#fuck it main tag fuck this!! I put a read-more so I'm alleviated of everything totally
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Sorry I'm still feeling dread about maid Jimmy. Poorly made comic thing under cut
Sorry this is gonna take up space but I really wanted it to be viewed as intended and such... I put it under read-more though so no one can complain!!
My art block is as strong as ever and killing me but I'm feeling so emotional and dreadful about that last SOS episode still, I forced my way through it lol. Joel wasn't there when it went down (I'm so fucking glad), which made me think of this instead and uh yeah I'm. Fuck man I dont even care about SOS that much!!!! This has ruined me
The way Pix (didn't really do anything wrong btw) made Jimmy dig a hole because he owed him for saving his life, and then Sausage comes in "aha!!!" and obligates Jimmy to do something for him too, quickly disregarding any uncertainty on Jimmy's half and shifting it onto Jimmy with "You actually reminded me that you owe me" (paraphrasing) grrrrr. And tbf he did talk about dancing at that point, but later Jimmy was clearly made to believe that he'd only be serving drinks and then Sausage goes "you're serving YOURSELF!" GRRRRRRR sorry this is just minecraft I know I know. I'm reading to deep into it yaada yaada. But no fuck that I want Jimmy to be happy and not to be made feel like he owes people things even if they saved him, I don't want Jimmy to talk like he's about to cry, I don't want him to be talked down to, I don't want him to feel like he has no room to object and has to just listen to others or expect to be treated a certain way hardwired into his brain, I don't want his abrasiveness to be more of a sought reaction to bullying/teasing/etc rather than a sign of the confidence he used to have, he's been through enough!!!! I hate this why can't I just awooga at maid Jimmy. That'd make things so much easier. Alas the horrors
#fuck it main tag fuck this!! I put a read-more so I'm alleviated of everything totally#I'm ashamed but. I see what other type of content gets maintagged anyway and that makes me feel better about my own#jimmy solidarity#Im so emotional Im SO emotional about him stop me please#This is just FH again for me my god Jimmy's been through enough!!#tubby art#Joel IS here but I hope to god no one complains about this as if it were shipping just because he's standing opposite of maid Jimmy#I do fucking love them as a duo a lot though (bad boy Grain erasure oops). Need to draw them more... for the betterment of the soul
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JACKSON ‘JAX’ TELLER x READER ⨟ PROMPT
Anon #1 asked: Helloo! Could I request a jax teller x reader! A Jealousy one💕 Thank you
Anon #2 asked: 87+104 w/ jax teller please?
Prompts:
87. “Put on my kutte”.
104. “Don’t ask me to stop, I’m just gonna go harder”.
WARNINGS: NSFW, SMUT
Word Count: 2.5k
Author comments: This work wasn't re-edited, so I'm sorry if you find grammar mistakes! I hope you all enjoy. Gif isn't mine, credits to the author.
Tag list: @starrynite7114 @chibsytelford @dazzledamazon @mara-mpou @sammskellington @gemini0410 @1-800-imagines @briana-mishell24 @sassymox @whyisgmora @aquamento @sadeyesgf @viviansafizada @samcrobae @jade770 @witchy-wish @rebel-without-cause-x @xx--day-dreamer--xx @spiced-reads @tita127 @ifoundmyhappythought @enamouravecleslivresetlechocolat @angelxshiba @destynelseclipsa @sheeshgivemeabreak @abbiesthings @knowles-morgan @lady-pswrld @minnicelli @marquelapage @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @jadesamhart @mycupoffanfiction @agirllovespasta @ottosuricato ✨ (if you wanna be tagged, send me a message!)
“Having fun with Rafi?”
His voice doesn't surprise you, giving him your back while you look for the tequila Marcus has asked for. You know exactly what's happening and you're trying to not laugh in his face, or this shit is going to be serious. But it's the same situation when Sons of Anarchy and Mayans have a party together. Rafi, president's right hand, is pretty kind with you and an interesting man, so yes. You have a lot of fun talking about something else than motorbikes, drugs, guns and bitches. Before you can turn around to leave the warehouse, a hand surrounds your throat, feeling Jax's chest accommodating against your back.
“I. Asked. You. A. Question”. He says into your ear, sounding a little angry and upset.
You know exactly how it works, how he works. But you're not in this shit anymore. It's been six months since you fucked for the first time. Sex is good. So fucking good. But you're catching feelings and you don't know if he cares about you in the same way. His jealousy confuses you, because no man can touch you but you gotta put up with whores flirting with him.
“Yes”. You just say, keeping some seconds of silence. “I'm having fun with my friend. Are you having fun with those bitches, uh? All th—”.
“We are not talking about me, darling”. His free arm wraps your abdomen, pushing you a little more closer, while his fingers squeeze your neck.
“We should”.
You know that these words have confused him when he puts away his hands to let you turn around. You're frowning your eyebrows, crossing your arms over your chest.
“I'm not… gonna blame you for anything. But if I don't have the right to tell you who can or who can't touch you, you're not gonna do it, Jackson”. You say with a firm tone of voice.
The man turns his legs to stretch a hand and close the door, locking it to not be bothered by anybody. You can see how his face turns from confusion to incredulity, from zero to one hundred, in just one second.
“I don't want anyone else, (Y/N)”.
“Then, prove it. But don't demand me a respect that you don't show me. You wanna be fuck friends? Cool. I don't have any… compromise or a relationship with you, I get it. But then, I can do whatever the fuck I wanna do”.
“That's it? It's a question of status?”
“It's a question of that I love you, Jax. I truly do. For who you are to me, not for who you are to them. I don't give a shit about your club and your matching outfits of badass bikers. I'm more into what you make me feel when we're alone, without having a knife hanging on your belt”.
“So, you're basically asking me to be my Old Lady”.
“No, Jax! Why the fuck you end up bringing everything to the club business? You're not the fucking president of the United States, and I'm not that… bitch. I wa—”.
“The club is my life. And if you don't understand it, it's because you don't know me, (Y/N)”.
You nod. You don't want to think about these words, because it's enough pain what you are feeling without thinking about it.
“Then, I don't know you. And I don't want to”. You sentence, before leaving the warehouse. And the party.
You would be lying if you say that you slept last night. Even if you didn't want it, his last words were chasing you the whole time, walking through your house and touring every room trying to get tired to sleep. But there you are, sitting at the table in the kitchen, holding a mug of coffee and having a sip. Your gaze is in the middle of nowhere, not knowing if you are disappointed or dealing with a broken heart.
The door ring pushes you back to the real world, dragging backwards the chair to get up from it. Covering your mouth with a hand, because of a loud yawn, you open the main door to find Jax there. He looks like shit too, with the same black bags under his eyes, the same clothes and messy tufts of blonde hair falling on his forehead. Supporting a shoulder against the frame, you cross your hands on your abdomen.
“Can I come in?”
“No”.
He nods biting the inside of his lower lip.
“I'm sorry about last night”.
“Yeah, me too”.
“Are you…?”
“Yeah. I'm sorry for telling you about my feelings. The last thing I was expecting was you shitting on them”.
“Listen…” He says rubbing his face with both hands, pulling back his hair. “I'm sorry for talking to you as I did. I really want you to be my girlfriend, or whatever you want”.
“Why now do you want it? What you didn't want it like… seven hours ago? What changed? That I sent you to hell? Is that? I didn't know you were the kind of child who wants his toy back, when someone else is playing with it”.
“Could you please stop being this rude?”
“This rude? Oh, do you mean the same ‘rude’ you were last night, Jackson?” Rolling your eyes, you chuckle.
“I'm telling you that I love you, (Y/N)”.
“Good, thank you. Anything else?”.
“Shit… If you were one of my brothers…”
“What? You would punch me?” Standing up from the door, you raise both eyebrows. “Try me, blonde bitch”.
Adopting the look on your face, he can't believe what he's hearing. But he likes it. He likes the fact that you're talking to him without giving a shit about his club, his job, or whatever other thing. Touring his lower lip with the tip of his tongue, he gives a quick step to grab your throat with ringed fingers, pushing you into your house to close the door. You're not scared, you're not even thinking about defending yourself because you already know what it's going to happen.
The blonde man crashes your lips with his, tangling your fingers on the Reaper Crew shirt under the kutte, while you walk backwards to the sofa. He urges you to sit on his lap with his legs among yours, pawing your body desperately while your hips swing over the growing lump under his jeans. The rage because of your behaviors and the feeling of alleviate get mixed inside your mouth, and your tongues giving a pulse to each other. Taking you off the shirt over your hair, his teeth attack one of your nipples to suck and bite it, while the other receives the attention it needs pinching it with his fingers. Yours getting tangled on his hair, gasping with closed eyes, looking for some friction for your core.
“Fuck, Jax…”
“Don't ask me to stop, darling, I'm just gonna go harder”. He growls onto your skin undoing his belt and the zip of his jeans.
Without asking for it, nor expecting, Jax thrusts two ringed fingers inside you using all his strength, until his hand finds your limits. A pleasure scream comes out from your mouth, with his pace speeding up.
“You're the only bitch I'm gonna fuck”.
“Call me bitch again and…”
You can't stop the threat, when he pounds you harder.
“You what, honey? I didn't hear you”.
You try to speak two times more, having the same result. Jackson is teasing you and chuckling because of your reactions, until you slap his chest.
“Fuck me, baby”. You get to say, looking for his blue eyes.
“Get up, take off those panties and put on my kutte”.
Following the instructions in silence, the Son takes the advantage to roll down his jeans and his boxers to his ankles, throwing away his own shirt. His right hand goes to his hard dick, the one you love to ride and suck, watching you so focused on the way you have to wear the leather kutte of his club. And he can swear that he hasn't seen anything more perfect than it. Jerking himself off, Jax looks at you kneeling over the sofa to sit on him.
“I would let you be my president”. He jokes rubbing the head of his cock against your clit, provoking you a soft moan. “I love how your pussy feels, darling… Warm as fuck, suffocating me, suffocating my cock. I wanna fuck it every night. I wanna fuck you every night”.
“And every morning”.
“All the time”.
Moving your waist from back to forward, you focus your attention on his parted lips begging for something else.
“Ride me, darling”. He asks, getting a little more comfortable on the sofa.
You bounce onto his cock without waiting for any single word, separating your legs over the cushion to go deeper. Jax is big, so big, and when you're more than one day without being fucked by him, you need to take some seconds to adapt your tightness to how hard he is.
“This pussy drives me insane… You're so fucking wet I could drown myself in it”. He mumbles putting a hand on your pelvis to bring his thumb to your clit, stroking it to make you feel better. “I could eat you out the whole time. You're fucking delicious”.
“I'm gonna fuck you like no one else can, my prince”. You mutter resting your forehead on his, before starting to move.
And you don't work him slow like sometimes, you go rough, fast and anxious hitting your g-spot every time you let your body fall down. Every pound brings you to heaven, drinking his pleasured grunts when your wetness wraps his sensible skin so fast that he doesn't have time to finish a moan and start another one. Your hips dance furious above him, trying to show to the Son one of the things you can offer him, although he already knows it well.
His free hand slaps your ass hardly, making your back get arched because of the stinging, screaming out his name every time he does it; as if he was punishing you. But you like it. You like that he doesn't control himself, wanting to please you every single second, while you ride wildly his cock. Your cock. He has you bewitched, rapturous, out of the world with his thumb jerking off your clit with the same speed that you're fucking him. No mercy, non-stop, careless. Just you two giving in to your most primal instincts.
Leaning over him you catch his mouth with your teeth, biting his lips before kissing them, with all his fingers getting nailed on your buttocks. Squeezing and pinching them, leaving some beautiful marks that are going to hurt like hell.
“Shit, darling… Look at your fucking precious pussy, engorging my big dick once and again… to the limit.. Does it feel good? Do you like my dick, uh?”
“Yes… I fucking love it. I fucking love when you grab my hair and fuck my mouth inside my car”.
“Yeah, you like it? How much, my princess? Tell me”.
“Fucking much, Jackson… I love when you wake me up fucking my pussy, always ready for you. And when you're so fucking jealous, grabbing my throat and impaling me until making me cum”.
“Do you like that much?”
You nod in silence, feeling your legs starting to shake close to the orgasm.
“What about my mouth? Do you like it?”
“Fuck… Yes, Jackson. I love when you eat my pussy… When you come from the club and eat my wet pussy on the counter… Your tongue licking me, oh, shit…”
“You taste so good, my love… I love your little pussy”.
“Fuck, Jax… I'm gonna fucking cum…”
“Go harder, baby. I wanna feel you”.
You speed up with every thrust to your center, being wrapped by the sweat and the heat of the moment, crying out his name with your back arched at the moment you reach the orgasm. He fills you up, maintaining your gaze and enjoying the look on your face. So pleased, so ecstatic, running out of air.
“Put on your knees, darling… I'm gonna fuck your mouth as you like”.
You have to take some seconds on top of him to process the order, before doing it, settling yourself between his legs over the floor. Jax grabs your head with both hands pounding your mouth with fury, while your lips wrap all his extension, hitting your throat once and again. It hurts you sometimes, but you love it. The Son presses his swollen glans against your limits when he fills your mouth up, feeling his hot cum spilling inside it. He growls loudly lifting up a little his pelvis, with your nose touching his skin, forcing you to take it all.
“Fuck, darling… Fuck… It feels so fucking good…”
When he frees yourself of his cock, and some threads of your saliva mixed with his seed falls down by the corner or your lips, Jackson urges you to lie down on the sofa while you try to recover your breath. And when you're trying it, cleaning your mouth with the back of your hand, his tongue finds your throbbing core sucking it as if it was going to be the last thing he was to do in his life. Placing both legs over his shoulders, he cleans every trail of your juices, drinking them so delighted that you're about tu cum a second time when he slides three fingers inside you.
“Oh, fuck, Jackson!”
Shrinking under his caresses, you bring down your hands to his hair, sinking his face into your pussy. He's devouring it like no one else could do it, keeping his eyes on you with his ringed fingers fucking you so painfully pleasant that you can't help but find the ecstasy again. The heat is suffocating you, but he doesn't stop. His tongue toures your entrance, before catching your clit among his teeth biting it gently.
“FUCK, JACKSON… JACKSON, PLEASE, STOP”.
You're inside a bubble of pleasure and you are about to cry. You have never felt this good, but he's making it up to you as hard as he can. Pulling out his fingers of your tired pussy, he licks them crawling above your body before tucking them inside your mouth.
“Taste them… This is the most fucking delicious thing I ever had the opportunity to relish, darling”.
Tasting yourself, you spread your legs to give him some space for his body.
“I fucking love you, keep it in your fucking mind, (Y/N)”.
#sons of anarchy x reader#sons of anarchy imagine#sons of anarchy#jackson teller#jackson jax teller x reader#jax teller imagine#jax teller x reader#jax teller
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Hello! Just about to sit down and read your newest fic, so excited about it! I had a question for you (you very well may have answered this already, so sorry in advance!), but do you have advice for writing? Advice in terms of getting start, plotting out stories, helping get the creative juices flowing? I have all these ideas but seem to lack the drive to get things written out. I know the best advice is to just write, but I'm having a horrible time starting. What do you do in those moments?
Hello my dear!
Sorry for taking so long to get back to you. The lord has blessed me with a head cold and ruined all my plans of productivity for the day, so I can finally answer this ask! I’ll talk a little bit about both how to get started with a story and then some little things that help me motivate myself.
I have started a tag for writing advice here: http://deniigi.tumblr.com/tagged/writing-advice
This is going to be a long post, sorry mobile users.
I am going to preface all of this with the understanding that I am technically a professional writer in terms of like, a handful of ways, but I have absolutely zero training in creative writing, so take everything I say with a grain of salt!
So, I personally find that, on the whole, that psychological hurdle of getting started comes a lot from the anticipation of the kind of response a story will get (how many hits, how many comments, how many kudos) in addition to a bit of anxiety or fear over theloss of sustained interest in that story (by yourself and/or by your audience). I find that this can be alleviated by really, truly internalizing the understanding that you are allowed to write your work however you damn please, for whoever you damn please.
There will be work you write for others, and there will be work you write for yourself. Not all work needs to be published; sometimes, it is really nice to just write shit for yourself; it is a plus for humanity if you decide to share it with others, but you do not have to do that.
Furthermore, I would like to present you with this:
This is what my current folder for under fire looks like. And you might notice that there are almost always multiple drafts per chapter. Yes, I did in fact rewrite chapter four 5 fucking times, you bet your ass I did. And I’m not ashamed of it. I think the story is better for it. And that’s the important thing here: you do not need to produce a perfect draft the first time around. You will not produce that perfect draft. Accept this. Embrace this. Embrace it and your cat at the same time to really ingrain it as a warm, fuzzy feeling.
Liberate yourself from the pressure of needing to produce the perfect, most right draft and you may find starting the piece overall to be a much easier, more pleasant experience.
And along with this beautiful, uplifting spiritual advice, I also bring a practical thought: when it comes to getting started, a lot of times, people feel like they need to set the stage, yadda yadda yadda. Ha. No. Fuck that.
That’s a surefire way to bore the shit out of yourself. Start right in the middle of a scene that captivates you if that’s what you want to write. It’s a free platform. No one’s gonna arrest you if you stick Spiderman upside down in trash first thing. They might even applaud you actually, because you didn’t make them slog through some of that ‘It was the evening of the 25th and it was cold out in the streets” bullshit we all learned from Dickens.
Alright. Now let’s talk about actually getting started making words appear on paper.
So, from my knowledge there are generally two ways that folks write creatively. You have what I’m going to call the planners and then you what I’m going to call the monsters (I call them this entirely affectionately, I’m sure there’s a better word for these folks, but I don’t have it atm, all I have is a headcold). Planners are folks who sit down and work out their major plot points, who write outlines, and who create the scaffolding of their work before they set out on their magical journey. I think of these folks as architects.
And then you have the monsters and these are those fuckers who just sit down and write stream of consciously like the heathens all our high school teachers tried to teach us not to be.
I am both a planner and a monster. And a lot of that depends on the length of work I’m going for. I have never in my life planned a one-shot, for example. I just attack that as it is. I follow my heart, if you will. But when it comes to longer chaptered fics, I really do think that some outlining is super helpful.
You might find it useful for one-shots, though, I dunno. Maybe give it a try and see what happens?
The two main fics I’ve done proper outlines for are Inimitable and under fire and I actually find outlining to be immensely helpful in psyching me up to write the story (I go through and re-read my outlines when I start to lose interest or diverge too much from the plot outlined there in the actual writing. 9 times out of 10, re-reading gets me stupid excited to write all over again) and it also helps me keep momentum going throughout the plot.
Here’s a pic of some pages of under fire’s outline.
Physically writing the work is really important for me because it forces me to only put down key points/feelings/ideas I want to include, whereas typing gives me far too much room to get lost/distracted by extraneous detail. And since my handwriting is a teacher’s worst nightmare and I cross out shit and write huge with emotion, I’ll give you a little bit of what the middle page here says:
Miles-
there’s something thrumming
vibrating in his ears wherever he goes
-closes his eyes and somehow enters blackness- emptyness (Stranger Things style)
beat
beat
beat
“help.”
–BACK - everything is gone
closing his eyes doesn’t bring the space back
–it makes him panic. He doesn’t know why. His heart is pounding. He’s sweating He has a horrible feeling of doom.
beat
beat
beat
its gone.
he goes home anxiously. Pretends everything is normal.
his neck crawls
So basically it’s less of a formal outline and more of a collection of stream of consciousness feelings and screenplay directions which I’ll flesh out in the actual story.
Personally, I love writing these kinds of things because they get me pumped for the story I’m about to tell. I get to write out the key scenes and work through all the hard parts first, and then, while I’m writing, I work through the little fun details and banter and I have to write to figure out how we get from one scene to the next and I love the challenge of having to fit those pieces together. I very rarely stick strictly to my outline, (as anyone who is currently reading under fire can tell you right now), but I do try to stick to the main plot points in it and my writing is certainly better for it.
So yes. Outlining is very good, but it is even better when you do it to some kind of music. I listened to What’s Up Danger from the Into the Spiderverse soundtrack on repeat while I wrote this outline to kind of transfer some of the relentless pace conveyed in that song to the piece’s plot.
I highly recommend using music to set the mood of your piece while/before you write a piece of any length. It helps get you in the right headspace (excited or somber or angry) to write. You need emotion to write creatively. You can’t just make that happen sometimes; you need a little help.
A couple other things which might help:
1. Leave your house or the space you’re normally in. Go to a cafe and find a nice corner and have a think and a try in there. Sometimes moving to a different space helps you escape cyclical thinking patterns.
2. Write what you want to read. Don’t bother writing for other peoples’ interests; that’ll just bore the shit out of you all over again.
3. Find an atmospheric mood sound to listen to on Youtube or smth (I personally like Rain on a Car Windshield for slightly somber fics, but you might be into ocean storms or dripping caves or whatever).
4. Heat your feet. I don’t know why but I am entirely unproductive when my feet are cold. Maybe this one is me-specific, but whatevs. Heat the feets!
5. If you’re still having trouble just sitting down and pounding the story out, that’s okay! Maybe it’s not ready to be written yet. Maybe you’re not in the right headspace yet. Sometimes that’s just how it is. One story makes its way out in like, a hour, and the next one takes like, months to finally be written. We all work at different paces. We all write for different reasons.
It might help to figure out why you want to write a story before you write it. Like, if its for attention, it’s gonna be hard as hell. But if there’s an idea that you feel like is important or if there’s a mood you’re trying to work yourself into or out of, then that might be a little easier. For example, I wrote a piece called make it work which is about Fogs finding his motivation to be a lawyer and fight for justice when Kavanaugh was confirmed and I felt super helpless in the face of our present justice system. That story kind of wrote itself and it needed to be written, I feel, not just for me, but for others who were feeling just as helpless.
Writing is catharsis in that way. Maybe you just need to find out what you need to wring out of your soul.
Sorry that got very metaphysical. But I do want to stress that getting started and ending a story are the hardest parts of writing them, so you are definitely not alone if you feel like you’re ramming your head into a wall here.
I hope something here helps you, my dear!
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