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trashlie · 1 year

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hey, i'm that anon that sent you the long message about FP 215 and 216 a while ago, thank you for giving such an elaborate response. and i hope you get plenty of time to relax and catch up on sleep, make sure to drink lots of water! 💗

i'm dropping by to bring up a couple of points for your consideration, if you don't mind. just something i've been thinking about lately.

i absolutely agree with you that kousuke doesn't really want nol out of his life. in my opinion, the reason is not guilt or jealousy or loneliness (i bet he'd 100% prefer being an only child even if his siblings were born in wedlock, also he's had a friend group in college, so he is/was capable of making friends). the reason for it is fear. 1) fear of disappointing father - since kousuke is nol's 'guardian' and if anything happens to nol, it'll be a 'failure' on his side and strain his relationship with rand. 2) fear of losing control - nol being gone = out of reach = out of his control = unpredictable = more of a threat. and we know how much kousuke needs to control everything in his life. 3) fear of losing a part of his identity - being 'better' than nol has become a big part of who he is. kousuke is nothing without his name, the company, etc. similarly, traits like being the better, smarter, more successful brother, the golden child, the 'rightful' heir have all become a part of him thanks to nol. kousuke can only achieve those by bringing nol down to push himself up. he needs nol to remind him of those traits, and he needs nol so he can look better compared to him to other people. and i believe he subconsciously realizes this, and hates nol even more for it.

in general, a lot of kousuke's behavior and the main reason for kousuke's mental state is that he's being eaten alive by his fears. fear of failure, fear of disappointment, fear of his image being damaged, fear of not being in control, fear of being exposed, fear of being nothing, fear of losing everything etc. some of those fears are made up and/or planted by yui (like disappointing his father, or nol being the enemy), but to kousuke, they're very much real. and if kousuke's going to grow, dealing with those fears, and recognizing the root causes of them (there's multiple), will be a big part of it. for now, in his current state... it seems to me like he's completely overwhelmed and craves safety more than anything, and well. yui is right there. idk if the brothers can ever reconcile tbh... it seems to me that nol hasn't completely lost hope in his brother yet, so it'll completely depend on kousuke.

and good point, you're probably right about nessa protecting nol from yui until she couldn't anymore, i didn't think of that, thanks for pointing it out! we still know so little about nessa and yui both, it's going to be really interesting to learn more about them...

AAAAHHHH hello Nonny! I've been looking forward to you coming back! Also thank you! I am trying my best!!! This week has not been my best but at least my brain is feeling less sluggish, so there's that at least!

Also I have got to say, reading this message made me feel really weepy. I think it's obvious, but Kousuke is a character I've come to be just as invested in as I am in Nol and Shinae and now Alyssa, and I think you hit the nail right on the head. I think because of the way Kousuke has treated Nol, and his apparent privilege coupled with his less than savory personality, a lot of readers just kind of... dismiss him. And to some degree, I get it. Kousuke is rarely doing himself any favors to endear the audience to him - but that is what makes him such a fascinating character. The story proves that privilege and opportunity alone are not enough, but it also shows us that people do not exist in a vacuum, and that everything they do is impacted by and also impacts something else.

And you're right - it does come down to fear, and there's a reason fear remains a prevailing emotion/driver in many stories. I think man vs man conflict so often comes down to fear, it's the root of a lot of ugly emotion. Jealousy stems from it - a fear that someone has something you don't, that maybe you'll never come to possess yourself.

I think there's a lot to be said of formative foundations. Had Kousuke been older when he learned of Nol, had he received security and love and comfort from his parents, maybe we wouldn't be here. But it was when he was young enough to be influenced, when he was so lacking in his father's love, and to learn that this boy knew there existed a side to Rand that he himself had never met? It never registered to him that Nol had never actually met him because fear came crashing down - all those rumors people were whispering about him were true. Rand, the man too busy for his own son, too busy for his own family, had a whole other family, and they knew a version of him that he'd never gotten to meet. It took root in him at such a young age all it could do was grow with him like a weed. He had no way to know otherwise!

And something that really fosters all that fear IS the fact that he endured that kind of neglect. On some level, Kousuke knows what Yui does. He's gone to great lengths to try to keep his life private from her so she doesn't interfere. He was rightfully upset when he realized she'd gone behind his back to hire Shinae (and under such false pretenses, too!) and upset about the birthday antics. But he still went to her when he found out Nol might leave, that he might have a one up on him. He knows Yui is horrible, but she's also his only pillar of security. She's also the one who fosters that sort of false reality he lives in, because it's only there that he has that security. When facts and logic counter what he believes, he loses control, and he retreats into the version of reality he knows, because that's the only place he feels safe. I think that's a big reason why he cannot face the truth, why he so often finds himself rewriting accounts of things that happened - he cannot handle the unsettling dissonance between what he believes and what is so.

What a driver fear is, too! On some level, I think Kousuke might be aware of that connection of his identity with Nol. Perhaps not on a conscious level, but I think subconscious he reacts to Nol leaving for exactly that reason - without Nol to serve as a metric for which to measure himself against, how can he be sure he's better, he's the best? As much as Kousuke's identity is wrapped up in trying to please his father and earn a transactional concept of love, it's also wrapped up in being Nol's guardian - which, as you point out, is just an offshoot of not disappointing Rand. I definitely agree, too; it just makes that resentment stronger. Wouldn't you feel a little self-loathing, too, knowing that you can only see your greatness if you see how you measure against someone else? Living and believing this person you are constantly trying to be better than might know something you don't, might have been privy to something you never were? Acknowledging that he tears down Nol because a part of him doesn't trust that he can lord over him unless he does, that maybe he COULD best him?

It makes such COMPELLING storytelling! Once you can see Kousuke from this angle, it makes sense - why he can't stop trying to drag Nol down into his pit, why he stumbles on reality and has to rewrite things, why he's so desperately in need of control. It's so easy to say that Kousuke should know better because he's an adult, but one of the loudest, flashiest messages of ILY is that age does not make someone any better lol. Wisdom doesn't come with age - it comes with experience and also humility. There's no room for that in Kousuke's life and his experiences definitely are lesser than others. He's surrounded by people who tell him what he wants to hear, who just make nice with him to get by and maybe see if they can take advantage of their proximity to him. What experiences does he have, outside of those with Nol, that can drown out the fear he's living with?

Something someone brought up on reddit was that Kousuke was, for the most part, pretty "chill" (lol chill for Kousuke that is) when we first met him at the start of the story. Okay, let's nix that, he DID trip Shinae for a piece of cake LMAO but that brings me to what I'm getting at. When the story opens, it feels like Kousuke isn't around Nol nearly as much. He has an informant in Soushi which allows Kousuke to keep tabs on Nol without needing to be involved, and he's at a sense of peace. When we see him interacting with Shinae, while he's definitely cold and blunt, he does try to treat her with some regard of respect after Shinae essentially saves his hide by keeping Nol's date-rape drink a secret. Now we certainly can argue that this is because Kousuke feels he is indebted to Shinae, but I think it's also because when he has less of that stress going on, when he has a clearer mind that's not so cluttered with his fear, he has room to be the gentleman he wants to believe he is, to be the person he hopes will make Rand proud.

But it's once Kousuke gets re-inserted in Nol's life - the hospital after the masquerade, Nol coming to work for the week, the entirety of the black and white formal - that's when we start to see all the cracks forming and watch Kousuke slowly start to lose that control and spiral. Nol coming to work was the real curveball for him. Not for one minute did Kousuke expect Nol to take work seriously, but worse, he never anticipated that Nol would be so good at it or that his people skills would illuminate a jarring truth that Kousuke had blinded himself to. From that very moment, Kousuke enters a grappling battle to maintain his role. It's not enough to be the heir - it's about impressing Rand, it's about earning some transactional love, it's about fulfilling a duty that he takes too seriously, it's about ensuring that he is not lost. I think to Kousuke you are in one of two places: either the light or the shadow, and you cannot share them. If Nol is in the light, that relegates Kousuke to the shadows, so compelled by fear, he starts on his quest to sabotage Nol, so that his own weaknesses are not illuminated by the points where Nol shines.

Aaaaaaahhhhhhh!!!!!! I really do have SO MANY thoughts and feelings these days about Kousuke and especially Kousuke and Nol, and the ways they are impacted by their families, the ways their circumstances pit them against each other. Kousuke has become a character I WANT to find his way, because I WANT him to be freed from the effects of his family and especially free of their control. I think your third point is SO VERY IMPORTANT because WHO is Kousuke outside of all of this? Who is he outside of Hirahara Heir, outside of besting Nol? He definitely knows there is something hollow and empty inside him - he wouldn't have to convince himself that he wants this career, that he wants to move to Japan, that he wants to do this if that wasn't true. He's so afraid that there is nothing more to him than the husk of a boy who is so desperate for his father's love, who tore others down for something that he ultimately never received, and frankly I cannot blame him for wanting to hide that and avoid facing it lol but I DO want to see him face that. I want to see what kind of person he decides to be outside of everything if he gets that chance. I say "gets that chance" but it's definitely more that he needs to actively come to that conclusion, but it's hard to imagine at this point what it will take for him to get there.

I don't think there's a lot that a conversation with Rand can do - though I do think that's highly necessary, if only to put everything in the open. I would love for Kousuke to get the chance to be honest with Rand, and not while being drunk leaving a voicemail or anything, but that's a big, big step. It goes against everything he's worked towards, goes against the very things that drive that fear. But I want to see him reach that point where he can tell Rand pointblank the ways he failed him, the way everything he ever did was because he just wanted that love and look at him, look at how he turned out! aaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh!

I'm also inclined to believe the same as you re: Nol. I know Nol made it sound like he's absolutely done with Kousuke - and I certainly don't think he'll be welcoming him with open arms any time soon lol - but I think much like us as readers, much as characters like Hansuke and Yujing, I think Nol wants to see Kousuke break himself free. Let go of Rand, escape the sordid security blanket that is his relationship with Yui, and find himself. Become his OWN person. I think Nol will be more receptive to Kousuke when he can finally do that. Because again, as established, so much of Kousuke's personality thus far is just being better than Nol, is just trying to earn Rand's affection. But what does he do for himself? WHO is he? I think that's what Nol is waiting for and I don't think we'll see any kind of amicable relationship until that comes.

AAAHHHHHHHH this is so long lmao but MAN I have so many thoughts and feelings about this and I LOVE getting to talk to people about Kousuke when they can see these aspects of him. In an intriguing way, both Nol and Kousuke are driven by fear, right? Nol lives in fear of himself, of whatever guilt it is he carries. He carries this fear that he is a harbringer of doom and harm, that association with him will only get people hurt, that getting too close and caring too much is damning people, so he spent his life wearing a mask, trying to keep others at bay, trying to coast by and hope maybe, MAYBE he could absolve himself of whatever that guilt is by helping others. And when he got too close, when he started to care too much, he ran away, he lashed out, he took up a new facade. He's denied himself anything he wants or anything that brings him comfort out of fear. But where Nol's fear is internal, Kousuke's is so completely external. But at the end of the day, they are both driven by fear. Nol, I hope, will come to terms with the reality that he DOES have safe spaces. Nana loves him and wants to help him, wants him to live, wants him to find enjoyment. Shinae has proven what a caring friend she is, that even after the way he tried to ghost her and the guys, she still keeps coming back. But Kousuke doesn't quite have that support system Nol does. Or, rather, let me take that back. He does, he's just not aware of it and can't see it for that. He's so blinded by what he's lacking in a parental way that he can't see that Hansuke is the one person in the world who absolutely 100% has his back, and I think in time, depending on the choices he makes, he could find that in Yujing and Meg, both. (I think there is SO MUCH room for Meg and Kousuke to eventually be friends with a similar dynamic to him and Shinae - where she is no longer so besotted or obsessive and she can call him out when he's being y'know, Kousuke, where he can develop respect for her as a person. I want it SO badly lmao I want SO BADLY for him to come around on her!)

Basically a very important thing I think is: neither Nol nor Kousuke have that family relationship with their parents. Nol lost the one parent who ever gave him warmth and comfort, and I don't think Yui sees Kousuke as a son so much as an extension of himself. I think found family is the way to go for them. Nol has it, if he's willing to let them be that, if he can swallow his fear and let them be there for him. I think Kousuke could have it, too, if he, too, is able to let go of his fear. AAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH I told you, just nonstop FEELINGS over here lmao thank you for always indulging me and my longwinded responses ;~; I just get SO EXCITED to talk about this, and especially to have these conversations who think so similarly about Kousuke and don't immediately go "throw him away he's irredeemable trash" lajfkafjkafjkaf lmao like fine for people who have those opinions but I just wanna dig into why these characters do the messy shit they do LMAO

#ILY Brainrot #I Love Yoo #Kousuke Hirahara #Nol #Nolan Oliver T. Lochlainn #Rand #Yui Hirahara #no FP spoilers in here for once you guys!!!!!!!!!#I think it's very obvious that Kousuke has become an incredibly fascinating character to me and I love getting the opportunities to talk #about him and what seems to motivate him and why he is the way he is #ILY is so careful to never create a scenario that is black and white even if it SEEMS like it's black and white #what makes Kousuke such an excellent antagonist is the circumstances that create the antagonism #there's a whole alternate reality where Kousuke realized that he could never earn Rand's affection and maybe he came out different #a whole alternate story where he and Nol allied themselves with each other brothers against a shitty family #but that's not their story that's not their reality #and getting to examine that illuminates the sheer tragedy of it all #I think it's also an excellent study in general of why people aren't good at getting the help we need #fear is such a driving force and i think that's the biggest takeaway when it comes to Kousuke #fear has clouded him so much that he can't see through it that he can't see a possibility where it DOESN'T plague him #he can't imagine anything BUT living like this #how can he see he needs help when he's TERRIFIED to admit it?#I don't say this to absolve Kousuke but just to understand him - that fear makes us do awful and oftentimes stupid things #it's such a primal driver and it's hard to admit you need help. Kousuke's whole THING is that he can never appear weak that he loses if he #does. so how can he admit that he needs it? for him to admit to Nol like that that he's scared he will never be good enough?#that was HUGE #AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH #I just want to see Kousuke find a way to free himself to find his REAL self to figure out what he wants #i want him to fail and fall and learn that life goes on and we make mistakes and sometimes we screw up and sometimes we face the darkest of #fears and life keeps going on and we learn to live with it and we learn to take different paths #he needs to see that life doesn't end if he falls - it just presents him a new opportunity

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zombieweek-g · 1 year

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chinball did everyone involved in this show so fucking dirty

#gathering up some of the most talented actors/actresses/composers/directors just to piss them all away #with the worst writing and scenarios you could possibly concieve #i cannot believe how dirty he did Whittaker with her entire incarnation and especially her regeneration #no emotional monologue or buildup and no heroic sacrifice #just pissing it away with more shitty writing #i used to always see so much fanart of yaz and 13 and was actually looking forward to seeing how they'd develop together in the later eps #but they dont #they get a handful of scenes together after 3 seasons of barely interacting #its like everything after flux is following up on a completely different first 2 seasons where these two actually had a relationship #that opening scene of flux especially was like getting a whiff of fun antics between the two of them only to seperate them for most of it #the specials certainly wertent any better either #that final scene with them sure wouldve been a gut punch if they had ant meaningful moments togehter outside of the same special #its an absolute tragedy that the entire reputation new who built up for itself as being a character drama basically got buried by one guy #literally nobody had a satisfying conclusion in this show #certainly not the master or the doctor #i know its not fair to compare this to the prior seasons but its insane how this was the worst conclusion for ANY of the new doctores/master #for a special that was as long as some movies this sure felt rushed as shit #maybe if 40 minutes didnt get wasted on a really convoluted way for the master to cosplay as the doctor #guess ive got a year now to warm up to doctor who again #maybe ill listen to some audio dramas

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kalosstarters · 2 years

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I wanna address the misconception that everyone wanted to see Ash vs Alain just so Ash could have a ‘revenge’ for the Kalos league finals. No. I personally wanted to see that match-up because (uh, I ended up rambling too much so cut):

1) at least those two have a ‘history’ together. They’re friends and they have battled against each other before. I personally don’t care about match-ups where the characters have not even interacted with each other on screen before the episode where they battle. Like, Lance vs Diantha? Their champion status is the only thing that makes that battle even vaguely interesting to me. One of the (biggest) issues in this particular tournament is that the only match up that JN has done some building up for is Ash vs Leon. That is why I found it extremely important that we would have had /at least/ one whole episode before the tournament starts that is nothing but the contestants interacting with each other. Sadly, based on what we currently know about the upcoming episodes, that’s not going to happen.

2) Because I care about both these characters. Alain and Ash are both some of my favorite characters in this anime and of course I want to see them battle for simply that reason. Although, ideally it wouldn’t have happened until semifinals but I knew from the beginning that that very likely wouldn’t be the case.

3) simply to see both these characters’ development! A lot has happened since XY&Z and both Ash and Alain have grown as trainers and have new mons and all that stuff so yes, that part would have also made it interesting.

(Going a bit more into details about what we know about the upcoming episodes here based on the summary+episode titles so don’t read further if you don’t want to know)

But all that being said, at the moment I’m actually fine with the Leon vs Alain match-up. 2 strong Charizard trainers against each other does make sense narrative wise. It’s the execution I’m concerned about because well, we know that this battle will already start in the next episode, and there is also a possibility that it will end in that episode. How do Tomioka&co think they are doing justice to this battle if the characters barely have time to meet before the battle starts, and 3 of Alain’s mons are gonna get knocked out within like 10 minutes? That is why I really hope that this battle is going to continue in the next episode. I do have some hope because in the preview (specifically for this episode) we did not see the charizards or the 3rd team members so... yeah. Trying to remain positive!

Well, that’s all I’m going to say about this, sorry for rambling!

#tia speaks #pokeani spoilers #if someone is wondering why i'm so upset about this whole alain thing; well see it from this pov:#you have a favorite character in a show. that said character has not appeared in almost 6 years #and you thought that you would never see him again (honestly i was fully prepared for that)#then all of a sudden it's announced that he is back for this tournament where 8 best trainers in the world are battling each other #you get HYPED. Bc ofc you do. All the possibilities that brings with it; at least my mind starts immediately picturing all the scenarios #that could happen #there certain expectations that come with such announcement #then you find out that he might get written off in the FIRST episode where he is #maybe not even have time to talk with ash before that bc of the battle #so... as a fan of the said character that does not sound good

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aaronymous999 · 8 months

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Seeing two posts on my dash both different arguments for Hobie’s age-

It’s so funny because if you’re curious about my opinion? Uncomfy with his sexualization because eh even if he is an adult he’s still pretty young but idk most people I see doing this are fellow teenagers which is a lot different than a 30 year old making that content which I don’t see often. ( If you’re curious- to me I don’t consider someone a pro-shipper if the character is ageless and they headcanon them as an adult, because headcanons are valid! )

Not gonna tag this because I know people are gonna yell at me but ageless characters are- ageless. And the creators of ATSV are purposely koi and contradictory about his age so idk. I *personally* headcanon Hobie in the 17-18 range because I’m about Miles’ age and most of my friends in High School are around that age because I go to a small school with mixed grades in classes. Fandom discourse is wild to me sometimes because a lot of people forget that everyone can have different headcanons and people keep cherry picking info just because they like a ship and want their opinion to be correct. I don’t label myself an anti-shipper because I don’t agree with a lot of the ideas there ( mainly the idea of thinking all media that just includes a horrible person is inherantly condoning it, you can write abusive relationships in a negative write people tone and connotation exists :) ) but generally I think it’s weird and gross to *want* to ship two siblings or fuck a character who is 15 years old. But this whole Hobie Brown situation doesn’t fall under that for me because his interpretation is vastly different depending on what you ship and what kind of person you are. If you are a Punkflower shipper and see him as just a year or so older than Miles? Great! Awesome! If you ship Noir and Hobie and therefore headcanon him to be Noir’s age? Cool that’s awesome! If you ship yourself with Hobie and headcanon him to be your age? Cool!!

Literally could not care less ( especially because I read Hobie as aro- ) just please stop fighting about it and if you don’t like something or don’t agree with a headcanon just don’t interact with it.

Imo I feel like people should be complaining about a lot worse stuff in the fandom, like for example how people fetishize Miguel or Hobie’s race instead because that’s weird and stop doing that. Or the misogynoir against characters like Jessica and Margo. Idk it just bugs me that this is a bigger issue to people than the sexualization of characters who are actually confirmed to be minors like Miles, Gwen, Pavtir, Margo, etc. Idk the Hobie stuff makes me enjoy the movie less and I just wanna enjoy the movie. Will probably post more cute headcanons I have to cleanse the brain :3

#aaronymous ramblings #again not tagging because I’m a pussy actually #also tumblr please stop putting smut spiderverse fics on my dash i do not enjoy that.#uhhh anyways wanted to share because a lot of my fav spiderverse artists keep getting flamed for headcanoning hobie as an adult #and i dont think thats deserved at all??#also idk it feels weird that people who claim that anyone who hcs hobie as an adult is racist when. most people I see doing that are also #black like in this scenario that makes zero sense #also not sure? if margo is actually confirmed a minor but i think she is???#i love love love margo #if she is ageless i personally headcanon her as miles age #although I will say there is a point to be had if you headcanon both margo and hobie as adults because in that case it just feels like #adultifying any unclear black character because you have an excuse because theyre ageless #but idk I legitimately have not seen anyone do that unless they have a pretty clearly racist account #just thoughts idk #also the reason i assume margo has a canon age is because she still lives with her implied abusive parents #and not that adults *cant* do that but generally most kids with parents like that move out as soon as possible if they have the fiancial mea #but idk maybe margo is poor but i still can only see her as a little guy #she is so 15-16 year old to me

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feral4daryl · 5 months

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need a part 2 of sweet scent with pervy daryl trying to explain it to you but you couldn't get it cuz you'd never done anything like it so he says he's gonna show you how good it feels and has to muffle your screams so no one in the house hears you as his cock practically splits your tiny cunt in half and he uses his thumb to rub ur clit to try and make u relax.........

I'm crazy but I'm free

masterlist and other infos || MDNI

sweet scent pt2.

perv!daryl x innocent!fem!reader

summary: after getting caught sniffing your panties by you, daryl persuades you into giving your precious virginity away to him while your dad's just in the next room.

warnings: EXTREME AGE GAP (daryl's is in late 30s/early 40s and reader is 18 [or older, it's up to you]), 18+ smut, praising, dubcon? (reader lacks enthusiastic consent at first and daryl has to do some convincing), panty gagging, p-in-v, blowjobs, cunnilingus, masturbation, manipulation, petnames, daddy kink, orgasm denial, mentions of dumbification, mentions of degradation.

word count: 6.2k

a/n: the following content contains some extreme fetishes and kinks that some readers might find disturbing, so if you're not comfortable with any of those, please do not proceed. click here to read part 1.

[...] His movements got slower until they stopped and he let go of his now sensitive cock. He sighed after catching his breath. he was left with that afterglow and the feeling that he made a huge mistake. suddenly, he felt dirty like before. He opened his eyes slowly, removing your panties from his face and putting them in his pockets. yeah, he knew it was wrong, but he was still planning to keep them for later.

Then, when he averted his gaze to the mirror on his side, he saw...

You. Standing on the doorframe with a shocked look on your face.

"U-uncle Daryl?"

---

Shit.

You definitely weren't what Daryl expected to see when he opened his eyes, the remains of his freshly busted nut all over his hand and his cock out, fully on display. For a good 5 seconds, he just freezed, completely unsure of what to do. But then, it hit him. He freaked out.

His eyes got as big as they possibly could and he immediately pulled his cock in his pants back again, clumsily trying to regain his composure, taking a little longer than usual due to his nervousness. Meanwhile, you just stood there with an unreadable expression. You didn't look exactly shocked, or angry, or anything like it. You looked strangely curious, with your head slightly tilted to the side.

Daryl shook his hand to get rid of some of his essence that was still sticking to it and then rubbed it on the side of his pants, on the hip area. Still not capable of looking you in the eyes, he quickly glanced at your frame and finally broke the awkward silence.

“Y/N? W-What'r'ya doin' here?” Stuttering was very unusual for Daryl, considering that although he was a man of very few words, he was always very direct and precise with them. Maybe playing it cool as if you hadn't just caught him in the act was the way out of that unpleasant situation.

“Well...” You let out a small chuckle and took a step closer to him. “This is my room.” His awkward smile immediately faded away.

“Oh, uh... I was jus’...” He looked around the room, searching for anything to use as an excuse for being there. But before he could start, you interrupted him.

“I didn't leave with the others, daddy told me to stay here to take care of you. He's in his room.” Your sweet girly voice had a way of calming Daryl, making him a bit more relaxed despite the current scenario and the shame he was feeling. But at the same time, just hearing you enunciate that one little word 'daddy' had him taking a deep breath to control his urges and not have another erection right there and then. You said that so innocently, because, well, it was in fact innocent since you referred to your actual father Hershel, but still, Daryl's twisted mind made it sound suggestive in his head.

“Take care'a me?” He pondered. Daryl wondered why your reaction was so calm considering what you had just witnessed. Maybe you didn't see much.

“You know, somebody's gotta change your bandage.” You smiled and pointed to his head that still had the bandage around it. “Actually, can you step to the side a bit? So I can...” You gestured to the dressing table behind him. He didn't say anything and just did as you said, moving to the side a little so you could approach the piece of furniture. In that moment, Daryl was the definition of what they call a standoffish.

“I was expecting to find you in your bed, resting. As you should, uncle Daryl.” Your voice carried a hint of playfulness along with a sincere worry. But the way you called him uncle for the second time that day gave him mixed sensations. He wasn't sure if he was aroused or weirded out by it. Or both.

You extended your hand, meaning to pull the drawer open to collect the items needed to change his bandage, which included the gauze, antiseptic wipes, medical tapes, sterile dressing and other kinds of medical stuff your dad had taught you how to handle, but you had to stop your hand midway when you noticed a white slimy thing dripping down the furnishing.

He followed your eyes, noticing how stared at the liquid. The farmer's sweet young daughter had just noticed the results of Daryl's arousal while it coated the dressing table. His mind started rushing with apprehension, you could tell your dad and everyone else how much of a perverted old man Daryl actually was, and he could be kicked out of the group, being left alone in the woods to fend for himself. It's not that he wasn't capable to make it on his own, but his family was important to him, he didn't wanna lose them over that type of thing that could change the way they looked at him forever.

“What's this?” You bended your knees a little, leaning forward and squinting your eyes to take a better look at the unknown substance. Now, you had completely forgotten the reason why you came into that room that was changing his bandage. Daryl lifted one of his eyebrows out of confusion. Did you really not know what that was? If that was the case, it kind of made sense.

Of course. Living on a farm far from the city, you had a close-knit relationship with your family in a way that they were pretty much all the people you would interact with. You had never had boyfriends, or kissed, or anything remotely romantic like that due to your dad's overprotectiveness, after all, you were his youngest daughter. All you knew about the existence of sexual stuff had been taught by him, when he mainly warned you about the terrible consequences of that type of action and that you had to stay innocent.

You didn't really know what he meant by all that, since he was very vague in his descriptions about sex. Hershel just used to say that there were certain areas on your body that you should never let a boy get near and you knew better than to disobey your father's orders, being aware that he always knew what was best for you. Not even your own hands had ever darted down your body to meet those spots more than once or twice before quickly pulling away. You wanted to remain innocent, whatever that meant.

But Daryl was the observant type, and he quickly caught up that you knew nothing about that type of thing. He knew you had always lived in that farm, away from the perverted hands of boys your age (or older like him) so connecting the dots wasn't tricky at all.

Oh, the things he could show you. That thought alone brought a somewhat creepy smirk to Daryl's face as he stared into the wall, contemplating the opportunity he had in hands to finally have his way with you. He knew he still had to be careful though.

“Daryl?” Your voice snapped him out of his trance. You turned your head to look at him before turning your entire body to face him. Your gaze was curious.

“This?” He motioned with his chin towards the dripping substance on the piece of furniture, looking out of place. “Ya don'... know wha' it is?” He double checked, wanting to make sure you were actually unfamiliar erotic nature of what you saw him doing.

“Well, I saw where it came from.” You revealed, not sounding accusing at all, just simply stating a fact.

“...How long 've ya been watchin' me?” He asked with an almost audible gulp. Though he was considerably excited about teaching you all that new stuff, he was still unsure if he should or not. It'd been so long since his last sexual interaction with someone else that he could barely remember it. And doing it with the daughter of the man that gave him a roof to put over his head in times like these? That was risky.

“A while.” You stated. Now, Daryl could notice how you started staring at his crotch area with a renewed sense of interest. That meant you had definitely seen his dick despite his efforts to hide it when he first got caught just moments ago. He wondered if you knew what it was or its purpose.

You stepped even closer to him and he couldn't help but step back slightly. “I've never seen somebody pee like that. Are you... Sick?” You raise an eyebrow. “The bathroom's just in the next room, you know...” Your worried tone was awfully adorable to Daryl. And well, he was indeed sick, but not in the way you meant it. Nonetheless, the amusing way you mistook his semen for urine made him share a light chuckle.

“Nah, tha's... Tha's not piss.” He bluntly let out. You walked across your room and over to your bed, sitting on its edge. Daryl followed you until he was standing in front of you. He crossed his arms.

“How so?” You tilted your head to the side with a sincere curiosity displayed on your face. You had seen the way he rubbed that one thing of his that you weren't sure how it worked until that slimy liquid started oozing out of it, deeply stimulating your curiosity.

“Ya sure ya wanna know?” His tone sounded more dark and his voice turned hoarser, however, that didn't seem to faze you. You nodded frantically. “Aigh', i'll show ya.” Once again, a smirk creeped onto his face. Your eyes were all sparkly as you attentively listened to him. “Sometimes people touch themselves ta feel good, ya know?” You shrugged, not really sure of what he was talking about.

As he spoke, he took light and slow steps towards you, like a predator preparing to hunt its prey, until his knees was almost touching yours. “Ya ever touched yerself, darlin'?” Despite the raspiness in his voice, it was now rather calm, with a surge of some sweetness to it.

“Like how?” You asked.

“Like here...” He extended his hand with a gentle movement, his finger tracing a path from the valley between your breasts down to your bellybutton. The slightly ticklish sensation made you flinch a little. Then, his finger continued making its way down to your lower belly, stopping inches above your clothed pussy. “'N here...”

Your breath hissed, and you started remembering how your dad told you those parts were sacred and shouldn't be touched by anyone, no matter who. The uncertainty was obvious in your face as you discreetly pushed his hand away. “Uncle Daryl...”

“Ya can call me jus' Daryl, sweetheart. 'M yer friend, remember?” He tried his best to sound convincing.

“Yes, Daryl...” You corrected yourself with an awkward chuckle. “I... I think I shouldn't.” You avert your gaze from his.

“Why not? Dontcha wanna know wha' it's like?” He leaned in a little closer, resting his hands on your thighs. You made a motion to try to push him away again, but he insisted on his touch. “Don' be scared, doll. 'M not gunna hurt ya. Quite the opposite.” He smirked while practically whispering the last part, making sure to sound extra coaxing.

You weren't really sure what you were afraid of, exactly. You just knew that you wanted to make your father happy and proud of you, since he'd always been so caring towards you and your family. In the end, you just wanted daddy's approval.

“I'm... I'm not sure. I don't know, it doesn't feel right.” You confessed, your voice filled with worry. Daryl knew how to be intimidating when he wanted to.

“'S okay, doll.” He spoke the way one would speak to a puppy. And giving you no time to protest, he used one of his hands to tug at the hem of your white tank top and pulled it up in one go, revealing your bare tits to him. He bit his lips, noticing you weren't wearing a bra. As quick as he did so, you felt so ashamed of your sudden nudity that you lifted your arms up to try to cover yourself up from his hungry eyes. “D-Daryl...”

“Shhhh...” He shushed you against your ear, making shivers run down your spine. Although you were uncertain, the way he spoke to you made certain parts of your body warm up, an unusual sensation for you. “Ya got such pretty tits... Ya shouldn't hide 'em away from me.” As he said that, he gently grabbed one of your breasts, giving it the slightest squeeze not to startle you. You couldn't help but let out a small squeak at the unfamiliar sensation. Weirdly enough, it felt good in a way you had never felt before.

“Ya like tha'?” He whispered. “It's nice, but... Daddy wouldn't like that. I just wanna make daddy happy.” You just wanted to be a good girl. Perhaps, you could find a different way of doing that.

“Yeah?” He muttered practically to himself as he got an idea. “Well, I can be yer daddy for today. Like tha', ya could make yer daddy happy in a way. Yer jus' gotta lemme lead ya, aigh'?” He didn't feel guilty in the slightest for making you engage in one of his twisted fetishes while you were barely aware of it.

“H-huh?" You were uncertain about the reason behind his suggestion.

“Ya can pretend 'm yer daddy.” He continued playing her mind. You weren't really sure if you liked the idea to depict him as your old man, but you tried to convince yourself to play along.

“But... What will he think of me when he finds out?” You fidgeted with your fingers. Meanwhile his grip on your breast continued to intimidate you.

“He don' have ta know. C'mon, dontcha wanna make daddy happy?” He conveyed in a hush against your ear, his thumb now grazing your sensitive nipple, making you feel that one funny sensation again. You couldn't help but lean into his touch.

You closed your eyes, darting your tongue out to lick your lips. The nervousness in you due to the newness of it all made your lips dry. The way Daryl was making you feel was curious, and you just wanted more of it. He took your silence as a confirmation.

“Good girl.” He cooed before capturing one of your nipples in his mouth, very gently sucking on it. The feeling made you arch your back instantly.

Yes. Yes. Yes.

You just wanted to be a good girl. And if following Daryl's lead was a way to do it, you were all in for it. Your senses awakened as a cascade of unfamiliar yet electrifying sensations coursed through you, a dance of pleasure that tingled on your skin. In that moment, a subtle warmth enveloped you, as if you had discovered a secret realm of bliss previously unknown.

You reached for his head, the feeling of your delicate fingernails scratching against his scalp and pulling him closer sent tingling sensations all over his body. Instinctively, you slightly opened your legs at the pleasure and that drew a smirk onto Daryl's face.

“Eager fer daddy, huh?” The way he referred to himself like that made a faint blush spread across your cheeks, although you couldn't wrap your head around the reason why. It felt so wrong but so right at the same time.

“I need ya to trust me, 'kay?” He said as he pulled your shorts down and then tossed them aside, revealing your white cotton panties. Once again, you felt to urge to hide, not knowing how to deal with someone else seeing you naked for the first time. But before your legs could involuntarily close, his big hands groped your thighs, keeping them spread apart. “'S okay, sunshine.” He practically manhandled you, gently but firmly pushing your body downward so you rested you back on the mattress.

The new position made you feel strangely vulnerable, but it wasn't exactly a bad feeling. Your doe eyes had a mix of unsureness and curiosity as they meet his. Sensing the mixed sensations within you, Daryl leaned in to place a small peck on your plush lips, aiming to make you more comfortable. The feeling of his rough lips against your soft ones so suddenly almost made you flinch, but they felt rather inviting. As he pulled back, a confident smirk could be seen displayed on his face.

The archer's rugged fingers traveled their way down your body once again until they found the soft fabric of your panties, making your breath hiss. He brushed his index and middle fingers against your clothed pussy lips. Just with that, the dampness was so obvious that a small wet spot could be seen on the cotton fabric right where your slit would be. He dragged his fingers across it until they reached your clit.

“This lil spot righ' here...” He kept his hand there. “...is magical." For now, he just added a small pressure, testing the waters and watching close to your reaction, but that was enough to draw a whimper from you, the unknown sensation making you grasp his forearm. It indeed felt magical. You bit your lips and though you couldn't see it, Daryl shared a satisfied smile at the way he was able to get you all hot and bothered with just a simple touch.

Your legs squirmed a bit and he took that as a good sign, so he continued. Now, he started slowly rubbing your clit in circular motions over the fabric of your panties. Your back arched again, and you accidentally let out a dangerously loud moan.

“Nuh-uh.” He brought his other index finger to his lips, gesturing for you to be quiet. “Ya gotta be quiet, ya hear me?” His tone was mostly reprimanding, which strangely excited you. You nodded, enjoying the authority he guided you with through those new sensations. You had touched yourself there before, but never like that. The sensation always felt somewhat wrong, but with Daryl, it was totally different.

You were still kind of upset at yourself for disobeying your dad, but the way Daryl worked his fingers so skillfully had you seeing stars. You never thought you'd be handing out your innocence for some old redneck you met just a while ago, but there you were, completely given to him.

In the beginning, Daryl used to always kind of avoid you, despite your attempts of trying to get to know at least a little bit about the mysterious archer. He knew that deep down, those desires towards you were always there, since the very first time he saw you. At first, he tried to brush them off, but now, all he wanted was to be the one to feel your tight virgin cunt for the first time.

In a swift motion, his big hands tugged at the hem of your underwear. “Up.” He ordered, gesturing for you to lift your hips so he could pull them down. You didn't argue at all and promptly did as he said, reveling in the control he had over you. It was like he dominated your weak mind. “Good girl.” He cooed once again. Oh, if only he knew what that did to your little inexperienced pussy.

After tossing the piece of fabric aside, he reached for you knees, gently spreading them apart. The sight of your glistening bare cunt had his mind rushing through all the things he could do to it. He wondered if he would be able to hold himself back and be gentle or if he would end up losing control. After all, he hadn't done anything like that in such a long time that his whole body was aching for it. He stared at it in an almost scary way, you'd never seen his eyes so hungry.

If his cock hadn't awaken until that moment, now it was hard as a fucking rock. He had to really fight the urges to pull it out his pants and dick you down right there and then, but he knew he had to take it easy on you at least for now and get you nice and ready for him, even though you were already visibly dripping wet.

“Is this all fer me?” His tone was almost mocking. You weren't sure what he meant by that, not fully understanding the concept of natural lubrication, but you just nodded with your eyes closed. Something about being in that position felt so right, so freeing that it had you wondering why you never did that before, and why you were so afraid of trying it in the first place.

Daryl's hands sensually traced their way down your body, exploring your every contour until they reached the back of your thighs, pushing them back until your wet cunt was all over his face. He tried his best to control himself, but his own arousal was practically taking over his mind, so he buried his face on it like a starving man. As soon as his wet tongue made contact with your sensitive little clit and he lapped at your abundant juices, you immediately gasped, gaining a look of disapproval from Daryl.

“I warned ya.” That was all he mumbled before taking your panties he had just took off you and sticking them into your mouth almost aggressively. You could taste yourself on the white fabric, and although it felt strange, it turned you on even more. Now, your little sounds were muffled by the piece of clothing as he resumed eating you out, flicking his tongue on hour clit and burying it between your folds. You never thought a feeling like that could actually exist as you experienced that overwhelming rush of pleasure, a novel sensation coursing through you sending shivers down your spine as a delightful warmth enveloped your entire being. You tried your best to hold back your sounds since your dad was home and could hear you if you slipped, but Daryl's skilled tongue and lips made it an extremely difficult task, even with your panties stuck in your mouth.

He continued working your clit with his mouth, and maybe a little sooner than it should, a tingling sensation forming in your lower belly caught your attention. Daryl noticed the obvious shift in your demeanor and took the panties out of your mouth so you could speak. “D-daddy...” You experimented the honorific he had previously suggested. “I-I feel funny.” You whimpered, squirming a bit harder than before as it started feeling as if you were gonna burst at any moment. Daryl smirked against your skin and gave your pussy a last peck before pulling away, making you whine in disapproval. It had only been seconds but you immediately missed the sensation. You craved it.

“Not yet, sweetheart.” He said. Not yet what, you wondered. But you still wanted to be good for him, so you nodded as the good girl you were. You couldn't think of anything you wouldn't do for him in that moment, considering how desperate you were to feel that pleasure again.

Your curious eyes followed his hands as they reached to unbuckled his own belt, setting it aside. He undid his pants and pulled them down just enough to reveal his boxer briefs to you. There. There was the place where you saw that sticky white thing shooting out from. Now, the excitement in you was unbearable as you propped yourself up on your elbows to watch his movements closely. Your eyes visibly lighted up and that didn't go unnoticed by Daryl.

“Yer gunna love this, lil' girl.” He bit his lips. Something was very obviously bulging in his boxers, which you found odd since it didn't seem to look so obvious when it was in his pants even though now it looked so big. Either way, you were completely drawn to it. You glued your eyes to his crotch while he pulled his underwear down.

You had heard about it, but you had never actually seen one of those before. In the aftermath of the apocalypse, his pubic hair had grown wild and untamed, a reflection of the makeshift survival and the absence of the once routine grooming practices. Not that he used to care a lot about that kind of thing before the outbreak. In a way, you thought it looked charming, suiting his rugged looks and personality.

You could feel your mouth starting to water at the sight of his cock standing tall and proud in front of you. Since the archer had touched his mouth to your cunt, you wondered if you could do the same to him in that same area on his body. As if he could smell your thoughts, he brought a hand to your head, gently pulling you closer to his crotch while he held it by the base.

“Ya wanna have a taste?” He slyly suggested and chuckled at your frantic nodding. Leaning closer to it, you felt the musky and raw scent that emanated from it, which made you even more drawn to the possibilities that ran through your mind. But at the same time, you didn't know what to do or how to handle it.

Bringing his hand to his mouth, he collected some saliva from it and rubbed the wetness on the tip of his cock to lubricate it. “Gimme yer hand.” He reached out his hand, and instantly you complied, allowing him to direct it towards his cock. He enveloped your hand around it, keeping his atop yours, slowly starting to move it up and down. It felt warm and hard against your soft fingers, and the way he threw his head back and quietly groaned made your stomach churn with butterflies. “Fuck baby, tha' feels good.” He had to whisper due to the dangerous presence of your dad in the house threatening to put your little playtime to an end.

You smiled proudly at yourself. You liked the way he sounded and you wished to draw more of those grunts from his lips. And Daryl, being just as eager as you, removed your hand from his length, holding it by the base. His other hand found its way to the back of your head, his touch almost feeling impatient as he pulled you closer to his cock. “Open yer mouth.” He didn't have to tell you twice. Therefore, he guided his swollen tip to your awaiting tongue, smearing his salty pre-cum all over it. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying his best to hold back any compromising sounds.

Your lips instinctively closed around his tip, trying to mimic the way he sucked on your clit, aiming to make him feel as good as he previously did to you. The act not only gave him pleasure, but it also brought you a deep sense of satisfaction, making you hum against his sensitive skin. The vibrations from your vocal chords sent a chill through his body and he couldn't hold back this time, the warm sensation of your mouth being so tempting and promising that he pushed his hips forward a bit too much, causing it to hit the back of your throat and you to gag on it.

He immediately retracted his body, removing his cock from the velvety confines of your mouth. Your eyes got a little watery but you smiled either way. “Sorry, princess.” He said with a hint of awkwardness in his voice.

“It's fine, I liked it.” You confess, looking up at him with those big doe eyes of yours, sitting at the edge of the bed while he stood in front of you. Your innocent expression contrasting with the dirty nature of your encounter made him impossibly hornier, and he didn't feel like waiting any longer. “Fuck” He almost whined. Eagerness to feel you wrapping around him filled his body, so he grabbed you by the arms, not too rough so he wouldn't hurt you, and put on your feet against the pink wall of your room.

He brought a hand to your head, pressing it against the wall. You gasped a little at his roughness but soon you felt him brushing the tip of his cock on your slicky slit and clit. “'S gunna feel good, I promise.” He mumbled against your ear, making your body hair stand on end. The sensation had you biting your lips to try and not make any sounds, but your efforts were proven useless as you felt the pressure of his tip carefully going in your cunt, causing a burning sensation and you accidentally let out a loud cry.

Daryl's hand went immediately to your mouth, forcefully pressing his palm against your lips to muffle your sounds, your dad shouldn't hear Daryl using his sweet daughter in his own home after all. “Shhh, shhh.” He shushed you, resting his chin on the top of your head for a moment. You wrapped around him so tight even though he only had his tip in yet that he couldn't restrain himself from pushing his hips forward a little more, intensifying the burning sensation while he stretched your virgin cunt out.

“'S okay, ya can take it.” In that moment, you were confused at why he was making you feel so good just a moment ago, and now he's ripping your little pussy apart. But even though it hurt, it was somewhat pleasant to feel so full in such a new way, so you stuck your ass towards him, inviting him in. While still keeping his hand pressed on your mouth, he brought his other one to your hips, gripping them a little too tight.

Without warnings, he buried his entire length in you in one swift motion, filling you up to the brim and worsening the burning to a whole new level. The only thing that kept you from letting out a scream at the sudden invasion was his hand muffling your pathetic sounds and the fact that you'd be in deep trouble if your dad found out about that, but even so, Daryl couldn't help but quietly grunt at the intense sensation. He didn't know he missed fucking a warm cunt so badly until he was completely inhumed inside you. “Good girl. Yer being so good fer daddy.” He praised you. His words had an immediate effect on you, making your pussy even wetter, if that was even possible.

You didn't even care if it hurt or not anymore, so you just stood there, caught in the paradox of sensation — a mix of pain and pleasure etched across your face. The twinge felt like a sweet ache, and yet, an irresistible allure pulled her deeper into the experience, as if the discomfort held a hidden charm that she couldn't resist exploring.

Despite the pain, you found herself oddly drawn to the sensation, craving more as if the discomfort carried an inexplicable appeal that kept you coming back for another taste. So you slightly wiggled your ass against Daryl's body, moving his cock a little inside you. The feeling of being stretched out had you desperate for more.

Daryl's warm breath hit your ear as he let out a light-hearted laugh at your reaction, sending delicious goosebumps all over your body. His hips started going back and forth to meet yours in a sensual dance. He tried to be gentle at first, but your virgin cunt was just so wet and warm that he couldn't help it but succumb to his primal desires. “Jus' like tha', princess. Take this fat cock.” He whispered loud enough so only you could hear, making you weak in the knees.

His calloused hand let go of your hips to find your clit, starting to rub it with just the right pressure to make you squirm under his touch. The mixed sensations of intense pleasure and pain confusing your brain, making you melt like putty in his hands. Overwhelming waves of pleasure surged through you, leaving your head blissfully empty as if every thought had been swept away by the sheer intensity of the sensation, which was exactly what Daryl wanted, to turn you into a brainless little fucktoy for him.

If a few months ago somebody told you that you'd be letting some perverted older man take advantage of you in your own room, you would've laughed right in their face. Giving your innocence away to anybody used to feel like such a distant reality, and now there you were, pressed against the wall by Daryl's sweaty body while he mercilessly pounded your no longer virgin cunt, making you experience the most pleasurable pain you could ever feel.

As he continued bucking his hips like a desperate animal, you drooled against his hand, your brain now reduced to putty due to the overpowering sensation that dominated your every sense. “Nngh...” Your muffled moans stirred an even deeper desire within Daryl, turning him as primal as one could be. Your body language made it obvious that you were close to your orgasm, and this time, he didn't plan to deny you of it.

But you had never experienced something like that. You didn't know pleasure could get so extreme that could made you burst, so as the sensation built and grew stronger, it also made you unsure about where it was taking you, and you tried to fight the feeling. Daryl's skilled fingers working your clit only threw you even closer to the edge and you felt like your legs could fail at any moment.

Noticing the shift in your demeanor, he muttered against your ear. “Jus' let it go, baby. Trust me, don' hold it.” His tone was strangely sweet considering what you were both up to, but his encouraging words relaxed you a little, and as he intensified the rubbing on your clit, you knew you wouldn't be able to hold it in not even if you wanted to, whatever it was.

Then, it hit you. An entirely unfamiliar and intense sensation washed over you, catching you off guard. It felt like uncharted emotional and physical territory, leaving you completely stunned, wide-eyed, and grappling with the unexpected intensity of the experience, something that almost made you mad at your dad from convincing you of staying away from it for so long.

Daryl had to intensify the pressure of his hand against your lips, but even so, he wasn't able to muffle your cries completely as your body convulsed and you were sure you lost consciousness for a few seconds. “Good girl, cum for me.” You didn't know what that word meant, but considering the situation, you understood that it probably had something to do with the new type of pleasure you just experienced.

As the orgasmic sensation slowly faded away, it was replaced with an even more overwhelming feeling of overstimulation. You squirmed even harder and you swore you could cry if he continued using your cunt like that, not giving you any breaks to catch your breath. You'd been turned into a whimpering and drooling mess, a total slut for his cock. You wanted him to have his way with you and you knew that if he wanted to, you'd let him fuck you all day without arguing.

The intense clenching of your tight pussy around his length initiated his own orgasm, and now it was his turn to experience the compelling feeling of being right on the edge of pleasure. “Fuck, turn 'round." He desperately voiced, but he didn't even waited for you before decisively grasping your shoulders, swiftly turning you to face him. As he did so, he removed his cock from inside you and stroked it hard and fast for a few seconds with just enough pressure to make himself burst.

Your mesmerized eyes watched as the pleasure took over his body. And now, it all made sense as he started shooting his load aiming right on your bare pussy, just as he was doing earlier today when you first caught him in your room. The warm sticky substance coated your cunt and it was so much that it felt like it would never end, leaving you astonished. You couldn't help but smile at the sight before you.

You two stared into each other's eyes while desperately trying to catch your breaths, sharing a small chuckle and satisfied smiles. He leaned in to press a soft kiss to your forehead and now, you knew who to come up to when you feel that funny feeling in your lower belly again. You knew Daryl had what it took to take care of your needs.

Without saying anything else, he pulled his briefs and pants back up again, adjusting his clothes. Then, he reached for his pocket, pulling out those panties he had stolen earlier and putting them on you again, leaving his load smeary and sticking to your skin. “Leave it there.” He hoarsely voiced, ordering you to walk around with his cum inside your clothes while no one else knew of it except the both of you.

“And these...” He walked over to your bed and bended his knees a little so he could reach for the white cotton panties he had tossed aside right before railing you and put them in his pocket.

“...'M gunna keep these fer later.”

a/n: omg guys the first part of sweet scent got over 1.1k notes and that's like??? insane??? tysm for all ur support, that's crazy. it was so much fun to write both parts and i'm so thankful if you read it this far!! i hope y'all have a great and happy holidays xx

taglist: @imagininghim , @murdadixon , @epilepsywarrior8787 , @darklydixon

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ceilidho · 9 months

Text

prompt: ghost and you are the only survivors of a military plane crash. you spend weeks alone in the wild together. (ns/fw)

In the years you’ve worked as a flight attendant, you’ve never experienced a plane crash before. It’s exactly like what you would’ve expected.

Clear skies rapidly turn grey outside the tiny windows to your left and right; you notice it almost instantly because it casts a pall over the interior of the aircraft. It makes the small group of men that you’ve been travelling with sit up a bit straighter in their seats, only a few of them looking genuinely concerned. Military men often do; it’s in their nature to worry and fret. You feel it like a twinge in your gut, like something telling you that you don’t usually fly through dark clouds.

The soft ding of the seatbelt sign comes on a handful of seconds later. The turbulence only a few moments after that.

Pilots are trained to avoid cumulonimbus clouds like they’re a harbinger of death (and they are). Even large airliners avoid crossing the path of a cumulonimbus. Your pilot should’ve known to divert and fly around the cloud, avoiding the possibility of flying through a thunderstorm altogether. The pilot’s voice crackles over the intercom for everyone to fasten their seatbelts and you notice distantly that his voice seems frazzled.

Your hands grip the seat as you strap in. This is exactly the kind of scenario you’ve prepared extensively for, but in the face of it, your stomach tosses and turns. Practice can only hope to ape reality; it often falls short.

From across the aisle, you lock eyes with the lieutenant in the skull mask that politely refused a beverage ten minutes ago. The plane jostles you violently in your seat as it passes through a rough patch of turbulence. Even the lieutenant, twice your size and rooted into his seat, his hands clamped around the arm rests, grunts when he’s rocked side to side.

There’s a loud pop outside the aircraft and the plane teeters dangerously to one side. The bags in the overheads bash against the doors, the plastic squeaking under their weight.

Someone screams. The other attendant sitting across from you is already shouting, “Brace! Brace! Brace!” The mantra bursts from his chest along with spittle and the singular, quivering note of fear. There’s not much more you can do but follow his lead, dropping your head to your knees and wrapping your arms around your legs.

Your stomach drops when the plane descends far too suddenly. You would’ve been pulled back against the wall if your arms weren’t wrapped around your legs. You have enough time to peek up briefly to see all of the other men assuming the same position, some with their heads pressed against the seat in front of them before the aircraft nosedives and there’s a sharp whistle in your ear and the lights flicker ominously in the cabin and something tears and tears and tears and—

Then it’s dark.

Your grip must have loosened because the world disintegrates after you hit your head. There’s only a faint buzz and something ice cold, something that grips you from the inside and slithers over your skin. The aftermath of a crash is so quiet for the devastation it brings.

The big one in the scary mask is the one who drags you from the wreckage, lifting you into his arms when you’re still too dazed to do more than whimper pathetically. Fear and pain and adrenaline have crumpled you up into a little ball.

“Keep your eyes open,” he says, and maybe it’s a shout. His voice is so loud. When you open them, you nearly close your eyes instinctively when you see the gaping hole in the plane where it’s been torn apart.

“Where are—” it hurts to speak, but you have no choice, “—the others…”

He doesn’t respond. That makes it worse. You slip your arms around his neck so he can hike you closer up his chest. Slung over his shoulder is a black duffle bag that he must have pulled from the overhead, or what’s left of them. When your head turns on a swivel, you startle at the sight of the other attendant still strapped in his seat, his neck snapped back at an odd angle.

You turn your head away.

“My leg hurts really bad,” you sob, fingers clutched in the sweat-matted fabric of your saviour’s shirt.

He palms the back of your head and tips you just enough for you to meet his eyes. Something dark shutters over his face for a split second. If your eyes weren’t filled with tears, you might’ve noticed it. It passes fast though, too quick for you to register it in these conditions.

“‘Gonna be okay, sweetheart,” he says, gentler this time, rough-sounding like he’s not used to using that tone. “Gonna get us out of here and then I’ll check your leg. Just hang on to me.”

It’s hard to catalogue every moment because you drift in and out of consciousness. You feel the man shift you in his arms whenever he clambers down the side of the mountain your plane must have flown into. There’s debris from the wreckage scattered around the rocks, the other half of the plane not too far away. When your eyes blink open briefly, you see how decimated the other half is.

There aren’t any other survivors. Only bodies. He doesn’t stop for them.

Far off from the wreckage, he sets you down onto the soft earth and rifles around in the bag he took. There’s a first aid kit with supplies that he uses to wrap your ankle, which is swollen and tender. The adrenaline crash is nearly more violent than the plane crash you just survived. It wracks through your body as the lieutenant strips your shoes and socks, gently manipulating your foot in his big hands. You notice he’s also lost the mask.

Ochre yellow and green plains spread outward from the mountains. You remember from the flight maps on board that you were somewhere over Mongolia, but the exact mountain range eludes you. This could be the Khangai or the Sayan or the Altai, but you have no way of knowing.

“Is there a…a phone in the bag? How’s anyone gonna know we’re out here?” You sound helpless, smaller than you’ve ever sounded.

He shakes his head. The tight ball of tension in the middle of your chest grows tighter. The thought that you’re stranded in the mountains in Mongolia, thousands of miles away from home and no way to get help is almost enough to send you into a panic attack.

A hand cups under your chin to tilt your head up. His face up close is exquisite and haunting—weathered in the way that career military men often are, burn marks and old scars littered across the delicate skin, lips perpetually chapped, and a nose that looks like it’s been broken way more than once. You can’t look away.

“Someone’ll be looking for us,” he says. It’s reassuring only because he says it like it’s a certain thing. “Don’t know if you saw who was on that flight roster. A lot of important men were supposed to arrive in Germany at twenty-one-hundred hours.”

You nod, tears still dribbling down your cheeks even when he swipes his thumb across to rub them away. He’s not wrong. There was a colonel on your flight after all. Dead now, hot corpse still steaming in the wreckage half a kilometre away, but he would’ve been important enough to warrant an immediate rescue.

You go still under his touch. “You weren’t on the flight list.”

He shakes his head. “Never am.”

“But you were with them?” You remember someone on the flight addressing him by his rank. It was early on in the service, when you were still strapping down bags and doing cross-check, making sure everything was in place. But you remember, even then, seeing that there were more bodies on the plane than names on the list; you’d brought it up to the captain, but he’d brushed off your concerns. Maybe he knew the reason behind the lieutenant’s name being held off the passenger list.

It’s all moot now anyway.

“Can’t bring a ghost on a flight,” he says darkly, like it’s a joke. Like you’re in on it together. “Can’t put it on the roster at least. S’bad luck after all.”

It’s a monstrous joke at a time like this. Your life feels cracked in half and the scarred brute of a man that pulled you from the wreckage makes jokes like it happens to him every other day. When the sky splits later that night and pours out a lake’s worth of rain, it feels appropriate. You huddle with the lieutenant at the base of a densely branched tree and shake.

Five weeks in the mountains go by slowly.

The shelter he builds is haphazard but meticulous, composed of various materials that Ghost scavenges from the plane wreck. A door becomes a makeshift roof. He makes you sit and wait as he collects dozens and dozens of branches, chopped down from the surrounding trees and fashioned into a lean-to. Padded with moss and leaves.

“I can help with getting the leaves,” you protest when he catches you hobbling around and carries you back to the nest of blankets and tarps that he’d pulled from the plane. He goes back every so often to see what remains and what can be used. It’s the only time other than when he hunts that Ghost leaves you alone for even a second, preferring to be within arm’s length of you the rest of the time.

“You can help by sitting your ass down,” Ghost grunts without even looking up at you.

You frown, fingers digging in the dirt by your feet. It’s a silly complaint but there’s never anything to do but wait.

In the early morning hours, Ghost goes off and hunts for you, when the world is still quiet and the animals are still asleep. They’re sluggish when dawn still hasn’t peeled its pink belly off the surface of the world. Ghost comes back with a deer slung over his shoulders one week, his knife still protruding from its neck, and your stomach only twists a little bit. Not used to seeing where your meat comes from.

There’s not much choice when you’re on your own in the elements. Every day, you expect to see a helo appear over the horizon, and you end each night crestfallen when it doesn’t.

It’s not like you haven’t completed basic training, a prerequisite to applying as a military flight attendant, but admittedly it’s been several years and basic never taught you to hunt for your food. You did other things that seemed, at the time, inconsequential to your career path, like learning to rappel and how to wait an hour for your NCO to show up for PT in the morning.

Even if your ankle hadn’t been badly sprained, you wouldn’t be much help. Ghost’s remarkably self-sufficient. It makes you question whether he’s done this before—whether he’s gotten stranded in the woods for weeks on end and had to learn to live hand-to-mouth.

“Have you…where’d you learn all of this?” you ask him in the dead of night, when the wind is a shrill hiss through the trees and you cower close to him in your sleeping bag (also salvaged from the wreck, though his has a tear down the side of it).

Ghost is quiet for a moment. “All over the place. Been doing this for years, love; had to learn.”

“Anything ever like this?”

Even with the absence of his mask, it gets so dark at night that you can’t see his face. You can hear the wry smile that plays on his lips in his voice though. “I’ve had worse days.”

There’s a story there that you see like a fish darting under the water. Too quick for you to catch with your bare hands.

You wake up with your cheek pressed against his pillowy chest most days. It’s embarrassing at first, but you learn to let it melt off you when you meet Ghost’s eyes and there’s nothing there but piercing blue. They root you in place most of the time but they never tell you to move.

It takes a while before your ankle starts noticeably healing. In the intervening weeks, Ghost almost dotes on you, in a rough, untested sort of way. Like he doesn’t have much experiencing tending to another person besides himself for weeks on end. As the weeks drag on, it morphs into something unrecognizable, like a wounded animal healing wrong.

It starts when Ghost insists on sharing sleeping bags. It’ll be easier for him to pull you close if something tries to drag you off in the night (and doesn’t that thought put you on the brink of a panic attack until he shushes and soothes you). It escalates when you make the mistake of tending to the meat hanging over the fire while he fiddles with the little radio he’d dragged back from the plane, and the look he gives you when you tell him that supper is ready borders on reverent.

It gets even worse when he has you both strip your clothes off on a particularly cold and rainy night, wrapped around each other for warmth.

“Sweetheart, you’re shaking,” you hear him rumble, big hand drawing a line down your back. You do tremble at that. “C’mon, get closer. Gonna warm you up.”

You wake up in the middle of the night when your ankle is starting to feel solid enough that you think you can manage to go off on your own to relieve yourself instead of waking Ghost up again. That’s the plan anyway. Before you’ve even managed to crawl all of six feet away from your sleeping bag, a rough hand pins you by your shoulder to the ground and the heavy, over two-hundred pound body of your companion drapes itself over you.

“Where the fuck do you think yer going?” Ghost snarls.

For the first time in a week, there’s a moment of genuine fear. It’s like realizing for a split second that the animal you’ve let creep up behind you is a lot more dangerous than you thought it was.

“I have to pee,” you whisper-hiss, heart still skittering in your chest.

He’s silent behind you while he mulls that thought over; you think maybe he’s still half-asleep, his body acting on instinct before his brain’s ready to take over. The tension only releases you when he finally picks himself up off you, but it’s immediately made worse when he insists on accompanying you into the woods.

He doesn’t even turn around while you pull your underwear down and squat. Ghost’s eyes are bright in the dark, trained on you like it’s the thing that gives him purpose.

Things change in the woods. There are people who are only one bad thing away from reverting to their neolithic mind; as the weeks go on, you see the way his eyes change when they fall on you, no longer detached but gluttonous.

There’s a brown bear that slouches past your camp one day, sniffing around only because it’s curious, and Ghost all but completely obstructs your vision with how he shoves you behind him. He puffs up big when the bear gets too close, keeping you hidden until it snorts and ambles off, not interested in the pair of you.

Do animals act like this? He curls you around him in sleep, legs tangled together. When you soak in the lake under the glare of the sun, he slips into the water and comes up behind you until his hands close around your waist and he tugs you closer to the edge, away from the deeper parts. It’s testament to how long you’ve been out on your own that you’re no longer unaccustomed to the feel of his hands on your bare flesh.

His lips on your bare shoulder are a little less commonplace, but you only shiver and stare out at the mountains.

Then one day, you look up into the sky away from the sun and there it is, a black dot on the horizon at first. You scream for Ghost, who’s skinning a fish on a damp log near you and start waving your arms wildly in the air, unbridled joy streaming out of you. He’s quick to pull his mask on when the chopper lands a few hundred yards away and two similarly dressed soldiers spill out.

You ignore the stiffness in his body as he sits beside you in the chopper, pinning you against the side. Ignore the way he answers for you when the men start asking questions.

What does it mean to come back worse?

“Wha’s that, love?”

“Trauma bonding,” you repeat, swallowing nervously. It’s months later, but the weeks on the mountain and the forest still haunt you. The real world seems flimsier now that you’re back in it, less real somehow. Here, no one hunts for their food. “The therapist said that we trauma bonded. And—and that’s why you won’t—”

Here’s where the words can’t seem to come out on their own.

He sleeps in your bed these days—can’t stand to be more than a room away from you at any given time. Follows you into the bathroom when you need to clean up at the end of the day, crowding you into your too-small shower. The you from a month ago wouldn’t have been able to imagine inviting a six-foot-four soldier into your apartment, but—and here’s where your brain scrambles a bit to catch up—you didn’t invite him in.

He lifts a brow. The mask comes off in your apartment, so you’re able to see the way his lips slip into something unimpressed. “Why I won’t what?”

You swallow. “You know. Leave.”

“Do you want me to leave, love?”

That’s the crux of it. The heart of it. You really don’t. In the dark sometimes, if the wind rustles outside your window just right, shrill like those weeks in the forest and out on the open plains, your heart pounds in your chest until it grows so tight that you think it’ll just stop.

“No,” you whisper in response to his question.

Most nights, you wake up drenched in sweat, still half in a dream where you turn your head and the other flight attendant is staring back at you with wide, empty eyes. Blood dribbling down from his head. Where a plane is ripped in half, grey metal strewn across a mountain and the valley below is a dark pit where you go to die.

Then you roll over in your bed and Ghost is there, already awake and cupping a wide hand over your cheek, laying kiss after kiss across your face. Murmuring that it’ll be alright, that you’re safe. That he’s got you.

His breath is hot on your skin.

You let him roll you over and spread your legs when he says those things. Let him be a bit filthy after being so kind to you in the woods.

He spits on your pussy and rubs it in with a coarse thumb, chuckling when you yelp all breathlessly and squirm away. Sometimes when you fuck, he gets rough with you and slaps it, but he’s always tender with you after a nightmare, content to sooth you with his mouth on your pussy until you’re close to hyperventilating.

“S’alright, sweetheart,” Ghost breathes, spearing you on his turgid length, barrel chest heaving when he finally crams it all in. Always a bit too big for you to take without crying. “I got you, I’ve got you. Not gonna let anything happen to you.”

It’s a new development, but it feels older than time. You could’ve let it happen in the woods and you might have, if no one had ever come.

“Look at me, sweet girl,” he tuts when you turn your head to the side, holding your face in one hand until you have no choice but to stare at the bulk of him straining over you. He has shoulders like mountains that roll when he pushes into you. “Didn’t I say I’d take care of you?”

You don’t want to acknowledge what this is: that you found something in the woods and it followed you home.

#cod mw2 #ceil writing #cod x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #cod simon riley #simon riley x you #ghost/reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost cod

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she-who-fights-and-writes · 2 months

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“Show, Don’t Tell”…But This Time Someone Explains It

If you’ve ever been on the hunt for writing advice, you've definitely seen the phrase “Show, Don’t Tell.”

Writeblr coughs up these three words on the daily; it’s often considered the “Golden Rule” of writing. However, many posts don't provide an in-depth explanation about what this "Golden Rule" means (This is most likely to save time, and under the assumption that viewers are already informed).

More dangerously, some posts fail to explain that “Show, Don’t Tell” occasionally doesn’t apply in certain contexts, toeing a dangerous line by issuing a blanket statement to every writing situation.

The thing to take away from this is: “Show, Don’t Tell” is an essential tool for more immersive writing, but don't feel like a bad writer if you can’t make it work in every scenario (or if you can’t get the hang of it!)

1. What Does "Show, Don't Tell" Even Mean?

“Show, Don’t Tell” is a writing technique in which the narrative or a character’s feelings are related through sensory details rather than exposition. Instead of telling the reader what is happening, the reader infers what is happening due to the clues they’ve been shown.

EXAMPLE 1:

Telling: The room was very cold. Showing: She shivered as she stepped into the room, her breath steaming in the air.

EXAMPLE 2:

Telling: He was furious. Showing: He grabbed the nearest book and hurled it against the wall, his teeth bared and his eyes blazing.

EXAMPLE 3 ("SHOW, DON'T TELL" DOESN'T HAVE TO MEAN "WRITE A LOT MORE")

Telling: The room hadn't been lived in for a very long time. Showing: She shoved the door open with a spray of dust.

Although the “showing” sentences don’t explicitly state how the characters felt, you as the reader use context clues to form an interpretation; it provides information in an indirect way, rather than a direct one.

Because of this, “Show, Don’t Tell” is an incredibly immersive way to write; readers formulate conclusions alongside the characters, as if they were experiencing the story for themselves instead of spectating.

As you have probably guessed, “showing” can require a lot more words (as well as patience and effort). It’s a skill that has to be practiced and improved, so don’t feel discouraged if you have trouble getting it on the first try!

2. How Do I Use “Show, Don’t Tell” ?

There are no foolproof parameters about where you “show” and not “tell" or vice versa; it’s more of a writing habit that you develop rather than something that you selectively decide to employ.

In actuality, most stories are a blend of both showing and telling, and more experienced writers instinctively switch between one and another to cater to their narrative needs. You need to find a good balance of both in order to create a narrative that is both immersive and engaging.

i. Help When Your Writing Feels Bare-Bones/Soulless/Boring

Your writing is just not what you’ve pictured in your head, no matter how much you do it over. Conversations are stilted. The characters are flat. The sentences don’t flow as well as they do in the books you've read. What’s missing?

It’s possibly because you’ve been “telling” your audience everything and not “showing”! If a reader's mind is not exercised (i.e. they're being "spoon-fed" all of the details), your writing may feel boring or uninspired!

Instead of saying that a room was old and dingy, maybe describe the peeling wallpaper. The cobwebs in the corners. The smell of dust and old mothballs. Write down what you see in your mind's eye, and allow your audience to formulate their own interpretations from that. (Scroll for a more in-depth explanation on HOW to develop this skill!)

ii. Add More Depth and Emotion to Your Scenes

Because "Show, Don't Tell" is a more immersive way of writing, a reader is going to feel the narrative beats of your story a lot more deeply when this rule is utilized.

Describing how a character has fallen to their knees sobbing and tearing our their hair is going to strike a reader's heart more than saying: "They were devastated."

Describing blood trickling through a character's fingers and staining their clothes will seem more dire than saying: "They were gravely wounded."

iii. Understand that Sometimes Telling Can Fit Your Story Better

Telling can be a great way to show your characters' personalities, especially when it comes to first-person or narrator-driven stories. Below, I've listed a few examples; however, this list isn't exclusive or comprehensive!

Initial Impressions and Character Opinions

If a character describes someone's outfit as "gaudy" or a room as "absolutely disgusting," it can pack more of a punch about their initial impression, rather than describing the way that they react (and can save you some words!). In addition, it can provide some interesting juxtaposition (i.e. when a character describes a dog as "hideous" despite telling their friend it looks cute).

2. Tone and Reader Opinions

Piggybacking off of the first point, you can "tell, not show" when you want to be certain about how a reader is supposed to feel about something. "Showing" revolves around readers drawing their own conclusions, so if you want to make sure that every reader draws the same conclusion, "telling" can be more useful! For example, if you describe a character's outfit as being a turquoise jacket with zebra-patterned pants, some readers may be like "Ok yeah a 2010 Justice-core girlie is slaying!" But if you want the outfit to come across as badly arranged, using a "telling" word like "ridiculous" or "gaudy" can help set the stage.

3. Pacing

"Show, don't tell" can often take more words; after all, describing a character's reaction is more complicated than stating how they're feeling. If your story calls for readers to be focused more on the action than the details, such as a fight or chase scene, sometimes "telling" can serve you better than "showing." A lot of writers have dedicated themselves to the rule "tell action, show emotion," but don't feel like you have to restrict yourself to one or the other.

iv. ABOVE ALL ELSE: Getting Words on the Page is More Important!

If you’re stuck on a section of your story and just can’t find it in yourself to write poetic, flowing prose, getting words on the paper is more important than writing something that’s “good.” If you want to be able to come back and fix it later, put your writing in brackets that you can Ctrl + F later.

Keeping your momentum is the hardest part of writing. Don't sacrifice your inspiration in favor of following rules!

3. How Can I Get Better at “Show, Don’t Tell”?

i. Use the Five Senses, and Immerse Yourself!

Imagine you’re the protagonist, standing in the scene that you have just created. Think of the setting. What are things about the space that you’d notice, if you were the one in your character’s shoes?

Smell? Hear? See? Touch? Taste?

Sight and sound are the senses that writers most often use, but don’t discount the importance of smell and taste! Smell is the most evocative sense, triggering memories and emotions the moment someone walks into the room and has registered what is going on inside—don’t take it for granted. And even if your character isn’t eating, there are some things that can be “tasted” in the air.

EXAMPLE:

TELLING: She walked into the room and felt disgusted. It smelled, and it was dirty and slightly creepy. She wished she could leave. SHOWING: She shuffled into the room, wrinkling her nose as she stepped over a suspicious stain on the carpet. The blankets on the bed were moth-bitten and yellowed, and the flowery wallpaper had peeled in places to reveal a layer of blood-red paint beneath…like torn cuticles. The stench of cigarettes and mildew permeated the air. “How long are we staying here again?” she asked, flinching as the door squealed shut.

The “showing” excerpt gives more of an idea about how the room looks, and how the protagonist perceives it. However, something briefer may be more suited for writers who are not looking to break the momentum in their story. (I.e. if the character was CHASED into this room and doesn’t have time to take in the details.)

ii. Study Movies and TV Shows: Think like a Storyteller, Not Just a Writer

Movies and TV shows quite literally HAVE TO "show, and not tell." This is because there is often no inner monologue or narrator telling the viewers what's happening. As a filmmaker, you need to use your limited time wisely, and make sure that the audience is engaged.

Think about how boring it would be if a movie consisted solely of a character monologuing about what they think and feel, rather than having the actor ACT what they feel.

(Tangent, but there’s also been controversy that this exposition/“telling” mindset in current screenwriting marks a downfall of media literacy. Examples include the new Percy Jackson and Avatar: The Last Airbender remakes that have been criticized for info-dumping dialogue instead of “showing.”)

If you find it easy to envision things in your head, imagine how your scene would look in a movie. What is the lighting like? What are the subtle expressions flitting across the actors' faces, letting you know just how they're feeling? Is there any droning background noise that sets the tone-- like traffic outside, rain, or an air conditioner?

How do the actors convey things that can't be experienced through a screen, like smell and taste?

Write exactly what you see in your mind's eye, instead of explaining it with a degree of separation to your readers.

iii. Listen to Music

I find that because music evokes emotion, it helps you write with more passion—feelings instead of facts! It’s also slightly distracting, so if you’re writing while caught up in the music, it might free you from the rigid boundaries you’ve put in place for yourself.

Here’s a link to my master list of instrumental writing playlists!

iv. Practice, Practice, Practice! And Take Inspiration from Others!

“Show Don’t Tell” is the core of an immersive scene, and requires tons of writing skills cultivated through repeated exposure. Like I said before, more experienced writers instinctively switch between showing and telling as they write— but it’s a muscle that needs to be constantly exercised!

If I haven’t written in a while and need to get back into the flow of things, I take a look at a writing prompt, and try cultivating a scene that is as immersive as possible! Working on your “Show, Don’t Tell” skills by practicing writing short, fun one-shots can be much less restrictive than a lengthier work.

In addition, get some inspiration and study from reading the works of others, whether it be a fanfiction or published novel!

If you need some extra help, feel free to check out my Master List of Writing Tips and Advice, which features links to all of my best posts, each of them categorized !

Hope this helped, and happy writing!

#writing tips #writing advice #writing help #writeblr #booklr #writers #writing #show #creative writing

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