“The fuck m8? Way to end it on a cliff-hanger, I was really enjoying this story! Please update, it’s been 3 years but I do need closure”
My response: “Last year, I was working two jobs (40 hours a week and 16 hours on weekends), taking classes in the evening, and dealing with a family crisis and clinical depression. This year, thankfully, I’m only working one job, but I doubled my courseload in order to graduate faster. I come home physically and emotionally exhausted every day and when I do write, I’m lucky if I can finish a page.I would love to finish this story. I would love to finish ALL my stories. And I am trying my goddamn best and just so you know, comments like these are NOT helpful nor do they encourage me to update faster. They just make me feel like shit.FYI. Positive encouragement is the way to encourage a writer to update a chapter. Not “the fuck m8, it’s been 3 years”. Try, “I really love this story for x reason and y reason, this was my favorite part of the story, this is a theory I have about the story, I can’t wait for more”.Peace.”
It gets super frustrating as a writer when you get comments like these. Please remember, especially for fanfic–if you want an update, start with the positives. Tell them your favorite scenes. Tell them what you’re excited about, what you think might happen. Please do not guilt the writer.
Ieyasu with Tip of Toe please, just to max out the difficulty level hehehe. If not the waist would be lovely too! Please and thank you!
Anonymous: You’re amazing! Would love to see what you can do with Ieyasu and “tip of the toe”~
Ieyasu + Tip of the Toe (worship/idolise)
It comes out like a snake, slithering past his lips and coiling itself around her chest. She won’t look at him for fear of giving too much away, but if he only knew what his voice did to her, chest pounding, the Archer of Tokai would not be giving her that particular look.
“Will you stop doing that?”
“Doing what?” she asks. And she really won’t be doing anything, perched as she is on the porch near his bedroom, legs swinging, his warmth close enough to set her alight.
“Do you think this is funny? Stop right this instant.”
His scowl sets her mind aflame. She doesn’t stop thinking just how delicious it would be to kiss that face of his. With no warning. To sling her arms around his neck and press herself into that chest. How irritated he would be as her fingers grope inside to feel the skin that binds his heart away.
“Kitchen wench.” His hand shoots out, and she’s betting it will land near her face, or grasp at her arms, but it flies so off course and seizes her thigh, squeezing hard, that her body will shoot fireworks out of her brain for the sudden sizzle it elicits.
“I will only tell you one more time. Stop it.”
“Milord, perchance you’re distracted?”
And she won’t be able to stop teasing him. She puts a brake on her legs, and they slowly settle into a slight swaying, the motion soft enough to set her sandal bobbing up and down. With each back and forth, her kimono slides up revealing the most tantalising bit of skin; a roadmap of sin from her ankles up and up and up into the unknown.
She knows how it must look — absurdly distracting in that orderly mind of his — and the knowledge thrills her.
“How dare you.” But it comes out too soft, too choked, too breathy.
“Forgive me.” She doesn’t mean a single word, not when her sandal goes flying off, arching not too far away into the garden against a spot of sunlight. In a movement that sends her pulse careening off a cliff she lifts her foot and settles it in his lap, gazing at him through lashes at once provocative and unrestrained.
Oh, she feels the storm. It won’t be coming from the sky, but billowing at her side. Electricity will spark off him, and she sees how he fights with himself. She can’t tell if he’s furious or aroused. Or furiously aroused. Her toes will curl in anticipation either way.
He lets her have it, that’s for sure, ranting and raving like the child she’s so fond of, but it will escape him how her smile curves just a little higher, the amusement rolling into a wave before it bursts out of her in clipped tones, loud and giddy.
“You’ve gone and done it now. I will have your head.”
Her back arches in delight and she struggles for words. “You’d— Milord, you’d— You’d make a better case of it if you weren’t so— distracted!”
And he’ll look down and almost gag for how his hand will have moved from her thigh to her feet, fingers clasped around the pesky appendage and sending tickles all over. He looks so much like a lost deer she doubles over, almost sending herself off the platform if not for his tight grasp around her toes.
She won’t. “Give us a kiss, milord, and I won’t mention this to Tadatsuga.”
For all the huffing and puffing, and for all the good it does him to glare at her, he will surprise her because she means a kiss on her lips, not the one he plants on her toes, soft and achingly warm, hair tickling the space of skin between her ankle and the edge of her kimono. It shuts her up immediately, and a longing so fierce contracts in her gut.
His look is hell itself. “If you mention this to anyone, dung beetle, I will–”
“–kill me, right?”
And she won’t feel the pinch at her feet because her head will be rolling so far into the clouds he’ll have to reach up and bring her down himself.
That feeling when you find a beautiful pattern, but:
A, its past midnight
B, you have to wake up at a normal time
C, its Tunisian Crochet, which you
1, don’t have the right hooks for and
2, don’t have the time to learn because
its past midnight and mornings come
way too soom
Sakata: Rather than (a scene of) people who are happy with their lives,
I thought there was more of an image of party goers chiming in ‘Cho! Cho! Cho! Cho!’ *(interrupting) so that’s why I thought that
Mafumafu: Me too I thought it was ‘Cho!
Cho! Cho! Cho!’!!!
Sakata: Yaayyyyyyy I’m so happy to have a friend!!
meal ramen!! meat!!!!!
Mafumafu: Sorry Today I had a recording so I couldn’t go sorry
meal I can do tomorrow 5am for ramen ramen meal meat meat
*The chorus bit where they go ‘Jump! Jump! Jump! Jump!’