I Don't Have Time At The Moment To Read This But Fuuuuuck I Want To (THE VOICES). Reblogging So I Can

Damn, needed to hear this

Thanks ghoul :D

i don’t know if this is too personal but i’ve really been struggling with just writing without feeling so nervous and obsessive.

i feel like if i’m not recognized by the writers i’m inspired by im not doing it right. i really wanna write stuff and be apart of a community but i truly don’t know what im doing. it feels like i need to be noticed to be okay with my writing.

i’m sorry for the dump it’s just this has been fucking with me for a week now and i wondered if you’ve had an experience with this.

The first time a writer I followed liked one of my posts I texted my sister and we screamed about it. I was shocked and awed, I wondered what they liked about it and how I could write more fic that this person I looked up to would like.

We all want to be recognized by people we admire, but that shouldn't be the goal. We can hope for it of course, but ultimately you should be writing for yourself. Don't write to impress people because ultimately you'll be disappointed with your writing if you don't get the response you want, and being disappointed in your art is a terrible feeling.

As far as being part of the community goes, I don't think there's any sort of secret club or inner circle, there's no "famous cod writers" discord(at least not one I know about), it's all just people writing what they love. You're part of the community just by engaging with their content. More importantly writing means carving out space for yourself within the community. Fandom is an ever expanding market, each new creator sets up a stall and starts doing business alone, they don't usually join another creator's stall, and you'd never say the people walking around aren't participating in the market.

If you feel like your writing needs to be noticed to be worth anything then find a friend to notice you. Their opinion will feel like gold compared to anyone else’s. At the end of the day you're the only person who has a say over your writing, so write for yourself. You'll never know what other people like and you can't please everyone, just do you and people will find you.

YOU GOT THIS BITCH ✨✨✨

I have a surprise for the all woman Task force-- hopefully i can finish it by this week 💀💀

Thanks Pinterest

YOU FEED OUR BRAIN WORMS SO WELL JFCBJNVRSKNVA

Yes- hi- hello, tis I, the moth that will ram into your window :3

Anyway

My brainrot for Fae!Price is so hhhhhgggnnnn and I've backed myself into a corner by crafting the idea of Witch Darling trying to fluster Price in return for all the times he's done so to her. Like- they're just doing their daily thing and Price pulls out a cigar but Witch just snaps her fingers and lights it for him and he's like "Why'd you do that?" And Witch immediately follows up nonchalantly "Pretty boys shouldn't have to light their own cigars."

And Price is fucking floored

Like- he's had experience with people flirting with him, especially debtors trying to get a better deal when talking to him, but when it's coming from Witch?

GOD DAYUM

Okay back to lurking for me, take care of yourself and drink water if you haven't already. I will find a way I to your house and bring you water if you don't <3

Hi, hi, hello! I am taking care of myself! Had a good birthday and didn't write anything which was very weird but very nice to have a break. I return with Witch and Price because I desperately miss writing for them.

I've had this idea of Witch showing up at the 141's usual bar and causing trouble and this is the perfect ask for it. Here's Witch being well... far too pretty for her own good, and Price being a terribly weak man for her. Witch's dress is based on one from 1964's "What a Way To Go" which has some of the most spectacular textile artistry I've ever seen.

Price's knuckles drag up your back as you lean against the bar to order a drink. You're not used to this many eyes on you, but it's worth it for the single pair of cool blues that study you like they've never seen you before. His fingers hook in the double line of pearls that trail down your spine to your skirt, thumb counting over every one before his fingers reach the sleek silk of your dress.

"Can I buy you a drink?" You ask him, Price's eyes follow his hand where it hovers over your bare skin. More than you think he's ever seen of you. You like throwing him off, it's rather fun seeing him at a loss for words.

"Fuck sweetheart, buy the whole bar for all I care," he presses his hand against you, spreads his fingers wide against the small of your back. Each one a threatening display of his adoration. "What're you doing here?" He can't ignore the stares anymore than you can. A witch in a fae bar, your back exposed, vulnerabilities on display, you can feel the hunger that rolls through the room. You're not as easy a target as they'd all like to think.

"Good looking guys like you shouldn't buy their own drinks, so here I am."

"Here you are," Price breathes, you like the heat in his eyes. It's hard to match him, you aren't exactly flirty. Not by nature at least, and you don't have his easy self assurance. You're confident in yourself, but not quite in the same interpersonal sense. Still, if anything was going to set you up for success it would be Price. His eyes, his touch, there's something to having his attention so fully focused on you. A room full of people and yet you're the only two in it that can touch each other.

You signal the bartender for two of whatever Price drinks, watching him pull a cigar from his pocket in your periphery. You snap your fingers to conjure a flame and hold your hand out to him. The little red flame flickering on your pointer finger dances happily as he takes your hand and holds it to his cigar. You try not to be too flustered when he moves his cigar to extinguish your flame on his tongue. The slick muscle curling around your finger, making a heat coil in your stomach. He settles your hand on his shoulder, forces you to turn on your stool to watch him press his lips to the inside of your arm.

"You almost make me wanna wear a suit," he sounds, hm, it's an admission, but not one that lines up with his actual words. Not a lie, never a lie, a rephrasing of a truth. He almost makes you want to ask.

"You'd look good in a suit," is all you can think to say.

"You look good in white," he responds, the hand on your back tugs you off your seat. You do your best to avoid stepping on his toes as he pulls you to stand, turns your back against the bar, and boxes you in. A physical barrier between you and the open room, Price's strong arms rest on either side of you, his fingers tapping the bar as you stare up at him. You're supposed to be making him flustered. You really have to up your game.

You slide your hand from his shoulder to his chest, feeling the firm muscle there, the slight give of his skin and the tension your touch brings to him. There's a tightness in his jaw when you look up at him, a flinty edge to his eyes as he watches the bartender.

"What're you thinking about pretty boy?" You ask. He blinks, surprised, and looks at you. His eyes trace over you, gaze sliding like magma over your form. You try to keep your breaths even, try not to be affected by him. When he looks at you like that you can't help wanting more of him.

Your fingers slide down his chest to hook in his belt loops, and Price draws a shuddering breath. He cannot talk to you like this. Whatever has gotten into you is bad for his health. Whatever has gotten onto you as well. He takes a long drag of his cigar, tries to keep his eyes off the cling of silk against your chest. Made much more difficult when his smoke takes it upon itself to fall over you, slide down the soft curves of your body so he can feel the shape of you.

What's he thinking about? You, always you. In every position, you.

The bartender sets two whiskey glasses between his hands, behind you. Their eyes rest too long on your exposed shoulders. Price gives them a warning growl, enjoys the way it rips from his throat, the way your fingers tug ever so slightly in response. You tip your head back to see what he's growling at and- God you are just- a tease, that's what you are. The way your neck stretches for him, the way your lips part, your back arches. He tips your head forward again, keeps your pretty little self contained and off the bar.

"Are both of these for me?" He rasps, God he hopes so, could use all the liquor he can get.

"One's mine." Are you keeping your voice low like that because you want to drive him mad? It's working.

"You even like whiskey?" He's never seen you drink, but he would bet you're preferential to something sweeter.

"I can drink it, if that's what you're asking," you twist to grab your glass, and quickly tip its contents into his. Price takes another long drag of his cigar watching you raise the glass to your lips and take a sip. You lower it with a sigh, your lipstick staining the edge. You hold the glass out to him, or up for him, as he exhales.

Oh you are sweet the way you breathe in his smoke.

Price takes the glass from your fingers and keeps his eyes on yours as he takes a drink. He savors the way you watch him, how focused you are even with your eyes lidded. He hands the glass back, and watches you swallow a pull of the amber liquor as he smokes. When you lower the cup from your lips he tips your head back with a gentle finger under your chin, leaning down to hover his mouth over yours and breathe. He feels you pull his smoke into your lungs, feels where it escapes your lips to curl over your cheeks, your jaw, soft magic to make your head spin. His favorite kind.

"You're awfully forward tonight little Witch," he hums, feeling you tilt your head, just barely brush his lips with your own.

"Trying to give you a taste of your own medicine," your honesty always hits him between the ribs, Price smiles, "is it working?"

"Perfectly," he feels your tongue flick against his lip, catching a last hint of whiskey, and his hand wraps around your neck. God what you do to him. "The things I would do for you," he breathes, you're testing his resolve. Lucky he hasn't spun you around and pressed you against this bar. It wouldn't be the first time someone had gotten what they deserved in here.

"Don't you mean to me?" You smile, he can feel the curve of your smile, so tantalizingly close.

"No," he takes a half step closer, feels you press yourself top to toe against him, "I mean on my knees, with my tongue, with my fingers, with my cock, with whatever you asked for. For. You."

You shudder against him so nicely. A valiant effort, he thinks, but how could you ever think you could beat him at his own game?

LMAO One of my friends just straight grabs my face. Straight up full hand latches on and I do it back. No words are spoken and we just move on with confused bystanders staring at us. And then there's the aggressive headpats that linger for an uncomfortable friendly amount of time

Love the "ruh" tho lol, my group just goes "MERP" in a really high pitched voice, differing volumes depending on who's doing it.

I find it so fucking funny how I've managed to amass a friend group of nearly all neurodivergents. Like-

There are about 3 people in it that have no chance of getting into the grippy sock vacation.

And the other 17?

Well.

There were about 10 of us going to Home Depot cause we're helping one of our group to get stuff for their new deck and just. We're in the outdoor garden part and one of my friends just slaps my arm and points at 2 crows and the only word that leaves their mouth is

"Crow"

I turned and saw the crows and just even louder stated "CROW" and everyone in our group just turned and stared bug eyed at the crows in pure silence for a solid 5 seconds before another friend piped up and said

"Those are some nice birbs."

And we all nodded and mumbled our collective agreement.

This pleases me.

OMG SWEETHEART GETTING THE GUYS WORKED UP😍 GET IT GIRLFRIEND

imagine she wears on the those dresses that have HIGH ass slits on both sides showing off her thighs and a sliver of her ass. just a peak yk..a little tease for later

WHHOOOOO

I mean it looks so beautiful on her. Hair in thick, long braids, pearls interwoven in the hair by delicate hands, with gold sparkly jewelry adorning on her skin. She looks like ethereal royalty, sultry makeup and hair. Lips glossy and plump with such a pretty color and nails dipped in gold.

And that dress...

It might as well be a second skin, with how sinful it looks on her. A black Spaghetti strapped body con dress with the deepest v-line they've ever seen. And when she walks, the splits show off her shiny, thick thighs and her long "Stairway to Heaven" legs-- fuckkkkkk

The clicks of her gold gladiator heels makes all of their fantasies want to come true. "Alright, boys! How do I look?" She asks with a smile as she pivots her back towards them. Oh hell, you can see some of her ass-- who the fuck made this dress?

Gaz inhales deeply and Alex bites his fist. Soap has drool coming out of his mouth while Ghost is hiding his crotch behind a pillow. "You look absolutely gorgeous, princess." Price tells her with a low voice, his crossed arms straining against his chest. "Strahlend..." König whispers to himself. "Good." Horangi flats out. He mechanically gives her a thumbs up, not noticing the blood trickling out of his mask. "Good, good. Very good style."

Sweetheart giggles, collecting her purse. "Awww, thanks guys! I'll see you later, okay?" As she was turning around, she drops her wallet on the floor. She mumbles a curse under her breath and bends down to retrieve it.

I mean, good lord. They can only take so much.

THE PRICE/WITCH OTP CONTINUES RRAAAAHHHH

Have we… heard about Viking!Prices darling yet?

We have! Viking!Price has a Völva(Witch/sorceress) that he's desperately in love with. Courting a völva is no simple thing though. They dance around saying the words they mean, never quite touching the affection between them but never ignoring it. He brings her gifts from his travels, and she covetously hides them away. She lays blessings upon him, worries over his wounds, and he wishes he could take away the weight on her shoulders. They sit quietly next to each other, counting the lines on their fingers, easing their calloused skin in one another's grasp.

Price dislikes the way the spirits treat his völva, running her ragged and speaking about her as if she isn't something wondrous. One day he'll have enough of it and put her over his shoulder to steal away somewhere kinder. Somewhere warm.

AH

@ghouljams @maelstrom007

AHH

TEEHEE DEITY! PRICE SNEAK PEEK?!

Not remotely close to done but I can’t help myself 🤭

When it comes to fictional women I want to absolutely worship them, just lay down my love and life for them.

When it comes to fictional men I want them to see me as their goddess and get on their fucking knees where they belong.

GUYS PLEASE

Hello please reblog this if you’re okay with people sending you random asks to get to know you better