Jun 1
tbh just wanna write a smutty masterpiece bestseller so i can spend my time turning daydreams into money, lol.
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tbh just wanna write a smutty masterpiece bestseller so i can spend my time turning daydreams into money, lol.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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sometimes i wish i was one of those writers who, you know, planned things instead of just flying by the seat of my pants all the time.
because i actually have some (an IOTA, mind you, a very very small teenie tiny itsy bitsy bit) of motivation to write. and i would love to dive back in to scent of a camellia, specifically (not that anyone remembers it, i'm sure).
but because i never outlined it or whatever, i only have extremely vague recollections of what it was supposed to do and where i was supposed to take it and so i just... don't... write it... because i don't remember.
:(
just
like
okay
i so desperately want to convey in words the same sensual tenderness of an artist's rendering of beautiful hands - the flex of tendons, the pinch of flesh beneath their tips - but i CAN'T and it's UNFAIR.
whyyyyy is it so hard to find the exact romance story i want to read?
large, strong hands possessively gripping your waist, tugging you closer.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch β’ No registration required β’ HD streaming
wonder if i will still be writing smutty kakashi fanfic in my 70s. like, just the most geriatric mother fucker on the planet still typing away about 2D anime dick.
i hope so.
i wanna be tumblr's grandlem one day.
the only thing i'm gonna leave behind when i die is 8 million words of naruto fanfiction on ao3. put that shit on my tombstone.
ramble.
i wonder if the last year and a half has changed me as a writer. i wonder if a person's art can remain unscathed from the things which scar their heart.
i am reading a passage i haven't touched in a while and i think feel it is the best smut i've ever written because it's fucking tender. i want to write more soft things. more love.
because this world is so bereft of true fucking goodness so why don't i make some up for a while?
there are things i will have to write which might break me in half again; split me into quarters and eighths and sixteenths and so on until my cells are too small to be even a speck on the lens of a microscope.
all the wanting and the lack.
all the grief.
all the wish fullfilment ninja fucking magic that spins an impossible happy ending.
i miss writing. i miss the person i was 531 days ago. that person will never be again, but at least i can write a happy ending for somebody else.
yell at me to finish this smut thing finally, pls & ty.