talking to katsuki bakugou after sex and it’s slow, soft, probably the quietest and calmest you’ll ever see the guy.
it’s all gentle touches, soft kisses, easy pillow talk that feels like the most natural thing in the world.
it’s him, lightly tracing your hip with his finger, taking in how you shiver under his touch.
it’s his finger, dipping to the front of you and trailing back between your legs, sore and soft and still wet.
it’s the slow build of sliding your bodies even closer once more, exploratory kisses and little nips, hands pulling at muscled shoulders and slotting into soft fluffy hair.
and when he finally slides himself back in you, it’s the easy, gentle motion of his hips and yours, working in tandem. of your toes curling, the sheets falling around his waist. Of his eyes, holding you with such soft reverence as he leisurely ruts into you.
it’s the build up of tension, the coil in your core tightening and tightening until there’s no room for any more tension and it snaps, softly and powerfully and perfectly timed, when he’s eagerly spilling into you as you squeeze around him.
it’s the return to the soft, contemplative look on his face as he checks in with you after, the strong arms pulling you to his chest and the soft lips pressed into your hair before the pull of sleep drags you both back under
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If you come by the Chao sanctuary, you'll be surprised by the company that you'll find there.
A prim and proper lady who couldn't be more than 35, and a little worker drone that she called "daughter".
Of course, everyone calls their worker drones different things, but she treated her like a daughter too. If you ask her about it, then she'll say that a few years ago, she heard crying by a nearby dumpster.
An Untrained Neural Network, improperly discarded by the factory nearby.
She went in and asked what the issue was, and they said it wasn't hitting the right benchmarks for its destined future: construction. It didn't help that its sentience developed too early, and it began asking who its parents were.
She argued that, drone or no, they had the right to know where they come from. They shooed her out after that, muttering about overemotional women and whatnot.
And she's been taking care of little Cream ever since. She had always wanted a child, but the combination of running her Chao sanctuary and her husband's death made her give up on ever reaching that dream. Finding her when she did was like a miracle.
Then she'll introduce you to her. Cream really is a delight, and if it wasn't for her robotic appearance, you would've been fooled into thinking shes an actual child.
okay the gf fic is at 8.5k. and still going. they haven't even fucked yet.
anyway i want kai in this to be, like, gentle and caring cus it's his baby's first time. but just know that he absolutely wants to bend lloyd over and fuck him till he cries (but he's a good big brother & he's being nice about it)
Jason divided most of the coin up into four coin purses, all different colors, with the rest sectioned off into two piles. They'd long since lost the shame of it; we’re basically borrowing it, Jason had said more than once. Once it was pumped back into the marketplace, into the tax tribute, it would eventually end up sitting in someone’s coffers.
...
From the rich, to the poor. Nico could think of worse ways to make coin.
705 words, canon(vincent) x oc, sh3, fluff, rated g
There’s always so much buildup to the first kiss. There’s pining and waiting for what feels like forever, and then it all reaches a crescendo when lips finally touch. Credits roll, next TV romance movie comes on. New couple, new first kiss.
But it’s not like that in reality. What happens now, after that first kiss? Does something come next? Do we move on like nothing happened? Do we stumble in some kind of primordial tango to a hotel to go all the way or do we hold hands like elementary schoolers giving out valentines?
But you just smile at me. A cute, boyish smile, not the sort of sneer you sometimes give behind Sister Claudia’s back.
“That haunted house must have gotten to you more than you let on,” you say. “You’re still trembling.”
“Don’t tease me, Vincent,” I reply, matching your innocent smile with a knowing one of my own. “You’re the one who jumped at least once in every room.”
You lean in, letting your eyes dart over my features like you’re memorizing them. I could kiss you again, right now. We’re so close already, I can smell the tobacco and paper.
But then you pull back and give an innocent shrug, like you had just gotten caught with your hand in the cookie jar.
“In my defense, I had been planning on shooting for a fireworks backdrop, but…” you trail off to pointedly cock an eyebrow. “... I got the feeling that you didn’t want to wait.”
“Oh, I waited plenty,” I say. “Trust me, there have been lots of opportunities for me to kiss you, but…”
“But confession would have been awkward?”
Both of us laugh at that one.
“Well, in the hopes of getting a second date, I should probably let you know that nothing like that will be necessary. In fact, I think God would be pretty relieved to see me get out of the church more often.”
You start walking away from the mansion, gesturing for me to join you.
“Asking me out on a second date in the middle of the first one?” I ask. “Isn’t that a bit premature?”
“I don’t like to let opportunities pass me by, that’s all.”
Something in the way you speak makes me pause. Opportunity. I guess our relationship could be considered an ‘opportunity’, but it feels strange. Cheap. Like we’re walking through a used car lot instead of an amusement park.
“Hey.”
Your hand on my back draws me back to reality.
“Thought I lost you there,” you say.
I shake my head, and you take a moment to slip your arm from my back to around my shoulder. It’s a cheesy move, and judging from the eyeroll you give yourself, that fact isn’t lost on you, either.
I smile as I take a moment of my own to lean in and give you a kiss on the cheek. PDA might be a bit awkward for the both of us, but I enjoy it. I think you do too, since you have a trace of pink on your face when I pull back.
“So, where to next?” I ask.
You adjust your glasses, looking deep in thought. Then, “I think we should hit the roller coaster.”
Your words hang in the air for a minute, and I can feel a pit forming in my stomach when I notice the edges of your mouth twitching.
“Vincent…” I narrow my eyes. “Really, I asked you not to tease me, you know.”
I’m rewarded with your laughter, and I watch as you shake your head.
“It was like the blood completely drained out of your face! Did your life flash in front of your eyes there for a moment?”
I don’t dignify you with an answer, instead crossing my arms and looking away with a pout. But you pull me back in, pressing your lips against my hair to muffle your last giggles.
“Oh come on,” you speak against my skin. “I know for a fact that if you didn’t enjoy being teased, you wouldn’t be here.”
And that makes all the blood come rushing right back to my face.
Triumphant, you lead me onward– though, thankfully, not to the roller coaster.
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CW: BBU, modern slavery, hypothermia, vague past references to abuse, this is a pretty light one
WC: 1486
This is based on a post I can’t find again about a bakery that gets a box boy! This series will mostly be focused on recovery & fluff, that nice angst that comes with the struggle to heal. Jasper is a refurbished box boy, and I might do some pieces or flashbacks of his previous owners, but otherwise this will mostly be a comf/recovery series. Let me know if you’d like to be tagged! I’ve got a few pieces drafted for this already that I’ll be putting out over the next few days. Thanks to @moose-teeth and @whumpywhumper for beta reading!
847650 felt so, so cold. It was all he felt now, besides tired. The bindings on his wrists, holding them in place in the box as he tumbled and shook and turned in transport, blended in, just another piece of the block of ice that made up his body.
It hurt less though, now. The shivering as rain seeped into the box, soaking around him until he feels cocooned in dampness that freezes first against his skin and then in his skin. It had made its way through him like a serpent, moving through his limbs until its icy poison made his ribs tighten like a vice around his chest, making it hard to breathe. After that, it seemed to slither so deep in him that it was him. Icy numbness incapable of anything. It felt like peace, somehow, leaving him with nothing to do much more than wait, no thoughts besides fighting the drowsy feeling for a reason it was getting harder and harder to remember.
The frozen world that had become safe, and comfortable, abruptly shattered as he felt himself tipped, the world up-ending himself. He would’ve cried out, if it weren’t for the way he was slammed into the side of the box, pushing out his shallow breath into coils of frosted nothing in the air, setting his skin alight again with pins and needles of agony.
He couldn’t be aware of anything, even as the world came flooding back in through the sounds of voices and rain and road and movement. It was just a blur, bookended by a second thump as his box slammed harder, throwing him against the other side in a way that felt like it shattered every bone in his body. Still, no sound came, no movement, as he existed only to suffer in his crystallized cocoon of a body.
For long moments, his brain scrambled, struggling even to find the focus to breathe, let alone listen to the sound of swearing and latches being undone.
He could only find that as worthy of focus, when the damp walls were unwrapped, and warmth flooded in like mist, sending his body in further pain as molten awareness filled the comfortable cold, pushing it out of him.
Someone was talking, someone important and 847650 struggled to focus on why.
“Oh my god, you’re soaked” The words were spoken with horror, sending panic coursing through 847650 as he recognized the tell-tale tone of a mistake.
This is his owner, his owner towering above him, gray hair and pinched face and shaking hands. The sight makes the breath catch in his throat. He had fucked up. He had fucked up for his new owner before he’d even left his box.
Adjusting to the light, he can see now it’s a woman, an older one. Hair with more gray than blonde sits loose on her head, damp strands hanging limp. Wrinkles and smile lines dot her face like the memories of a life lived long, but not easily. But her expression. Her expression is stern, and immediately recognizable to 847560, down to his still cold bones.
Upset.
Fix it, his brain screams from a place of terror, and he tries to force out apologies on dry frozen lips, but it only comes as a wheeze, a whimper squeezed into raw air. 847650 shakes now, and tells himself its from the cold. But memories slam against the walls in his mind, sending shivers down his body. He wants to wilt away, but pulling away from an owner’s touch is forbidden. He isn’t sure how much he even could in the touches that feel gentle but only because his skin is like a shield of icy rubber still. His body feels stiff, unmoving.
Which isn’t good, because the next thing she says is, “Can you get out of there for me? These old bones aren’t as strong as they used to be.” A hand is outstretched, a confusing contradiction to her words.
It’s like moving the arms of a doll, rather than his, as 847650 twists, putting his arms on the lip and trying to balance on the prickling sensation to push himself up. But all he succeeds is falling out of the box with a pained yelp as the wood slips out from the barely controlled limbs.
But instead of the ground, warm arms catch his shaking body. “I gotcha big- well, you really aren’t that big, are ya? Just a skinny bean pole.” He looks up and her smile is tight, and strained, the words nervous.
847650 twists out of her grasp until he’s all the way on the floor. “‘m so’y” the words finally come on numb lips, as he sees the big wet spot on her sweater, the one that had felt so soft and is now covered in dirty rain water. “I-I ‘an do it” He tries to push himself up, but the lingering effects of the drugs, the cold, leave his head spinning, and he slips in the water spilled on the wood floor, landing back down with a thump that sends another jolt of pain. It’s more intense now, the warm air having soaked away some numbness, but only enough that everything feels like pins and needles again. Tears prick his eyes, and he squeezes them shut as he tries to breath through the pain with a whimper.
“Oh shhh, shhh, it’s ok. Oh dear- I’ve never done this before, I just- you stay right there, I’ll be back.” It’s a blessedly easy command as the footsteps retreat, but he can’t stop the screaming in his brain about how much he has messed up. How many mistakes he’s made in painfully short minutes. He tries to pull himself together, to think of what to say, but all he feels is white terror.
It’s too soon when his owner comes back...and drops something warm on top of him. Gentle hands rub through the fabric, soaking up the damp and cold as she coos gently with sushing noises at him.
“There, let’s get you all nice and dry. I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t think you were supposed to come until next week.”
847650 doesn’t understand. Is this a precursor to punishment? He was a week early causing problems, being bad before he even was for this owner. But she doesn’t sound mad. She sounds...nice.
Maybe..maybe she wasn’t his owner? Maybe she was another pet? But she didn’t have a collar, and he’d never met a pet this old. It was so hard to just think right now, with his brain feeling like it’d been left in the freezer.
“A-are you ‘y ow’er?” words tumble out ill-formed, even as he tries to enunciate. To be right.
The hands stop, adjusting the towel so he can see her more properly, and he struggles to not shake more in fear at the loss of such foreign kindness. “Oh, oh, I’m really bungling this up, aren’t I? I’m sorry, my name’s Adele Brooks, yes, I’m your owner. But, you should call me Della.”
And then. And then, she smiles at him, a real smile, without a trace of anger or sadism, so warm he feels his limbs tingle, “What’s your name, sweetheart?”
“W-wha’e’er you wan’ i’ ‘a be Miss ‘ella.” It was a risk, but he didn’t want to seem rude, using a nickname for an owner. It was unfathomable. He was already rude enough forcing her to dry him off because his body wouldn’t cooperate.
“I- oh, right. They make me name you, don’t they? I read it online, thank god, since it looks like the booklet is ruined.” He feels enough of his limbs to manage sitting up, feeling her drape the towel around him. It’s...sad. To lose the touch, some deep part of him aching for reasons he doesn’t know why at the loss.
She pulls a face, squinting at him. For a second his heart skips before he sees her smile return. “How about...Jasper. You look like a Jasper to me. What do you think?”
Does he look like a Jasper? What does a Jasper look like? He didn’t know if he did, and he didn’t want to say the wrong thing. So, instead, he just nods, hesitantly, hoping that’s enough of an answer.
“Well then, Jasper, why don’t we get you a bit more warmed up? Hmmm, what would you think about a warm bath? I thought they’d..well, have you come more...decent, but you look like you might fit some old things I’ve got laying around.” The hand reaches out again, an offering, and gently pulls him - Jasper - to his swaying, numb feet. He feels light-headed still, shaky, but he determines he will not mess this up. Not make anymore mistakes.
Not if he gets to keep feeling the foreign sense of warmth that had touched his chest with his owner’s smile.
Hello! Do you happen to know any prompt generators? I'm trying to write my main project but have been feeling blocked. Some authors actually say they immediately switch to another project when they start feeling "weird", for a few hours or for the whole day, and then they can come back to their main project with no block at all. I have all the characters and relationships and a part of the plot for the side project but am missing a main plot. So I'm gathering ideas! Thank you!
Hmm. I don't use plot generators because I think I have been randomly picking tropes to move me forward. Oh and I am DEFINITELY using tropes when I ghostwrite. I'm just like, what will happen here? And maybe the client gives me some tropes and maybe I just throw in my own.
Let me put a search into pinterest. I didn't find any in my own pins but there's this from Reedsy:
Jumpstart your novel with this random Sci-Fi plot generator, which can churn out 500,000+ good plot and story combinations. New plots are ad
This one kept popping up. A lot of people seem to like it.
Plot and storyline idea generator for a short story, novel, book, TV film, movie, soap opera or game script. Creates a plotline, characters
This one has whole bunches of plot generators from characters to worldbuilding to genre specific that you can choose from. Although the one I looked at didn't work. That might just be my internet though.
Learn how to use random generators to develop your plot and story ideas—and build a NaNo novel from scratch!
I actually love using prompts. Because there is no limit to what can happen in a novel, and that can be overwhelming. So to take the challenge of a prompt no longer means that you are struggling to know what to DO, but instead, working to figure out how to fit that prompt into your story.
BUT the reason why I don't use prompt generators for my own work generally is that I want my plot to be guided by my characters needs and goals and flaws and strengths. And while I can often figure out how to do that with generators, it can also take me off track and get me distracted by fun tropes and, like, side quests which don't directly relate to what I'm trying to write.
So how to get the main plot you need?
FIRST you need to figure out what your character's GOAL is. There might be an external goal-- to save the kingdom or get the shipment to the other side of the galaxy without the empire finding out, or to get your crush to fall in love with you, or to solve the murder or escape the murderer or WHATEVER. But there should also be an INTERNAL GOAL. What motivates your main character/s? Is it to find belonging in a family? Is it to make peace with a tragic past? Is it to learn how to love themself? Is it to become strong so no one can hurt you again?
The KEY is to entwine that external goal into the internal goal. The external goal COULD be the antithesis of the internal goal, that would cause a lot of tension. Or it could work with the internal goal. Maybe the heroine's goal of becoming a rock star is going to destroy her inner goal of finding love and acceptance. Or maybe the heroine's goal of learning to become a powerful magic user supports her interior goal of no longer feeling like the weak, powerless orphan. Or not, maybe she thinks it is but really what she needs is to protect others? WHO KNOWS?! That's the fun part actually. Trying to figure out what the characters NEED in order to fulfill the promise of all their struggles.
I guess that's why I don't use prompt generators. Because I want the goals to fulfill the character promises. And yeah I can click a generator enough times to find a prompt that could work. Yeah. That would work. OH, I remember when I was writing fanfic, I would ask people for prompts, and then I would make a list of all the prompts and would CHOOSE the ones that would best fit the story I wanted to tell. SO it wasn't totally random.
As for getting stuck... getting stuck is part of writing. That doesn't mean you need to abandon your story, but it DOES probably mean that there's something you need to address that's not working. The tricky part is figuring out WHAT'S not working. It might very well be something in the story, and if that's the case, you need to go back in your story and figure out WHERE you went off track. If you kept pushing, it might be sentences, paragraphs or even CHAPTERS back. If you are sensitive to that "something's wrong here" feeling, you can start catching it much sooner.
Sometimes you're not stuck because of the story. Sometimes you're stuck because of fear or self esteem or exhaustion or you're disorganized and confused or who knows? Figuring out why you're stuck is one of the challenges of writing.
