#passion for minutiae

[sheppyscribbles]

Fess and bluster

"I dunno, I just think that video game localizers should maybe take a course on songwriting, because what they do to these theme songs is just execrable. Like, all they do is count up syllables and rhyme the lines, and who cares about syllable stress matching the downbeats? Why not cram five different consonant sounds into two sixteenth notes on the lead-in to a measure? It just ... GAH."

"... I'm sure I would totally agree with you if I knew literally anything about writing music."

Ross the otter discovers that getting Fess to come out of his shell is easier than expected, much to his regret.

Background from a photo by user Melodi2 on MorgueFile.

[mummer]

understand my vision or die

[reanimatedcourier]

Did some fic planning eons ago and realized the Boomers, due to their isolation, probably speak with an unusual/old fashioned sounding accent and use words nobody else in the Mojave does.

[talentforlying]

not my synopsized explanation of the tree ass tattoo breaching containment, of all things. godspeed, my little friend.

[nebulaikas]

i think it's funny that I've been trying to write my original projects for like basically a decade, and then now that i've started writing fanfiction, i can write like 1k+ words an hour. no clue why i've avoided stuff like this for so long.

[arvandus]

Daily Drabble - Morning Tea

Barbatos x GN!Reader

Warning: NSFW implied but not explicit; established relationship

Barbatos doesn’t see himself as a demon who allows himself to be controlled by his passions. He’s old enough now to keep such things in check, locked away safe and sound where they can do no harm to those he cares for or to the precious timeline that promises stability and happiness.

But something shifts in him when he sees you in the morning light of the large moon, your hair tousled from sleep and his dark teal RAD shirt covering your body, secured by a few scant buttons. Nothing else graces your body. The soft curve of your butt peeks out from below the hemline, followed by the slopes of your legs, all the way down to the bare toes that curl and flex against the hard stone floor.

Possession awakes in his quiet veins, like the coming of spring. It still stuns him at its fierceness, its presence still novel after so many millennia of solitude.

Mine.

The single thought resonates like a tuning fork in his mind, absolute and synchronizing with every fiber of his being.

And you were his. In fact, he’s already had you many times over, yet each time is just as fulfilling as the last. Fulfilling in its passion, it’s satisfaction. And yet each time that need for you rekindles anew with the smallest laugh, the softest gasp, the gentlest kiss. In a way, he realized, he was never and could never be entirely satiated on you. He would never grow bored of you, or reduce your times together into one of monotony.

You’re standing at his small breakfast table that he has in his room, where the tea set sits. The water is always kept hot but never evaporates, and the satchel of tea leaves always stays fresh. You’re preparing a cup… no, make that two cups of tea.

Barbatos watches you from the warm comfort of his bed, a quiet smile upon his lips as his green eyes watch the way you add the sugar just the way he likes, stirs it back and forth without a clink just as he’d taught you. A dash of milk, and more gentle stirs.

He loves moments like these... little glimpses where your love shines through in the simple things, the minutiae, the details. All the small ways you think of him, love him. Because he does the same, your presence always a part of him, the thought of you and your happiness always in the back of his mind. It is why he loves to spoil you, to dote upon you at every opportunity.

Barbatos wasn't used to being taken care of. It had taken your persistence and him relinquishing some control over the more private parts of his life to allow himself to receive your love in the way you loved best. Now, as he watches you butter the scone, he is glad for it. Glad that he'd learned to make space for you, to step aside and let you into himself. After all, it was that allowance of vulnerability, that blossom of unbridled love, that makes your nights together so powerful, your kisses bringing him to life and his touch setting your your heart racing.

Not that such things need to be reserved for the nighttime only...

Barbatos carefully rises from his bed, as silently as possible so you don't notice.

He loves you. Completely, utterly, endlessly. And in a few seconds, he's going remind you of it, write it across every inch your skin with his mouth until he has you crying beneath him, so he can kiss the tears from your cheeks, taste their saltiness on his tongue.

After all, the tea never gets cold.

[unlikelyjapan]

Full disclosure: I wasn't a Syd/Carmy shipper until two weeks ago. Hell, I don't think I've ever been a shipper of anything up until this moment - but I've been happily married to my slow-burn best friend for eons, so this all struck a deep, nostalgic chord for me. Consider this post my coming-out party:

This whole thing came about from that well-worn Freud quote that "friendship is the art of distance while love is the art of intimacy" that I recalled from a crude psychology class.

From the most shallow, birds-eye POV, Carmy achieved intimacy with Claire (while maintaining distance/friendship with Syd) by disclosing details of his family situation, his panic attacks, expressing romantic affection, and establishing physical intimacy with someone.

He even seemed more eager to relay and express these experiences to his friends (see the cannoli conversation with Syd and Marcus) as he went deeper into the relationship. From this perspective, I empathize with people when they say they see his relationship with Claire as real personal growth, followed by a steep regression.

Claire seems to pantomime someone who is secure, but is actually pretty anxious in matters of the heart - the idealized projections she places on Carmy based on her proximity to him a decade ago, her unwillingness to walk away from the red flag of the 'wrong number' fiasco, and her unrelenting insistence to know why he tried to dodge her in the first place. I'll say nothing of the constant placating.

Claire is a sort of a faux 'sword of destiny' for Carmy - he yearned for her attention in his youth, it was loudly proclaimed to be "the good thing" by his abusive family, and so it's the only logical choice in Carmy's mind once he's beaten over the head with it for the umpteenth time - it's the love chosen for him by his family and his past self before he pieced together ways to partially escape, it's fatalism, it's the end of the weary search for "fun" and happiness.

He's never truly happy or having "fun" (as he doesn't know how to define that in his mind - that's why we're tortured with 5 grueling minutes of Logan), but he feels cared for and is going through the motions of being "that guy who is fun and in love".

Love even had to be defined for him by his inherited family friend/handyman who he didn't even know was his "best friend" until Claire relayed it to him - he blindingly accepted both assertions from Fak, falling back into his family's narrative that he can't survive or be normal without their collective help.

By contrast, Sydney is probably the first thing Carmy has ever chosen for himself without outside influence from family or employers. She was his first hired employee, his first true friend who wasn't a blood relative, and probably the first person he feels mirrors his passions without a need to compete with her over them.

Sydney is a choice - she is happiness (in whatever shape or form that you choose to define it, it can be aromantic if you'd like) that Carmy found all by himself, without the narrative being driven by outside influences. They have fun together on their own frequency, but Carmy's black-and-white thinking can't recognize it for what it is - he's still reaching for a sense of "fun" that was repeatedly sold to him as his family tried to push him along the path of normalcy (an impossible feat for a Berzatto).

Syd and Carmy share a brand of maternal grief/strife and a profound love of service that breeds a slow intimacy. By saying "you deserve my full focus" Carmen is saying that Sydney's happiness is more important than his own, which can sound abysmal in type, but is also a natural pre-req for love when given willingly - which I think he is giving willingly for her, just not willingly for the anxiety and minutiae that comes with actually running a fine dining restaurant. He needs someone he can have absolute trust in to hold his hand through that part.

That's why he could only create The Bear with her, and why he says he wouldn't want to do it without her.

They're both fearful and avoidant, which is a fatally-wounding powder keg if they were to connect this instant, but with ever-growing intimacy and self-work (which Claire - however insufferable her dialogue - probably planted seedlings in with Carmy, and his openness and absolute trust in Sydney could drive her towards, too) their coming together could heal many of their longstanding wounds.

This was more of a meandering walk than I hoped, but I think it all comes down to actively choosing happiness vs. passively chosen happiness - Sydney is the first thing Carmy has ever chosen for himself, and we were beaten over the head with depictions of how much he cherishes that agency and Syd this season. I really hope S3 is a big mess of mirroring and sharing for them.

[devilander]

homelander x original female character

A young, newly presented Homelander met Posey Eldridge-Mercier, talented Music student, and was instantly besotted. Connecting over trauma and shared passions, Homelander and Posey thrived in the chaos of their romance—until Vought's interference led them bitterly astray.

Thirteen years later, they meet again; and perhaps what they say is true. No matter how brutal, what you love is your fate.

"There is no democracy in any love relation: only mercy." Gillian Rose

see ao3 for more

After Posey, music lost its place in his life. 

He could still hear it, though. Phantom pain. What those sad, pathetic cripples say they felt—pain in limbs no longer attached, no longer existent. Just like Posey—no more than a phantom, a minutiae of frilly moments he'd all but forgotten. Yet, the music, the intensity of the piano (Rachmaninoff, no?), the fragility of the violin (Dvořák, right?), her dainty fingers both precise and firm; he could still hear it, now and then, as if being suddenly transported to the past. 

He couldn't fucking stand it. 

It was an unspoken rule for those at Vought Tower—from the miserable little ants to Maeve—that certain... tunes were forbidden, unless they wished for him to break their legs. Even humming, if Homelander was in a particularly foul mood, could make him snap. It had happened what, four? Seven? A dozen times? he mused, clenching his fists, a painful smile stretching his face as he listened to random investors, whose names he'd already forgotten, prattle on and on—stock prices, the company's EBITDA, ripples of rising interest. 

A rehearsed act, one he'd mastered many years ago, but grating all the same, to stand still and pretend he actually gave a shit. And the fucking music—

It was a special gala. A celebration of Vought's anniversary; an excuse for networking while booze flowed freely. The New York Philharmonic had been hired, and as the conductor took to the stage, everyone present went back to their seats. Homelander was considering leaving the event entirely—to hell with those cocksuckers—when he noticed it. As the violinists started, intensely, poignant, after the grave sounds of cellos and double basses, one sway of hands in particular called to his memory. 

Even as his eyes took her in, he couldn't believe it. It was like being doused in freezing water (oh, and he was familiar with the feeling, Vogelbaum eager to test his limits, watching calmly as water filled his lungs without killing him). And when Posey's eyes, relaxed and focused, for a brief second found his, he was certain he wouldn't, or couldn't, breathe again. The fucking nerve, how dare she? He was ensnared by his rage. 

He could do it right now, laser her into oblivion as he had done with Madelyn. He could get on the stage, grab her by the neck and—what? Snap it? Have his way with her, in front of all to see? No, no, that would cause quite a scene. He could be patient, wait for the presentation to end while he pondered on what he'd do as soon as he got his hands on Posey once again. Privately, after so long. 

keep reading on ao3!

[seiya-starsniper]

Also, "you know I love you, right" with dreamling from the gentle prompts

Hi anon I am SO SORRY this is like almost six months late, but I finally wrote something for this prompt!!! 😁💖

AO3 Link Here or read the whole fic below!

----------------------------------

Dream is nervous.

He knows, logically, that he should not be. That he is, as always, catastrophizing things in his mind, thinking of the worst possible scenario for how things will go. But he also knows that what he plans to ask Hob tonight over dinner is not an insignificant question. And he has to get everything just right.

Dream has gotten things wrong so many times in his relationships. With his parents, with his siblings, his friends, his past lovers. He has asked for too much too soon, and given too little until it was too late to fix what had been wronged.

Dream wants to do things right with Hob.

Hob, who has been so patient with Dream as he picked himself up after his divorce from Calliope. Hob, who had only been a casual acquaintance at first, a friend of a friend of a friend. Hob, who had somehow, miraculously, fallen just as deeply in love with Dream over the last two years as Dream had done so with him.

And now, Dream wants them to take the next step in their relationship. 

He sets the stage perfectly; buying a bottle of wine from the vineyard where they had their first date to pair with the dinner Hob is preparing in Dream’s kitchen. Candles on the table for ambiance. Dream is also wearing a sleek satin button down that he knows that Hob likes on him.

“Is it my birthday?” Hob asks, waggling his eyebrows when Dream lets him into his flat. When Dream closes the door behind him, he finds himself pulled into the passionate kiss. Hob presses him against the closed door and licks eagerly into Dream’s mouth, drawing a guttural groan from deep inside him.

“You’re tempting enough for me to want dessert first,” Hob teases, nipping at Dream’s bottom lip before pulling away slightly to appreciate Dream’s outfit more. Dream laughs, and pulls Hob back to himself in a tight hug.

“Perhaps I just wanted to look nice tonight,” Dream whispers against his lover’s ear. “But good things come to those who wait.” Hob huffs, then kisses him again, gentler this time, and Dream melts into it.

They eventually make their way into Dream’s kitchen, and Hob notices the bottle of wine and candles on the table immediately. 

“Please tell me I haven’t forgotten a special occasion,” he says, his tone teasing, but Dream can tell he’s nervous. Dream shakes his head and nudges Hob towards the stove and countertops, kissing him again and squeezing his arm. 

“No special occasion forgotten, I promise,” Dream reassures Hob. “I am only doing this just because. To be romantic.” 

“If you say so,” Hob replies, still uncertain. He lets the matter drop, and goes on to prepare dinner while Dream opens the wine and finishes preparing the table. His hands are shaking with every movement, but thankfully Hob is too preoccupied with cooking to really notice. They trae stories about their days, Hob on the latest drama in the faculty department of his university, and Dream complaining about the minutiae of having to plan his gallery opening next month.Dinner itself flies by and before Dream knows it, they’ve opened the bottle of wine and moved to the living room to cuddle.

Hob tries to suggest putting on a movie, but Dream shakes his head, taking a deep breath and putting his wine down on the coffee table.

“You know I love you, right?” Dream asks, wringing his hands together despite himself. Hob hums, and then takes Dream’s hands gently in his. He brings one of Dream’s hands to his lips and kisses it, slow and tender. Dream melts like butter into his touch. 

“I do, and I love you too,” Hob answers, his smile warm and inviting. “What’s this all really about, love?”

Dream stares into Hob’s dark brown eyes, and swallows thickly. Now or never he supposes. At least now he’ll know whether they really were of the same mind about the future. 

“I—Iwantustomoveintogether,” Dream blurts out all in a single breath. There. Now it was all out in the open. 

Hob furrows his brow in confusion at first, seeming to not have understood what Dream had just said. But then his eyes widen in shock, and Dream feels his stomach swoop. He can’t tell whether Hob looks happy, or upset, and it absolutely terrifies Dream.

But then Hob’s eyes soften, and Dream feels hope burn bright like a star within his chest. 

“You mean it?” Hob asks, his voice sounding just as fragile as Dream feels. “You—you want—”

“Yes,” Dream exhales, before Hob practically knocks him into the other side of the couch with how forcefully he kisses him. Dream wraps his entire body around Hob’s, unwilling to let go of him for even just a moment. Hob technically hadn’t answered the question just yet, but Dream can infer by the way the other man is kissing him that the answer is a very resolute yes.

“You know, you didn’t need to get all dressed up just to ask me that,” Hob tells him when they break apart to breathe. “I would’ve said yes even if you’d asked me in the middle of Tesco.”

Dream barks out a laugh and then pulls Hob into another kiss. 

“I would hope by now, you know that anything else less than the most romantic gesture is unacceptable by my standards,” he replies with mock indignation. Hob doesn’t reply, only kisses him again, and everything is perfect.

They soon fall into excited discussions about the future, talking late into the night about whether they will stay in one flat or the other, the best time to move, how much in monthly payments they can afford between the two of them. Dream is not particularly married to his flat, and he knows that the location is not the most convenient to Hob’s university. Hob’s flat is small, however, and Dream knows he needs a larger space in order to be able to paint. They eventually decide on vacating their separate flats and looking for a place together.

Dream’s stomach is in knots, the good kind though, when they go to bed. He’s never gotten to truly choose his own living space with another person. When he and Calliope had been married, they’d moved into her childhood home, and it had never quite felt like home, even after Orpheus had been born. Even his current flat, the style, the decor, all of it is handpicked by his mother, Nyx.

But this new flat? This hypothetical for now space? This will be just for him and Hob. It will be just theirs.

Six months later, Hob carries Dream over the threshold of their new townhome like they’ve just gotten married, and Dream laughs in delight. He cannot remember the last time he’d been so happy. 

When Hob lets him down in their new, still empty living room, Dream takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, letting the emotional weight of what they’ve done wash over him.

This home is theirs. Both their names are on the mortgage, a contract that binds them closer than marriage does, at least in Hob’s opinion. This home hadn’t been in their initial plan, they had only seen it in passing while looking at another flat in the same neighborhood, but it had been love at first sight for both of them. 

It had also, admittedly, been a little bit outside of their budget. But Hob was expecting a promotion, and Dream’s gallery opening had plenty of buzz surrounding it. Things would work themselves out. He knew they would.

They’re arguing again, and Dream doesn’t even remember what started it. They were fighting more and more lately; about chores, about things that needed to be fixed, about the ever growing pile of bills between them.

Hob had gotten the promotion he’d wanted, but it came with more work and time away than either of them expected. Dream’s gallery opening was well attended, but only a few of his paintings had been purchased outright. The gallery assured him this was normal, and he knew it to be true, as a debut artist he needed to build a reputation. But the disappointment stung nonetheless.

The house too, had been more work and more expense than they had expected. It seemed like something was always breaking, or needed to be replaced, and they could never agree on a chore schedule that did not make the other feel like they were doing more of the work.

Now they were arguing over what to have for dinner, a simple meal, an activity they used to both consider sacred between them. But Hob doesn’t want to cook, and Dream is tired of eating takeaway. Hob tells him Dream needs to learn to cook. Dream tells him that Hob is too picky to cook for. 

“You know what? Forget it,” Hob says, throwing up his arms in surrender and turning away from him. “This isn’t worth it.”

Dream’s heart shatters when he hears those words. 

Not worth it, not worth it, not worth it. Dream has heard those words a million times in a million different contexts, but it always, always, means the same thing. 

Dream wasn’t worth it. Wasn’t worth the effort it took to put up with him, to be patient with him, to love him. Calliope had said he wasn’t worth all the fights and arguments. Cory had said their relationship wasn’t worth staying in London for when his dream job was in the US. Nada had said having to deal with his family wasn’t worth it. And now Hob had decided Dream wasn’t worth his time or his love either. 

Before he knows it, Dream is running out of the room, out of their home, and into the pouring rain. He can’t hear anything over the pounding of his heart in his ears. 

Not worth it. Not. Worth. It

He’s worthless, worthless, worthless. 

Dream hadn’t even bothered putting on shoes, so it doesn’t surprise him when he slips on the wet cobblestones of the street and he falls. 

What does surprise him is that he doesn’t hit the ground.

Because Hob is there. Holding him back, and gripping him like he’s afraid Dream will disappear if he doesn’t.

Hob had come after him. Had run after Dream in the pouring rain just to catch him.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Hob is crying into his shoulder as he pulls Dream to his chest. “I forgot that’s what you hate hearing the most, I didn’t mean it. Not like that. Never like that.”

Dream chokes out a sob of his own, then wriggles himself out of Hob’s grip so he can turn around and hug his lover back. 

“I’m sorry too,” he says, pulling Hob into a desperate kiss. “I love you.”

“I love you too. I swear it Dream, I’ll never leave you alone,” Hob promises. “You’re absolutely worth fighting for, always.”

Dream doesn’t know what the future holds for them. But he knows, now, in this moment, soaked to his skin and freezing cold, that he and Hob can get through anything. Because they love each other. Because Hob will fight for Dream as much as Dream will fight for Hob. Because they’re not perfect people, but they are perfect for each other. And that is worth everything. 

[louisdelac]

lestat's "only it turns out the saint is not a city, but a handsome man with a most agreeable disposition" line when meeting louis is such a great character moment for him actually, because he means it so sincerely. he introduces himself to louis when louis's at his most guarded and combative (faced with a man he doesn't know, who's encroaching on one of the few people louis counts on to find some measure of peace and reprieve from the suffocation of his day to day life) and what lestat sees is a man who feels out of place and unhappy, who's got a hard, ruthless part of himself he wields and shies away from in equal measure, who's naturally distrusting, who knows how to present himself, all while being sharp and biting and lonely.

and that genuinely is perfect and agreeable and beautiful to lestat, because what lestat sees is a reflection of his own life. and there's simply nothing more agreeable than another person who understands you with an intimacy granted only from shared experience.

and it's so vital to lestat's character that the audience understands he is, above all, sincere in what he feels. likes yes he's theatrical and overdramatic and temperamental, but it stems from this deep well of raw passionate honesty. he sees louis and he falls in love with the broadest strokes of him, with the foundation that louis has built himself on. and then through the rest of the episode, we see him fall in love with the minutiae that louis shares with him - lestat falls in love with a man who adores the arts, who won't let him walk around in outdated clothes, who reads voraciously, whose eyes crinkle when he smiles and really means it, who baulks at playing the deferential fool even while mastering that game perfectly, who could run circles around any other man who sits at their table, who loves deeply and loyally and selflessly, who cries at a beautiful story and who is full of life and passion and ambition, and who wants to share that with him. like. they are bound by a cord, a cord that can't be seen, but it is real, and lestat is in love with a handsome man with a most agreeable disposition. genuinely.

[justin-chapmanswers]

Was there a different way [like work flow and stuff like that] you guys wrote season 3 differently from season 2? If so will you continue that flow into season 2?

Also do you have any tips on how to mange an object show since you've worked on II for a long time?

[The voices you do in II are so funky and I mean this in the best way possible]

Thank you so much! My funky voices are incredibly grateful.

Near the end of the pre-Invitational season two, the process was generally that we'd talk out where we want to go next, have our big debates, and Brian and I would draft up an outline for the team. Then the writing would start and, as it was for almost every season two episodes before Invitational, the group would just jump into a Google Doc and we'd write, together, chronologically until we'd get burnt out. Some of us were thinking of the minutiae on-the-fly, some of us would draft up practice-scripts ahead of time to work off of. It was chaotic, but then we'd spend a long while reworking/rewriting scenes.

Starting with Invitational, things changed. Most notably, we started having one writer per episode instead of jumping into the chaos. Having four writers in at once didn't help, it just made things complicated. It was about learning to let go a bit and trust the rest of the team to do a good job. We'd still of course chat about the events well-ahead of time, but then the writer would be the one to outline and pitch that outline to the team before writing. And then in revisions, we'd give notes to the writer instead of individually taking cracks at scenes. That way, the whole episode became one person's singular artistic vision. By the end of Invitational, we also weren't doing the "have our big debates" part of the process, anymore. We still would push for ideas we're passionate about, but it's been a long while since we weren't agreeable and on the same page.

So then there's the question about season two. We've been generally sticking to the Invitational way of going about things with season two, except also with Brian and I being back on outlining, and it's been going really great! Before Invitational, the pre-writing and writing time used to be the longest parts of the episode process. And not because we were spending that whole time being productive. It was common that the pre-writing planning part of the episode would be a little intense so we'd often take breaks after the previous episode's completion (plus because it's nice to take time to clear our heads) as to not jump back into chaos. And then carving time for all of us to be in the space for hours at a time while balancing school/life was tough to schedule. That all to say, now, the writing process is efficient and super-not-chaotic (aka healthy!). Instead of a few months at that stage, we're there maybe like a month and a half, from early concept (aside from the stuff we've been thinking up for years already haha) to final draft. And that's all while we've been overlapping episodes that are each at different stages, with their own things to get done. I think what we've been cooking up is gonna be really special. <3

I've been rambling for a while so I'll (try to) keep this next part short. As for the question about managing projects, that's just a tricky one cause I'd normally tailor the advice depending on the scale of the project, the amount of experience for those going in, etc. But in a broad sense I'd say do everything you can to work specifically with the people who make you excited to work. Whose ideas inspire you. If you're leading, really try to understand every step of the process. Definitely trust parts of the pipeline to other people if it's not your cup of tea, but really understand what they do. Say thank you every chance you get. If you're having fun with your show, whether it be the goofiest or most-serious of all shows, the viewers will, too. Making each step of production an enjoyable experience is worth fighting for.

[50calmadeuce]

Ch. 19: A Better Offer

Warning: Mention of miscarriage. Some chapters have sex.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Top Gun: Maverick world, trademarked by Paramount Pictures Corporation. I do not claim ownership of the characters and the world that I am borrowing.

The story and situation I am creating are a work of my imagination and I do not ascribe them to official story canon. This work is for entertainment only and is not a part of the storyline.

I am not profiting financially from the creation and publication of this story, but I do hope it gives you happy thoughts.

These stories are my own, so please do not take them and use them for yourself without my permission. If you see them somewhere else, please let me know. :)

The following morning found yourself in front of the living room window, absorbing the tranquil beauty of the sunrise while Jake showered. You wore lounge wear and with a freshly brewed pot of coffee prepared, you cradled a cup in your hands, savoring the warmth and aroma. The sound of the shower running and the peaceful sunrise offered a moment of calm reflection as you thought about last night and the last 4 years of your "relationship" with Jake.

As the first rays of sunlight painted the sky in shades of orange and pink, your thoughts meandered through the complexity of emotions and events in the last week and a half that had brought you to this moment. Yet, despite the challenges, there was a resilience to your bond with Jake, a tether that, although stretched, had never broken.

You took a sip of your coffee, the rich flavor grounding you in the present. The sound of the water in the shower ceased, signaling Jake's imminent appearance soon.

You realized that the path forward wasn't about erasing the past but rather about learning from it. It was about acknowledging the pain and the mistakes, but also the love that had endured through it all. The challenge would be to integrate your lives in a way that respected both your independence and your unity as a couple.

As you dwelled on the intimacy of last night, its significance began to resonate even more profoundly. You were always aware that Jake loved with intensity, but the depth of his affection and vulnerability revealed in those moments gave you a new understanding of just how profound his love truly was. This realization highlighted a powerful commonality between you two: both of you loved deeply, with a passion and intensity that was a foundational pillar of your relationship.

Jake came out of the bedroom, clad in his flight suit, ready for the day. "That coffee smells wonderful," he commented, making his way towards the coffee pot.

"There's a travel mug I got for you. It's in the cabinet," you replied, pointing him towards the new purchase designed to keep his coffee warm on the go.

He opened the cabinet, his eyes quickly finding the U.S. Navy travel mug. Setting it on the counter, he filled it with the freshly brewed coffee. "Thanks, darlin'," he said, appreciation evident in his voice.

You heard the sound of the cup being sealed and then his footsteps approaching. Soon, he wrapped an arm around you, pulling you gently into his embrace, and planted a kiss on your cheek.

"Morning," he greeted you warmly, his voice close and affectionate.

"Good morning," you responded, leaning into his embrace, feeling the solidity and warmth of him grounding you further. The simplicity of the gesture, the comfort of his proximity—it was these small moments that you realized you had missed the most during the years of separation and sporadic communication.

Turning slightly within the circle of his arm, you faced him, looking up into his eyes. "Did you sleep well?" you asked, genuinely interested in even the smallest details of his existence. These were the daily intricacies you had been absent from, the minutiae that, when woven together, formed the fabric of a shared life.

He grinned, a look of genuine contentment on his face. "I did. Haven't slept that good since we were in Wisconsin or at my parent's house."

His presence, the smell of coffee mingling with the fresh scent of his shower, created a cozy, domestic scene that you wanted to etch into your memory. It was a stark contrast to the turbulent emotions and the vast distances that had characterized much of your marriage. But here, in this moment, with the morning light casting a gentle glow around you, there was a sense of peace, a feeling that, perhaps, everything could indeed be alright.

"And you?" he inquired, turning his attention to how you slept.

You leaned further into his embrace, comforted by his presence. "Wonderfully. Thank you for asking," you replied, appreciating his concern. You sensed him take another sip of his coffee, the warmth of the moment shared between you two.

"What are your plans for today?" he inquired, showing interest in how you'd be spending your day.

"I'm going to check on some emails and then go from there. Do you need me to drive you to work?" you offered, ready to assist him with his commute if necessary.

"No. Coyote is on his way," he replied, indicating that arrangements had already been made for his transportation.

At that moment, a knock sounded at the door. Jake gently turned you to face him. "That's Coyote," he said, giving you a kiss. "I love you." He then moved to answer the door.

"I love you too," you called after him, your words carrying the weight of your feelings.

Coyote entered. "Morning, Y/N."

"Morning, Coyote. You two have a good day," you said, offering them both a smile and well wishes for the day ahead.

"We will," they assured you together, their voices blending in harmony as they exited, the door closing softly behind them.

You pivoted back towards the window, immersing yourself once again in the tranquil beauty of the sunrise. The serene colors of dawn painted the sky, providing a peaceful backdrop as you took a moment to enjoy the quiet morning.

After your shower, you settled at the kitchen table, your laptop open in front of you. You took a sip of your coffee, enjoying the quiet of the morning when your phone dinged, breaking the silence. Reaching for it, you saw a text message from Dr. Colson on the screen. He was asking if you could get in touch with him.

You quickly texted him back, agreeing to initiate a video call, then placed your phone down on the table. Switching to your laptop, you initiated the call to Dr. Colson.

"Y/N! How are you?" Dr. Colson greeted enthusiastically as he accepted the call, his face appearing on your screen.

"Hi, Jason. I'm doing fine," you responded, offering a smile through the screen.

Jason glanced around, noticing the difference in your background. "You're not in your office?"

"No. I'm actually in San Diego," you explained, watching his reaction.

"San Diego?" Jason echoed, surprise evident in his voice.

"Yeah, Jake got called back for a mission and he leaves this Friday," you explained.

Dr. Colson leaned back in his chair, the surprise morphing into understanding as he processed your news. "Ah, I see. That must be quite the adjustment for both of you," he commented thoughtfully. "How are you handling it?"

You paused for a moment, considering how much to share. "It's been… challenging," you admitted. "But we're trying to make the most of the time we have before he leaves."

Jason nodded sympathetically, understanding the complexity of your situation. He then shifted his focus, leaning in slightly. "Anyways, I wanted to talk to you about that Wyoming project."

"Oh, yes!" you responded, your interest piqued.

"Are you still interested?" he asked, a hint of hope in his tone.

"I would love to, but I need to check with my work on when I can do it," you admitted, the prospect exciting yet challenging.

"Dr. Stryker will, of course, be in charge of it again," Jason mentioned, observing your reaction closely.

You shrugged. "That's fine," you replied, your tone neutral.

Dr. Colson studied you for a moment. "Y/N. Did something happen during the first book writing? I've known you for a while now, and I consider you a good friend." His concern was genuine, hinting at the depth of your relationship beyond professional boundaries.

You sighed, a weight seemingly pressing on your shoulders as you prepared to share. "While in Wyoming, Dr. Stryker and I became friends. Pretty close friends, actually. He knew about Jake and everything I was going through, but he kind of took it the wrong way. I told him I just wanted to be friends."

The vulnerability in your voice conveyed the complexity of the situation, hinting at the discomfort and misunderstanding that had arisen from the friendship.

"The day we were at your office before the conference, he told me he still had feelings for me and that he still thought about me. I told him I didn't."

"Y/N. Why didn't you say something?" Jason's voice carried a mix of concern and surprise, reflecting his wish that you had confided in him sooner about the discomfort and tension you were experiencing.

"I was already dealing with enough; I didn't want to put that on someone else, and I left to go back home anyways." Your response highlighted a desire to manage your burdens independently, avoiding adding any stress or complications to others' lives, despite the personal challenges you were facing.

"Well, then how about something different?" Jason suggested, his tone changing, hinting at a new possibility.

You looked at him, intrigued by the shift in the conversation.

"A new grant project just came across my desk specifically asking for you."

Puzzled, you looked at him. "For me? But I don't even work for Texas A&M."

"Well, you made a really good impression on someone here at the conference." Jason's words implied that your expertise and demeanor had caught the attention of influential individuals, opening up unexpected opportunities.

"They want you to be in charge of the livestock study in the upper half of Wisconsin, so you can actually manage this project from home." Jason's announcement revealed an exciting opportunity that not only recognized your capabilities but also accommodated your personal circumstances, allowing you to contribute significantly while remaining in your own environment.

Your eyebrows rose in surprise, processing the unexpected turn the conversation had taken. "That's…wow, Jason. I'm honored they'd consider me for such a project, especially given my current commitments and location. But how did this come about?"

Jason leaned back, a grin playing at the corners of his mouth. "It seems your work on the previous project, your book, and your presentation here have made quite the impression. Plus, your approach to integrating practical experience with academic research caught someone's eye. They're looking for someone with your unique blend of skills to lead this study."

The possibility excited you, offering a new avenue to apply your expertise while potentially opening doors for future collaborations and projects. "And I'd be able to manage this remotely, from Wisconsin?"

"Exactly," Jason confirmed. "They're looking for someone who understands the local environment, livestock management practices, and has a strong research background. You'd be coordinating with a team, but the bulk of the project management can be done from wherever you're most comfortable."

Taking a moment to ponder the offer, you realized the potential impact this project could have on your career and personal goals. It was a chance to delve into a subject you were passionate about while also providing the flexibility you needed to maintain your commitments to Jake and your home life.

"Jason, this sounds like an incredible opportunity. I'm definitely interested. What are the next steps? How do I find out more about the project specifics and expectations?"

"We can set up a meeting with the project sponsors and the main stakeholders at Texas A&M. They're eager to discuss the project with you, go over the goals, and see how you envision leading this study. I'll coordinate with them to find a time that works for everyone."

"Thank you, Jason. Really, I appreciate you bringing this opportunity to me. Let's set up that meeting some time next week. I'm eager to learn more and see how I can contribute to the success of the project."

"Sounds like a plan. I'll touch base with you this weekend?"

"Yeah, that should work. If anything comes up on my end, I'll let you know."

"Sounds good. And tell Jake I said hi."

"I will. Thanks again, Jason." You ended the call, feeling a mix of anticipation for the new project and gratitude for the unexpected support.

"So, how did you end up with someone as amazing as Y/N?" Phoenix inquired of Jake as they exited the classroom. "She just seems way beyond your usual catch."

Jake quirked an eyebrow in response. "And what expertise do you have on the kind of women I'm interested in?"

Phoenix shrugged, her expression transforming into a teasing smile. "Could be your charm at work."

Jake glanced at her, slightly amused. "That's my piloting skills you're thinking of, not my romantic life."

Phoenix chuckled, shaking her head. "Fair point. But seriously, there must be something. Y/N is impressive. How'd you convince her to stick around with a daredevil like you?"

"It's all about that Hangman charm, Phoenix," he declared with a confident smirk.

Phoenix rolled her eyes again, her tone laced with mock annoyance. "To me, it comes off more as an irritation, but sure, keep seeing it your way."

"There's no need to imagine anything, Phoenix. I'm married to an incredible woman."

"I won't argue with that. I'm just curious how you managed to win over such an amazing woman."

Jake's laughter filled the air, a testament to the comfortable camaraderie between them, even amidst the teasing. "Like I've been telling you, it's all down to the Hangman charm."

Phoenix simply shook her head, amusement dancing in her eyes. "You're an idiot."

You were wrapping up with your final email of the day when the sound of the apartment door swinging open broke the silence. Jake stepped inside, greeting you with a warm, "Hey, darlin'," as he shut the door behind him and made his way over to you.He planted a quick kiss on your lips. "How was your day?" he inquired, his face lighting up with a broad smile.

You knew your husband too well and wondered why he was so happy. "Actually, my day was really good. Should I be concerned that you're so happy?"

"Nope," he responded, with an air of casual nonchalance and then looked you up and down. "You didn't get dressed today?"

You shrugged, slightly puzzled. "Why would I be? I just went through emails all day. Didn't even step out."

"Find anything positive?" he inquired, heading towards the fridge to fetch a beer.

"Actually, yes. Do you recall the Wyoming project Dr. Stryker offered me to collaborate on?"

You noticed Jake's body stiffen at the mention of the name. "Yeah," he replied, as he grabbed a bottle opener and opened his beer. He then slowly started walked towards you.

"I'm not going to take it. I talked with Jason about what happened the last time."

"But, Y/N, wasn't that what you were aiming for?" He asked, settling into the chair opposite you.

"Yes, it was. But I've been offered a grant for a different project closer to home. It allows me to work remotely while still fulfilling my responsibilities."

Jake's eyes widened in surprise. "Really?"

"Yes, I'm planning to discuss the details with Jason next week, but from what I've heard so far, everything sounds ideal."

Jake closed his eyes, his face breaking into a contented grin.

Observing him, you ventured, "You didn't really want me to take that job in Wyoming, did you?"

He opened his eyes, meeting your gaze. "We're still committed to being honest with each other, right?"

You shot him a knowing look.

"Okay, I'll take that as a confirmation. But to answer your question, yes, I was secretly hoping you'd turn down that one."

Your expression softened at his admission, understanding the complexity of emotions that must have been swirling within him. "It's because of Dorian, isn't it?"

He paused to take a sip of his beer. "I cannot confirm or deny that statement."

You shut your laptop, signaling the end of that conversation thread. "Don't worry about it. I had my reservations too."

"So, what's the project about?"

"From what I've gathered, it's a study on livestock. I'll probably have a clearer picture after my discussion with Jason next week."

Jake let out a sigh. "You know, my deployment is just a few days away. When we first got married, leaving didn't seem as tough. Why does it feel so different this time?"

"I believe last time, we hadn't fully grasped the impact of loss on one another. Now that we understand, our relationship has evolved. Our love never waned, but we've had to learn how to heal together this past week and a half." Reaching out, you took his hand, squeezing it reassuringly.

"You know, Phoenix was wondering how I managed to end up with someone as incredible as you. Now, she's got me asking myself the same question."

You couldn't help but smile at his words, feeling a mix of warmth and amusement. "Was she now?" you asked, your tone light, teasing. "Well, it's quite simple, really. You charmed me with your undeniable charm."

"See! That's exactly what I told her!"

Jake’s response, laced with a playful pride, made you laugh. "Oh, is that so? Well, it must be true then," you played along, keeping the mood light and affectionate. "But in all honesty, Jake, it wasn't just the charm," you added, capturing his gaze with a look of sincerity. "It was your heart, your strength, and how you make me feel safe and loved. Those are the things that truly won me over."

He listened intently, his playful demeanor softening into one of warmth and affection. "I guess I'm just lucky then, to have found someone who sees me for more than just the pilot or the charm."

"And let's not forget to mention the cockiness and stubbornness," you added playfully.

Jake chuckled, the sound rich and full of affection. "Ah, yes, how could I forget those charming qualities?" he replied, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "They're part of the complete package, after all."

"You know, it's those very traits that somehow make you even more endearing to me," you confessed, a smile playing on your lips. "They remind me of your determination and passion, even if they do drive me up the wall sometimes."

He reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch gentle. "Well, I suppose it's a good thing they work in my favor then. And just for the record, your patience and understanding with my less-than-perfect traits? That's part of what makes you so incredible to me." He cupped your face in his hands, and you closed your eyes, basking in the gentle warmth.

The moment stretched out, a small island of peace in the midst of life's relentless pace. His hands, strong yet so gentle, framed your face, and you could feel the weight of his affection, heavy and tangible in the air between you. When you opened your eyes, it was to find his gaze fixed on you, filled with an emotion so profound that it seemed to momentarily pause the world around you.

"Jake," you whispered, your voice carrying a mixture of love, gratitude, and a hint of the inevitable sadness that the thought of his departure brought. "I just want you to know... no matter where you are, or what happens, you're always with me. Right here." You placed your hand over your heart, the gesture simple but laden with meaning.

"And you're with me," he murmured back. "You make me a better man, Y/N. I carry your love with me, no matter where I go. It's what keeps me grounded, what gives me the strength to come back."

His words, so full of emotion and sincerity, resonated deep within you, wrapping around your heart like a comforting embrace. It was a powerful reminder of the strength of your connection, a bond that distance and time could not weaken.

In that moment, the world seemed to stand still, allowing you both to bask in the quiet strength of your love. It was a love that had grown and deepened through challenges and triumphs, a love that was resilient and enduring.

As you both lingered in the warmth of the moment, you realized that this was the essence of what it meant to truly be with someone. It wasn't just about the physical presence; it was about knowing that you carried a piece of each other within your hearts, no matter where life took you.

With a tender smile, you reached up, tracing the lines of his face with a gentle touch, memorizing every detail. "I'll be here, Jake. Holding down the fort, and counting the days until you return. You have my heart, always."

He leaned into your touch, his eyes reflecting the same depth of feeling. "And you have mine, Y/N. Always."

"It's going to be different this time, Jake."

"It will be," he concurred.

Tags: @buckysteveloki-me @bellyliveslife @tgmreader @callsign-barbell @86laura11 @dizzybee03 @kmc1989 @guacam011y @nerdgirljen @hookslove1592 @dempy @djs8891

[hierarchyproblem]

I remember a Marxist-Leninist I used to follow on here complaining about how her experience of organising with anarchists as a Marxist-Leninist group was that we argued about the minutiae of decision-making procedure instead of getting on with stuff, and then gave up on the whole project. That sounds superficially like we're basically a politically unserious lot, sacrificing any real achievements for the sake of ideological purity - exactly what Marxists always say about anyone who rejects the "pragmatism" of their Immortal Science.

But I've been exactly that anarchist before in a (theoretically) united front with a Marxist-Leninist group. We anarchists argued about procedure precisely because it became quickly apparent that in the absence of an agreed-upon decision-making process, the two members of the Marxist group would simply decide what we were going to do and run roughshod over any objections or alternate suggestions.

This, of course, had a disenfranchising effect on the unaligned members of our coalition, most of whom hadn't been involved in political organising before! For these people to learn that revolutionary politics meant surrendering their agency and doing what they're told is the last thing we wanted (the Marxists did manage to recruit one of about a dozen to their org though, so I guess they were happy)!

Our inexperience at fighting what was essentially entryism meant we more or less lost the fight for decentralisation; people drifted away as the Marxists kept trying to dragoon people into events centering on their pet issue (which I won't mention because to UK comrades it'll give away which group this was!) but thoroughly unrelated to climate change, which we were ostensibly supposed to be organising around. By the time we gave up on the group after a few months, attendance was less than half of what it was. The disunited front (hah) folded shortly after.

If we were to try something like this again we'd be better prepared, but given how nakedly the Leninists expected to be able to run the show for their own purposes - and seemed confused and irritated when people pushed back on that! - I'd be surprised if we bothered. This was one branch of one group, of course, but this wasn't even a Trot group (which have a reputation for this kind of thing) and I have other stories in a similar vein that I might share another time. The fact is that this kind of behaviour flows directly from the organisational structure of a centralised party, and it kills revolutionary passion stone dead.

[ananke-xiii]

My ranking of SPN seasons (based only on their PLOT) pt. 3

In my previous posts (here and here) I've covered the following:

15: Season 14

14: Season 15

13: Season 7

12: Season 3

11: Season 6

10: Season 13

9: Season 12

8: Season 1

7: Season 10

Let's continue!

6. Season 9: The plot for this season runs on parallel tracks: on one hand we have the consequences of the spell that Metatron cast at the end of season 8 (ie: angels have fallen, chaos ensues); on the other hand, we have the heroes' quest, finding and killing Abbadon. These 2 parallel plots find their meeting point in the Mark of Cain: frustrated because he's unable to kill Abbadon AND because of his serious fallout with Sam, Dean gives in and accepts the curse. His choice will have immense consequences on the heaven-related plot: it will be revealed that Castiel, who was working to settle things out in heaven, will give up everything to save Dean. Plot-wise, this was a good season. Once again, I felt that the death of a secondary character (Kevin Tran, RIP my poor baby boy), was done for emotional sake and to aggravate the heroes' fallout. It felt unnecessary, cruel and, frankly, not well thought-out (but the writers have already made the same mistake with Bobby and will make it again with Charlie SO at this point I think that they know what they are doing, I simply don't agree with their writing choices). All in all, the season was quite good, it did its job. Can't complain.

5. Season 2: This season expands on the season 1 plot, so basically we are still dealing with the heroes' personal vendetta against the Yellow Eyes demon who killed their mother. However, this time we are presented with more allies and enemies, the Winchesters' backstory gets more complicated and we start to guess that there's more at stake for the two brothers. It's not just payback anymore: the plot starts to thicken and we glimpes that higher powers were pulling the strings all along. Mary Winchester's death was destined. It's a strong season that starts with John's death and almost ends with Sam's death but not quite: the last episode is able to keep us interested for what's to come as we find out that Dean has made a demon deal to save his brother. I didn't like some "minutiae", like the whole thing about other humans being infected with demon blood at 6 months old as a "back-up" plan in case Sam was not the One. Sorry but when Destiny enters the chat you either go all-in or not, there are no back-up plans. Also, it turns out that Sam is not exactly The One since he gets killed by the other guy whose name I forgot. Soooo, you know... this doesn't sound solid, you can tell that the whole thing is there to 1) fill in episodes; 2) give writers some space in case things don't go as planned. I don't know, I was kinda bummed about it, yeah.

4. Season 5: This might sound controversial but... I didn't exactly like season 5's ending. I know that, according to the majority of articles I've read, this is considered THE perfect SPN season but.. you know, it doesn't cut it for me. The plot is very good, though, so here's why it's still high on my own personal ranking. Once we've established that Sam and Dean are the destiny's children (LOL) and that their own existence was predestined, we are now left with the big IF. A sort of "will-they-won't-they". Will Dean say YES to Michael and become his vessel? Will Sam say YES to Lucifer? I like it, this is good and the plot is well-developed throughout the whole 20+ episodes. BUT, here's the BIG but. I hated, HATED, the "Adam becomes Michael's vessel so that Dean can safely say no and the plot can still go as planned" expedient. I truly hate this kind of things with a passion. First thing first, I detest writers when they introduce "disposable" characters such as Adam (and many others in the show, tbh). This is my own personal pet peeve so I can understand why other people are not as bothered by this as I am. Aside from that, as I've said before, once you introduce DESTINY in the plot you cannot have back-up plans. If you do, the whole concept is weakened and, as a refult, the plot feels cheap. We had established that Dean and Dean only could be Michael's vessel. However, SURPRISE! Adam, being his half-brother, can be a vessel, too! Yu-hoo, Apocalipse can still happen even if Dean says NO! Ma'am, please. No. It's also very sexist since it implies the father's blood is the predominant factor in this whole charade (Adam is John's Winchester third ((maybe, who really knows at this point??) son). This is a big NO for me. Since it's an intrinsic part of the plot I can't walk away from this.

[esuemmanuel]

This current reality is full of emptiness; I see it and it saddens me, it paralyzes me, it drains me, leaving me totally barren, without creativity or motivation. I see no life, only mechanicity; the living dead being dragged along by their lowest passions; spawn of vanity, envy, greed and disdain. There is no honesty, only squandering of shame that translates into a superfluous veneration of rottenness. Where is soul, sincere emotion and art? Where? The voices of courage are silenced by the cries of those who sell minutiae, such as human ignorance and shame. I see neither purity nor honor, pure demonic lasciviousness that breeds in greed. How do I get what I see out of my eyes? How do I stop looking at the reality of the life that humanity is living? I cannot lie to myself! I cannot!

Esta realidad actual está llena de vacío; lo veo y me entristece, me paraliza, me drena de tajo, dejándome totalmente yerto, sin creatividad ni motivación. No veo vida, sólo mecanicidad; muertos en vida siendo arrastrados por sus más bajas pasiones; engendros de la vanidad, de la envidia, de la codicia y el desdén. No hay honestidad, sólo despilfarro de vergüenzas que se traducen a una superflua veneración de la podredumbre. ¿En dónde está el alma, la emoción sincera y el arte? ¿En dónde? Están callando las voces de valor por los griterios de aquellas que venden minucias, como la ignorancia y la vergüenza humanas. No veo pureza ni honor, pura lascivia demoniaca que se engendra en la avaricia. ¿Cómo me saco de los ojos lo que veo? ¿Cómo dejo de mirar la realidad de la vida que la humanidad está viviendo? ¡No puedo mentirme! ¡No puedo!

[rockitmans]

Hello, I really enjoy your writing and you seem confident in writing smut. Do you have any tips on how to go about it? I find is so awkward!

Hey thank you 😊 I am just a guy with a laptop but I can try my best to tell you some stuff that helps me.

First of all! My number one tip that everyone should follow IS that you really don't have to write smut if you don't want to. Probably obvious, but there's very few fics that actually require detailed smut and if it makes you uncomfy it may not be worth it. BUT I'm sure you know that already and are here for some actual advice so here we go.

Gonna get a tiny bit nsfw but not graphically. All this is advice only, nothing is ever a hard and fast rule, especially in writing. Take what you like and chuck out the rest. Other writers feel free to add on 💖

What's the point of the smut?

Personally I think smut is always better if it is conveying something about the characters or the story. If the point of it is just to be pwp that is absolutely fine ofc but if it's within a larger story what are you trying to convey? Desire for each other that's finally bubbled over? Connection and trust? Playfulness and fun?

Whatever the angle, try and keep that motivation in your mind. If the sex is about connection, focus on the internal feelings, lots of affectionate words between them, a lot of eye contact etc. If it's about that "I must have you now" passion, maybe it's quicker, choppier, more desperate and less talking.

Smut doesn't have to be hot to be good and valid in the story. Maybe it's sometimes deliberately bad sex. Maybe sometimes it's soft and sweet rather than steamy. Don't get too stressed trying to make it titillating (if I may use that word).

Character first

Following on from that. Think about your characters, especially in the context of the AU you've put them in if that's the case. Who would instigate? Who would take charge? If someone is very playful and jokey out of the bedroom, they'll probably take that energy into it. If they're serious and passionate, likewise.

I'm sure as a writer you've often thought that the characters sometimes just do their own thing without your input because you're in their head so much. Let that energy guide you through sex scenes as well. (I very accidentally set myself up for wall sex in one of my fics once because the characters would not shut up about it.)

Write about what you like

Especially for your first few attempts, write about stuff you enjoy. Whether that be in real life, fantasy or you just have an academic interest in. I've been called out multiple times for liking subby Blaine 😂 And yes! I do! I find it fun to write so that's why I write it.

Think about what specifically you enjoy about your scenario and express that on page. This should in turn lead to an enjoyable reading experience! If you're not sure what you like, read some smut and think about what parts of it appeal to you. Avoid writing kinks that squick you out.

It's about the fantasy

I wouldn't get too bogged down in mechanics. Especially of anal sex. Fanfiction is sort of fantasy and doesn't need to be incredibly realistic to be fun. By all means make sure you're conveying a sense of how your characters are positioned and how they are interacting but don't get into the weeds of minutiae if you don't need to. It's not a how-to guide and being too mechanical can remove the spice.

Invoke the five senses

General writing advice is to get all senses involved but it's just as important for smut. A few examples.

Sight: how their partner looks, their body, especially if it's your POV character's first time seeing them naked AND how that makes them feel. Lighting is a good visual way of setting the mood. Soft, romantic lighting for their first time? Candles for romance. Just in broad daylight in the middle of the kitchen for spontaneity.

Sound: Gasping, sighing, moaning, their partners voice. Are they talking? Laughing? Why? Are things going wrong or are they just giddy and excited? Is there people nearby that they can hear that adds to the thrill? Do they play music?

Smell: smells on the other person they've never noticed because they've never been that close before. I tend to avoid talking about unpleasant smells because it kind of takes you out of the moment. But washing powder, cologne, shampoo, all that stuff is golden.

Taste: I'm sure you can use your imagination on this one! The taste of their partners mouths when kissing, the taste of salt on their skin, the taste of them intimately

Touch: This one is so key! Are touches deliberate or incidental? Gentle or rough? What emotion does a certain touch invoke? Capturing sensation and mood can be more effective than pure description sometimes. And the touch doesn't just have to come from each other. What about the feel of the sheets? Toys? Are they having sex on a surface that is hard or rough?

Write scared

Posting smut is intimidating and a lil scary, especially the first time but probably several times after that as well. As the well known saying goes: Feel the fear and do it anyway. We all start somewhere and we are all constantly improving. If you are very brave you can ask for con crit but otherwise it's just a skill to hone like any other. I believe in you!