took my virginity. i gave up visiting spain for a week with my family - i instead choose you, to spend the time just-cuddling. you called it "our fuck week." the music swells. it probably should have been a red flag that for about 3 years - i just gave up on crying. my grandfather died and you said nothing. my uncle died and you ghosted me for 3 weeks. you said i need to protect myself from your ongoing tragedy.

every so often i come back to the memory of one of our last afternoons in person. i had just told you that i wasn't going to law school, despite the free ride - i was going to join a creative writing program. master's in fine arts. i was going to finally do it - i was going to follow my dreams. this blog was already internet-famous. however reluctantly, i would occasionally refer to myself as a poet. i got into umass amherst's writing program for fiction authors. it is one of the the top 5 programs in the country.

wait are you seriously considering actually attending that? dumbfounded, you turned completely towards me in your seat. for the 3rd time in our relationship, you almost crashed the car. you actually want to be a writer?

the first time i went viral, it was for a poem i wrote about you:

he wants to say i love you but keeps it to goodnight because love will take some falling and she's afraid of heights.

every time i see that, i want to throw up. you weren't in love with me, you were in love with the control you had over me. a little truth though: i am afraid of heights. you caught a rabbitgirl and skinned her alive.

mahler's fifth still makes me sick.

give me that back. give me back music. give me back everything i had before you. give me back fearlessness. give me back bravery. give me back a scarless body.

give me back what you took from me.

[cirillafionaelenriannon]

tamsyn muir doesnt even have a writing degree she has an education degree. or andrzej sapkowski. HE studied fucking economics or whatever. LIKE. whats tha freaking point...Just go balls to the walls and find an agent and publish a novel 4 tha hell of it..

[jonnywaistcoat]

Hey, Horrormaster Sims. I have a wildly different question that barely relates to TMA (Sorry about that) but its about your own process. Please, if you could, can you tell me how your first drafts made you feel? I'm on the fence about writing my own thing (not a podcast, and again, not Magnus related, though I have a million little aus for that delightful tragedy you wrote, thank you for that!) But I'm discouraged by the collective notion that first drafts are always terrible, because there's no ... examples I can solidly use to help the dumb anxiety beast in my brain that tells me everyone who is in any way popular popped out a golden turd and not, well, you know. One of my friends said 'Oh I bet Jonathan Sims's first draft was nothing like what he wanted' and I got the bright idea to just. Send you an ask, since you're trapped on this hellsite like I am. Anyway, thanks for reading this (if you do) and if you'd rather ask it privately, I am cool with that. Alternatively, you're a hella busy man with Protocol (you and Alex are making me rabid, i hope you know) and you can just ignore this! Cheers, man, and good words.

To my mind all writing advice, especially stuff that's dispensed as truisms (like "first drafts are always garbage") are only useful inasmuch as such advice prompts you to pay attention to how you write best: what helps your workflow, what inspires you, what keeps you going through the rough bits. There are as many different ways to write (and write well) as there are people who write and so always consider this sort of thing a jumping off point to try out or keep in mind as you gradually figure out your own ways of writing.

On first drafts specifically, I think the wisdom "all first drafts are bad" is a bit of unhelpful oversimplification of the fact that, deadlines notwithstanding, no piece of writing goes out until you decide its ready, so don't get too hung up on your first draft of a thing, because a lot of writers find it much easier to edit a complete work than to try and redraft as they go. It's also important to not let perfectionism or the fact your initial draft isn't coming out exactly how you want stop you from actually finishing the thing, as it's always better to have something decent and done than to have something perfect and abandoned.

But the idea of a "first draft" is also kind of a fluid one. The "first draft" you submit to someone who's commissioned you will probably be one you've already done a bunch of tweaks and edits to, as opposed to the "first draft" you pump out in a frenzy in an over-caffeinated weekend. For my part, my first drafts tend to end up a bit more polished than most, because I'm in the habit of reading my sentences out loud as I write them (a habit picked up from years of audio writing) so I'll often write and re-write a particular sentence or paragraph a few times to get the rhythm right before moving to the next one. This means my first drafts tend to take longer, but are a bit less messy. I'm also a big-time planner and pretty good at sticking to the structures I lay out so, again, tend to front load a lot of stuff so I get a better but slower first draft.

At the end of the day, though, the important thing is to get in your head about it in a good way (How do I write best? what helps me make writing I enjoy and value? What keeps me motivated?) and not in a bad way (What if it's not good enough? What if everyone hates it? What if it doesn't make sense?) so that you actually get it done.

As for how my first drafts made me feel? Terrible, every one of 'em No idea if that's reflective of their quality, though, tbh - I hate reading my own writing until I've had a chance to forget it's mine (I can only ever see the flaws). I suppose there's theoretically a none-zero chance they were pure fragments of True Art and creative perfection, but Alex's editing notes make that seem unlikely.

[alexiroflife]

"five more minutes?"

part 2.

college au, grungy!choso, fluffff, beginnings of mutual pining

choso kamo x writing tutor!reader

Synopsis: your last tutoring session of the day catches you off guard when the hottest guy you've ever seen in your life walks into the writing center

to sum it up: you and choso didn't expect to enjoy each other's company so much and your giddy awkwardness shows it

WC: 3,700

Warning(s): none, just you and choso being cute as hell

-> guys i am speechless thank you so much for +2,000 followers y'all are amazing i love you so much

You, in truth, never wanted to be a writing tutor.

Your English professor had recommended you to do so, seeing that you had a tendency to excel in your creative and academic writing courses. Your major in english and the years prior you spent scribbling away the fantasies of your mind in middle and high school certainly were to commend for you exceptional writing skills now, but you find that any time you’re actually forced to put pen to paper instead of doing so on your own will dulls the experience entirely. 

You can’t necessarily complain too much because you are getting paid (certainly not enough as a junior in university), but you don’t exactly enjoy the tediousness of having to sit down with freshmen who are crawling their way through their introductory writing courses, fighting to keep their engagement as they try to rush you through your hour and a half appointment- despite how badly they need it.

Writing is an art, and should be treated as such, but god, the way the intro courses are treating it and how the students treat it accordingly truly hurts your soul. Especially because they’re required classes, and people never fare well in classes they’re forced to take. You have first hand experience with that.

You’re almost done for the day when you double check your schedule to see that you have one more slot filled before you can call it a day.

Sighing, you lean back in your desk chair and click on the profile of the boy you’re meant to be meeting with. Apparently he’s in a grade above you working on a seminar. You raise your brow, curiosity striking you. You don’t typically find many upperclassmen coming to your services since they normally already have the writing training that they need and have been crafting enough essays to get the hang of things, or are simply too lazy to be bothered with visiting the writing center.

You don’t have much time to ponder it before there’s a knock on your office door frame, signifying the arrival of the person you are to be mentoring. You look up, and the breath almost flies from your lungs when you see a tall brunette clad in heavy, dark cargo pants, a tattered band tee, and a puffy jacket. His heavily lined, violet eyes meet yours tiredly, though after a few moments, a sprinkle of light flickers its way into his irises upon registering the sight of you. 

“I’m… uh, here for my 3:30?” his remarkably deep voice mumbles out as he stares at you pensively, ringed fingers clutching the strap of his beaten satchel book bag. “You’re (Y/n)?”

You blink. “Oh, y-yeah. Sorry,” you clear your throat, hastily throwing on a friendly smile. “Come in. You can take a seat right here.”

You gesture to the chair before you at your desk, and he approaches, slinging his bag from his shoulder to the floor and seating himself in the cushioned seat. 

You scroll through your computer mindlessly to relocate his profile and exactly what he is here for, but you can’t deny the fact that your mind is immensely distracted by the presence of the man sitting in front of you. You can feel his pretty eyes wandering over the room, bouncing over you then to his lap. You clench your jaw to prevent yourself from practically screaming, for this kid is insanely attractive in a grungy, silent loner kind of way, and you’re unsure of how you’ll even be able to focus throughout the session.

“It’s Choso, right?” you ask, turning from your monitor to meet his diamond eyes.

He nods, pressing his lips together. “Yeah.”

“Okay, cool. Nice to meet you. Why don’t you walk me a bit through what you need help with?”

He releases a heavy sigh, scratching the back of his head and averting his gaze. “I don’t know, my senior sem professor said I needed to work on my paragraph structure for the essay part of the project,” he explains almost disinterestedly. “I don’t really know what she means, so I figured I’d just come here.”

“Okay,” you nod. “Do you have a draft that you can show me?”

Choso reluctantly nods once more, leaning over to collect his bag and pull out a thin stack of papers. He gathers them in his hands and as if embarrassed, slides them across the wood table toward you. You take it from him and briefly skim over the words, the title catching your eye.

“You’re a bio major?” you ask, interest piqued.

“…Um, yeah. I’m writing about blood coagulation… it’s kinda boring stuff I guess.”

“No way, I think that’s sick,” you say casually, flipping through the other pages. “I could never begin to understand that stuff.”

You miss the way Choso’s gaze lingers on your face in momentary, subtle surprise. Your eyes fly up from the page to him again, and he immediately looks away. 

You place the papers back down. “I can kinda see what your professor means just by first glance,” you tell him, reaching over to grab a red pen from your pencil holder.

“That fast?” Choso asks, raising a brow.

You chuckle slightly. “I mean, I didn’t get to see everything obviously. I was just browsing, but I do this a lot. I notice you tend to jump from one thing to another without a solid transition.”

“Oh.”

“That’s okay, though. And was it just paragraph structure…? Was there anything else you specifically wanted to look at?”

He shrugs stiffly. “I don’t really know,” he admits. “I’m… less of a writer and more of a researcher. I don’t really- I’m not too good with this kind of stuff in general. I just do the work.”

“That’s no problem. You’ve got the important parts down,” you assure him. “Here, why don’t we move to the center next door? It’ll be easier for me to help you with your paper when I’m next to you instead of sitting across.”

“Sure.”

You believe that you have sabotaged yourself in suggesting so, though moving to a less cramped room is something you always do with your clients. Even so, the second you and Choso seat yourselves beside each other at a rounded table in the next room, with another appointment taking place across the room and rather distant from you, his scent of woody cologne consumes your senses the moment his breeze blows past you with his settlement into his chair. 

Your eyes go slightly wide, his arm inches away from brushing yours when he throws his bag over the back of the chair. While he pulls out his computer and gets his papers and notes situated, you sneak a glance at him out of the corner of your eye.

He beholds the facial structure of a model, a rather bored, tired energy capturing his eyes but emphasizing his beauty nonetheless. His hair, you think, is styled uniquely into two ponytails, but it somehow complements his aura perfectly. Tendrils of chocolate brown sweep over his forehead and behind his ear, and that is when you catch a peak of a tattoo creeping up his neck from behind his jacket collar. 

This guy is too gorgeous for his own good. Part of you doesn’t believe that he is aware of his beauty himself, for he carries himself as though he wishes not to be seen, or more accurately, hardly pays any attention or care to how he is perceived by the surrounding world. He’s reserved, calm, and oh, the way his Adam's apple bops when he clears his throat softly is criminal.

You’re prepared to ask him about his tattoo when you recall that you are supposed to be maintaining a professional, yet amiable environment. To make it obvious that he’s captured your attention and then some would interfere with the entire purpose of his appointment, which he scheduled for academic assistance with you, a tutor. 

You immediately avert your gaze when reality smacks you in the face and you shift your focus back to his paper, sliding it under your palm and ripping the cap of your pen rather harshly. Just as you turn away, Choso finds himself peering over at you, but far less sneakily. 

He had come here expecting to despise the entire process, for his pride is slightly wounded that he even has to visit a writing tutor, but he refuses to allow his lacking skill in essay craft to debunk his grade in something he is so passionate about, and something that he desperately needs to graduate. Besides, he has come for help early enough in the process for it not to have much of a strain on the final product overall, but when he found you in your office, he hadn’t expected to be working with someone like… you.

He was expecting a stuck up hermit who was prepared to tear apart every single piece of his rough draft that he had thrown together, sneering down at him through round framed glasses and frowning at his sheer inferiority within the English department. Instead, he’s greeted with you; a fresh, friendly and drop dead gorgeous face that welcomes him in with no judgment. Aesthetically, and likely spiritually, the two of you can’t appear more different, but you don’t seem at all moved by his dark presence. You smile at him, and you compliment his work though no one has ever taken him as a guy interested in or withholding the brains of one who desires to study the inner workings of the human body. He half thinks you’re just being nice because it’s your job, but he can’t help but take a liking to you immediately solely because of how pretty he deems you to be.

Not only that, but you guide him through each and every one of his stand points within his draft, circling words, marking down sentences, scribbling little notes in the corner summarizing the main point he wishes to get across and how he intends to prove so with his research. You listen to him after asking him to explain something you don’t quite understand, and your eyes search his honestly as he mutters through his intentions that are yet to be properly conveyed on the page. You then nod along with him and tell him that he makes perfect sense when he talks, then you freely provide suggestions about how he can improve this portrayal of understanding in a different way.

And everything you tell him, he understands effortlessly. You have a way with your words and how you transcribe them into something that can be put into paper. You know absolutely nothing about what Choso does academically, but somehow, you magically transform that unknown into what you do know. You tell him that literacy is universal, so it’s easy for you to take any topic and help him construct it properly for literary intake. 

Choso finds himself enraptured by your tutoring. He’s agreeing with you, humming in interest and pointing at the things you write for him, typing away at his notes to record everything he’s hearing. He’s taken by the way your lips move when you speak passionately, intelligently; how your hands swirl animatedly with your speech as you paint physical pictures in the air of what you are verbalizing; how you grin widely when Choso adds onto your suggestions, proving that he is getting a hang of what you are telling him. And above all, Choso can see the joy in your eyes as you help him, how entranced you are by the chance to hold an intelligent conversation about what you have mastered doing and what Choso has mastered doing.

You actually like tutoring him, and Choso can tell because he has come to enjoy being tutored by you within the hour and a half block that you are given.

The two of you only make it through about eight of twenty pages before you somehow get off topic, minutes past your block has ended.

“How long have you been a tutor?” the purple eyed man beside you questions suddenly. You look up, closing the cap of your pen with a gentle smile. You don’t even notice the other appointment in the room leaving, the two of you now completely alone.

“Just for a little over a year,” you say. “I started at the beginning of sophomore year last year.”

“So, you’re only a junior,” Choso observes.

“Didn’t you know that when you clicked my profile on the tutoring site?” you tilt your head.

Choso shakes his head, looking down as he reaches his hand to his keyboard and bouncing his leg. “I… wasn’t paying attention,” he mutters and you laugh slightly.

“You could have picked anybody to help you, then.”

“Yeah, apparently,” he hums. “I’m glad I got you though.”

A certain giddiness captures you as your light smile brightens. “Really?”

“I- just mean, you’re a good teacher,” he adds quickly, brows drawing together. His jumping knee leans over the slightest in his manspreading position beneath the table, leading it to bump against yours clumsily. The two of you look down at the same time, and he brings his leg back in hastily. “Sorry.”

“You’re good,” you bring your shoulders up as you crowd your hands in your lap, his brief contact having startled your nerves. “And thanks. I try my best. I actually had fun during our session.”

He turns to look at you. “You had fun trying to fix my awful writing?”

“No, no,” you chuckle. “Usually I help a lot of freshmen and they don’t really care what they’re writing about, but you really seem to.”

He hums. “I get it.”

“So… why biology? Why blood function?”

“I don’t know. It’s always been cool to me, how much stuff happens inside the body that we can’t see,” he says lowly. “I also… got money to come here in high school for science and all that. It’s kinda always been something I’m good at.”

“You say that like it’s not a big deal,” you raise your brows, turning in your chair to face him completely. He glances at you momentarily from the side, but keeps himself awkwardly forward as he clicks randomly away at the keys on his computer. You can see a dust of pink creeping over his pale skin as he eyes his screen. 

“It’s not really. Plenty of people have scholarships and stuff.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t make yours any less impressive,” you say, and his blush brightens. He’s so cute. “What would you wanna do with that when you graduate? This is your last year, right?”

“Oh, uh,” he tilts his head back. “I’m looking for work now… but I don’t know, not a lot of jobs in my field would really…” he tries to find a way to explain. His lips tug to the side and his brows angle, hand finding his locks. “...approve of the way I present. I could probably get away with being a lab tech, but if not, I’d do something behind the scenes. Maybe get another job in retail, too.”

You hum, looking over him. “Is it because of your…” you stop to point to his neck. He looks at you quizzically, reaching his hand to where you point. His face relaxes in realization.

“Yeah,” he breathes out a light laugh, and you shiver. “Didn’t know you could see that.”

“Only a little…” you grin. “What is it?”

He takes in a deep breath, looping his fingers over his jack and pulling it down from the skin by his ear. His face is still lit with a pinch of color as he averts his gaze, tilting his chin so that you can see the sharp lines of ink swerving from behind his ear down to his collarbone, a cyber sigilism design. 

You gulp, your own face growing warm with heat as you examine the way his muscles ripple beneath the tattoo, his face bored though leg still jittery with nerves. 

“I like it,” you say as he releases his jacket and lets it rise to conceal his neck once more. “It suits you.”

He looks at you, pursing his lips. “Thanks. I have a lot more.”

“Yeah?” your eyes dash over his frame out of curiosity.

“You won’t be able to see them,” he tells you, and you snap your eyes right back up to his face. A small smile plays on his lips.

“O-Oh. Right,” you stammer. “How many do you have?”

“At least, like, twenty by now.”

“Really?!” you gasp, rather impressed. “Did they hurt?”

“Only a few, but you get used to it after a while.”

“Hmm. You’re making me think I should get a tattoo.”

Choso’s lips curl into a full fledged grin as he examines you, seemingly amused by the idea. You falter slightly when his teeth reveal from behind his soft lips, a dimple prodding in the corner of his cheek with his smile. “You’d get one?”

You pick up on his slightly playful tone and raise a brow. “Why? I don’t look like I would?”

He shakes his head. “I mean- well, no, but-” he paused. “I guess I don’t look like I’d want to be a medical professional, so.”

You can feel your smile widening, your heart brimming with excitement as he opens himself up to bantering with you. And his smile… you would have never expected such an angelic sight on someone like him. You knew he was handsome before, but now with his eyes shining with humor, his cheeks flushed, and a tumble of shy laughter spilling from his throat, you’re willing to risk everything for a chance to hear him laugh again.

“See?” you muse as he finally closes his laptop.

“Where would you get one?”

“Uhhhh,” you try to think. “Maybe… on my shoulder?”

“Yeah?” he pokes out his bottom lip and nods. “I think you’d pull it off,” he goes to tuck his papers back into his bag, keeping his eyes down as the next phrase falls from his mouth. “Maybe I should take you to get one.”

Your brows jump at his suggestion, unsure of whether he is joking or being serious. He catches your eye when he pulls himself back up, heliotrope pools simmering with that hint of bashfulness as he looks at you through his long lashes. 

“Y-You know,” he starts once more. “After you finish helping me with the rest of my essay.”

Your mind clicks when the topic at hand shifts back to the reason why you are sitting with him in the first place. You turn to look at the clock on the other side of the room and widen your eyes when you find that it is half an hour past when you were meant to be finished. “Speaking of,” you start. “We ran really late.”

Choso perks up, following your gaze. “Oh… shit, sorry. I didn’t mean to… keep you.”

“No, it’s okay! Really. I didn’t even notice what time it was,” you say. Choso stalls with his hand on his computer, having prepared to put it away, but something in his mind is making him hesitate.

“So-”

“Did you-”

You both stop, having talked over each other, and you laugh nervously. “Sorry, you first,” you tell him.

“No, you go.”

You oblige. “Well… when are you free next? We can keep working on your draft. Maybe in the library soon if you want a change of scenery? Or not, we could just stay here.”

You don’t know why you’re all of a sudden acting like a child struggling to speak before him. You are meant to be scheduling a follow-up, as you do with everyone you tutor, but somehow it feels as though you’re asking Choso out on a date.

Before you can say anything more, the brunette is nodding before he even comprehends what you’re asking. “Yes. The library is good. Let’s do that.”

You grin, relieved. “Okay. Cool. Great. When-?”

“Whenever,” he rushes. You blink, and he reels in upon noticing how quickly he answered. He turns away. “I mean- whenever you’re free.”

“Next week? Same time?”

He hums. “Yeah. That’s- that’s perfect.”

You go to stand as Choso reaches for his bag, slinging it over his shoulder. The two of you stand before each other, silence taking you as you find yourselves unsure of what else to say. 

You look to the side and notice that Choso’s computer is still sitting on the table. You reach out for it, gathering it safely in your hands and presenting it to him. “Here. Don’t forget this.”

He looks down at the device and his brows lift. “Oh, yeah. Right,” he takes the computer from your hands, brushing his fingers accidentally with yours, before pulling it into his grasp and tucking it into his bag, lowering his head to hide his flustered expression. “Thank you. And thanks for the… the help.”

You nod, smiling. “Anytime.”

You remain before each other for a moment more, neither of you desiring to leave just yet. 

“Should I, you know, give you my contact?” Choso suggests, and you perk up. “For next week, and I guess in the future when we schedule other appointments…”

“Oh, yeah! Sure, here.”

You pull out your phone and let him hover over you, his scent invading your senses once more as he types his number into an empty contact. You call it once he is finished so that your number can pop up on his phone, and he leans away. “Got it.”

“Great,” you smile at him. “I’ll see you next week?”

“Yeah. See you then.”

You watch his tall figure trudge away, out of the doorway and down the hall with his face into his phone as he works to save your contact. The moment he leaves, you heave out and press your hand to your chest, excitement fluttering through you in the form of butterflies. 

Hell. What you would have given to get just another five minutes alone with that beautiful stranger. Maybe he would have asked you to hang out sometime properly. 

[pnutbutter-n-j-elyy]

When They Accidentally Bring Up an Insecurity| Jisung

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You had always admired Han's loving spirit and his ability to find inspiration in the smallest things. He brought light into your life in ways you never thought possible. And he helped you see the world in a way most didn't. You loved that you had that in common with Han- an appreciation for things that breathed life into your creative works.

You had never been very good at drawing. Or writing. Or anything having to do with the fine arts. Rather your creativity came more in a problem solving way. But in order to connect with Jisung, you decided to take up sketching to connect with Han a little more, because you loved him.

But that just created a deep-rooted insecurity about your creative abilities. Surrounded by so many talented people - as you were around the kids -you often felt your own contributions paled in comparison, and it was a fear you kept to yourself.

One evening, Han was over at your place, working on some new lyrics while you attempted to write poetry. He was sprawled on the couch, notebook in hand, humming a melody under his breath. You sat at your desk, scribbling down words and then erasing them feeling increasingly frustrated with your lack of progress.

You had long given up drawing, and you thought it might be easier to write a poem, since it was words that described your feelings. You could easily write a poem about something you knew well right? It couldn't be that hard.

You scratched your head as you tried to think of rhymes.

"How's it going over there?" Han asked, glancing up from his notebook.

"Not great," you mumbled, trying to keep the disappointment out of your voice.

Han chuckled, not noticing your tone. "I figured."

His casual comment felt like a sting, a reminder of your perceived inadequacies. You forced a smile and nodded, but inside, you felt your confidence crumbling.

He got up and walked over to you, picking up your paper in his hands. He chuckled. "Poetry now huh?"

You felt your cheeks burn and tried to take it from him. "No-"

"No jagiya I want to read it." He said holding it above your head and reading it. "You make me laugh when I am sad, Your jokes are the best I've ever had. When you smile, my heart feels light, You make everything so bright." Han giggled again. "It's like one of those poems we had to write in elementary school."

That made your cheeks burn even more. "Jisung give it back-"

"Your hugs are warm, your eyes so kind, With you, I leave my worries behind. You're my sunshine, my best friend, With you, I hope the good times never end." He gives you a cute pouty face in a teasing manner. "Awww Y/N... it's such a cute little poem. It's like a little nursery rhyme."

"Jisung stop!" You called out again, feeling your eyes burn as you put your fists to your eyes, the embarrassment you had taking over.

"I know my poem's not that great, But loving you is my favorite fate. Thank you Jisung..." His smile fell and he swallowed. "Thank you...Jisung for...for being you. My love for you is always true." He looked up and seemed to realize what he was teasing you about and his lip trembled. "Y/N-"

"I want to be alone." You mumbled through your tears. Jisung wanted to reach out, but he knew he had hurt your feelings, but knowing you he also knew you needed space.

The next few days were a blur of self-doubt and creative blocks. You avoided drawing and writing, and found excuses to stay busy with other tasks. Han noticed your change in behavior and even if you guys had talked a couple hours after the incident, he still didn't think his apology was enough.

One afternoon, while you were both working on a puzzle together, Han brought up the subject again. "Hey, you know I'm really really sorry right?"

You nodded. "I know. I'm not mad anymore, Jisung."

Han frowned. "But you haven't been writing at all. Or drawing...I feel like it's my fault. No...I know it's my fault. I'm sorry I made fun of your poem- I loved it. I really did. It's the sweetest thing anyone has ever written me..."

You felt a pang in your chest, wishing you could believe him. "Thanks, but sometimes it feels like I'm just not good enough."

Han looked taken aback. "What do you mean? You're incredibly talented."

You sighed, finally letting out a bit of your frustration. "It's just… I see how talented everyone else is, including you, and I can't help but feel like my work doesn't measure up."

Han's expression softened, and he reached out to squeeze your hand. "You're amazing in your own right, and comparing yourself to others isn't fair to you. I wouldn't ever want you to compare yourself to me. That's like comparing a doctor to an actor. Both are genius in their own right, but do you expect an actor to be able to perform surgery like a doctor? Or the doctor to recite the entire second act of Hamlet? You have your talents that I could never even begin to measure up to, Y/N. Its the same with everyone who walks this planet..."

His words were kind, but they didn't fully reach the core of your insecurity. You forced a smile and nodded, hoping the conversation would end there.

A week later, Han invited himself over to your house, hoping to put an end to both of your guy's misery. You hated feeling like you had to walk on eggshells around him, and he hated thinking he was making you uncomfortable.

You guys ate dinner and started watching a drama. After the fourth episode Han pressed the pause button.

"Baby...can I show you something?"

You nodded, slightly confused as to why Jisung would pause your binge.

He grabbed his laptop from his bag and came back towards you, placing his headphones on your head.

He unlocked his laptop, clicked a few buttons and a soft melody filled your ears. Your eyes widened.

"Did you guys wrtie a new song?" You asked excitedly, but Jisung shushed you gently and motioned for you to listen.

You closed your eyes and let yourself go, embracing the music fully.

You felt your heart almost stop when you heard the words of your poem masterfully intricated into the song.

"Why did you show me that?" you asked, your voice trembling. You didn't dare open your eyes, or you were sure the tears you had would fall.

Han sounded puzzled. "Because it's great and I wanted to share it."

"But it's not great," you snapped, tears falling from your eyes as you opened them. "People will know you just used those words. You're so much more well versed and-"

Han stopped in his tracks, realization dawning on him. "I didn't mean to make you feel that way. I just wanted to show them how talented you are.” You shook your head.

"Ouch, Y/N..." Jisung chuckled, his voice breaking a little. You looked at Han, whose chubby cheeks were encompassed by his pout. His boba eyes sad.

"No- No baby I meant... I feel like my words are stupid. Not your voice. Your song was absolutely beautiful... I just feel like I made you waste such a good backtrack."

You wiped away a tear, feeling exposed and vulnerable. "It's not your fault. It's just… I can't help but feel like I'll never be as good as everyone else. And I feel like you did that to make me feel better..."

Han pulled you into a tight hug, his voice gentle and soothing. "I wish you could see yourself the way I see you. You're incredibly talented and creative, and your art is a reflection of who you are. It's unique and beautiful, just like you."

You clung to him, the sincerity in his words slowly breaking through your walls. "I just want to feel like I'm enough," you whispered.

Han held you at arm's length, looking into your eyes. "You are more than enough. Your worth isn't defined by how perfect your art or writing is or how you compare to others. It's about the passion and love you put into what you do."

His words resonated with you, and you felt a sense of comfort and reassurance. Han's unwavering support and belief in you made a difference, and you realized that your insecurities didn't define you.

"And I didn't make that song to make you feel better...I made it so you could see just how much inspiration I find from you. Y/N I love you more than anything. So, I was over the moon when I wrote this. And even more elated when I got to use the words the love of my life wrote. That's only the demo..." He grins sheepishly. "I was thinking...it would sound cool if you could leave that poem as a voicemail. I could make it the outro of the song..."

You looked at him with wide eyes. "You mean it?"

"Of course I mean it baby. I mean... I know Stay speculates I'm in a relationship...it's been a year now so I feel like this would be a fun way of confirming that. And I want the world to hear the beautiful voice of my baby." He coos, squishing your cheeks.

You giggle and nod, as Han peppers kisses all over your face.

One evening, as you both sat on the couch, Han handed you a sketchbook he had bought for you. "I got this for you. I want you to fill it with whatever makes you happy. No pressure, just pure creativity. It doesn't even have to be art. Maybe you could write me more poems..."

You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. "Thank you, Ji. For everything."

Han wrapped his arm around you, pulling you close. "I'm always here for you. And for inspiration. Because you're my inspiration." He says nuzzling his nose against yours.

You leaned into him, feeling a sense of peace and contentment.

His inspiration. You thought.

What an amazing thing to be...

@abovenyx @wolfs-archive @oddracha

@iyeeeverydee @parisanmorovati @seungmincenteric

@panbish-1209 @fxiry-vtt @sseawavee

@shuporanporang @amarecerasus @softkisshyunjin

@whoa-jo @meanergreener @rikibun

@ayyonoona @shinywombatcrusade @y4yayael

@skzstan12345 @mariteez @allys-reads

@jazziwritesthings @skzstannie @yongbokkiesworld

@kkkeopi @neverendingstay @moony-9

@minsungsthirdwheel

[writers-hq]

WHY IS WRITING IS SO FUCKING HARD?

Ten types of fuckery that stop you from writing the thing:

1. Imposter syndrome

You think you're not good enough or everyone else is better than you and you're just winging it AKA ye olde imposter syndrome bullshit. Yeah nah you're fine. No really, you're exactly where you need to be right now, and you'll keep getting better and better so long as you don't stop. Chances are, if you're filled with doubt about your abilities it means you've actually improved to the point where you can really start to understand what makes good writing. It means you know where you wanna end up and goshdarn it you're gonna get there.

Read this: 4 tips to kick imposter syndrome in the face and also genitals

And also this: How to silence the inner critic

2. Fear of rejection and/or failure

Yeah, us too. It fuckin sucks. BUT. Not all rejections are equal. And rejection is a necessary part of the process. Sometimes it takes a rejection to realise that a story isn't ready. Sometimes a rejection is entirely subjective and has ZERO reflection on the quality of your work. But shying away from the very idea of possibly maybe hypothetically getting rejected is only going to hold you back from even trying. And knowing why you got rejected and how to learn from it is one of the most valuable writing skills.

Read this: The different types of rejection (and how to deal with 'em)

Then read this: How to cope with rejection

And also this: Writing lessons from Groundhog Day

3. Not enough planning / too much planning

Leaping into a new story with nothing but a glimmer of an idea is exciting as heck (and can sometimes be a great way to begin) but at some point you're gonna need some sort of outline or plan to keep you on track. HOWEVER. Planning your story to within an inch of its life can also sometimes be a hindrance - leaving you stuck in the hypothetical stage of the process where your story doesn't quite exist yet (and therefore avoiding the prospect of it sucking). The sweet spot is in the middle. Having just enough of a plan to know where tf you're going, but enough freedom and flexibility to let the story lead the way...

Read this: Planning vs pantsing

Then read this: Five plotting techniques

And also this: The perils of overplanning

4. Your WIP just isn't working

Sometimes things just fall flat. Sometimes you work on the same story for yeeeeears and then it just kinda... dies. Sometimes you have the best plans (see above) and the best intentions and things still don't work out. Sometimes it's just time to move on. And sometimes it's not! Sometimes a story can be revived, fixed or changed. Sometimes you just need time. Sometimes YOU'RE the one that's changed and this isn't the story you need to be writing right now. Many variables. Muchly personal. Read the things below for more advice cos this is a big question:

Read this: What to do when your WIP isn't working

And also this: Give it space - how to grow a story in your head

Or how about this? Editing 101

5. You keep deprioritising it

Ah the irony of writing being the thing you love/want to do most of all AND YET the thing you procrastinate over and avoid and shove to the very bottom of your to-do list all the freakin' time. Maybe it's the comodification of art destroying our freedom to create without pressure. Maybe it's late capitalism sucking up all our available time and energy. Maybe it's a lack of self-belief subconsciously telling us our 'little hobby' doesn't really matter. Maybe it's maybelline. Whatever it is, you have the power to reclaim and revalue your writing. To say, "I'm a fucking writer, goddamnit!" and mean it. To ringfence your creative time so nothing and nobody gets to interrupt it. To do that thing you love.

Read this: Prioritise your writing

Read this: How to write in 30 second bursts

6. Shiny Thing Syndrome

You know that feeling when you're just getting stuck into a writing project and then — SQUIRREL! — you get distracted by another, better, more shiny writing project? Or maybe you're deep in the editing phase and your current WIP just isn't feeling very shiny at all and pretty much ANYTHING seems more exciting? Or you simply can't decide which of the many squirrelly writing ideas to actually start? You, fine writerperson, may be suffering from Shiny Thing Syndrome (STS). But fear not! There are a few ways to combat it, depending on the cause, and most of them involve embracing the squirrel-brain and injecting a bit of fun into your writing, like so:

Read this: Shiny thing syndrome - a writer's malady

Aaaand read this: Get excited about your writing again

And also this: Write like a kid

7. Perfectionism/self-sabotage

Look. Writing is scary as shit. What if someone READS it? What if they don't like it? What if they see into your soul and gain a deeper understanding of you through your words? Writing your truth, being vulnerable, smearing your heart juice all over the page? No thank you. But also, that's where the good shit is, so actually yes please. Just make sure you smear responsibly. And rest assured, even the most 'successful' and experienced writers ALSO feel like this sometimes, so you're in good company. It's just part of the art, bruh.

Read this: Why writing is scary (and why that's a good thing)

Read this: Beginning a story - what stops us starting?

And also this: Get out of your own way

8. The dreaded blank page

Oh godddd the blank page. It should be an exciting palimseset of possibility but is somehow also the most terrifying thing known to humankind. You wanna write something but where to start? HOW to start? You type that first line and immediately delete it. You watch the cursor blinking at you—taunting you—until you just give up and shut your laptop again. It's probably tied up with a bunch of things we've already covered so far: perfectionism, imposter syndrome, fear of failure, maybe a lack of planning or faith in your story or whatever. But it doesn't have to be this way. A blank page IS exciting and full of possibility. We just have to get over ourselves and learn to embrace the unknown...

Read this: Don't fear the blank page

And also this: The moaning method

9. Not enough time/energy/motivation/gnuuuughh

Dude, same x 1000. But you don't have to get up at 5am, do hot yoga, drink a kale smoothie and write a thousand words before sunrise to be a Proper Writer. You don't even have to write every day. But what you can do is hack your writing brain and figure out when, where, how, and why you write most effectively. Then tweak your schedule, your habits, and your attitude to ensure you're making the most of your time. Productivity is a big ol' lie but finding the secret to getting in your own personal writing zone is actual MAGIC.

Read this: Maximise your writing time

And also this: Get in the writing zone

And also unto this: The Writers' HQ Guide to Productivity

10. You're just fucken stuck

Got the writing morbs? In need of some literary sudafed? Stuck as a pig in a poke? Writing is a whole puzzle of a process—and to be honest that's what makes it so fun and exciting and addictive, because your writing brain is hardwired to both create AND solve the wordy puzzles within your story. Sometimes the answer is time. Sometimes it's a second opinion or a fresh eye. Sometimes a totally different approach or just a hefty kick up the bum. But whatever the problem, there IS a solution. You just gotta keep going and trust that you'll find it...

Read this: Troubleshoot your writing - why are you stuck?

And also this: Break through the writing blockage

And also also this: Write yourself into a pit (and then dig your way out again)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alright, that's it for today. Now go write, you flithy animals.

(And if we missed anything, stick a question in our ask box or check out the rest of our shit here)

[inconveniently-discorporated]

By some fantastical turn of events, it turns out that my daughter and I have the same favorite author. She's three. I'm mumblethirtysomethingmumble. She might even be a bigger fan than me.

(it's vastly important to note the shame is not from the age but because i keep losing count and so I'm considering just keeping track in decades from now on)

So, first let me say that it was a happy coincidence that the author of one of my favorite books as an adolescent (Coraline) turned out to be the author (one of the authors anyway) of one of my favorite books as an adult. I presume you can guess based on *gestures wildly at profile*.

But it was an entirely different not-coincidence-but-still-a-surprise situation that transpired whereupon this author became my daughter's favorite author.

I was perusing G - GAIMAN for some other books I'd been interested in reading to her -- the one about wolves and the other one about goldfish -- when I happened upon Pirate Stew. I bought it, and it looked like fun. I had no idea.

Now, children's books are my kryptonite. I can get by myself on digital purchases and the library, but my child? Absolutely not, I CANNOT say no to buying her books. It's literally -- no matter what my bank account claims -- impossible to pass up a book if I think she'll like it.

Nonetheless, she's three. She never remains on any one book for any particular length of time, even though she enjoys them and already uses them during parties to avoid eye contact and conversation with strangers. She takes after me, see.

But this book? She is absolutely ENAMORED with it. We went to a play place thing where they had a massive boat to play on and she ran around yelling about pirate stew with her mud pies. It's ALWAYS her one of two books she reads for bedtime. If it's not in her rotation of books, she'll ask for it specifically. More importantly, it's the only book she's loved enough to pretend to read to me, for the first time in her young little life.

I don't know what I'm trying to say here, I guess thanks @neil-gaiman for making the joy of reading accessible to all ages. Here's to many more years of reading -- and maybe someday she'll start writing, too. She's very fond of art, in all its forms, so no matter what I think she'll be inspired to partake in the creative process.

[thechekhov]

Hello! I'm a big fan of your work. I wanted to ask for advice / thoughts about an art problem I've been struggling with that you seem to have at least some sort of solution for?

So basically I'm an animator and digital artist (hobbyist), and I'm constantly coming up with new ideas for things to make. Only problem is that most of these ideas would take up to or longer than 2 months to make because, yknow, animation isn't quick, especially if you want to take your time to make it good. But with so many ideas that all take so long to complete, I often find myself tied and frozen as I can't decide what's most worthwhile to start first. I passionately want to complete all these projects, but my inspiration for each one waxes and wanes in a way I can't control, and I've just been stuck for several months. You juggle a lot of projects- not all of them art, but it still seems applicable here. This is excluding other life responsibilities like work and stuff, I don't have problems with getting that stuff done. This is purely within my creative hobby.

If u can't say anything thats fine I'm just curious- You have a massive output with great quality. Thank you!

This is a very kind message, and one that humbles me a lot, because although I'd love to bestow upon you some sort of advice that might help, or give words of wisdom..............I feel like that would be fake of me because

I also suffer from this very same thing

That is to say, this part of your message:

my inspiration for each one waxes and wanes in a way I can't control

It rings true for me too! I think it might ring true for many others as well.

There are stories in my head all the time. There are stories, and concepts, and IDEAS and they are all so shiny and new in the beginning, and then they slowly peter out and, since I frequently don't have time to do anything about them, they fade into the background.

I have enough trouble with this in terms of COMICS (also a lengthy medium, though less so than animation, which, OOF, you have my condolences, you are stronger than I) that I have started to just come to terms with the fact that some things are not meant to be.

Which is, I think, one of the small bits of advice I can give.

1. Some things may just be ideas, and that's okay.

I think one of the best ways that I've learned to deal with Idea-Death is making it count towards something in the future. That is to say, using them as compost.

In order for this to work, you have to actively put your ideas into the compost pin instead of the trash. That means maybe investing in either a notebook, or a sketchbook, OR just a discord server for yourself where you organize ideas and dump them all into a channel to scroll back through later.

It may seem useless at first, but honestly, it can be satisfying to PUT them somewhere instead of letting them fade away.

Plus, you may one day scroll through them and rediscover an idea at just the right time. OR you may be inspired to take parts of an old idea and repurpose it for a new idea that you DO have motivation for.

However, there's also this part, right?

I've just been stuck for several months

I.......feel this. Sometimes I, too, feel stuck for several months. There are times when even if I WANT to work on something, I just don't have the time. It takes too long to finish!

.........which is why I recommend the following:

2. Don't finish. Just start.

Now, this is the toughie. I can't exactly say that it would work for everyone. But I have learned that I am WAY more likely to return to a project and work on it again sometime in the future if I actually DO something for it the first time I get inspired.

I have SO MANY things that I have not published in my folders. I have sketches of gifs that are 10 frames long. I have concept art sketches boldly labeled with project names that will likely never get off the ground. I have Googledoc files with summary and plot outlines for stories I'll probably never write. I have discord channels with random ass concepts and a few sketches for characters.

And what I have found is that if I just WORK on these ideas when I feel like it, they are more likely to survive, even if they don't thrive right away.

I'm also a huge proponent of Procrastination Rotation.

That is to say, I have so many projects I COULD be working on, that if I ever feel frustrated or stuck on one thing, I just shift myself slightly to the left and do another thing instead. I almost never force myself to work through a block (save for a few money-motivated deadlines) just to complete a thing.

Stuck on a comic? I'll go write a few lines of fic. Unsatisfied with where the fic is going?

I'll go sketch out an illustration. Incapable of finishing an illustration?

I'll go google some references for another comic project and slap them all into an image file for later, so that I have SOMETHING in place for when I want to do studies.

And so on and so forth.

I have comic ideas, and comic sketches, and 30+ pages of original comics sketched. I don't know if they'll make it. It would take a lot of work.

But it also takes very little work - just a few extra pages sketched while I'm bored for an hour. Or a bit of lineart while I listen to a podcast. Or just a doodle somewhere which I snap a pic of and add to my discord channel for that project.

Will it work for everyone? Probably not. But I think that our creative culture is sometimes too attached to a linear production style. The truth is that art, or illustrations, or animation, or comics - none of it has to be on an assembly line. It can be tinkered with and put aside. And then, maybe, picked apart for scraps.........or maybe made into something new!

I don't know if that helps you at all, but I hope it at least helps someone.

And good luck with your animating!

[erisweekofficial]

Fanfic

One Year Later (OC x Eris) by @afandomangel 👑

Until I see you again (OC x Eris) by @mika-no-sekai-blog

Protection (Eris x Reader) by @littlest-w01f 👑

All’s well that ends well to end up with you (Eris x Reader) by @daycourtofficial 👑

yea, though i walk (Azris) by @brunetterebel010 👑

What Could Have Been (Eris x Elain) by @nocasdatsgay

Suffering his Scent (Azris) by @neciebee 👑

Falling For You (Eris x Reader) by @bubybubsters

Hold Me While You Wait (Eris x OC) by @fieldofdaisiies

Bedroom manners (Eris x Reader) by @lady-of-tearshed 👑

Pinky Promise (Eris x Reader) by @pit-and-the-pen👑

Still Beautiful Things by @climbthemountain2020 👑

Pull Me in Deeper Ch 17 (Eris x OC) by @zenkindoflove 👑

Ensnaring Marks (Eris x Reader) by @surielstea 👑

A Bond of Song & Flames Ch 1 (Eris x OC) by @sadiegirl2021 👑

Under the Weeping Beech (Azris) by @chunkypossum

Waiting for You (Eris x Reader) by @mcuamerica 👑

Day 1 - Bonds | Bargains by @clockwork-ashes 👑

A Wound So Deep (Azris) by @acourtofladydeath

An Unconventional Bargain by @hellcat8908 👑

Just Enough Light to Cast Shadows Ch 22 (Azris) by @jules-writes-stories 👑

Of Our Own Devices (Eris x Reader) by @illyrianbitch 👑

Gone Through Enough (Eris x Reader) by @thelov3lybookworm

The Uncertainty of Spring (Eris x OC) by @daycourtofficial 👑

Tomorrow Can Wait (Azris) by @myromanempiree 👑

By Turns by @jon-snows-man-bun 👑

Roots In My Dreamland (Eris x OC) by @lucienarcheron

Always An Angel, Never A God (Eris x OC) by @chairofchaos 👑

Your Scars on My Pulse (Azris) by @shadowsandlint 👑

To Dust or To Gold Ch 2 (Neris) by @queercontrarian

An Exchange in Etiquette (Eris x Reader) by @qwimblenorrisstan 👑

Into the Dark (Eris x Reader) by @prythianpages 👑

Lady Luck (Eris x OC) by @ginandtobacco 👑

Bond (Azris) by @thomasisaslut 👑

Being Seen (Eris x Elain) by @vague-shadows 👑

The Crushing Burden of Those Before Us (Eris x Reader) by @dee-writes-smut 👑

A Page From Another's Book (Eris x Reader) by @readychilledwine

Autumn Leaves (Eris x Reader) by @mirandasidefics

Fanart

Eris' bond with Autumn by @elleybug 👑

Eris x Alexius by @zenkindoflove (artist: @luciensdefenseattorney)👑

Neris Art by @rosesncarnations

Worried Eris by @secret-third-thing

Eris and his mate by @/artbyellat (on instagram)

Azris Art by @moonpatroclus & @cauldronblssd (@lucychanart)

Eris Week, Day 1: Bonds (Azris) by @the-darkestminds 👑

Misc.

day one : bonds ( m o t h e r ) by @spore-loser 👑

Eris Week Moodboard by @fieldofdaisiies

Chopin by @chairofchaos 👑

Vanserra brothers in a modern AU by @wishfulimaginings 👑

Thank you for all your contributions! It’s incredible and almost unbelievable how many stories and creative ideas you’ve brought to life on just the first day!

There was a bit of confusions about the crowns- so sorry for that. If it's your first eris week, let us know! If we missed giving you a 👑, please let us know so we can add it to the masterlist. We'll make sure that all masterlists are up to date before the full event masterlist is released 🧡

(divider by @tsunami-of-tears)

[blondehya]

I love how u put “ name ur desire” vsahjlhiaskuhskhuahiksjai

can I request mizu x reader, in which reader is an artist and they do very very much nsfw stuff in reader’s art studio？ pretty pleaseeee 🥺🥺🥺🥺🩵🩵

best mizu voice line fr 🫡🫡 KASKSJK glad u like it, anon! 💕 but let’s talk… i’m not that experienced on writing nsfw stuff so i’m already apologizing for any mistakes 😭 but your request is so creative, thank you! 🩷🩷

nsfw warning | masterlist | mizu x fem reader

it was another late afternoon in your studio, just you with your brush in front of the easel.

mizu’s voice suddenly could be heard, and it was getting closer. your best friend was kind enough to bring you food all week just for you.

“y/n? i’m here, brought your stuff.”

she approached while leaving the food on the table, looking at you for a few seconds.

“what happened? don’t lie, i know that face.”

“client wants this for tomorrow afternoon, but i can’t end it. nothing comes on my mind…”

the blue eyes studied you. she knew you were a completely chaos inside, and wouldn’t show it. so she went back to studying the painting.

“may i know what is this about?”

you explain to her about ‘phantom of the opera’ and all the client's demands right after. mizu was thoughtful for a few moments, but she managed to notice your body shaking.

“i can help you, if you want.”

“what are you going to do? sing opera for me?”

if it were someone else, they would probably be confused by the way you spoke. but mizu knows you and understands well the reason for your harsh speech.

she turned towards your little music box, and suddenly the musical's theme song began to echo throughout the whole studio.

“would you do me the honor of this dance?”

you burst into laughing. but mizu approaches and you start dancing with her, arms around her neck and hers on your waist. it was a funny experience, actually. the slow dance didn't fit in at all with the beginning of the song.

but it was when you two stopped in front of the large mirror that the rhythm of the music changed. mizu tightened her grip on your waist, held your chin towards the mirror and made the knee thing.

“if i could be erik, oh… you would never escape from me.” she whispered very close to your ear.

“mizu?! what are you do–” she holds you closer to her body and starts trailing kisses from your jawline to your collarbone.

you try really hard to resist, but you give up when she carries you and sits you down at one of the tables. papers flying and brushes falling in some directions.

“…The Phantom Of The Opera Is There…”

“i thought you were going to help me with the painting…” your pants were already coming off your feet at this point.

“i’ll make you fucking sing for me.”

mizu takes off your panties with a ferocity never seen before, and she gets very close to you ear again.

“if i were erik, i would have taught you so many things besides singing...”

two of her fingers touched your wet cunt gently. they were delicate and icy just like the ones of a ghost.

“if i ever knew that some duchess dared to touch you...” she buries her fingers inside you, letting you scape a loud moan. “i would have to do something. wouldn't i, angel?”

your legs instinctively open to give mizu more freedom. the slow speed was like real torture. but this was making her very satisfied. she watched your face hiding into her neck, you trying to contain your moans were entering her. even though they were almost silent, they were like a complement to the background.

“…Since The Moment I First Heard You Sing, I Have Needed You With Me To Serve Me...”

“sing for me, angel. just like that…”

you close your eyes feeling the speed increase. but, something different happened.

mizu's hot tongue began to dance at your entrance in complete balance with her cold fingers. your moans almost overcame the music. she could feel your hand grabbing her hair, only encouraging her even more.

it was a mess of varied sounds. the table creaking with you bringing your hips closer to mizu’s mouth, the song repeating itself several times and your loud and incessant sounds.

she could feel your walls tightening. mizu got up and started kissing you, her fingers didn't stop on your entrance. when finally cumming into her fingers, your moans were muffled by the shared kiss.

“that was the most beautiful melody i’ve ever heard from you…” she gets up and taste her fingers, all soaked with your juices. “hope you got the inspiration you needed.”

[miviaceleste]

A Blackrock Story: A Boy with Turquoise Eyes

Happy 12th Anniversary to Blackrock Chronicle!

This comic ended up being 47 pages long (when I first sketched it, it was only 20 pages long). Since I can only upload 30 images in a post, I had to combine 2 pages into 1 image so hopefully it's still visually fine and not annoying to scroll through!

I wrote this mini-story more than 10 years ago, so I figured it was time to finally make it into a comic (after editing the writing a lot because I became a much better writer since lol).

Be aware of the TWs, and I hope you enjoy this comic!

TW: Violence || Blood || Injuries/Scars/Burn Marks || Kidnapping || (Temporary) Death || Loss of Limb / Amputation

Thank you all for reading one of my most insane projects ever!

Now, here’s another long story:

About 8 years ago, my life became so busy that to stay on top of my studies and activities, I stopped watching a lot of YouTubers, including the Yogscast.

I’ve grown up throughout the years. I had to stop acting like a kid to figure out what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. I’m still an artist today, but I haven’t drawn in this way for about 3 years to pursue my real passion. I love to draw, but I didn’t have the time or inspiration to make something grand.

About 3 months ago, I suddenly got curious about how all those YouTubers I stopped watching were doing, so I checked out their channels and watched a video or two before moving on. When I got to the Yogscast channel, on the other hand, I quickly fell in love with the new content and with everyone again.

It was insane to see how immediately my love for them came back. In 3 months, I’ve watched so many videos and streams/VODs. It’s all so comforting, funny, and uplifting. Clearly, I missed so much content in the past 8 years, but at least I don’t have to worry about running out of things to watch for a while.

What made me most happy was that despite changing a lot, I never stopped being that kid who laughed at the Yogscast’s shenanigans. It just goes to show that no matter how much the world tries to push you around, you never lose that sense of joy you had as a child.

Now, about Rythian:

Since I started watching the Yogscast in 2011, Rythian has always been my favorite. I loved his series so much, especially with how he got into character to give us an immersive experience. It was an escape for me as a kid. When difficult moments were thrown at me, I watched Rythian’s series to find a sense of comfort.

So when I started watching his and Zoey’s Blackrock series, my mind was blown. The storytelling, acting, humor, and drama of the series were so immersive and touching that my creativity exploded.

I mainly use art to express myself and my interests because I struggle to talk about it. But funny enough, Blackrock was the only interest of mine that got me to not draw, but to write. I wrote a lot of short stories about the series—even how I envisioned the series would end. I was so inspired to create all the time from this series.

And what’s crazy is that at the beginning of this summer, I found all of those written drafts and notes from when I was a kid. I kept them all for 10+ years and found a very loose (and not that good) draft of this comic and I felt really inspired to finish it.

It was roughly when I was first watching Blackrock too when I realized that I can be creative in the future. The Yogscast helped me understand that I can do whatever I want for the rest of my life. If they could do it, then why can’t I?

What’s also wonderful is that even after so many years, Rythian never stopped being my favorite. When I started watching the main channel again a few months ago, I immediately found myself rooting for him whenever he was in the group videos. I just remembered how much happiness he brought me when I was younger and it makes me so happy that I still get so much joy whenever I hear his voice.

While working on this comic, I watched all of Kirbycraft and caught up on Kirby Farm. I can’t help but smile the whole time Rythian, Briony, and Kirsty interact with one another. The dynamic of these three brings me so much laughter and comfort. A part of me is upset that I didn’t get back to watching everyone when Kirbycraft was still live, but better late than never, right?

I also originally started this comic without the intention of posting it. But then I figured, Hey, it’d be great to share it with everyone who’s also been impacted by this series and the Yogscast in general, so I made this blog to post it here. Honestly, I’m not sure when the next time I’ll be able to draw is (who knew building a career takes away a lot of your energy and time?). But I think that’s what’s so wonderful about my love for Yogscast and particularly Blackrock: I didn’t make this comic for the likes or views. It was just because I wanted to, and I’m so happy to see there are so many people on here who feel the same love for them as I do.

This series and the people who made it, along with the people who supported it and loved it and continued to love it, impacted me for the better. I learned so many years ago that I can be creative for a living, and have been working hard towards doing that since.

Happy 12th Anniversary to the Blackrock Chronicle. To Rythian and Zoey who put a smile on this kid’s face even during the toughest of times.

And to the Yogscast, thank you for being there for me when I needed you all the most and for still being here when I came back. Your ability to inspire me and make me laugh never disappeared throughout the years I was gone, and I’m ready to laugh some more.