#and it's so daunting to have to tackle

[lynkss]

why do i always feel so alone even when surrounded by friends

[bravevolunteer]

all my drafts are from november/december now 🎉

[iamthepulta]

I'm inserting all my sources into Obsidian's Loom/Excel feature and I feel like such a baby newb.... I don't know what I'm doing. I just want to keep my sources straight and I have a really bad memory and I don't know how else to do it.

(If anyone has suggestions, please suggest. <3 )

[ashtcnirwin]

🌻

[waterlilydrops]

Jealous Looks Good On You

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x fem!reader

summary: Lewis can’t stand you flirting with other men anymore, even though there isn’t anything real between you two. For now.

word count: 2.1k

warning: angst, fwb to lover, 18+ only, nsfw, explicit sex content, oral sex(f received), dirty talk, slightly Dom/Sub, edging, actress!reader, mentions of film Anatomie D’une Chute

note: That’s inspired by an anon, thx! I really enjoy describing Lewis kneeling down :) As always, advices are welcome.

Tonight marked your debut at the Caesar Awards. Following your recent collaboration on Anatomie D’une Chute with Justine Triet, where you showcased exceptional chemistry, and the film clinched six awards at Cannes, your life took a dramatic turn.

Looked at your publicist, she nodded encouragingly, signaling for you to make your grand entrance.

Stepping out of the limo, your Jimmy Choo stilettos firmly planted on the ground, you exuded confidence. No longer clad in the Zara dress from the roadshow, you donned a perfectly fitted Dior dress, meticulously altered by several experts to your exact measurements. As you emerged from the luxurious car, the dress swayed gracefully, complemented by Cartier jewelry adorning your neck, items you hadn’t dared to look closely even in the most prominent billboards.

As you began walking down the carpet, fans and photographers started calling your name as soon as they recognized you. It was a surreal moment, and you felt overwhelmed with emotion. Never in a million years would you have imagined that people would know you and actually like you.

You smiled and waved at the fans, blew them a kiss to show your appreciation.

Turning to your publicist, you asked if you could go over and sign a couple of autographs, and she nodded in agreement. With her guidance, you made your way over to the fans, ready to meet them up close. You signed autographs, took selfies, and even shared hugs with a few fans.

When you were told to go for the red carpet interviews, you said bye to them and continued walking along the carpet. Standing beside the host was an young actor from a recent blockbuster film.

His mocha-colored skin glowed under the bright lights, accentuating the sharp contours of his jawline. His eyes, a mesmerizing shade of emerald green, sparkled with an enigmatic allure, like hidden depths of a lush forest.

You walked up the steps and gave them a side hug.

“Hello Y/N, how does it feel being at the Caesar Awards?” The host asked you.

“In all honesty, I’m a bit overwhelmed. I grew up watching you interview celebrities, admiring your skill and professionalism, and now I find myself in there interviewing by you — it just doesn’t feel real yet!” you answered with a light laugh.

“We are absolutely thrilled to have you here! Now you’re making me feel old!” He laughed, and you couldn’t help but join in, his easygoing demeanor helping to calm your nervousness. He continued, “Now, about the Anatomie D’une Chute, was it difficult to handle such a complex character?”

“It’s always daunting to step into uncharted territory, especially when tackling such a multifaceted character. Fortunately, having collaborators as gifted as Justine Triet, Sandra Hüller by my side made the journey infinitely more rewarding. They truly were my anchor through it all, and I owe their everything.”

As you were engrossed in conversation, your heart skipped a beat as your fingers brushed against your borrowed necklace, which suddenly slipped off. With a gasp, you watched in horror as it tumbled downward, a shimmering cascade of precious diamonds.

Acting on instinct, the young man standing beside you swiftly sprang into action, his chivalrous instincts kicking in as he intercepted the necklace just before it could kiss the ground.

You let out a breathless sigh of relief, momentarily forgetting the interview as you exclaimed, “Oh my goodness, thank you so much for catching it. Otherwise, Cartier would have my head!”

He gave a small, bashful smile, “Would it be too much if I ask to put it on you?”

“Not at all.” you smiled at him and his smile stretched across his entire face.

And so you turned around and scooped your hair up, allowing him to graze the back of his fingers ever so gently across your skin and secure your jewelry where it once was.

That evening, the video of the young celebrity putting a necklace on you went viral on social media. Everyone marveled at the sparks flying between you two, especially after the almost cheek-to-cheek selfie you took at the afterparty. Among the millions who viewed the clip, one pair of eyes lingered longer than the rest — Lewis Hamilton.

Of course, he followed you and your fan pages on his alternate account; Those videos would certainly appear on his reels. But he truly despised seeing you walking with another man on your arm. You seemed awfully comfortable around him, your hands touching him easily and your body tilted towards his.

“Looks like you were having fun.”

“It’s none of your business, Lew.”

Lewis tried to hold back his scoff. It’s none of your business. As if you were just casual acquaintances. As if you didn’t nuzzle into his chest at night, his arousal awakening to find your legs draped provocatively over his hips. As if you didn’t welcome him with a sultry smile, intertwining their fingers after passionate encounters, your thumb tracing teasing circles on the back of his hand as you share intimate secrets of your past. As if you didn’t prefer his hoodie over your own clothes, the fabric clinging to your curves like a second skin, or eagerly moan his name from the other end of a steamy video call.

But yeah. None of his business.

“Where are you?”

“Home.”

Lewis was driving a sleek silver sports car on the roads of South France. The car zoomed past the twisting roads, its engine emitting a deep roar, leaving a blurry trail of exhaust in the air. The spring breeze brushed against his face, tousling his braids, but it didn’t calm him down. He just wanted to go faster.

As you turned the doorknob and opened the door, Lewis stood before you.

Inviting him inside, his gaze immediately met yours with an intensity that didn’t go unnoticed. Oh. You recognized the familiar signs – the darkening of his eyes, the tightness of his jaw. his knuckles, tightly gripping the edge of his hoodie’s hem, displayed a tension you couldn’t ignore.

He looked god damn handsome.

“Lewis, What’s gotten into you?”

“Do you honestly think it’s none of my business?” he questioned straightly, his frustration evident in his tone.

Raising a brow, you met his gaze steadily.

“I do actually,” you replied, a hint of amusement coloring your words. “Why do you care so much anyway? It's not like we’re in an actual relationship or something.”

The truth between yours was that one day at a premier of your film held in Monte-Carlo, Lewis and you crossed paths and exchanged a few lines.

“Congratulations on your wonderful film”,“Thank you, Mr. Hamilton, I really appreciate it”, “And I must admit, You’re even more stunning in person than you are on screen.” he added with a charming smile.

And just like that, Amidst the glitz and glamour of the event, your encounter marked the beginning of something unexpected. What had started as a casual fuck swiftly evolved into a friends-with-benefits arrangement, two souls found solace in each other’s company, navigating the delicate balance between passion and discretion amidst the azure coastline.

“And what the hell was with you? Do you even know how bad it would be if the media find you were speeding driving—”

“Then let's make this real.”

Lewis interrupted you with a declaration. “I‘m done with this charade.”

His voice tinged as he stood before you, his hands clasped tightly together, “I’d be a better choice than that actors. F1 is a global sport, and I’m a seven-time World Champion.” His eyes were searching for any sign of agreement or understanding. “Plus, We understand each other better, in various ways.” He expressed his points as clearly as if he were speaking at the UN.

“8-time actually.” You corrected him, causing a groan rasped out of him.

“Lewis,” you whispered, inched closer, invaded his personal space and allowed your bodies to touch.

“What?” he grunted roughly, his body betraying him as it relaxed under your touch.

“Are you jealous?” Your hand rested on his, a playful grin dancing on your lips, your voice a seductive murmur grazing his skin.

“Yes. I’m deeply in love with you,” Lewis sighed, his gaze wandering, avoiding your intense stare.

“Hmm, is Lewis Hamilton is asking me to be his... girlfriend? and apparently he is an extremely jealous type.” You feigned innocence with a playful tilt of you head.

He couldn’t take it anymore.

He suddenly gripped your arms, pulling you close against his chest. Before you could react, he fiercely pressed his lips to yours, kissing you passionately as if he wanted to pour all of his emotions into this moment.

“Hey,” when Lewis stopped, you said gently. “Look at me, baby.” You called him by the name reserved for your most intimate moments.

Caught in the warmth of your gaze, Lewis relaxed. With a tender gesture, you leaned in, brushing a feather-light kiss upon his lips, your hands still entwined.

“I know,” you whispered softly. “I’m in love with you too.”

He could feel his heart engulfed in a whirlwind of joy and elation, every beat resonating with an overwhelming sense of happiness.

As your gazes locked, the tension between you ignited, enveloping you in a cocoon of desire.

You wrapped in Lewis’s arms as he initiated a passionate kiss. You could feel the prominence of his erection pressing against you.

As his hands found their place on your hips, you felt a sudden lift, your body effortlessly rising from the floor as he gently deposited you onto the counter.

Moving large tattooed hands up the length of your thighs, Lewis hiked your T-shirt up above your hips and tucked his fingers under the waistband of your panties. A mixture of desire and reverence floods him as he slides them down your legs.

He panted, “fuck, I need to taste you.”

He knelt before you, drawing himself nearer as he firmly grasped the underside of your thighs, his hands spread you open just wide enough that he could lean his face into your mound.

Mere seconds stretched into an eternity as the warmth of his breath caressed your delicate skin.

His tongue gently grazed the sensitive inner thighs, his warm and moist mouth enveloping the lips. And then tongue cunningly explored the slit, alternating between tight purses and sucking, causing juices to flow freely.

You couldn’t make a sound, your thoughts wholly consumed by each flick of his tongue, every firm press against you, and every pass of his hands over your thigh. He were pushing you to the edge of the cliff. Unable to resist, you lightly rubbed against his face, eager for release.

You closed eyes, feeling every tiny current coursing through your body. Just as the sparks were about to ignite, his tongue suddenly leaved.

“Can’t have you cumming yet, baby.” He looked up at you, wicked grin grown.

“Tell me, can he eat you out like this?”

You couldn’t utter a word, shaking your head eagerly. You groaned at the loss of him. You pussy felt open and empty without his tongue.

“So, he’s already tasted your little cunt?”Lewis slapped at your clit relentlessly. His gaze, a mix of jealousy and anger, consumed every inch of you with insatiable hunger, resenting the pleasure you were receiving from someone else.

You gasped sharply, a desperate “never”escaping your lips, reached down and tangled your fingers in his hair, pushing his head into you, with pleading eyes.

“My Good girl.” He lowered his head, the scruff of his beard rubbing against the skin of your sensitive thighs added to the overwhelming sensation of being held into place by his strong hands and that tongue fucking every part of your cunt so thoroughly.

He picking up his pace as he desperately sucked and slurped the folds of your pussy, lapping up your juices as if he were starved and this was the only thing that’d quell his insatiable hunger.

“Let go,” he moaned into you, “come on, baby, let me taste it.”

Your toes curled as you finally gave in to that all too familiar feeling, trembling in his grasp as he brought you to climax with his mouth, and it took every ounce of restraint to not screaming out in pleasure.

As you gradually descended from your euphoric peak, the man followed up with a series of slow, drawn-out licks, gently coaxing you back to reality. Moments later, he rose from the floor, his chin glistening with a sweet combination of drool and your own essence. He pressed one final, tender kiss to your lips.

“Bedroom, babe,” he murmurs, he voice husky with desire. “I’m not finished with you yet.”

“Lew, what’s the deal with this contact and your credit card?”

“My stylist. Maybe she could help with your red carpet look.”

“And the card?”

“Grab yourself a tough necklace that never comes off your neck.”

[hoshifighting]

Lingerie

Synopisis: Where, while you show off your new lingerie sets that you bought, Jun is enchanted by the lingerie with embroidered flowers, something different, that enchanted his eyes.

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: Smut, penetrative sex, oral (f. receiving), fingering (f. receiving), praising, squirt & etc.

Jun had always been the epitome of a supportive boyfriend. Whether it was your college work, cooking a new dish, or even finding the perfect dress for a wedding, Jun was there, ready to assist. He made everything feel effortless, always taking care of the details so you didn’t have to worry.

“Jun, I really don’t know how to tackle this assignment,” you’d sigh, frustration evident in your voice.

He would slide over, peering at your laptop screen. “Let me take a look. Maybe we can brainstorm some ideas together,” he’d suggest with a gentle smile, and before you knew it, the daunting task felt manageable.

In the kitchen, you once struggled with a recipe you’d never tried before. Jun found the perfect tutorial online and stood by your side, guiding you step by step until the dish was ready, his patience never wavering.

And when it came to shopping for that perfect dress for a friend’s wedding, Jun’s patience shone through. You spent hours in the mall, trying on what felt like a hundred different outfits. Yet, Jun never complained. He sat outside the dressing rooms, offering genuine opinions.

“That one’s nice, but I think the blue dress brings out your eyes more,” he’d say, making the decision-making process so much easier.

His opinions always seemed spot-on, which is why you’d come to trust his judgment on many things, especially when it came to your wardrobe. Shopping with him became an enjoyable experience rather than a chore.

Today was another shopping day, and you were on the hunt for a new outfit for an upcoming event. As usual, Jun was by your side, carrying your bags and offering his thoughts on the clothes you tried on.

“What do you think of this one?” you asked, stepping out of the fitting room in a sleek, black dress.

Jun looked up from his phone, his eyes lighting up. “You look amazing. But maybe try it with those heels we saw earlier?”

You nodded, smiling. “You always know what looks best.”

After a few more outfits and Jun’s invaluable input, you finally settled on a dress. As you walked out of the store, you linked your arm with his, feeling grateful for his constant support.

“Thank you for always being so patient with me,” you said, leaning your head on his shoulder.

Jun chuckled, giving your hand a squeeze. “It’s easy when I’m with you. I just want to make sure you’re happy.”

He says that with the greatest naturalness. – While you were freaking out inside.

As you arrived home, Jun noticed you were carrying a few extra bags, including some from a lingerie store he knew well. He had bought you gifts from that store before, particularly on Valentine's Day.

“When did you buy these?” Jun asked, curiosity and a hint of excitement in his voice.

You smiled, placing the bags on the table. “When you went to get ice cream,” you replied nonchalantly.

Jun's eyes lit up, a playful smirk spreading across his face. The thought of you picking out something special while he was away added a spark of anticipation.

Later that evening, after dinner and a cozy time together, you both retreated to the bedroom. Jun sat comfortably in the poltrone, eagerly waiting as you prepared to show him the new lingerie. He could hardly contain his excitement, his eyes following your every movement.

First, you stepped out in a stunning red set, the vibrant color highlighting your curves beautifully. Jun's jaw dropped, and he couldn't help but cover his face, cheeks flushed red. “Wow, you look incredible,” he mumbled from behind his hands.

You giggled, twirling around to give him a full view. “You really think so?”

“Absolutely,” Jun nodded, peeking through his fingers, his eyes filled with admiration.

Next, you slipped into a sleek black set, the lace and satin combination making you feel both elegant and seductive. You strutted around the room, feeling confident under Jun's appreciative gaze. “This one is my favorite so far,” he confessed, his voice slightly hoarse with desire.

“You're too sweet,” you replied, feeling a rush of warmth at his words.

Finally, you emerged in a delicate white set, the purity of the color contrasting beautifully with the sultry design. Jun couldn't take his eyes off you, his face still a deep shade of red. “You look like an angel,” he whispered, his praise as genuine as ever.

You walked over to him, leaning down to place a soft kiss on his lips. “I’m glad you like them. You always make me feel so beautiful.”

Jun smiled, his hands gently holding your waist. “That’s because you are. And I’m the luckiest guy in the world.”

You stepped into the room, adorned in a pastel floral lingerie, a departure from your usual style. You knew it, and Jun knew it too. But this time, instead of his usual enthusiastic response, Jun remained silent. He simply stared at you, his gaze sweeping over your figure from head to toe. His mouth hung slightly open, his chest rising and falling deeply with each breath.

Concerned by his lack of reaction, you couldn't help but ask, “Don't you like it?”

Jun didn't respond with words. Instead, he closed the distance between you in a few swift strides, his movements purposeful and determined. Before you could even react, he pressed his lips to yours, his hand firmly holding the nape of your neck while the other encircled your waist.

Your eyes widened in surprise at his sudden action, but you quickly melted into the kiss, allowing yourself to be consumed by the warmth of his embrace. His lips moved with a fervent passion, igniting a fire within you that quickly spread throughout your entire being.

As he gently laid you down on the bed, Jun's eyes remained fixed on you, his gaze intense and unwavering. His hands began to explore your body with a tenderness that sent shivers down your spine. Fingers traced delicate patterns across your breasts, down your belly, until they reached the band of your panties.

You held your breath in anticipation, your heart racing with excitement. But instead of removing your panties entirely, Jun surprised you by simply pushing them to the side. A soft gasp escaped your lips as his fingers found their target, circling your clit with a feather-light touch.

The sensation was electrifying, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. You arched your back instinctively, pressing yourself against his hand as he continued to tease and tantalize you. 

As Jun's fingers slid inside your wet pussy, you couldn't help but arch your back in response to the delightful sensation. A low moan escaped your lips, your body instinctively pressing against his hand as he began to explore your gummy walls.

"You're so beautiful like this," he murmured, his voice filled with reverence as he gazed upon you. "Every curve, every sigh, it's all so perfect."

Your cheeks flushed crimson at his words, and you couldn't help but cover your face in embarrassment. "Stop it, Jun," you protested weakly, though the desire that burned within you betrayed your words.

But Jun was undeterred, his fingers never faltering in their ministrations as he continued to lavish you with praise. "I can't help it," he confessed, his voice low and husky with desire. "You drive me wild, you know that? Just seeing you like this, so hot, so pretty..."

His words sent shivers down your spine, and you found yourself squirming beneath him, unable to contain the desire that coursed through your veins. With a gentle touch, Jun reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheeks as he gently pulled your hands away from your face.

"You don't need to hide from me," he whispered, his eyes burning with a fierce intensity. "I want to see all of you, every part of you."

Jun's response was immediate and decisive, his actions speaking louder than words as he lowered himself between your thighs without hesitation. As his warm breath ghosted over your sensitive flesh, anticipation coursed through your veins.

Without a word, Jun buried his face in your heat, his tongue flicking out to taste your arousal. A moan escaped your lips at the touch of his tongue on your clit, pleasure radiating out from where his lips and tongue touched you.

"Please," you whimpered, your voice thick with need as you pressed against him, urging him to go deeper. "I need you, Jun. I need you to fuck me."

But Jun simply chuckled against your skin, his movements deliberate and unhurried as he teased you with languid strokes of his tongue. 

You writhed beneath him, your fingers tangling in his hair as your body begged for release. But Jun was relentless, his ministrations driving you to the brink of madness as he expertly toyed with your bud.

And then, just as you thought you couldn't take it anymore, Jun's touch changed, becoming more insistent, more demanding. With a low growl, he devoured you, his tongue delving deep inside you as he consumed you like his last meal.

With a final, desperate cry, you reached the peak of ecstasy, your body convulsing with the force of your release. Jun drank in your essence greedily, his tongue working tirelessly to draw out every last drop of your pleasure.

As you eagerly anticipated his next move, Jun teased you with his cock, allowing you only the briefest of touches before pulling away again. Your frustration mounted with each fleeting contact, but Jun seemed to relish in your desperation, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he toyed with you.

"Patience, my love," he whispered, his voice dripping with desire. "Good things come to those who wait."

With a wicked grin, he finally positioned himself at your entrance, his cock throbbing with anticipation. You could feel the heat of his arousal against your skin, sending shivers of pleasure coursing through your body.

And then, with a single, smooth motion, he plunged deep inside you, filling you completely. You gasped at the suddenness of his entry, your body clenching around him in ecstasy.

"God, Jun," you gasped, your voice strained with pleasure. "I think I could cum just from the feeling of you sliding inside me."

Jun's chuckle sent shivers down your spine as he teased you, adjusting your legs to rest on his shoulders. The new angle made you feel him even deeper, and you couldn't help but moan in pleasure.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" Jun murmured, his voice husky with desire. "I love seeing you like this…"

You could only nod in response, your breath hitching as he continued to thrust into you relentlessly.

"You're so beautiful like this, taking me so well," he murmured, his voice filled with admiration. "I can feel how much you want me, how much you need me to fill you up." 

"You're mine, all mine," he growled, his thrusts becoming more urgent. "No one else can make you feel like this, can they? Only me."

You whimpered in response, unable to form coherent words as pleasure washed over you. Jun's words fueled your desire, pushing you closer to the brink of orgasm with each passing moment.

Your words tumbled out in a desperate gasp as pleasure consumed you. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, I'm gonna cum, Jun!" you cried out, feeling his cock driving you to the edge. The sensation of him sliding in, wet and sharp, only intensified the pleasure coursing through you.

As you felt the knot unraveling in your belly, you came around him, your body pulsating with ecstasy. But Jun didn't stop there; he continued, spreading your legs wide as he gazed into your eyes with unwavering intensity. He captured every expression on your face, savoring the way you looked as you cummed.

pleasure crash over you. When Jun let out a choked moan, his face contorted in bliss, you felt a gulp of anticipation. His hot cum filled you, triggering another orgasm that ripped through you, causing you to squirt around him.

As his cock slipped out of you, you felt his cum mixing with yours, spilling out from within you. Jun watched you with awe, his eyes wide with amazement at the sight before him.

Jun leaned in close, his hands gently caressing your trembling body as he whispered soothing words to coax you from your orgasmic haze. He pressed soft kisses to your forehead, cheeks, and lips, his touch gentle and reassuring as he helped you come down from the intense high. You melted into his embrace.

[trulyhblue]

Carded

Alessia Russo x Aussie! Arsenal! Reader

Warnings: Little bit of angst, fluff, coarse language, suggestive if you squint.

Masterlist

________________________

Alessia were a bit like Katie in the sense of your aggression — or, rather 'passion' as you put it gently — on the field.

Arsenal had a rocky start to the season, with a loss against Liverpool to being dubbed as 'second-halfsenal', as your fans and rivals alike found the comedy in your troubles. There was no technical malice behind the name, the girls would joke about it ever so often during training, but that didn't stop the hidden linger of doubt among the team. As the season proceeded, with the crucial derbies of both Chelsea and Tottenham, you started to notice how it was having a negative effect on your girlfriend.

You grew up in Melbourne, Australia, playing for your local club before being scouted by recruits when you were in High School. You joined Melbourne Victory at Seventeen, playing alongside your future Matildas teammates, Kyra and Courtney. The three of you went to school together, before graduating and parting ways. While they moved to the Sweden league, you chose to head to Bayern Munich, where you spent four years strengthening your skills and gaining wider international attention.

The move was incredibly difficult. You did not understand a word of German walking into your first day, and still struggle to communicate in the foreign language. It definitely helped when Lioness player, Georgia Stanway transferred from Manchester City, and you ended up spending a lot of time with the English girl.

Due to this connection, you had met the other Lionesses by association, one girl sticking out to you specifically.

You had properly met Alessia in a friendly match against your two National teams. It hadn't taken long for you to realise your feelings for each other, but the timing never seemed right. She was in Manchester, playing for United, and you were in Germany, both consistent in your hard work for your respective teams.

You both were called up for the World Cup squad, you playing as a regular starter in the Midfield. From your early career, you always had a deep-rooted chemistry with Kyra and Courtney, so the opportunities the three of you created set the scene for your forwards up front. It was heartbreaking losing to England in the Semi-finals, especially in a home World Cup. You remember how Georgia sat with you after the game, waiting until she knew you were okay before she went off to celebrate.

You reciprocated the kindness by watching the final, feeling upset for the Lionesses when the score did not turn out their way. The two of you wondered what the next step was for you.

You had trouble mulling over the end of your contract, knowing Georgia had just renewed hers. After the World Cup, the recognition of the public had a great turnout, and your agent was met with many expressions of interest.

When Arsenal's name popped up on that list, you knew it was a no-brainer.

You and Alessia had both transferred in the same week, Kyra a few weeks later. The blonde and you moved in together, having both no place to live and hit it off from there. Now, a few months in, you've never been happier.

"Alright girls, we can do this." You heard Kim shout from beside you. Alessia was holding your waist, fiddling with the hem of your shorts as the team huddled around each other.

"Go out and set the scene. First tackles, first corners, everything, alright?"

You were versing Chelsea, the London Derby, in a sold-out Emirates, and you could feel the nerves radiating off Kyra from in front of you. Kim was the Captain today, her Scottish accent shouting as both the starting eleven and subs hugged one another. The lead-up to this game was beyond stressful, the pressure of starting in such a critical game building on Alessia and you over the past few days. The whole ordeal was daunting, having not ever played in a derby of this significance before.

"London is Red, girls, let's go!" Katie shouted, earning the huddle to disperse as everyone took their starting positions.

You could feel the sweat compile over the creases in your hands, wiping them twice over before jogging to your place on the wing. You found yourself looking out to the crowd, waving at the group of fans chanting your name. Erin Cuthbert was quick to join your side, standing close by as the cheers grew louder in anticipation.

Alessia was upfront, watching you with adoring eyes. You offered her a tight-lipped smile, pursing your lips and blushing when she sent a toothy grin and thumbs up your way. However; the moment was short-lived as the referee was quick to blow her whistle, commencing the game.

It was apparent that Chelsea was not expecting the energy Arsenal brought to the game. Errors and miscalculated passes were being carried out left and right, the chemistry between both sides slipping beneath the heightening apprehension.

“I'm here!” You called, speeding along the wing as Katie hesitated on the other side of the pitch. The Chelsea girls had left your front wing open, crowding in the midfield, evidently oblivious to the mistake they’d produced. You heard Emma Hayes yelling to cover your end, but Katie had already seen you, crossing the ball to your end. Cuthbert was on your tail, trying hard to stub your sprint in an attempt to stuff you up.

Victoria was to your right, onside yet swarmed with about three defenders. Beth was not far behind; Chelsea defenders were swarming the box in a desperate endeavour to clear Arsenal’s attempt.

You had no other choice but to nimble the ball through Fleming’s legs and towards Vic, who helplessly maneuvered the ball through the maze of defenders before passing to Mead. Cuthbert had put her hands behind her back, using her body to shield Beth’s fake attempt at the goal. You watched with your breath hitched as Beth powered the ball to the goal, observing the swift motion of the back of the neck.

Alessia was the first to wrap your arms around you, holding you up, carrying you over to where Katie was gripping Beth for dear life.

The rest of your team celebrated around you, screaming among the thousands of people in the crowds, smiles etched on all your faces.

“You’re doing so well.” Less yelled, hoping you’d hear her praise over the booming echo of cheers circling the Emirates. She knew you heard her from the blush that spread your cheeks, making your already flushed face all the more flustered. Your girlfriend wrapped her hands around you, swaying you from side to side one more time before you patted her back and let go.

Her eyes watched your figure jog back to your spot near Cuthbert, who pushed her way into your shoulder before the whistle for the restart blew. You tried your best to ignore her antics, using your legs to propel you towards the ball.

Turns out, Chelsea didn't like what you just did.

Erin followed you up and down the pitch, tugging your shirt everywhere she went. Whenever you tried to run forward and make a chance for your team, the Scottish woman would yank you back, locking her arm around your body, keeping you glued to the sideline.

Chelsea evened the score only a couple of minutes later. The sweat dripping down your forehead was enough to tell anyone how hard you were trying. Erin wasn't the only one giving you grief; Fleming was always a few metres away, darting through the midfield easily without you to worry about.

You were finally given the ball from a cross from Victoria, who mustn't have realised how cornered you were. You hadn't left the sideline in twenty minutes now. Fleming was now to your left, running up against you with Erin’s arm holding your waist. You struggled to keep the ball at your feet, the crowd watching in delight as the three of you battled it out alone.

You had managed to dart the ball between Jessie’s legs, causing an audible reaction from the fans, but it seemed that your face was too preoccupied with meeting the grass to soak up any type of honour you were receiving.

You felt the ground against your cheek, your body falling from stubs to the foot. You groaned at the instant pain up your leg, causing you to hold your shoe and roll onto your back. The adrenaline from the game made the pang bearable, but you knew the tackle was far from clean way before the whistle had blown.

“Oh, get up. What a fucking baby.” You heard Erin say, her Scottish accent full of malice.

“I didn't know Chelsea hired my Nephew.” An Irish accent quipped nearby. “Cause all he does is throw a tantrum when he doesn't get what he wants.”

“It was clean.”

“Oh, fuck off, you slimy t—”

You didn't get to hear the rest of their dispute, too busy nursing your foot with your hands. Steph had broken the two up, ordering Katie to run back to the other side. Sam Kerr was also around, kneeling beside you amidst the strain.

“You ‘right, mate?” Your Aussie Teammate helped you up, holding out her hands and rubbing your back as you regained balance. The Skipper had been your mentor since you joined the Tillies. The older woman was an idol of yours, and you looked up to her despite the few years between you.

However, you couldn't respond to Sam in time, for she was pushed away harshly by a certain blonde, her blue eyes reeling with anger at the sight of the tackle you endured.

“Stay away from her, Kerr.” She snarled, using her arm to support your weight onto one foot. You put your hand on her chest, shooting a silent apology to Sam, who shrugged nonchalantly before sauntering off.

“Y/N, are you alright?” The referee asked the yellow card still in her hand. You knew you had the power to play it over the top, but this game was everything to you. You didn't want to be subbed off any time soon.

But your girlfriend wasn't having any of it.

“She,” Less pointed to Erin, who was standing by a regretful Fleming. “Needs to be sent off for that. She's been harassing Y/N all game. It was obviously on purpose. Did you see it? It was stubs to the—”

“Lessi, stop, it's alright. I'm fine.” You swapped glances from your girlfriend to the Ref, who was still looking at you for reassurance in regard to your physical wellness. “I’m fine.” You repeated, and the whistle was quickly blown for a free kick, and a yellow toward Cuthbert.

Alessia looked down at you cautiously, eyeing your leg and the slight weariness in your step. “Are you sure?” She asked.

When you nodded, she jogged over to her position once more, sighing at your stubbornness as you prepared for your kick.

Ilestedt’s goal only a few minutes later sent all of the girls into a frenzy. You sprinted over to the Swedish player, jumping onto her back and kissing her head, laughing as you felt the rest of your team surround you in hugs and celebrations. The screams and cheers in the stands were phenomenal. No one expected the Reds to be beating the Blues so early into the game.

Erin was hot on your tail when Caitlin punted the ball towards you. You made the sprint down the line, your Aussie teammates Steph and Caitlin both yelling out for a pass. You were about to boot it behind you, where Steph was waiting for the assist when you felt your legs give out for the second time that game. The grass met your face, the power of the fall leaving you in shambles, the ball long forgotten by the time your hand shot up to the blood running down your nose.

Steph was by your side, forgetting all about the game still in play. Alessia had gained possession of the ball, holding it in her hands by the time you had sat up, the whistling blowing when the Ref noticed the amount of red spilling down your shirt.

“Move your hand.” Steph uttered, holding your face and using her own shirt to hold your nose. “It’s not broken.” You did as you were told, your nose warm at the contact of the ground, only slightly sore. She looked up to Kim, who you knew was fuming underneath her worried gaze.

“I don't want to be subbed off.” You said, and you saw Kim nod, agreeing before storming up to the Referee, who was talking sternly to Erin.

Beside her was Alessia, with her arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed into a furious knot, you watching in horror as a yellow card was shown her way. Katie had made it just in time to take her away, gripping the girl’s shoulders and guiding her towards you.

The medics had come on to see to your nose whilst handing you another shirt to change into. They assessed the blood, which was slowly halting, and declared that you had just knocked it. You told them you didn't want to go off, and with a nod from Katie and approval from the Referee, you stood off the field patiently before you were allowed back on.

During those painstaking moments, you pondered on what Alessia had said that made her get the yellow. You knew Erin was already on thin ice, and in yesterday’s training, Jonas had said that if given the chance, Alessia was to take the penalties. You knew the English girl. She was never much of a violent person on the field, choosing to stay calm and collected rather than angsty and irate when something didn't go her way.

But in games like this, where everything was on the line, it was hard to deny the apparent tension behind her actions. When it came to you, she’d sacrifice everything. For you, she’d take a million yellows if it meant sticking up for you.

You had sprinted up near Fleming when the girls ran towards your goal. The stadium stood in anticipation, the adrenaline of Arsenal’s streak pumping through their cheers. Alessia found the ball under her feet, her shot hitting the back of the net with a swish. You couldn't hear anyone but yourself, the pain and exhaustion from the half leaving your body the very moment you wrapped your legs around Less’s waist.

The girl held you up with her hands, holding under your thighs, squishing the skin just under your arse before putting you down. You laughed at her cheeky grin, relishing the private moment between the two of you before the rest of the girls stampede their way around you.

“LESSI RUSSO!” Beth screamed, hugging the two of you as she jumped in excitement. Arsenal were beating Chelsea — the top of the ladder — three-one going into the second half. If they scored once more, it’d be the Blue’s worst defeat in five years.

The thought was the utmost motivation.

You would be lying if you said you weren't surprised to find yourself walking back on in the second half. Your nose had stopped bleeding during half-time, but the ache was still attending when you made your way to the wing.

Just before you went out, you felt familiar hands grip your waist, pushing you against the wall of your cubby. You saw Alessia’s glare eye your kit and the way she licked her lips at the sight of your flushed countenance. Her starved eyes roamed your face. Your lips met hers in a hungry kiss, knowing the rest of the girls were in their own world as they prepared for what was to come.

“You’re playing really good.” You said, holding her biceps, your finger drawing circles against her skin.

Alessia hummed, meeting your lips again, nipping your bottom lip before pulling away. “So are you, baby. ‘Making me so proud, you are.”

The compliment went straight through you. Her eyes continued to linger on you as you walked back out onto the pitch. You swallowed any pre-existing desire you had for the girl as Jessie Fleming walked by your side, offering you a curt, determined smile, then going stone-faced.

The rivalry in the second half displayed by both sides was nothing in comparison to the anger radiating in the last forty-five minutes of the London Derby.

Katie and Caitlin both got cards in two minutes of each other. Lauren James, Chelsea forward, fifteen minutes later. Illegal tackles were thrown left and right, pushing, shoving, ploughing everywhere you looked.

Emma Hayes must've thought Erin would've been sent off if been marking you for another second. Jessie was a much cleaner opponent, but as the time ticked over, the end of the match and the taste of victory near, the Canadian found haste in her decisions, making a rather late decision in tackling you near the sideline.

“Fuck, sorry.” She spoke, and while remorseful, she seemed too engulfed in the loss to speak much truth. She took her yellow graciously but made no attempt to reconcile with you. She walked over to Sam, who gave her a scornful glare, making the younger girl cower. You took your time getting up off the grass, stretching out the tension in your hamstrings before straightening back onto your feet.

On her way over to you, Alessia shot the dirtiest glare she could muster towards Fleming, not realising that many fans would catch the interaction on their phones. She made her way over to you, kissing the top of your forehead, making no endeavour to hide her public affection towards you.

Your relationship with Alessia was extremely private. You didn't want the public to know every detail of each other, and how you lived day to day in each other’s company, but that didn't mean you didn't like to tease your relationship over social media every once and a while. The Arsenal girls were all for a photo dump on Instagram, and many of the fans had caught onto your close proximity in some of the photos.

One of them in particular caused the rumours of your relationship to form. It was in Katie’s dump, a couple of weeks after your move to Arsenal. A group of girls were all sitting together in a booth, somewhere in a random London pub, but there wasn't enough room, leaving you to sit on Alessia’s lap when the photo was taken. From there, everyone assumed the two of you were dating, and while neither of you confirmed anything, it wasn't a secret you were trying hard to keep.

The game proceeded and not long after, an easy penalty was given to your side after a Chelsea defensive miscommunication. It was Alessia who took it, and the crowd made deafening sounds of joy as the Reds crowded around each other in celebration.

You were beating Chelsea 4-1.

The feeling was euphoric. Nothing could beat the sour, everlasting annoyance planted on Cuthbert’s face. Nothing could take you away from the overwhelming happiness that overtook your body when the full-time whistle blew, leaving Arsenal in glee at the massive takedown on the reigning top-of-the-ladder.

Alessia was up against you the moment you met each other’s glance. She pulled you off the ground, spinning you around in circles, making you squirm and squeal as she tickled your sides.

“You did so well, baby.” She sounded, her breath tickling your ear. You shivered, trying hard to hold in your yearning. Alessia knew how to rile you up, hands coming up to glue to your shoulders, massaging the knots that had formed from the tiresome run you just had. You groaned at the relief. Alessia smirked at the whines coming from your mouth.

“All for me, baby?”

You hid your face in her chest at that, face red at her undistinguished connotations. She laughed, holding your chin, placing a quick peck on the side of your lips, pulling you back into her afterwards.

You waited until she was soaking up the silence, a small smile decorating your sweaty face.

“Did it all for you, Lessi.”

____________________________

[tlbodine]

Stuck? Try junebugging.

I don't know who needs to hear this, but we're 5 days into nanowrimo so maybe this will be helpful.

Do you want the safety and surety of knowing what happens next in your story but can't stick to an outline? Does knowing in advance what will happen suck the joy out of discovery writing? Do you try to wing it through plots but get tangled in plot holes or have a story that runs out of steam because you can't figure out what went wrong? Are you at your most creative when you have a little bit of guidance? Do you tend to under-write? Do you get ideas in your head for random scenes and snippets that drop from the sky without context?

If any of these apply to you, junebugging a draft might be for you!

What Is Junebugging?

Since you're on Tumblr, you might already be familiar with the concept of junebugging as it relates to cleaning. If not -- I think the idea was first introduced to me by @jumpingjacktrash.

The basic idea is that you tackle cleaning by way of controlled chaos. You pick a specific area you want to focus on, like your kitchen sink, and then wander off to deal with other things as they occur to you, but always returning back to that area. You end up cleaning a little bit at a time in an order that may not make sense to an outsider but which keeps you from getting overwhelmed and discouraged.

How Does Junebugging Work in Writing?

OK, so that's great, but how does this work with writing? Well. In my case, the general idea is to jump between writing linearly, outlining, and writing out of order. It usually looks something like:

Start free-writing a scene, feeling my way through it and enjoying the discovery process.

Thinking, ok, now I have this scene, did anything need to happen to lead up to it? Do I need to go back and add some foreshadowing? Does this scene set anything up that needs to be paid off? And then jump forward/back to make those adjustments.

I'll usually have a bunch of disconnected ideas of ideas that have popped into my head, so I'll write those down in a list somewhere and then try to figure out what goes in between them and what order it goes in.

I'll write what I call "micro-scenes" which is where I'll just sketch out a few essential elements of what's going on without worrying too much about details, description, etc. -- just he did this, she said that, the setting was this, real bare-bones script. Then I can come back through and flesh out each of those microscenes into an actual scene later.

Got a story that has a complex structure? No problem. Write through each storyline one at a time and then chop them up and weave them together afterward. Write all the B plot scenes first then come back through to do A plot and C plot. Move the pieces around like legos. No one ever has to know.

This method works for me because I can't "decide" story elements in advance. I have never been able to just sit down and "figure out" what happens in a story beyond a couple steps ahead -- I have to discovery-write my way forward. But at the same time, that gets really daunting. So I zoom forward with micro-scenes, roughing out the beats in the most bare-bones way possible, then when I run out of clear vision for what happens next I backtrack, flesh out those scenes, build in connective tissue, etc. and by then I will probably find more inspiration to jump forward.

It's basically folding drafting, outlining, and revising all together into a single phase of writing, which is chaotic and goes against everything people teach you, but if it works? then it fuckin works.

Anyway, sorry for the jumbled-up post, I'm dashing this off quickly while I heat up a pizza and I'm about to dive back into my WIP -- but I hope this was a little helpful. If nothing else, take this as my blanket permission that it's 100% OK to jump around, write out of order, write messy, outline sometimes, pants sometimes, and do whatever else it takes just to get through the story. You've got this. Good luck.

[pomefioredove]

hiiii I would like to ask for headcanons for pomefiore when they discover that her s/o fem is actually an angel ~ but mc doesn't behave exactly like one, she is unruly, cheerful and doesn't like to follow orders even so she has this warm aura that radiates ksks I'm sorry if it's a complicated idea, that's all, thanks in advance

since this page is for gender neutral reader only, I'll be writing for that. I use you/yours pronouns so essentially nothing changes :) thank you!

I feel woefully unprepared to tackle the idea of what it means to be an angel, assuming this is the loose pop culture-y definition rather than a specific religious one, I hope I do alright?

summary: angel s/o type of post: headcanons characters: vil, rook, epel additional info: short, romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is not specified to be yuu, established relationship

𝐕𝐢𝐥 𝐒𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐧𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐭

there are two clear, distinct sides to you:

the elegant, radiant, otherworldly one, that of which captured his attention in the first place

and the unruly one which doesn't care to listen to a thing he says

it was, perhaps, your potential that drew Vil to you. after all, he'd never met anyone with such a distinct... glow

...as in, an actual glow

he'd truly never come across such a powerful force of energy, and for a while, he was determined to mold it in his image

obviously, that didn't get him very far

if anything, finding out the truth made him feel a little bit better about his inability to tame you, so to speak

the reality of knowing he'd have to mold to fit you is a daunting one, though perhaps it's you who has a thing or two to teach him about beauty

𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐇𝐮𝐧𝐭

he already knows

"what do you mean he already know?" he already knows

Rook isn't being poetic or figurative when he calls you his ange

from the very first moment he set eyes on you, he knew something was quite different

the sort of beauty you possess is one he's never encountered before, something not of this world

it's purely radiant, warm, captivating

of course he has to know more about it

over time, he finds himself enthralled by your personality, as well

it so starkly contrasts your elegant and gentle look, does it not?

you're unruly, upbeat, almost wild, in a sense, which only serves to draw him in further

a mystery he aims to solve

𝐄𝐩𝐞𝐥 𝐅𝐞𝐥𝐦𝐢𝐞𝐫

okay

so... maybe he's been a little oblivious

he could never quite seem to understand the strange looks and comments Vil and Rook kept making about his s/o, why they continued to stare as if you'd grown two heads

you're pretty, sure, anyone can see that!

it was that sense of grace and warmth that drew Epel closer in the first place

but were you really such a sight that his housewarden (and vice) felt the need to give each other odd looks every time you were in the room together?

it almost made him feel insecure, even though you'd chosen him

besides, Vil was always commenting on how you two were peas in a pod; completely resistant to authority, running wild like animals

so, the big reveal comes as a surprise to him

...but also a relief

and he's honestly pretty okay with it

might be a little intimidated at first, but... it's still you

[ronearoundblindly]

Hideout (3.1)

touch-starved!Nomad Steve Rogers x motel employee!Reader

Sensitive Boy, part I (see previous or series)

Summary: Steve surprises you with help at the perfect time.

Warnings for light smut (I have to split this chapter or it's just suddenly twice as long as the last, but really there's just massage and an implied orgasm in this half. You know me: too many feels and too much development...) MINORS DNI. This series is 18+ only. If you are underage or simply enjoy lighter content, there is plenty for you to read on my Light Masterlist, but this post is not for you! WC 3.2k

With so much on your mind, scaring the crap out of you is not difficult, so his strong hands hold you upright.

“Don’t do that,” you shriek, barely glancing at Steve’s face. You startled so suddenly your housekeeping cart is left rolling away at a snail’s pace.

“Sorry, I—“ long arms abandon you and reach to stop the bin “—it said on your website you were closed for renovations, and…”

You look him up and down. You were sure after he left two months ago that you’d never see him again. You’d gone too far. You’d pushed him too hard. He wasn’t ready.

Steve adjusts the strap over his shoulder. “I thought maybe I could help out…if you want?”

The last guests checked out a half-hour ago, and you readied to spend the whole week meticulously refreshing each room with your parents. The list of what needs done, however, doesn’t only include the motel. There’s a bunch you all had let slide up at the house. Help would…be extremely helpful actually.

Steve pulls a paper bag out of his knapsack. “Or I brought you some lunch if you just want a break or something.”

“It’s okay,” you rush out. “More than okay. Thank you, yes. We’d love—I’d love that.”

No one else can know it’s him-him there though. You’ll have to think of a way to keep your parents and St-‘Grant’ as far apart as possible, and how long you can manage that is…questionable.

If Steve’s not worried though, you’re okay.

Turns out, keeping your family up at the house is easy. Your mom shouts down the phone with relief that she can tackle the fridge, and you hear your dad mumble something about ‘the garage in daylight.’ You can enjoy a sandwich in the office with Steve in peace, explaining what all needs done before the electricians show up Friday afternoon.

The closure hasn’t been planned for a long time—not even before Steve and ‘Tom’s’ last visit—hence why you just painted Room 8, 5, 2, and 1 since March, but doing all those is how you and your parents really noticed that the light fixtures from the ‘90s were not only dated but very worn and that the same color layered over and over again for twenty years was, well, getting old.

Warmer months are better for the work. Pipes won’t freeze while you air out paint fumes, etc. The week after the gigantic, city festivities of Independence Day is notoriously dead. Since there were no reservations this stretch as of April, the family jumped at the chance to fix it all in one big, daunting go.

Saying you’d looked forward to this is a wild overstatement. You’ll be glad when it’s finished, and that’s the bulk of your excitement.

With his assistance though? Hope soars.

Steve will help you take down the sconces, the hanging lamps, and the panels above the vanities, then you both can—

“Where’s the paint?”

He’s very intense with the gameplan. Three guesses why.

“Dad’s gonna pick it up today. Probably. I’ll text him.” You whip out your cell again. “We didn’t think we’d get that far by evening.”

Steve nods.

“We also need to move all the furniture away from the walls and drape plastic to protect the carpet. Oh, and put tape along the trim and doorframes, ya know.”

Steve nods again. He wads up the wrapping from his sandwich and casually asks, “are all the doors open?”

You only just get your finger in the air to point at the desk.

“Master key is—“

But Steve is observant and has clocked everything about his surroundings each time he’s stayed, apparently. He stretches over to the wall beyond the counter, snatches the (correct) unmarked key, and heads out the door.

The service bell rings gently to emphasize the conversation is over.

All furniture in every room is pulled away by the time you finish sanitizing the one guest room he interrupted.

He asks where you keep the ladder, not that he’ll need it, but you will for reaching some of the lights.

You don’t know whether to be in awe of or exhausted by his efficiency.

He’s rigid and militant—go figure—until these few moments he suddenly can’t be.

As you toss plastic over the last bed to move, Steve yanks that sucker across the floor so fast, you roll off. His eyes are saucers as he apologizes, but you get the giggles and pick yourself up.

His fingers can’t separate thin layers of the plastic at one point, and he throws a minor fit until three rip apart together. Steve frowns at you and grumbles that he’s only ever used cloth for this before. It seems to take everything in his power not to say “back in my day,” but you can read between the lines.

Years of crusted paint makes the removal of some fixtures tricky.

Steve rips out one stripped screw with needle nose pliers, squeaks in alarm at the hole left behind, and then quietly asks if you have patch paste.

You call your dad before he’s left to buy paint. He adds spackling to the list.

The closest Steve comes to telling you anything specifically about himself is when you struggle with a stuck bolt.

“Just a little trick I learned when I was—“ Steve wraps his big hand around yours to pull the wrench instead of push from the other direction “—smaller.” He huffs out a laugh, adding, “when I couldn’t, ya know, ‘put my weight into it’ because a feather could’a knocked me over.”

As you relish the simple contact of his fingers, you smile, too.

“Hmm. I heard you got into back alley scrapes.”

“If you heard that I won any of those, you were lied to.” He patiently waits for you to finish removing the bolt before he pries the aged metal and glass away from the old paint it’s stuck in. Steve sighs dramatically.

“Shoddy education these days…”

“I…” You tap his bicep with the claws of the wrench. “I can’t argue with that. We hear only what they tell us about…heroes.”

You should have known he’d shut down at that word, but it’s the truth. Even with him right in front of you, the only things you know about Steve Rogers are from books, newspapers, and the internet. At face value—looking directly into the face of this man—all of what you’ve been told is hogwash. It’s insufficient. It barely covers 1% of who this man is.

He teaches you tricks of the weak man’s trade because it helped him once, too. Today, he’s friendly. Not that he was unfriendly before, but Steve is so reserved he never reference the past, in general, i.e. that there was a past existence of like the planet much less him.

It’s the number one rule of Fight Club: you don’t talk about Fight Club.

If there was ever a real fight club, it’s the Avengers.

You have no official rules for what this is between you. You don’t have to to know that is the most important one. You do not talk about Fight Club. Steve isn’t afraid of silence, that much is clear, but he isn’t a fan. He tries—he is trying—to connect and relate. He can’t be a man of the people, however, if he can’t talk to the people. 

It’s important: connection. You know with every fiber of your being that Steve deserves it, but even with unlimited, super-human strength, he cannot get himself out from between this rock and that hard place.

You do not talk about Fight Club, especially when you’ve been kicked out of Fight Club.

Today, though, he’s a little different, a little softer. Perhaps it’s knowing there are no other people in the building, perhaps he is truly more comfortable with you, but either way, Steve is not flat or off-putting.

His organized persona, his focus on the work, his indirect interactions and practical touch; they all fit here while he has a project. It’s the closest he can be to his old self, maybe even his real self, without mentioning the past—the fighting past—at all.

“You’re really good company,” you tell Steve, “even when you make holes in the walls.”

He tilts his head down and blushes. He shrugs as he takes the sconce out to the dumpster. Although he didn’t say it, you hope this is okay.

Either way, you relish it. The help. The touch. The silence. All of it.

You relish Steve.

Your dad brings by the paint, spackling, and a surprise of pizza for dinner while Steve is taping the baseboards in a corner. You introduce ‘Grant’ from afar and haul the cans and boxes from the car to the room, cataloguing all you two have finished to this point and what you’ll do before stopping for the night.

Dad is impressed. He’d suspected the three of you—you, he, and Mom, that is—might settle for slapping some paint up around where the electrician would install the new lights. No one planned on getting this far in one evening.

He won’t stand in the way of progress, so your dad simply calls out, “bit of an artist, are ya?”

Steve looks up, confident with only the side table lamps plugged in, he can barely be seen. “Just want to be useful,” he mutters.

You wink at your dad as he heads back to the still-running car. “Grant is a jack of all trades.”

You’re sure to thank him for the food and let him know all the motel stuff is completely covered for tomorrow, too. You’ll work as late as you can and start as early as possible.

Dad says your friend has gone ‘above and beyond.’ You agree wholeheartedly.

‘Grant’ would more aptly be described as a machine.

All the furniture moved, all the lights taken down, all bordering taped, and now all blemishes in the walls smoothed, your impromptu contractor finally calls it quits when he’s forced to watch stuff dry.

You’ve kept the air conditioning going in one room.

Steve tentatively asks if he should walk you up to the house, but you counter with “it’s not any less dangerous for an average guy alone to return” and a cheeky smirk. Besides, it is very late. You let Captain OCD keep going; you tapped out a while ago.

He puts his hands on his hips, arms akimbo, thinking of a comeback that never manifests. After giving up, Steve takes his tiny bag into the bathroom and brushes his teeth.

You can faintly hear it over the murmur of the TV.

You aren’t really watching. It’s background noise to your general exhaustion.

With only a side lamp and the screen as light, Steve’s bare feet crumple over the discarded plastic sheet on the floor. He falls into one side of the bed, fully-clothed and (finally) tired.

Though productive, the day has been a distant one, working in different rooms for most of it and tiptoeing around real conversation. You want him to feel appreciated, not pressured, so you ask if he’d like the TV on for a while or would rather quiet.

Steve just grunts with his eyes closed.

Gently, you place a hand on his chest to steady you, leaning to kiss his bearded cheek.

“Thank you, Steve,” you say softly. “Good night.”

He hums when you say his name, and before you can lift your hand away, he captures it under his, holding you in place.

His eyes aren’t open. He can’t see you smile wider.

“Okay.” You tuck yourself into his chest as he raises his other arm out of the way. “Okay.”

Your ear sits in the dip beneath his collarbone, listening to his steady heart, his thumb sweeping back and forth over you knuckles.

He smushes you closer to his side. You toss your leg over his.

You forget to turn off the TV.

He’s sanding the spackled spots by the time you wake, so you rub across his back and dismiss yourself to get breakfast up at the house.

Steve makes no effort to go with, which is fine. You assumed as much.

Your dad calls Grant a ‘magician’ over the pop of oil in the skillet and insists you give your friend whatever he needs to keep working so fast. You are only half-joking when you admit the key is staying out of his way.

Bonus: the exchange reinforces your parents simply leaving the two of you alone down the hill, and you proudly tell Steve that when delivering him an enormous plate of scrambled eggs.

He jumps right back into planning-mode and orders you to roll the first coat of paint onto large areas. He’ll follow, completing the edges and corners.

It’s such a domestic thing to do. There is no one in danger, there are no bodies piling up if he makes a wrong move, and he can go faster or take his sweet time. Steve breaks when he wants or needs to. He sits outside and listens to the birds in the sunshine. No one is around to question him, not even you. You are only there to encourage.

You realize he was looking for a project. He’s used to—and likes—being busy, getting his hands dirty, producing results.

It’s a long, messy day where he becomes more serene in spirit the more intensely he works. You reward him with gentle sweeps of your hand down his arms, pats on his shoulders, and brushes at the small of his back.

Despite the almost constant movement, the day is over before you know it, earlier than yesterday, but it’s too hot to go on.

All the windows stay open to air out the fumes.

Though it won’t stop you from sweating, you both shower off as many splatters and flecks of paint as you can. You insist he goes first so there’s plenty of hot water.

He’s sitting on the bed, shirtless, checking his phone when you come out of the bathroom, but he immediately squirrel the device away in his small bag. Not much to carry around. Not much to leave behind. Steve can’t leave a trace of himself anywhere.

Hunched over and fatigued, he flashes a polite smile your way and blinks heavily.

He deserves the world.

You grab the small bottle of lotion from the countertop and playfully jump onto the bed behind him.

“How about a massage, yeah? You much be aching.”

Honestly, you don’t mean for it to sound sexual, but the phrase comes out downright dirty, making Steve awkwardly chuckle.

“You don’t have to,” he placates.

“Nonsense, I want to. It’ll make the air feel cooler.” That’s as good of an excuse as any. Who cares when the rippled expanse of his back flexes wildly in your touch?

His breathes are audible from the beginning.

You dig at his traps, his leg bouncing as he tries to relax. You use your thumbs, the flats of your hands, and your knuckles.

He shoves his fist in his mouth when he starts to moan, covering the move with a cough, but muffling the noise is abandoned in favor of clasping over his lap. He’s intent on hiding his hardness this time. There’s nothing you can say to truly lessen the sting of needing more. You can’t simply tell him he’s allowed to desire this; you have to ignore his misplaced shame.

But you can take pity on him.

“If you lie flat—“ you step off the bed to give him privacy “—I’ll have more leverage.”

You hear him crawl and adjust on the sheets. “Unlike the torque on a wrench,” you add, just to show you’ve been listening to him.

More lotion is needed for the surface area.

You turn up the TV, feining interest in the late night show so any noise he makes is not as obvious. What the speakers can’t cover, however, is Steve’s involuntary thrusts when you rub the heels of you palms up and down the sides of his spine. If you prop up on your knees, he has more range of motion and doesn’t obviously rock you while mindlessly humping the bed.

His sweats are slung low on his hips, two darts of muscle prominent above his ass.

They are irresistible, the perfect grooves to target and roll into, and he immediately mewls long and deep into the mattress, fingers curling and relaxing while his body seizes.

He hasn’t even finished coming, you think, before he taps at your leg and races to the bathroom.

You hope you didn’t push too far. You hope he’d tell you to stop if he needs more space, more time. Mostly, you hope he knows you’d give him every conceivable pleasure, just because he is him.

The water runs a long time, continuous splashing in the sink, and then nothing.

He didn’t bring much because he doesn’t have much. Your heart sinks, realizing you’ve made him soil one of only two pairs of pants he has here.

He cracks open the door, muttering, but you can’t make out the words.

You turn the volume back down. “What?”

“It pretty hot.” He clears his throat. “Would you mind if I sleep…without…?”

“Naked?” you squeak before composing yourself. “That’s fine. Whatever’s comfortable.”

You shuffle up the bed to click off the lamps. This man isn’t the type to strut around in the nude—yet, anyway—so in the faint and ever-shifting glow of the screen across the room very little can be seen.

‘Little,’ however, can’t describe anything that is visible about the man emerging from the bathroom.

You have to make a point not to stare, but no skit or commercial on the channel promises the same level of entertainment.

Steve slides himself beneath the sheet, sitting near the headboard.

You hold up the remote. “On or off?”

“Off,” he says, “please.”

You’ve certainly done enough for one day. You won’t push your luck, so you hit the power button, toss it on table, and snuggle into your half of the bed, facing away.

“If it’s too hot for any covers, that’s okay, too.”

A rustling interrupts the rhythmic whir of crickets in the night until you feel a warm hand lightly mold to your waist.

This should be encouraged. This should be rewarded.

“Hey, Stevie,” you whisper, waiting for his hum, “happy belated birthday.”

At most you expect a grip of notice, but instead, the big hand snakes across you and hauls you into his chest, his long legs bending to match the crook of yours, his nose and forehead tucked against your occipital.

“We did okay today,” Steve mumbles into your shirt.

You walk your hand over your stomach to find his, lacing the fingers together. “Yes. Yes, we did.”

Steve got to be useful today. He had a partner today. He will tomorrow and the day after, for as long as he stays, for as long as you’re alive. Nothing can change that.

Maybe he can’t talk about Fight Club, but he connects with you anyway.

A/N: Whoopsy. Didn't want to make y'all wait for a 6k+ chapter, so here's the first half! I am DEEP in the feels of this one. So, so many notes have been taken. The brainrot is real, and I fucking love it!!!!

[Next: Sensitive Boy, part II]

[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

@supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @brandycranby @buckysprettybaby @ellethespaceunicorn @rogersbarber @spectre-posts @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes @deandreamernp @im-a-slut-for-fluff @fangirl-swagg @georgeweaslysgirl @austynparksandpizza  @claireelizabeth85 @jamneuromain @rach2602 @royalwritersoftheuniverses @shelbygeek @rogersideup @eyebagsanonymous @trudy-shams @saranghaey @awkwardgiraffe726 @marvelmenwhore @happinessinthebeing @before-we-get-started @sjsmith56 @esposadomd @cjand10 @yearningforsappho @mrsevans90

[sminiac]

Piwon after an argument 👉🏾👈🏾 -Kyokopi

💌 — I’m sure it’s just bc I started my period but I’ve been so fucking sad lmao, thought now would be a good time to write a lil angst HEHE

⋆ Y. Keeho

Gen overview — He moves around your space very cautiously, slow in a way, like he’s scared of his presence being fully perceived. I feel it’s one of the very few times he isn’t tackling the problem when both of your wounds are so fresh in fear of further irritating them due to his eagerness that could come off as pushy or bitter. Forces himself to endure the silence, the lack of acknowledging each other’s presence even in close proximity, it hurts but he knows everyone processes things differently, including the timeframe of how long that’ll take.

Reconnecting — Truthfully, normally it doesn’t take very long before either of you come back with a “I’m sorry” at the ready, it’s never a you or him situation, in fact a lot of the time it doesn’t matter, the most essential part is communicating, which also consists of a lot of tears- but there’s something so sweet about being able to let go like that with someone else, sharing another one of your most vulnerable moments with each other, gaining an understanding of how his brain works in a way no one else can.

Remainder of members under the cut!

⋆ C. Taeyang

Gen overview — Forces himself to apologize first because he knows if he doesn’t, it’ll just never come. Puts his struggles to the side for you but that doesn’t mean it’s easy, he goes through with it though, and although the process is sore and sometimes difficult the outcome is always worth it. He’s good with noting his own faults and the crowding of his ego that he has to overcome, it’s just the daunting task of reconciling, what if it isn’t so easy? What if you won’t accept his explanation? Would another disagreement arise? Learns that a simple ‘I’m sorry’ with a genuine sense of humility is worth a lot more than he thought it would have.

Reconnecting — This is where Theo’s feelings really show, fighting can be exhausting, and you can tell by the look on his face- even his body language, that he’s really drained and sad now that there’s no other emotions left to cloud over. The most he asks is just allow him to be by your side. Showers or baths together are usually taken after. You don’t need to shower him in gifts or written letters conveying your regret, but you can wash his hair for him, massage his arms and back the way he likes while he hugs you under the comforting stream of hot water.

⋆ C. Jiung

Gen overview — The quickest to feeling irritated if he deems your behaviour as ‘excessive’, but don’t let that intimidate you, he gradually comes to his senses, just give it a minute or two for the bad feelings to settle down. Opposed to Keeho, Jiung isn’t so quick to feel the need to apologize or talk it out, he puts himself at quite the distance, buries his head in work to keep him distracted from the guilt, or the fear of having over done it this time. Coming back to each other is always the most fragile part, the culmination of all the hurtful moments make for quite the emotional reconnection. Apologies are always mutual, you dissect things with each other.

Reconnecting — Jiung’s typically more on the serious side, but after seeing you so upset it’s like a need to allow his silly side to slip. Puts away any distractions and focuses all of his attention on you! Do you wanna go get a drink? He doesn’t want you dehydrated after all those tears. Crying makes you tired, do you want to take a nap? Crying makes you hungry, do you want to go grab some food? He’ll pay, anything you want. Crying makes your nose stuffy, what about a walk outside?

⋆ H. Intak

Gen overview — Feels his emotions very deeply, they almost overtake his entire being, when he’s frustrated there’s not really a filter there to keep his mouth from running away which splits the two of you off, if you’re reactive he’s like gasoline to your fire. It doesn’t happen often, arguing or the spitefulness, he’s normally good with managing his emotions in a healthy way, so he’s extremely regretful when it gets out of hand and the both of you are upset with the other. Exudes penitence to the fullest extent when he’s coming to you with a tearful apology, holds you, just wants to hold you. The feeling of someone crying while being close to them always makes me emotional, it’s just such a deep, inexplicable connection, and that’s exactly how it is with him.

Reconnecting — Very physical and vocal after you’ve both settled. Intak will remain as close to you as possible without actually touching you, scared that his clinginess will be too much until you’re the one initiating it, and every few minutes he’ll try talk to you about anything that interests you, because if you’re talking then surely you’re okay. He’s so puppy, asking: “That new bubble tea place you’ve been talking about is opened, do you want to go soon?” “What happened to that shirt you’ve been looking for? Did you find it? Should we go get you a new one instead?” “We should go to an aquarium, you can dress all pretty so I can take pictures.”

⋆ H. Shota

Gen overview — Learning how to be supportive and respectful of each other’s functions is definitely a process, but it makes you all the more closer with Soul. Not being familiar with these intricacies prior to your arrival in his life means that he does struggle with admitting his own feelings. Soul tends to catch the wavelength of your discontent quickly and immediately molds himself to fulfill whatever your needs are, in doing so he unintentionally disregards his own. He’s at your every word, but he also needs someone who will be there for him just as willingly. Apologizing is easy, he’s quick to admit his mistakes and really takes the time to understand you even if he didn’t to begin with, but he is a little hesitant when asking something of you, all he needs is a little encouragement and reassurance that he deserves just the same treatment.

Reconnecting — Things transition back to normal very smoothly, the both of you silently agree to do your best to end the day off on a good note, which doesn’t take a lot, and by the time you’re in each others arms on the verge of falling asleep it’s like nothing ever happened. Soul’s just very.. you can never outright tell what he’s thinking or what he’s about to do, so even as you’re talking it out in the end, your argument is settled once he says or does something silly because once the both of you are laughing there’s no way the seriousness of the situation could be dragged on for any longer. He’ll kiss you with a big pretty smile, adding on a final “I’m sorry stinky”.

⋆ K. Jongseob

Gen overview — He hates nothing more than the tense atmosphere that post arguments have, and the thing that gets to him the most is not being able to approach you like nothing happened. He knows your feelings are hurt. His are too, but god does he ever miss feeling you curled into him, giggling with each other about stupid things no one else would understand. The silence and ignoring each other only ever lingers for so long, usually he breaks it by pulling you into him when you least expect it, quickly subjecting you to his kisses and a near constant reiteration of how sorry he is for being mean. He snaps out of things quite fast, because he can’t bear the thought of your day going sour because of him, so he does his best to make up for it.

Reconnecting — Immediately tells you how silly he thinks it is to be so upset like this in an attempt to wipe away any negative feelings that were left behind, because he wants to be with you until not even the existence of your souls can live on, why dwell on something so trivial? Why feed into it any more than you have to? Seob likes keeping you busy after, is it odd that he suddenly wants to build things together in your Minecraft world? Maybe a little, but it’s hard to say no when he’s suggesting you make a day out of it with snacks and cuddling included.

ᰔ sminiac’s P1Harmony M.list

Update, after listening to my Laufey playlist and writing Seob’s ‘reconnecting’ bit I’m not as sad, just hungry.

ANOTHER UPDATE I ATE AND NOW I FEEL NAUSEOUS ???? I CANNOT WIN.

[imagines--galore]

Can you please write a zuko x reader hurt/comfort fic please? I’m not sure what prompts you have for it. But take as much time as you need and feel much better soon.

Pairing: Zuko x Reader Rating || Genres || Warnings: T. Romance. Hurt/Comfort. A/N: Ok but this broke my heart a little but it turned out so sweet in the end!

It never got any easier.

Every time you went to see your father it would end in disaster. He refused to speak with you, or even acknowledge your existence. That you were standing there and speaking to him.

Nothing.

No reaction.

And it broke your heart a hundred times over.

It happened every single week. And you knew there would come a time when you would simply stop coming to him. There was so much going on in your life that you couldn't possibly keep coming to see him.

Your father. The war prisoner. One of the top generals when it came to cruelty against everyone who was not Fire Nation.

The man who had been condemned to jail for the rest of his life.

By the Avatar no less. And yet you could not bring yourself to feel anything other then acceptance of the fate that had befallen your father. He was cruel, through and through. His crimes against humanity were too long to list, and there was no power in the world that could free him from his prison.

And you were glad of it.

Which made you feel guilty.

                                           ————————–

Sighing deeply you entered the Fire Nation Palace from a hidden door and leaned against it, heaving a small sigh as you did.

Yet another unsuccessful visit. You had visited him, spoken to him. Though when you had mentioned the new Fire Lord, your father had made a response.

And that was to spit on the floor.

Your heart clenched in your chest and you slid down the wooden door, burying your face in your hands. It was hopeless. Aang had said so from the beginning. Had told you that your father's soul was too corrupted by his own cruelty and evil that there was no coming back from it.

Probably the reason that compelled him to remove your father's firebending abilities.

Still you had tried. Tried to talk to him, make him see the evil he and the rest of the Fire Nation had been doing. But all your words fell on deaf ears, and you were beginning to give up. Perhaps you should give up. Perhaps you should refocus your attention towards more meaningful projects.

Such as helping the new Fire Lord rebuild the Fire Nation. A daunting task for one so young such as yourself and the Fire Lord. And yet, one you were willing to tackles and would see to succession.

Surely it was much easier to achieve world peace then to connect with your father once more.

All of a sudden you felt someone rest a hand on your shoulder. Startled you looked up, only to catch sight of a familiar figure standing there.

"Hello Zuko." You spoke lowly in greeting, tilting your head back so you could look at him properly. It was still strange to see Zuko back in the Fire Nation Palace. After having been gone for so long.

You had barely seen him over the years, since his father had banished him. There was the odd run-in when he would dock where your father would be stationed, and you would take the time to speak with your friend.

Of course that was all a ruse to hide your true purpose.

A source of information to General Iroh, esteemed member of the White Lotus. Your mother had been a member, one of the few females to hold the title. And while you had never been closer to your father, your mother was a different story.

When she had died of a sudden illness, you had vowed to keep carrying out her mission and provide information to the White Lotus. You hoped your news had helped save lives.

It was the least you could do considering how the other people of your nation treated everyone so cruelly.

Once the war had ended, General Iroh had advised Zuko to appoint you as a member of his Council. You had agreed to his offer, saying you wanted to help him rebuild the world. And during those first few months, your long-lost friendship with Zuko had ignited once more.

In front of the rest of the Council, the Elders, and anyone of prominence, you were Fire Lord Zuko and Chief Advisor Y/n. But once duties were done for the day, you were simply Y/n, and he was Zuko. You had worried that things would be different between the both of you now that Zuko was Fire Lord, however, it seemed he was still the same old Zuko, the one you had played with in the palace gardens as a child.

"Did you go to see your father again?" He asked, sitting down next to you. You sighed and gave a nod. Reaching up you ran a hand through your unruly hair. You had unpinned it before going to see your father. Less chance of people recognizing you when you had your hair down.

"And still no progress." You responded to which he nodded in understanding. "I'm having the same trouble as you are. Father won't give up Mom's location." The despair in his voice caused you to forget about your own pain momentarily. It would still be there to be wallowed in after you figured out a solution to Zuko's problem.

"Need me to go in there and extract the information from him?" You held out your palm to allow a small fire to erupt between your fingers and allowing it to flicker there. "Fire is an excellent form of torture."

He knew you were only joking, which was why he only shook his head at you before reaching out to engulf his hand with yours, putting the flame out. "I think he will tell me eventually. But for now, let him stay where he is."

You hummed in agreement. "Let them both stay where they are. I mean we're both amazing children to even want to speak to them after what they did to us." While Zuko had suffered physically at the hands of his father, you had been subjected to mental and emotional torture while living with your father. The man had never once said a kind word to you. And you would've been happy never visiting him again, but Iroh had been the one to urge you to speak with your father.

To try and make amends.

"Do you think our father's were born bad or that it was because of circumstances that they turned out the way they did?" You asked, allowing your body to relax against his as you leaned your head on Zuko's shoulder.

Thank goodness the both of your had removed the uncomfortable armor for the day.

"I believe they were both given a choice, and they picked the wrong one." He shrugged. "Or perhaps they thought they picked the right choice because it would benefit them. But then again, it does make them selfish doesn't it?"

You heaved a deep sigh and nodded. "Well I suppose it is a good thing the both of us have each other to get through this." Perhaps trying to look on the opposite spectrum would give you the little pick me up that you needed. His hand, which was still holding yours, squeezed your fingers a little, as he hummed in agreement.

After a few moments of sitting in silence, Zuko finally spoke. "I'm glad I have you by my side Y/n. Its made things easier for me here." Being back here still felt strange. He had spent so many years traveling that being inside the palace was a little unnerving to him. But somehow, your presence seemed to make things easier for him. And not just the Council. You were always listening and observing even if Zuko wasn't, and you would always fill him in if he missed something.

And as for you? You were just happy you had your best friend back.

Though Iroh had suggested that the both of you take a step further when it came to your friendship.

Crazy old man.

"You know I sent my own sources out. To try and fine your mother." You admitted to which he gave you a surprised look. You smiled at him. "What? Did you think I wouldn't look for Lady Ursa once I heard she was alive? I recall being her favorite at times when you did something she did not approve of."

It had been a soft of playful rivalry between the two of you, to see who would be pronounced as the favorite of the day. Lady Ursa had become something of a surrogate mother to you during the years of your mother's sickness. Sometimes you missed her just as much as you missed your own mother.

Zuko's answering smile was soft and adoring as he leaned his forehead against yours. "Thank you Y/n." You smiled, leaning into his embrace, enjoying the way his hand fit into yours, and how the very scent of him had you calming down.

"Thats what friends are for." He pulled back only to raise an eyebrow at your words and the teasing glint in your eyes.

"You do remember our status has changed since the marriage was arranged?" He asked, prompting you to shrug.

"So? Doesn't mean our friendship has to be effected. You're still that annoying boy I met when I first came here." You reached up to playfully muss his already disheveled hair. He playfully batted your hand away, grabbing your wrists to stop you, he pinned you with a look.

"But it does mean I can do this." A quick peck on the lips, followed by one of each cheeks, which had you feeling a little flustered. "An added bonus to our already established relationship." You declared, grinning at him, all your previous worries forgotten.

[jstor]

jstor, i have a problem.

all i have to do to receive my masters is edit the damn thesis. 

i survived and passed my defense last july.

i can’t bring myself to edit and i don’t know why.

i finished my credits, i even moved back to my original city, but i never technically graduated because i haven’t done the final edits for publishing.

what do i do please im so lost

Congratulations on passing your defense last July! That's a monumental achievement and a testament to the hard work and dedication you've put into your studies. It's not uncommon to feel a bit lost or overwhelmed at this stage, especially after the intense effort of completing and defending your thesis.

Editing can feel daunting for many reasons: burnout after months (or even years) of focused work, the challenge of shifting from a creative, generative mode into a critical, refining mode, as well as finding the mental space and motivation to tackle those final edits after moving and dealing with such big life changes.

First off, be easy on yourself! You've already accomplished something incredible by passing your defense. Pushing yourself too far past your limits isn't healthy, so I'd suggest starting small. Maybe incorporate an hour or two of editing into your daily/weekly routine, breaking the task down into smaller chunks. Celebrate any progress you make (little treat, perhaps?) and lean on those around you for support.

It may also help to reflect on your journey so far, getting at the root of why you pursued the degree and tackled this research in the first place. It's easy to lose sight of this in the minutiae of actually working on it, so take some time for introspection!

We believe in you and can't wait to see your research contribute to the wider academic conversation.

Good luck, and don't hesitate to lean on the resources available to you as you finalize your thesis. You're almost there!

[alwritey-aphrodite]

“it’s your turn to do the dishes.” “let’s get a divorce.” “we aren’t married yet, my love.” “well we sure as hell aren’t getting married now.”

from the prompts 🥴🤭

Ok reader and Peter are parents in this, and if you’re not into that I will happily write another version for you!!!

Typically, there’s an even distribution of work between you and Peter in your apartment. If one of you vacuums, the other does laundry. If one of you does bath time with your daughter, the other does storytime. It’s easy to switch off so the tasks don’t seem too daunting, too repetitive, and it normally works like a charm, but for some reason, both you and Peter absolutely dread doing the dishes.

Before Charlie May was born, takeout was a frequent staple for the two of you because of the convenience, and even though you’re still young enough that takeout every night seems like a trendy lifestyle choice, it’s not the most nutritious practice to raise your daughter. It’s been hard for the both of you, making changes in your daily life in the hopes of doing right by Charlie, hoping that no one will comment on your parenting abilities or your age or Charlie’s wellbeing.

Cooking fun and tasty and nutritious meals hasn’t been a problem, and Peter is surprisingly skilled in the kitchen, but dishes are a fight every night.

“It’s your turn to do the dishes,” Charlie tells her dad as she sits perched on the countertop, legs swinging and her cheeks rounding in a smile as you squeeze her knee. She loves her dad, and sometimes she acts exactly like him, but she’s always been your little partner in crime. He likes to pretend to be put out by it, but you know that Peter grins behind your back at your scheming and your daughter’s delighted giggles.

“Let’s get a divorce,” Peter says with a sigh, turning towards you to lean an elbow against the counter. Charlie thinks this is the funniest thing she’s ever heard, laughing so hard you need to support her waist in case she tips over with the force of her giggles, even though you’re not entirely certain she knows what the word divorce means. Your daughter’s joy is so infectious that Peter’s faux-serious expression only lasts a second before he’s grinning over at you.

“We’re not married yet,” you remind him, even extending your bare ring finger to emphasize your point. The two of you have discussed your life plans in length, both before and after the surprise arrival of your daughter, and neither of you feel rushed to get married, wanting to wait until Charlie’s a little older and you’re both a bit more financially stable and maybe spending less time swinging above the city. Neither of you truly mind, but in your theatrical fights for the sake of your daughter, it’s nice to have a little pretend-leverage.

“Well, we’re definitely not getting married now,” Peter replies, all exasperation and sorrow as Charlie launches herself towards him, tiny body shaking with the force of her laughter. Peter’s reflexes have made parenting easier in many different ways, but his deftness in catching your daughter every time she launches herself at him never ceases to amaze you.

It takes you a second too long to realize that Peter has carried your daughter out of the kitchen, leaving you all alone to tackle the dishes. Just as you go to call out for them to return, Peter shouts out instead.

“Can’t help, my arms are all full of baby!” And Charlie thinks this is the funniest phrase that has ever left her father’s mouth, her laughing ringing through the apartment and you can’t help it when you smile at the noise, even as you turn on the tap to get started with the dishes. You really don’t mind doing them, and it was your turn anyway, but you’re already plotting your revenge and planning out how to get your partner in crime back on your side.

[nanowrimo]

Pro Tips from a NaNo Coach: How to Write a Clean(ish) Fast Draft

NaNoWriMo can seem like a daunting task sometimes, for NaNo newbies and veterans alike. Fortunately, our NaNo Coaches are here to help guide you through November! Today, author Jesse Q. Sutanto is here to share her advice on how to set yourself up for noveling success:

Dear Nano-ers,

My first book took me three years to cobble together. During that time, I joined Absolute Write—a free writers forum which I completely love and recommend to all aspiring writers—and I made a friend who convinced me to try doing NaNoWriMo. I was completely unconvinced, but I am a people-pleaser and I can never say no, so I agreed to try it for my second novel.

My second novel took me less than a month to write. It was a complete mess, but it was also a revelation. Often, I felt myself falling into that writing Holy Grail—the hole which consumes you, makes you forget the rest of the world, and absorbs you completely in the world you are creating on paper. I loved the process deeply, and never looked back since. All of my subsequent books have since been written in a matter of months. 

And you know what? They were all a horrific mess. I did not learn how to do a clean and fast draft until my NINTH book, and I don’t think I would’ve ever learnt without the help of NaNoWriMo. So here are my tips on how to best tackle a sprint-a-thon like NaNo. 

1. Try to come up with a loose outline.

When I first started writing, I was a pure pantser. I had no idea what was going to happen before I sat down to write. This is a completely legit way of writing, but I have since learned that it is massively helpful to have an idea, even a vague one, of what you are trying to say with your book. What was really helpful for me was to sit down for just five minutes before writing each scene and try to envision what I wanted the scene to achieve. Once I had that in mind, the scene became much easier to write. 

2. Break down your writing time.

Ever heard of the Pomodoro technique? In order to hit 50,000 words a month, you need to write around 1,600 words a day. That is a heck of a lot of words to write! Break it down. Set 10 or 15-minute timers and use that to your advantage. Trust me, if you told me to sit down and write 1,600 words, I would be like, “Omg that’s too much!” But if you told me to just write for 15 minutes, that feels a lot more doable. 

3. Give yourself permission to write trash.

Before each writing session, I actually say out loud: “I am going to write trash.” And this gives me permission to write whatever comes to my mind without judgment. You can always edit later, but for now, focus on letting the words out on paper. 

4. Lean on others for support.

I made the mistake of thinking that writing is a lonely vocation. In fact, it is one of the most social things I could do. Social media, while a double-edged sword, has done so much for the writing community. I have found all of my close writer friends through social media, and I chat with them every day and consider them my close, lifelong friends. Don’t be afraid to reach out and make connections within the community. You are not alone. 

Jesse Q. Sutanto is the award-winning, bestselling author of Dial A for Aunties, Vera Wong’s Unsolicited Advice for Murderers, Well, That Was Unexpected, The Obsession, and Theo Tan and the Fox Spirit. The film rights to her women’s fiction, Dial A for Aunties, was bought by Netflix in a competitive bidding war, and the TV rights to Vera Wong was bought by Warner Bros, with Oprah and Mindy Kaling attached to produce. She has a master’s degree in creative writing from Oxford University, though she hasn’t found a way of saying that without sounding obnoxious.

[writingquestionsanswered]

hey, i love your blog, you’re so kind for doing all of this. kudos.

i was wondering if you have advice on how to not be terrified of sharing your work with the world? i write a lot of fanfiction (and someday hopefully some original stories) but i get so so anxious about ANYONE reading them so they usually end up rotting in my google docs, and eventually i stop writing them because i don’t get the motivation that comes from reader responses

but the issue is i’m not sure how to tackle this anxiety. as someone who has published works, do you have advice for this?

Tackling the Anxiety of Sharing Your Work

For my answer, I'm going to cobble together some bits from previous posts and add some new stuff. ♥

Sharing our fiction with others is one of the biggest steps we take as writers, and it can be scary no matter what you write. But, if you want to be published, it’s a necessary step. As with so many things in life, doing something that requires courage is often just a matter of taking a deep breath and doing it. "Ripping off the band-aid," as they say.

However, there are some things that might help ease the associated anxiety a bit:

1 - Try to Pin Down Your Specific Fears - One of the first things you may want to do is try to figure out what you're specifically afraid of or what's making you the most anxious about the prospect of sharing your work. If you can find the root cause, it might be easier to tackle the associated anxiety. Are you worried people:

will think your writing is bad?

won’t like your writing style?

won’t get your story/characters?

will judge you for what you write about?

will think less of you for writing at all or what you write about?

will blab about your writing to others?

will steal your ideas?

will see similarities between your story and others?

will make you feel tied to a project you might not complete?

I tackle some of these in the writing-related-fears portion of my Motivation master list.

2 - Don't Rush It - If you take the time to properly revise and edit your story, you can be confident in knowing you've put in the time and effort to make your story the best it possibly can be.

3 - Start Small - If you can, try sharing your story first with an "alpha reader," or in other words a trusted friend, family member, or community member who can appreciate your story. In this case, you might say you're not looking for specific feedback but just a general impression of what they liked about the story. This way, it's not about getting constructive criticism so much as getting over the hump of sharing it and getting the little boost of what they like about the story.

4 - Gradually Go Bigger - From there, you might try sending to a couple of beta readers and opening up to a bit more feedback. The great thing about this is not only are you conditioning yourself to sharing and getting the opinions of others, you can potentially use the feedback to iron out kinks in the story if there are any.

5 - Use a Pen Name - You might want to consider using a pen name for anonymity. Pen names have many different purposes, but much like wearing a mask at a party, they can decrease your inhibition a bit because it creates a bit of a buffer between the real you and your writing.

6 - Post and Let It Go - Many writers get around the issue by simply not engaging with reader feedback, and if you're someone who cares what other people think or are likely to be daunted by the prospect of criticism, this may be the best route for you to go. Now, I know that with fan-fiction in particular, reader feedback is often used for improvement. But the truth of the matter is, you shouldn't rely on reader feedback for improvement anyway. Alpha readers, beta readers, critique partners, and editors are a much better metric for where to improve. When you get your feedback elsewhere, you can post your story and let it fly on its own without worrying about what others are saying.

I hope that helps!

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I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

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