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patchesproblem · 1 year

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hey its the brick cocaine anon again no pressure whatsoever to respond. I'm just a beta male and can't interact publicly on twt Your mini Einstein/Tesla historical facts thread inspired me to add that Einsteins irl wife was also serbian(Mileva Marić) and that she was also a scientist much like Tesla himself I KNOW ITS A FAR FETCHED REACH but its a silly coincidence to me how in every universe (irl lame beta male Einstein + cute anime lesbian Einstein) Einstein has a thing for. serbian scientists specifically Its meant to be anyway sorry for atism

I want it to be known that I'm going to refer to you as the brick cocaine anon now. I'm sorry for it being your new name, but it's law now /lh/j/nm

FUN FACT!!! Writing this after AFTER the fact but Frederica Nikola Tesla shares MORE SIMILARITIES WITH MILEVA THAN TESLA HIMSELF

SO I started looking into her more and I've learned some very interesting things! I'm shoving this in after the fact before posting this and I can't be bothered to rewrite the next few paragraphs so sorry about that.

Welcome to history lessons with Tes! I'm your host, a mentally ill person who likes history and gets way too invested in dumbass things.

IRL Deadmen / Dead woman under the cut / similarities between Mileva and HI3 Tesla.

So this got me looking into her more out of curiosity, and I've learned a few interesting things.

So when writing Einstein, Planck, Karl, Schrodinger, and Edison they based their relationships off of how they actually viewed each other in real life.

Emma Planck = Max Planck

Karl Gustav = Carl Jung

etc. etc.

HOWEVER.. Tesla's a huge exception to this. Yes she was inspired partly by Nikola Tesla, however she actually takes way more inspiration from Mileva Marić than Tesla himself. Tesla was actually a very.. Interesting man.

Actually for the most part the main things they really took from irl dead man Tesla was his engineering skills, relationship with Edison, and the fact he felt humiliated and insulted by humanity, though that's a HEAVY stretch. I only bring that up since she's often clowned on for her experimentation, which will come up later because she shares that trait with Mileva.

I spoke about this on twitter, however the real Nikola Tesla and Albert Einstein actually did not care for each other. Tesla was a hater and was critical of EVERYONE. While Einstein had met with the others on multiple occasions, there's zero recording of Einstein and Tesla ever meeting. They didn't care about each others existence At All. It's possible they met due to the short distance between them, however again it was never recorded. I doubt they'd go out of their way to meet each other either honestly.

So in HI3 Tesla and Einstein met through Emma Planck, this is paralleled with Mileva and Einstein meeting through their schooling as well.

The two met and became Extremely Close Extremely Fast. She'd often study with him in private since he didn't particularly like attending lectures. They were inseparable as well. And well we know how Tesla and Einstein in HI3 are. In their letters there's a constant theme between them missing each other and them working better together.

Mileva excelled in experimental work, similar to Tesla. Einstein was also the only one to get his degree. Mileva never got hers just like Tesla. Even their ages line up (Mileva being 20 and Einstein being 17).

However, their similarities really end there for both HI3 Tesla and Einstein. The rest of the story is just. Depressing and fucked up, similarly to how every woman in history was treated. She got fucked over by him and was erased from history while he took the credit for her work. It's sad, honestly...

TLDR; Frederica Nikola Tesla shares more in common with Einsteins wife than Nikola Tesla himself. This is more than likely because they're HEAVILY implied to be in love (VN lines, as well as lines from IN GAME)

Idk I just find this interesting honestly.. It's funny how they took more inspiration from Einsteins first wife than the man she's named after. Especially with how they refuse to confirm them in game and prefer to make continue the implication that she's dating the child she raised since he was 8 lmao..

#honkai impact 3rd #frederica nikola tesla #lieserl albert einstein #patches rambles #literally researching into this was Actually Insane #It's legitimately so surprising to me how many similarities Tesla and Mileva share..#It's not a coincidence honestly

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gertrudepetronella-blog · 1 year

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Meet the author I guess?

Thanks to @severusobserver for tagging me, I'm not going to continue the thread, because frankly these things confuse me and I usually forget what everyone has said, but it was cool to see some stuff you're into, so here's a window into my brain too:

Three ships:

Severella/ Crowprince

This is Severus x my oc Petronella Blishwick. Of course it has to be my top one, because I love her. I generally don't like other people's snapexocs and often find the ofc's to be a bit... lame (sorry no hate just my personal taste). Petra is a self proclaimed weirdo, a bit grumpy like Snape himself, loves her punk and metal music, has elemental powers that sometimes get out of hand, and is neurodivergent. Their relationship is so full of trust and understanding of each other's quirks. It's the relationship I wish I could have irl basically. Head over to @princeandcrow for more.

Snupin/ Wolfprince

I love love love this ship. If it weren't for the above they would be my otp. I have three (I think) published fics for my boys now, with a couple more I'm working on. It's enemies to lovers, it's unrequited pining, it's angst and fear of rejection, it's opposites attract finding they actually have a lot in common, and so much more. And I cannot deny that the smut is 🥵😈💀🖤

Snack/ Starprince

I have not fully got into this yet, partly because I just don't have space if that makes sense? I feel like it's a more extreme version of Snupin in a way. The angst is heightened, the enemies to lovers, hate sex, potential for hurt etc. But in so many ways Severus and Sirius are like a mirror or two sides of the same coin. They were both abused, they both take their issues out on others, they even have similar looks (sometimes in fanart it's guessing game of is this snape or sirius?!) I have read a few fics which I loved and have two of my own in the works, but I don't know when they'll come to fruition.

First Ship:

Severitus. Not technically a ship I guess, but I'm following your lead with the platonic ships. This was what got me into fanfics. I don't know if it was what the author intended, but I think Snape and Harry have such father/son vibes in canon. Snape's like a very traditional strict parent in a lot of ways (not saying it's good or healthy but?). I like reading angsty Severitus where Snape is very prickly, but when it comes to writing I always end up making him kinda soft.

Last song:

Lost Myself by Longpigs, because I used it in the fic I just published! It also resonates with me a lot and my feelings towards relationships. But generally at the moment it's Slipknot and Tool on repeat. Particularly Disasterpieces which literally saved my mental health from a difficult situation recently.

Last Movie:

Suicide Squad with my daughter. She simps over the Joker, but hates Snape. Idk 🤷🏻‍♀️. I love Harley Quinn and Katana though. Can't remember the last film I watched for myself, but I got 5 Centimetres Per Second for my bday, so hopefully watch that soon.

Currently Reading:

Working my way through the back catalogue of snupin on Ao3. Part way through a history book about the lost library of Matthias Corvinus (still). Top of my pile to read next is Colourless Tsukuru Tazaki by Haruki Murakami.

Currently Watching:

About half way through Midnight Mass and loving it big time. Only problem is I'm usually so tired at the end of the evening, or if not trying to write, and I need to be awake and focused because it's so good. Totally simping on the Sheriff.

Currently Drinking:

Just finished my morning coffee. Lots of herbal tea because it is very cold. Opened a bottle of Voignier last night which is 😋

Currently Craving:

Time alone. If I could just pause the rest of the world for a few weeks/months and spend all day every day writing, that'd be grand. Oh, did you mean food? I love food but as I pretty much always have to cook for myself it gets tiring and is such a chore. Maybe a meal out. Without any other people. But also actual sex with a real life person. Too much information? 😅

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rpcburnbook · 2 months

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i mean sorry but i think minimum word count sites are great and i wish that it was not such a taboo choice to promote in this community anymore. if you do not want to write more than 200 words per post, that is your right, but i am tired of getting the most piddly-ass replies with zero effort and not even enough motion to give me a good way to reply, and then hearing "quality over quantity" as a defense. there is no quality whatsoever in briefly summarizing what i already wrote and then adding a closed-ended question in your lame attempt to move the scene. // op here and nah, you're a bit rude at the end there lmao. i usually write in the range of 300-500 words per reply, however, that is mostly with plots that have developed and with the people i'm comfortable writing with. if i'm writing a new character, or a thread that doesn't involve much of anything (you know the ones, right?) then i'm not gonna bend over backwards to meet some word count that will only make my reply suck even more. but sometimes shorter replies are much more impactful than the 500 word nonsense that is just such a drag to read. i've written with people who gave 500+ words each reply and you know what half of that was? exactly what you pointed out there - summarizing and rewording my own reply, sometimes even including my own character's actions that i sure as hell didn't write. i enjoy writing longer replies, but if i don't have the time/muse/the thread isn't all that interesting to me, i don't want to be limited by some word count i have to reach because the quality will drastically decrease, at least for me personally, if i'm forcing myself to get to a number. plus, during my busiest times of the year, i usually ask for rf threads but that doesn't mean that it's automatically going to be bad. both can be good and both can be enjoyable and i do get where you're coming from. if i leave you a long reply i obviously put some effort in and you come back with a one liner, yeah nah i'm gonna tell you to find someone else to write with (you in general not you you lmao). but i support no word count more just because it leaves the field open for writers of all types, those who prefer more and those who get by with less. and i've definitely read 200 or less word replies that were better than any novels out there

#long post

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gaiuswrites · 3 years

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Original Sin | Darksaber!Din

Pairing: Dark!Din x fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ older for the love of all things holy)

Word count: 3.4k~

Summary: Things change after Grogu leaves. People change. No one is exempt.

Warnings/tags: DUB CON?¿, masturbation (m and f), inappopriate use of darksaber, sex toy (...), Dark!Din, Dom!Din, sacrilegious references, really dark shit, i am so sorry

Update: This should go without saying, but as it turns out, it’s in need of being said: every word written in this fic is my own; any likeness to any other work is coincidence, regardless of how bizarre. I don’t mean to offend anyone or raise suspicion, as I am certainly not a plagiarist (literally couldn’t be even if I tried: I am equal parts too incompetent, too busy, and too lazy to steal from someone else. Fellow writers can attest, I’m an absolute garbage reader and fall behind on almost everyone’s work. There’s an embarrassing amount I haven’t read.) Please reach out to me personally if you have any concerns. I respect everyone here like you wouldn’t believe. Sending love to you all. Be well. ✨

Notes: When I go to hell (it really is only a matter of timing, and not so much a question of if anymore), this fic will rank number one on the list of reasons why I’m sent to my eternal timeout. This... I'm twisted. I have issues. God help us. Seriously, this is basically a horror show. I bow down to the Darksaber!Din content creators who came before me, and the original artwork that inspired me to write this— thank you for lighting this (descending, dirty) path. I HAVE TAGGED A FEW PEOPLE HERE WHO MAY OR MAY NOT BE INTERESTED but really— REALLY— there’s absolutely no pressure. Cheers friends x ( gif credit: @skyshipper )

Masterlist | Read it on Ao3!

The days stretch long like morning yawns—hours passing on creaky bones, slow and congealed inside the metal womb of the Crest.

It wasn’t always this way.

They used to be filled with pitter pattering— with wily antics and vanishing acts that could baffle even the most veteran of illusionists— with prying frogs from tiny, green hands and giggling as blocks and baubles floated through the hull. Laughter. There used to be laughter here.

But that was then. The child is gone now. The Razor Crest is quiet.

Time fills itself like this; there’s little for you to do now but wait. Wait for the dusk to blur into the dawn. Wait for your food to cook. Wait for the shower to warm. Wait for the parts you ordered to arrive at the port. Wait for Din to come back—to come home.

Home. You used to be so certain—you’d bite the head off anyone who questioned otherwise— but you’re not so sure this is home anymore. Its not that anything has changed. No, the galley, the carbonite pods, the cockpit, the deck—it’s all still here. The scuffed walls, the durasteel, the littered crates and packed arsenal. But—

It’s different. It feels different. Something is...

off.

You can’t quite put your finger on it. Its intangible, but it’s everywhere—like gas. Invisible to the naked eye, but encircling you all the same. Choking you.

Killing you.

There’s no good explanation for it. You feel eyes on you when there are none. You find yourself glancing over your shoulder, knowing full well you are alone. Something keeps snagging you, pulling at an unseen thread. The corners of your peripherals tugging at you. Beckoning.

Was that a shadow? No.

Is someone there? It’s just you.

There is a tickle at your ear - a constant - dancing along the shell of it. Wherever you go, it follows.

Home home home. It only feels like home when Din is there, safe and sound at your side. But even then, even Din—in all of his plated exterior—even Din has succumbed. Even Din has

changed.

The truth is, Grogu left and a part of Din left with him. There’s less of him now— more, too: there’s less where it matters, and there’s more where there shouldn’t be.

You don’t remember when it started—when he first disappeared. When the spark in him died, and he was reignited anew.

When this Other became.

On multiple occasions you’ve caught him murmuring into the bellied dark of the Crest with a bent spine, hunched over himself as if he’s shrinking—enveloping in in in as far as the beskar along his chest will allow him to cave. You can never pick up what he mutters, but you catch the sounds of his teeth and lips brushing together, hissing. It’s not Basic; you’d recognize it if it were. You don’t think its Mando’a either. It’s too sharp— too vile. There’s none of his language’s elegance in it.

“Did you say something?” You asked once, poking your head around the doorway, eyes resting on the shine of his helmet.

A beat—and slowly, he unfurled, rearing to his full height and like a sentinel he swiveled, pivoting to face you.

“No.”

Your throat bobbed. “Oh, I-I thought I heard-”

“Come here, mesh’la.”

And you did. You always do.

The darksaber appeared on his belt one day, shortly after the child went away. It came, only once, and there it stays. Indistinguishable - inseparable - there is no dismembering the two. It accompanies him in all things; when he pilots, when he hunts, when he eats. It sleeps by him.

By you, too.

Din has always been stoic—of scant words and physical timing—but now he is a golem. A silent, shrouded figure. His Creed is broken, and you wonder maybe - briefly - if Din is broken as well. He is never unkind to you. He is never threatening. But he is never him. His eyes— the oaky comfort you once found in them— have blackened. He is a pit.

Din Djarin is a pit of a man.

And within that pit he has born rage. Immaculately, it has sprung from him as woman did by Adam’s rib. Like mold growing upon stale fruit does he have this—this wrath. It crept through him. It stalked along his soft flesh— his tawny hide—and it waited; patient, there in the shadows, it waited for him. Waited for him to turn his back, to close his eyes and drop his guard— leeway, an entrance— as to slip in undetected.

To inhabit.

The virtue and love that once thrummed within the heart of him has burned away. Charred. Only this of him remains; this insatiable lust— for blood sport, for the promise of split knuckles and fractured bone, for you.

For all of you.

Now, Din goes out on bounties like he needs it—like it’s oxygen. He lives off it. He’s sustained by the rush, by the adrenaline laced chemicals pumping through his arteries. He’s gone for days and weeks on end and when he returns, he fucks you like he’s been starved. Out in the wilderness without a morsel to eat, he devours you. He’s ravenous as he tears his way across your body—all too pliant for him, all too willing—letting him feast on the nectar dripping from your heat.

You can feel it in his foot steps as he storms the ship, the bassy echo of it. You can see it in the pitch of his visor. You can feel it in his cock as he slams into you, night after night after night—ceaselessly. Tirelessly. Unnaturally. The number of orgasms he wrings out of you is countless—his need so incurable, you have to fight to stay above it all; you have to war against your urge to slip away completely.

Din is one grey choice - one hair trigger - from coming undone.

And you should be scared. You should be terrified—he should terrify you. Like scalding water, you should flinch away at the mere sight of him—at the warning steam that rises from his pauldrons. This predator, unhinged and off his leash—a great, crushing beast at which you are at the mercy of.

But— you aren’t.

You couldn’t place it at first: the gnawing. The gnawing at your insides like maggots festering upon a grizzled carcass hanging limp at a wet market. You couldn’t name the tremor in your gut. You gave it epithets as best you could, you gave it placeholders - fear, worry, intrigue - all until one day it spilled. One day it seeped past the tremble of your stomach and sank lower, lower,

lower.

It settled in your cunt—the gnawing. And you named it Want.

You want him. You want this—you’re addicted to it. This sin like led-lined velvet, you want to roll in it until it poisons you, until you’re smothered with it, just like it’s smothering you now— blanketing you as you mewl naked in your bed, knees knocked together. Your eyes roll back into your skull as you frantically work circles into your clit with the all consuming thought of him: his teeth at your shoulders, his hand around your windpipe.

You’re nearing your finish, the promise of that tight coil unraveling there - there - right before you. You’re so enrapt in it—in this dizzying, wanton act—you don’t register the ramp lowering. You don’t hear the carbonite chamber whir, his quarry freezing over, or his foot falls sounding their way to your bunk.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

You gasp, frightened eyelids wrenching open as his baritone timbre crackles through the hull. The Mandalorian stands there, backlit by the glow from the galley and he looms—expressionless. Haunting. You blink at him rapidly, batting away the desire that��s glazed over your eyes.

“Y-You’re back,” you stutter lamely. You try to smile. You try to distract him. “I uhm, I didn’t hear you come in. I thought you wouldn’t be back until, u-until..."

Your excuses fade, mouth parched dry. The film of his visor gives you nothing. He is unknowable, but you feel it - sense it - that energy—unbridled and rippling off of him in sick, suffocating waves.

“I’ll ask you again,” Din starts.

“What-" he steps towards you, darksaber hanging heavy at his hip, “do you think-" you shimmy up your cot, shoulder blades digging into the steel sidings, “you’re doing?”

Your heart thunders against your chest, beating until you’re sure it’ll burst.

“I’m-"

I’m sorry you almost say, and you have to force yourself to gulp down the apology. You know he doesn’t want it, and he knows you wouldn’t mean it even if you offered it to him.

Your brow wavers. “I-"

He rips away the sheet you had drawn up over you and reflexively you jerk back, revealing the gloss on your fingers and the patch of hair above your mound, shimmering shamefully—exposing you, mocking you under the dim lights.

“What’s this?” he asks, and fuck he’s patronizing you. He’s smirking—you don’t have to see it, you can hear it in the curving lilt of his voice as he drinks in the sight of your very obvious indiscretion, laid bare before him. You can’t bring yourself to answer him—you can hardly look at him—and you bristle, hair on your arm prickling up.

“You fuck yourself speechless, little one?”

Your cunt throbs, burning and contracting around the orgasm that was snatched away from you and fuck, you’re drowning in him. Din is tar—he’s an oil slick, and you’re plummeting through it—gasping for air, for the surface, for sunlight. He’s everywhere—his broad frame, his voice, his scent like copper and smoke. You can barely breathe through the thick of him.

“Answer me,” he growls, leather croaking at the clench of his fist.

“Yes—yes,” you utter, proceeding with honesty, no matter how pathetic. “I missed you,” you squeak out.

Din cocks his head, a smug look scowled onto his visor. “You missed me?” he purrs through a sneer and you nod, precious and small, worrying the inside of your lip.

He sinks one leg and then the other onto your bedroll, just between your parted feet, kneeling before you. The flimsy spring mattress squeals under his weight—all of that armor, all of that boiling soot trapped within him.

“How much?”

For a moment, you must look confused. Puzzled. Your eyebrows furrow as Din unclips the saber from his belt, rolling it over in his hand. You rake your gaze up from it, dilated pupils landing on the unforgiving black panel there.

“You claim you missed me. Prove it.”

Your cunt bottoms out.

He crouches over you, tracing along your inner thighs with it's steel shaft and you bury your fists into the cot. You don't know which to look at: Din or the rod in his hand. “Tell me you want this. Tell me you trust me.”

Fuck, it feels like you’re going to rattle apart. There isn’t an inch of you that isn’t humming—isn’t seizing up wild. “I-I trust you,” you mouth softly. And you do, whether you should or not—you trust him with your life, to make or ruin.

“Fuck, you’re wet mesh'la,” he appraises darkly, leaning in to run a leathered digit through your seam, parting your curls. Your legs twitch, heels of your feet digging into the bed. “So ready for me. So eager."

Your eyes dance frenetically down to the handle and back up to him as he aligns the saber with your pussy. The blunt end of it touches your lips and you shudder, instinctually fidgeting away from it. Din splays his hand on your knee, anchoring you in place. “Shh,” he coos, rubbing a thumb soothingly into your skin. It doesn’t feel sweet. It feels sickly, cloying— like arsenic.

You don’t dare breathe as he prods the shaft into you, inch by terrible inch. It doesn’t matter how slicked and wet you are from touching yourself, your walls strangle the foreign intrusion. Your body resists.

“Fuck,” you sob. Your throat, your pussy, all of it— it’s all compacted. It feels so fucking tight, both words and air fighting to get out and in all at once—everything inside you constricting.

“Show me,” he grits through clenched teeth. “Show me how much you missed me.” He drags his gloved digit over your clit, pressing down onto it until you see stars, fizzing in front of your vision. “I know you can take it, sweet girl. Be good and show me.”

Be good. Be good for him. Be his only vice.

He continues to swirl at your bundle of nerves and you’re nearly thrashing with it— with all of this— hair fanned and mussed against the pillow as you writhe, swallowing his saber to the hilt. Fuck, you’re so full. Maker, you’re stuffed with it; with the cold, uneven edges, the ridges woven into the grip of it— and he slowly - tortuously - delves the handle in and out of you, hitting against your cervix with every thrust.

You can only mumble. Your lips have gone slack, your mind is cavernous. All you can do is quiver and beg— beg for release. Beg for it to end.

Beg for more.

“Oh gods, oh g- Maker, please—”

Your bleary eyes shoot open as you’re silenced by the grip of his gloved hand.

“No.” Din pinches your jaw in the web of his palm, fingertips dimpling your cheeks. “No, your God isn’t here,” he seethes, low and deadly, graphite venom dripping from his lips. “Pray to me.”

Fuck.

Trembling, your lips pucker ugly and sloppy as you babble uselessly in his stony grasp, chin crinkling with a whimper. “D-Din.”

He inhales sharply, mouth snaking into a wicked grin behind his helm. “That’s it. That’s my good girl.”

He’s deboning you as he would a fish. Practiced, he plucks you into messy pieces—gutting you through your open maw. His ministrations are crawled. They’re slothed and carnal with arrogance and pride and it’s not enough—its all together too much, but still—it’s not enough. You’re hungry. You paw at him, scraping over his breastplate.

“Din, please—more," you gasp feverishly, eyes blown wide.

A blip of static huffs through his modulator. “You want more, you filthy little thing?” He gives you another squeeze, indenting scorch marks into your face.

You nod—you try to, his grasp is too firm, rooting your neck to still. “Yes.”

Din groans, all but obliging you as he begins to fuck you harder, pistoning through you as he thumbs your nub with his rough pad.

“Din-”

You’re whining now, tinny and depraved. It’s wrong. Every part, every second of this, is wrong. Immoral. But you can’t stop the way your body convulses at his every touch—you can’t stop the heat roiling in your core.

“Din, Din baby- fuck fuck fuck-”

It’s like he’s trying to split you in two—all of you. Your pussy, your mind, your soul—he’s bisecting you. Divvying you up to bits of nothing. It’s only then that horrid realization occurs to you, winding through your addled haze as he fucks you deep and splintering: you’ll never be whole again.

And scarier still—you don’t think you want to be.

No, you want to be these loathsome shards. You want to be broken glass. You want to draw blood.

You want to be possessed by him.

“Fuck yourself,” he pants, his cock straining violently against his trousers, begging for relief. “Be good and fuck yourself. Let me watch.”

Be good be good be good

He leaves your clit and you whimper at the loss. Your face is stained with tears. The salty trails cascade down to mingle into your hair, into the sheets. You’re vibrating, but you do as he says and you reach down, recoiling when you touch the chilled metal tip. Tentatively, you pad along it, settling on the end that’s peeking out from you.

A pained sound rumbles through Din as you wrap your fist around the saber, and your eyes flit up to meet his, hidden somewhere behind his helm. Hurriedly he unbuttons his pants in a flourish and removes himself from his constraints. He’s pulsing and proud, flexing up against his stomach, the veins choked to bulge along the angry, silken shaft of him.

Finally, you begin to move the hilt—finding an aching, undulating rhythm and he can’t fucking take it. He rips his helmet off, letting it clatter to the floor.

“Din,” your pray, “Din, I think I’m going to-”

You’re wrecked – fried like a livewire– as you look for him, as you search and search—for that warmth, for a trace of him left there. The Din you knew, the Din you agreed to fly with all those months ago, the Din you love. You think you see it sometimes—in the slant of his mouth, the bridge of his nose— but here, now, he is gone.

He is a pit.

Din Djarin is a pit of a man, and you want nothing more than to fall. Standing on the ledge of him, staring down into the abyss—you want this. You want to fall. You want to jump.

“Tell me you’re mine. Tell me, sweet girl— tell me.” He’s fucking his fist raw, humping into his palm as desperate as an animal.

“I’m yours,” you mewl. Furiously rubbing your clit with one hand and spearing yourself on the rod of his saber with the other, your hips buck and spasm. You snap. A blinding light sears through you, ricocheting off every scrap of muscle and tendon sewed up in your body. “Just for you,” you cry, “I’m yours I’m yours I’m yours—”

Your ragged sobs mix with the lewd slaps of skin as Din pumps himself, hot ropes of his release spitting onto you— painting your pussy, the divot of your navel, coating along the slope of your tummy.

“Look at you—fucking, look at you,” he moans throatily, easing through his rough strokes as he softens.

Your chest is heaving and you feel dumb, empty—like a puppet, arms and legs moving on phantom strings. Din removes the handle from you with a wet squelch; a viscous strand of your juices clings on, obscenely connecting your pussy to the base of it, and you rasp—the wind punched out of you with its gaping absence. You gush. It dribbles out the slit of you, leaking past your abused hole and soaking into the bedroll.

When he unsheathed the saber from your scabbard, he took a part of you with it. You’re so fucked out—you’re practically a parsec away— it went unnoticed.

Undetected.

It brushed past you. You didn’t feel it—you didn’t recognize the whisper that has slithered in in it’s place, nestling within your swollen folds.

Breeding there.

“Beautiful,” Din murmurs, placing it on the mattress beside your head, the chrome of it gleaming with your slick. He bows his head to lick a path up your cunt, laving you clean as he climbs higher and higher, tonguing off his seed from your stippled skin. “Fucking beautiful, mesh’la,” he growls. “Mine—all fucking mine.”

You’ve gone heavy. You’re too heavy to keep your eyes open—you’ve been hollowed out and you’ve got nothing keeping you tethered here. You start slipping under in slow motion—intervals between languid blinks lasting longer and longer. You’re spooled in a knot of tangled limbs with Din’s mouth, fervent and needy, flaying you open as he sees fit— with his hot mouth and teeth, suckling your breasts, biting at your nipples and bruising your pretty neck.

It’s not long before you hear it again, as you have before— as you always do: the faint caressing of speech, of lips forming language you cannot understand—made indecipherable in your strung out high.

“D’you say something?” you mumble, half conscious—half dreaming.

Din laps a long stripe up your throat, his stubble sanding your skin. “No.”

You sigh, breathy and girlish, as his fingers find your mound, dipping into you once again. He makes you cum twice more that evening. You barely have the strength to watch him do it.

Finally, when he’s satisfied—when he’s spent with driving you mad, making you rile— he grants you respite. He permits it – generous, charitable - and you sleep like the dead, soundly through the night until—

until you don’t.

Eyes. You feel them somewhere— there are eyes on you. You stir, stuttering in your sleep to squirm in the dark. You don’t know what you’re listening to at first. It’s a sound of some kind, a noise. There is a hiss—

A frigid hand seizes around the bloody organ pulsing in your ribcage.

No, not a hiss—it’s a voice. It’s— no-

You pat around for Din beside you but he’s gone—he’s long gone and his vacant spot has grown cold without him—and your nails dig into the sheets, desperately clawing into the fabric.

Inside you.

The voice, the sharp hush of it—it’s inside you. It speaks from inside your own mind, its forked tongue fluttering against your ear.

‘Wake up, sweet girl.’

Tags (IM SO SORRY): @djarinsbeskar @pedros-mustache @krissology @keeper0fthestars @read-and-rec

#darksaber!din #dark!din #dark!din x reader #dark!din x you #din djarin #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #mando fanfiction #mando x you #mando x reader #the mandalorian #star wars #sw fanfic #darksaber #Im so sorry #dom!din #haunted!din

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the-marauders-enthusiast · 3 years

Text

I’ve Fallen in Love With My Best Friend - James P. x Reader

Pairing: James Potter x Reader

Word count: 1.6k

Summary: There’s an Amortentia lesson in Potions one day, and y/n feels confident that her best friend and crush, James Potter, didn’t like her back, as he has his heart reserved for Lily Evans. James also believes he’s in love with Lily, but things change when he smells someone else in the Amortentia.

Walking into Professor Slughorn's class, you noticed the other students were perked up, excited for the lesson. You sat down, confused, until you saw the potion on Slughorn's desk, which you immediately noticed was Amortentia. Like your other classmates, you also felt eager for the lesson to start.

Suddenly you heard some people stumble into the room, instantly recognizing them as your best friends, James, Sirius, Remus, and Peter. You smiled at James, seeing him scan his eyes around the room to find you. You waved your hand, calling him over to sit next to you. He grinned and walked over to the desk, sitting in the seat. "Good morning y/n!" he greeted kindly. He then looked around the classroom, his face morphing to a confused look when he noticed the buzzing excitement in the room. "Why is everyone so chipper today?" he asked. You then pointed at the potion on Slughorn's desk, "I'm guessing we're doing a lesson on Amortentia today." He was about to ask was Amortentia was, but was interrupted when Slughorn started talking.

"Good morning class, today we will be learning about Amortentia! Now, does anyone know what that is?" He questioned. You raised your hand quickly, and smiled when he called on you. "Amortentia is known as the world's most powerful love potion, and smells different to each person, as it's supposed to smell like whatever you love most."

"Perfect Ms. y/l/n! 10 points to y/h." you grinned proudly. You then heard Sirius' voice behind you, "Well I don't think prongs needs to smell it, we all know what it's gonna be!" He teased, James saying a lighthearted "shut up!" in return.

You knew what Sirius was talking about, of course. It was common knowledge that James was head over heels for Lily Evans, how could he not? In your eyes, she was everything that you wanted to be. Lily was gorgeous, popular, but most of all, she had James' attention. You've been in love with James about the same amount of time hes been in love with lily, and it hurt. It hurt being in love with someone who was so painfully obviously in love with someone else. Suddenly you weren't as excited for the lesson as you were before, as you weren't exactly thrilled to hear James talk about Lily's scent in the potion.

Slughorn started to call people up to smell the potion, and you waited your turn, watching them quickly walk to the desk when their name was called.

"Ms. y/l/n?" You snapped your head up. Everyone's eyes were suddenly on you, although the only ones that mattered were the hazel ones staring next to you. You started to get nervous, walking to the potion on the desk. Once there, you smelled the mixture.

broomstick polish, cologne, and freshly cut grass.

You rolled your eyes smiling, you had very clearly smelt one James Fleamont Potter. what a shocker, you thought. You gave a quick thanks to Professor Slughorn and sat back down, too embarrassed to share what you smelt with the class.

a few people went after you, and then James was called up. He smiled as the other marauders teased him. He confidently walked to the potion, grinning widely. Looking very sure of himself, he swiftly smelt the Amortentia. Then he suddenly had a puzzled expression on his face, quickly shifting to a frown. You started to feel worried as he nodded at Slughorn and quickly walked back to his seat. You instantly turned to him, "James are you okay?". His eyes widened dramatically, "What? oh yeah, I'm fine.", he replied quickly, avoiding your eyes. You frowned and turned back to the class.

When the lesson ended he practically ran out of the room, the other pranksters following quickly, looking ready for an interrogation. You just stared at the seat he was just sitting at, wondering what could have happened for him to act like that.

After that potions lesson, James had started avoiding you. Hed constantly make sure he didn't run into you, avoid your eye contact, sit far away from you at all times, and practically pretend you didn't exist. Any time you tried to talk to him, he would just brush you off, giving some lame excuse. It was as if the two of you had never been friends.

- "Hey James, do you wanna go to Hogsmeade this weekend with the others?"

"Sorry, I need to catch up on homework."

- " James! Wanna go to the library together after class?"

"I already have plans, sorry y/n."

- "Hey wanna go to the Quidditch pitch and practice?"

"Uh sorry y/n, maybe another time."

After a couple weeks of the neglect, your concern and confusion had turned into anger. What had you done to make him avoid you? And why couldn't he just talk to you about it? At this point, you had gotten fed up. You were walking to the Great Hall for dinner, and saw your friends about to walk in. Before a certain stag could enter, you grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back to face you.

"Oi! What are you- y/n!" He had a panicked expression, not expecting you to be the one who pulled him back. You made sure the other marauders were gone before dragging James to an empty corridor.

"What's your problem!" he asked exasperatedly, which made you scowl angrily.

"My problem?! You're the problem you idiot!"

He frowned, about to defend himself but you stopped him before he could.

"You've been avoiding me like the plague for weeks!"

"No I have-"

"Don't even try to deny it! I thought we were friends James."

"We are friends!"

"Then why have you been pretending like i dont exist!?" You shouted, feeling all of your anger bubble to the surface. James raised his eyebrows, shocked at the anger in your voice. you felt tears start to brim your eyes, "...is it me? Did i do something wrong?" Your voice had lowered, filled with fear, and you felt a tear roll down your face.

His gaze softened, "No, y/n, its not you", He said reassuringly. You felt more tears fall onto your cheeks.

"It just feels like I'm losing you James." You looked down at your feet. He lifted your chin to make you look up at him. "You could never lose me, y/n", he said with a pained expression.

Your brows threaded together, "Then whats wrong? Why haven't you been talking to me?"

He's silent for a few moments before finally finding the words.

"...I was scared", He whispered.

You frowned, "Of what?"

"My feelings. I've been so confused-"

"James i don't understand-"

"Please, just let me explain", he said nervously. You nodded, letting him continue.

"..For so long.. I thought it was Lily. I thought she was the one for me. I've been chasing after her for so long.. I was so sure that she was it for me. And then that Amortentia lesson happened. I was so confident it would smell like her.. but it didnt", he looked down and twiddled his thumbs, "It was you."

Your eyes widened, "James-"

"Just listen. I smelled you in the Amortentia. And for days after I was so confused about my feelings - feelings for Lily and for you. But the more I thought about it the more it made sense, and i started realizing how i truly feel. I used Lily as a distraction from the one person I actually loved, because I didn't know how to deal with those feelings. Because the truth is, I didn't know how to deal with the fact that I had fallen in love with my best friend... I love you y/n. It's always been you." He wore a pained expression, "And im so, so sorry i didnt realize it sooner."

You stared at him in surprise, well that's definitley not what I thought he was gonna say.

He grew worried at your silence, "Please say something." He pleaded, which seemed to pull you out of your stupor.

"Broomstick polish, cologne, and freshly cut grass", you stated.

He squinted in confusion, "What?"

"That's what I smelled in the Amortentia.. It smelled like you." He opened his mouth in surprise and you continued, "I love you James. I've loved you for so long, and I can't tell you how happy it makes me to hear you say you feel the same way."

James' face brightened, and he pulled you into a bone crushing hug. When he pulled away from it, you noticed how close his face had gotten to yours, and it seemed james did too. He slowly moved his hand to grasp the side of your face, body moving closer as he placed his other hand on your waist.

"Can i kiss you?" He whispered.

You nodded, feeling heat rising up your neck and closing your eyes in anticipation. You felt his face inch closer, and he softy placed his lips on yours. Your hands immediately threaded through his dark curls, and you kiss him harder. You feel him pushing you back against the wall, the hand on your cheek moving down to your collarbone.

The kiss started to get a little more heated, but then you hear a voice across the corridor, causing you and James to separate and look toward the source of the noise.

"Ah! So dinner and a show!" Sirius laughed, Remus and Peter chuckling next to him.

"Oi, shove off" James says, smiling at them.

"But seriously, we're glad to see you too catching up again." Remus added.

"Thank you guys", you say fondly.

You look back at James, "I'm glad too.” you grinned at him softly before looking back at the group, “Alright can we go to the Great Hall now, I'm starving."

Sirius chuckles, "I didn't think you'd be hungry after eating eachother's faces off"

"Shove it padfoot."

#marauder #hp marauders #young marauders #james potter #james potter x y/n #james potter x reader #remus lupin #sirius black #harry potter #harry potter x y/n

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a-beast-of-prey · 7 years

Text

K’ slouched comfortably against the convenience store wall, a cigarette smouldering quietly between his lips. Outwardly, he appeared bored, relaxed, even. Though his eyes roamed constantly, taking in surroundings and passing faces alike with wariness. People loitering near the ship he and Maxima had been loaned earned more scrutiny. As did the cashier Maxima was currently chatting up as he paid for fuel and snacks. They hadn’t run into any of NESTS’ agents yet, but K’ wasn’t taking his chances by growing complacent. The cartel’s reach was far and deep. Especially so now that there was only a sliver of universe remaining. They were a well-hidden tumour, quietly hurting the Ring’s unaware denizens… But not for much longer, he hoped. He was eager to take the bastards out for good and stop them from screwing over anyone else, though his cybernetic friend insisted they bide their time first; get stronger, gain more resources and allies, and the like. They’d already made arrangements with the biggest player in the Ring - a scratch her back, and she’d scratch theirs deal - and would probably gain her help, and the help of her crew, if they made a good enough impression… And that was a decent start and all, but he wanted to take NESTS down fast and hard, rather than wait and allowing them to amass their own strength in the process.

Speak of the devil…

K’s internal brooding was interrupted by the approach of the very woman he’d been thinking of: Reyna Valeria; Rogue leader, and one of the Detritus Ring’s most notorious authorities. He was actually rather surprised by her appearing before him, even if the only outward sign of it was a few blinks. He’d expected her to call ahead via holodevice if she required the services of himself and his sideburned partner. Not approach him outright. Either she’d just been passing through, spied him, and wanted to talk, or something urgent had come up. K’ flicked his cigarette at his feet and ground it beneath his boot. He titled his head at Reyna in acknowledgement.

“Valkyrie,” he greeted neutrally. Maxima may trust her, but it would take more time for him to feel the same. That said, she was his employer, and thus demanded a lot more respect from him than the usual idiot and other such degrading nicknames he used to address Maxima. “Was there something you needed?”

@reynavaleria

#♱ [REYNA VALERIA] Valkyrie #♱ [IC] I'm more than enough for this #♱ [VERSE: BATTLEBORN] universe's end #{{sorry it took so long to do this up and how lame it probably is... writing muse and motivation have been all over the show @~@;;}}#{{I can try to come up with something better if u want? I just figured something like this left us way more options to play with}}#{{but if you wanted any specific deets on K' or to chuck better thread ideas or anything then def feel free to}}#{{there's roadworks going on right outside my house so I'm kinda. trapped in here for the rest of the day lmao}}#{{I'm still not 100% set on how he fits into the BB-verse so a lot of shit's subject to change from the baseline idea of the drabble p;}}#{{so like. If u wanted me to do up like. a proper meeting starter between them instead then hmu}}#{{cuz like I said. stuck here all day. possibly tomorrow as well. so plenty of time to do so on my end}}

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dalleray · 3 years

Text

If I hadn't been very good interviewing [Patricia] Highsmith in Aurigeno, there was someone I was downright bad at, and yet it must have been the start of a surprising, singularly charming story: Edwige Feuillère....

I arrive one afternoon at rue de Longchamp in Neuilly. Rather banal building. I get on the elevator, my throat a little tight: I felt her authoritarian. They open the door for me and show me into the living room, I find it a little too pink, a little too sweet. She enters. Not very much makeup on; she wears a funnel neck sweater. Her body no longer has the firmness of my memories. Still, there is the way she carries her head. It's her, but she's an old woman.

Today, I'm sure she saw it all in my eyes in a second. So, she pulled out all the stops. She offers me a seat on a couch and sits next to me, almost thigh to thigh. I move back. She raises her eyebrow and just says: “You are sitting very badly. Lean on the cushions.”

“Sorry, but I can't work like this.” “Okay, I'll take the cushions away.”

And we start. She responds, but very quickly interrupts me and brings her face closer to mine. "Ah, now that I see you with my glasses on… But you have very pretty green eyes," with that voice that makes all screens shudder. I do not know where I am. I pick up the thread as best I can.

“You read my book! You are indeed the first journalist who comes to see me for this book to have read it.”

I stammer. I am getting worse and worse. I bend down to turn on the tape recorder. She lifts my face, touches my hair, on the forehead, to the right. "But you have a strand of white hair. Is it natural or are you doing it on purpose?" There, I feel that I am confused, maybe even that I blush, I flounder, I sink. That’ll teach me to betray that, in her sweater, I couldn't find the one I had placed on a pedestal at all. I'm mad at myself, but at her too. Now she wants me to eat chocolates. And tell me that she is a great reader. As if! I wonder what literature she likes, but I don't feel like digging. I want to go. She goes to get my item of clothing, a black leather jacket and helps me put it on. She runs her hand all the way down my back and says, still her voice, "I love the feel of leather.”

Okay, she's seventy-seven, I'm thirty-three, but she took over and covered me with the ridicule I deserved. Let's run away together.

I was not at the end of my punishment, though. I listen to the tape. I am lamer than lame: I don't raise the right questions, I don't push her to explain, I say totally incongruous things. Nothing to get out of it. Unreliable. And, to make matters worse, she wants to reread before publication. What to do? Meet with close friends to whom I dare not even speak out. Common sense advice, but easy to say: "Try to remember what you wanted to know, what she started to say when she stops and you forget to start her again. Rewrite everything: there will probably not be a word of what's on the tape, but we'll see what she says about it." A whole weekend, for an interview page in Le Monde. And a close reading by my friend Monique Nemer. Questions at last intelligently formulated and answers reconstructed, but perhaps just a bit “off.”

On Monday, the interview is printed. Two hours later, Feuillère on the phone: "My little one, it's absolutely perfect...I've never read an interview so true to who I am.” That’s when I realized she was extremely intelligent.

She offered for me to see her again. She told me about what she read. A very sure taste for literature, the classics—she had not forgotten Claudel's lessons. She was very attached to her hand-annotated edition of Dante's The Divine Comedy in Italian—her father's nationality. She gave it at the end of her life to Hector Bianciotti, whom I introduced to her. But she had a curiosity for everything that was published—I brought her my favorite recent books—and the eclecticism of avid readers. She happily returned to Claudel's side, but discovered with the same interest Philip Roth, who made her want to reread Joseph Roth. Dante would bring her back to Philippe Sollers' side, and she would go back to the Italian side to read Svevo and Elsa Morante. She read the ones I told her about: Eudora Welty, Anna Maria Ortese, Annie Ernaux, Danièle Sallenave. But Highsmith's murky tales seemed too worrying to her. When we went to dinner, I always tried to convince her, to make her love this "black queen” without much success.

When she played at the theater at night, we used to go to lunch. She seduced me in every way—because she liked to seduce, because her conversation was brilliant, humorous, her language sometimes deliciously old-fashioned. One day when I was talking to her about a man, she said to me, “Alors, vous êtes éprise?” (“So, are you in love?”) with a sort of ‘h’ sucked in front of "éprise.” She lunched “en chapeau” (“in hat”) as it should be if you arrive in a restaurant wearing a hat, but nobody knows how to do it anymore. After coffee, without using a mirror, she reapplied her lipstick. She would sometimes use an indignant grandmother's voice to say, "My little one, stand up straight. This is an absolute rule.” When I complained about a married man who liked neurotics—those who harass you to snatch an evening, a weekend—and I told her that I hated these behaviors and that, asking for nothing, I did not get anything, she punctuated with a laugh: “But my little one, this is the story of my life! Men, if not burdened with recriminations, give nothing."

I loved going to see her at the theater. The presence on stage of a person with whom you have a form of intimacy is always moving. Anguishing, too. When, at the Théâtre Montparnasse, she took over La Maison du lac with Jean Marais, I went there almost every evening. Marais-Feuillère, for the last time, you had to see and see again. One day when she invited me to lunch in a restaurant near the theater, whose old-fashioned and provincial character, like the clientele, amused us, she reproached me: "Stop coming to the theater!" Seeing my crestfallen face, she added, “But this is not a good play! How can you listen to these banal lines over and over again?” “Of course, it's not Claudel, but I'm not coming for the lyrics, I'm coming for your shoulders and for the melody.”

“Cheeky and incorrigible, that's what you are. So, come on tonight, I'll introduce you to Jean."

Juliette Gréco, who laughed at this improbable friendship and imitated Feuillère so well, would sometimes call me, mocking her voice. I hesitated for fear of saying to the real Feuillère: "Stop your stupid jokes! " One morning, I hear Feuillère's phrasing on the phone, too over-played for it to really be her: “My little one, I had a great time last night.” And Juliette Gréco tells me, with her own voice and the tone of a kid delighted with her triumph, that she was at a party the day before, and that seeing Feuillère at a table she approached silently, passed her arms around her shoulders, and leaned over say to her ironically: "So, are we seducing the same young woman?"

Despite my protests, I admit that I was rather entertained by imagining this scene between these two. The tastiest was yet to come. Call from Feuillère, the same afternoon: "My little one, we mustn't tell Juliette Gréco that we are seeing each other, she is very jealous"

I joked: "No, she knows very well that we have incestuous loves.” “Incestuous, perhaps, but not Sapphic.” There is no one left to utter such phrases!

Talking about her relationships with women, one day, when once again I had just passed a passionate admirer on her doorstep who was chasing her and whom she received, while remaining aloof, even disdainful, I joked: “You are a tease.”

“At last, my little one, how dare you?”

“Sorry, but it's the truth!”

She didn't comment. I thought of Sartre telling Sagan, who was cutting meat badly, that he could no longer cut himself: “Respect is lost."

I was a little ashamed: I had crossed a line—thin, barely perceptible, and yet very present, beyond which she wanted to safeguard her unalterable dignity. More than Claudel, it was Mallarmé's Hérodiade that she made think of: "Who would dare touch me, a respected lion?”

- Josyane Savigneau on her friendship with Edwige Feuillère in Point de côté

#edwige feuillère #josyane savigneau #buy the book #support writers!

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livingarrows · 3 years

Note

Just a random question- but what exactly was your inspiration for writing Emblem of Eternity? The idea in itself was so heartbreaking and fascinating at the same time-different(I don't think anyone has tried it like that before) and that story turned out to be nothing less than a masterpiece.....(I'll tell you what-I never meant to read it..I was scrolling through AO3 came across this one labelled "True love: clois" and I was like "Now that's something I'm looking for" I think I ignored the warnings...halfway through it, I was like "Oh God I can't read this anymore..." and still read it anyway. And honestly, I was this lame teary mess after that. And I have never been so grateful to a person for actually making me cry. I must have read it hundreds of times by now, I'm still not over that feel of reading it for the first time. Don't think I'll EVER get used to it. You made me fall somehow deeper in love with clois and really, thankyou for that. Thought you should know...just hope it wasn't an absolute waste of time.)

What an amazing comment. Wow. Thank you so much.

I wrote and first posted that story in December 2011, so this is really taking me back.

I went to look at my original notes from when I first posted Emblem of Eternity -- and this is what I said about how it came to be:

"This story was born, inspired by a few things. I got an initial burst of inspiration after reading a fic from another fandom, I took quotes from other Clois mythology and bookended the story, plus some of the discussion in the Clois thread spurred me on with this idea."

I can't remember what fic it was I was actually referring to in that note, it was so long ago, although I wish I could. Should have written it down.

The quotes that bookend the story are the key ideas that helped inspire the story, as well as the quote in the summary. The idea of Clark ageing slower than humans, and hence outliving Lois, is already in the mythology, but I wanted to explore that in a way that didn't leave Clark forever broken following her death.

My own experience with loss and grief is the other main influence on how this one got shaped, and the feeling I wanted to convey in the last pieces of the story. Or try to, at least.

I have a personal belief that the best way we can honour people we've lost and the life that they led, is by going on with our own life in a way they would wish for us -- enjoying it, living it, being happy, doing our best. It's not about being perfect and it's not always easy, but my mantra to get me through the dark times has been: Just keep going.

By the end of the story, my view is that the grandest and greatest expression of Clark's love for Lois is to do just that. Lois wouldn't want him to disappear or stop being Superman or hide away and give up. Lois's love for Clark is what drives him forward and keeps him going, no matter what. That's why they're so timeless and epic to me… because it's a love story that never ends.

Sorry if this somehow turned into a jumbled ramble about love instead of, like, a coherent answer to your question.

#ask #my fics

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jeonjeonggukenergy · 5 years

Text

Anti-Hero

summary ~ in search of wine at a party that’s so not your scene, you run into jungkook, the weeb from your film class, and become determined to learn just how much he lives up to his big reputation.

pairing ~ jungkook x reader

genre ~ fluff, light smut w/ more to come - college!au

wordcount ~ 1.7k

warnings ~ light smut, drinking/partying, mentions of dick?, basically just making out, feat. long hair jk :)))))

a/n ~ this is my first time posting a fic!!! costume idea inspired by @ddaenggtan‘s iconic weeb-ass jk in chasing butterflies lol, and I got the idea to write this in general from wondering what a scenario like @joonbird‘s literally flawless fic passionfruit would be like from the opposite perspective bc I kept reading it (and rereading it...and rereading it...) and loving the connection but I’m much more like joon in that au than the reader oooop. anyway thank you to all the writers on here whose work i have loved and my friends who have encouraged me and made me bold enough to embrace such a fun new creative outlet xxx u know who u are :’)

next: chapter 2 | chapter 3 | chapter 4 (coming soon!)

~ read on ao3 ~

CHAPTER 1 ~ dress up

You never intended to end up at this Halloween party. You didn't even know who to expect to see here, other than your roommate's friend from high school, the host, who had invited y'all as a package deal even though she knew you didn't really do parties. At least not ones like hers, where every bedroom ended up occupied by the end of the night and nearly no one went home alone. Thrilled to break out of your lame group of friends for a taste of flirtation and fun, you tried to relax into the scene but the unspoken expectation of casual sex intimidated you the tiniest bit.

Speaking of casual sex, there was Jungkook.

Used to admiring him from afar in your "14 Films To See Before You Graduate" class, you paused to take in the sight of him in what you supposed was a more natural habitat. Everyone knew Jungkook got girls, thanks to the rumor his first freshman-year hookup had started about his seriously impressive dick. He had a beautiful body too, carefully crafted muscles obvious even beneath his usual baggy black clothes, so as the more intimate rumors spread and various co-signers confirmed every detail from length to curve to (you had always hated this word, but...) girth, getting a piece of all that became a badge of honor among the girls in your grade. You had never really understood how the awkward boy who hid manga under his desk in class could supposedly be such a sex symbol, but you almost felt bad for him. That kind of reputation following you around everywhere couldn't be all fun and games. If anything, though, it had intrigued you even more about the rest of him, all his little weeb quirks and the way he debated your points in the discussion boards like he actually cared. He wasn't exactly studious in general, but he clearly loved film and you enjoyed speaking up in class just to see how he would jump off of your observations. You hadn't really talked to him other than that, but he didn't seem to be talking to anyone else tonight either. From the corner, you let yourself appreciate the way his nervous hands tugged at the skinny black tie of his costume, freeing more of his throat from a thin yellow button-down shirt.

At least you no longer felt overdressed in your Nancy Drew outfit. The retro headband, brown loafers, and bookish plaid knee-length skirt set a much more sophisticated tone than most other ensembles you'd seen, but Jungkook's weeb ass had basically worn a full suit to channel Spike Spiegel from Cowboy Bebop. With his grown-out hair tousled and a navy pinstripe jacket cinched tight with two strips of electrical tape over his tiny waist, you couldn't deny that he rocked it. He leaned against a long plastic table left in the hallway, bobbing his head to the music in the next room and adjusting the too-slim suit pants around his thick thighs. His translucent cup stayed hidden behind a hip until he raised it quickly to his face for another sip of...red wine? Probably Franzia, knowing tonight's crowd, but anything was better than beer. You made a beeline for the one boy with taste at this party, your sole mission now to get wine drunk, sneak some Usher throwbacks on this playlist, and drop it low enough to leave some dude hard on the dance floor. #wastehistime2019, yknow.

"Hey!" You got his attention, grabbing the hand with the cup before he could lower it out of view again. His eyes grew comically wide and his mouth formed an "o" in shock before you demanded "Where is the wine?" and he pressed his lips back into a line, stuttering.

"I-I-I'm sorry, I just brought a bottle because the beer here sucks but I think it's all gone by now, I tried to hide it but yeah anyway you can have the rest of this one if you want though." Wincing at his own ramble, he ruffled the retro pouf of his hair with one hand and proffered the plastic cup in another. Both actions highlighted how pretty his hands were and you were just slightly tipsy enough to thread your fingers over his in the also-pretty black waves falling over his yep-still-just-as-pretty cheekbones.

"Aw, it's okay, I don't want to take your wine. No more liquid courage for me," you grinned, dotting the lightest kiss on his nose. It was an innocent gesture, but as your face naturally lowered so your noses touched, leaving your lips centimeters away from each other, something snapped—in him.

His wine discarded on the table, a hand curled around to clutch your ass and you practically felt his tongue before you felt his lips. Slamming your body abruptly into his, he nudged a thigh between your legs to grind it up on your center and as your arm got caught between your bodies, the tension you sensed filling his frame gave you pause. You pushed him away gently but firmly with the hand already flattened against his rock-solid abs. Looking down at the slight space restored between y'all, you removed his hands from his hair and your ass and laced them in yours to guide him back against the wall.

"I...what was that?" you almost giggled. You definitely weren't trying to laugh at him, but you couldn't hide your surprise at this first potential proof of his fuckboy reputation.

"I'm—" his whole face crumpled, both from the simple sting of your seeming rejection and the possibility that he had broken a boundary or forced himself on you against your wishes, which made him so sick he could barely face you. Squirming under your light hold but not quite resisting, he rambled again: "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to force myself on you or anything, don't worry I would never try anything if you didn't want to, I just figured we might as well get to the point if you did because, uh...when girls touch me like that or even talk to me at these things it's pretty much always just because they...want to."

"Jungkook," you breathed, pulsing your hands over his in reassurance. He squeezed his eyes shut, still distraught, and when they opened, you had craned your neck to meet his averted gaze.

"I never said I didn't want to."

His eyes widened again. "Uh...uh...then..." he trailed off, never having needed to directly proposition a girl like this before. He really had been inexperienced before the rapid escalation of college, and was at a loss for how to get to the good stuff from here via anything more eloquent than a rushed "Wanna fuck?" You shook your head silently, nose grazing his again, and let go of one hand to cup his face with care, like he was something precious you were scared of breaking.

"What? You want to get right to fucking me?" you murmured into his ear. He shivered at hearing you curse for the first time, freed from the constraints of class discussions and closer than he ever guessed you'd get to him. "Is that really what you want? Or is it what you think I do? Because if it's alright, I think I want something better. For you."

You pressed a new kiss to his nose, only slightly stronger than the one that had started all this. He held his breath and his untouched, open mouth trembled as you scattered soft introductions of your lips across his forehead, to his temples, over the scar that sliced his cheekbone. Finally inhaling a skittery heave of your shared air as you passed closer to his lips, he forced it back out in frustration when you ducked away to nudge under his jaw instead. Returning your hand to his hair, you grinned, enjoying the spike in his pulse under your thumb and skipping the tip of your tongue lightly over his neck right up to the earlobe. You lifted the choppy ends of his waves away from the dangly silver hoop they hid, tensing the strands just slightly between your fingers in an inability to hide your glee. Something told you this was going to drive him crazy.

Taking a slight detour to suck his pierced lobe between your lips, you responded to Jungkook’s low moan of surprise by wedging your tongue through the first oversized hole and letting your teeth clatter over multiple rings of metal. He was trying so hard to stay pliant under you, but the tease of slight pain in a new and unusual spot made him want your mouth more, anywhere he could get it. No one had ever spent this much time tracing so few inches of skin.

And so many girls had buried his face in their necks, craving evidence of an encounter with the Jeon Jungkook, that a strange kind of empathy caught him off guard when you showed him how good it could feel to receive. You connected your lips to the hollow right under his ear, feeling the tendons stretch as his head lolled away from you. Working him through a cascade of light gasps, you stepped away satisfied once you had sucked a dark bloom to the surface. He watched you leave with his mouth agape and chest heaving, unable to believe you could just walk away with a wave and a "See you in class!"

But you did, and he would.

"Shit!" he swore, a shaky hand darting straight to the spot. Now he had to keep his hair long for at least another two or three days. If he showed up to discussion on Monday and had to watch you admiring your work on his skin, he would probably just die on the spot. And that would not be very Spike Spiegel of him.

next chapter

#jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #jungkook x reader smut #bts smut #bts fic #college!jungkook #college au!jungkook #bts college au #jungkook #jeon jungkook #bts jungkook #my writing #anti-hero #anti hero

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riancraigjohnson-blog · 6 years

Note

Hi, I just saw your post about having legitimate complaints about TLJ... I haven't seen it yet, but was wondering what your complaints were (and whether it's worth me spending my money going to see it). I'm not bothered by spoilers.

good evening dear! to make things easy, i’m just gonna make one hugeass post and do a bullet list.

no consistency to story-telling

you wanna add new force powers? fine! great! but keep them consistent!

yoda appears to tell luke that the jedi are garbage & should end ( yoda???? of all people???? instead of someone who would actually think that given personal experience, like, y’know, ANAKIN )

also somehow yoda can call down lightning and cause real-world damage to a tree by setting it ablaze? why hasn’t yoda or obi-wan or anakin literally just come down and stop the order by doing something like this if they can literally control nature from the afterlife????

someone ( leia )…. with no proper force training…. can somehow defy…. dying in space? and also project themselves through space while barely conscious?

rian seems to want to keep this narrative of ‘evERYonE caN HAve ThE foRCe’ but when given the chance to make one of three kids force-sensitive, one kid being a black boy, one a white girl, and one a white boy, in a series where we have leading white female and black male protagonists and a white male villain………. somehow rian decided it was best to give the white boy the force? in a trilogy where the leAD CHARACTER IS A FEMALE AND ONE OF THE LEADING MALES IS A BLACK MAN?????????? GROUNDBREAKING

snoke connected rey and kyle via force skyping, but if his whole goal was to just……….. get rey to come to the supremacy after he manipulated her to believe in kyle’s redemption, like….. why do all that shit. why not just….. read her mind. clearly he can influence people and affect people from long distances so what the fuck why would he bother with that weird force bond shit. like if vader can fucking force choke a guy over a video conference, i don’t see why it’s that much more of a stretch to just have snoke read rey’s mind or manipulate her without using kyle

luke fucking astral projecting himself onto crait, despite not knowing they were on crait, after shutting himself off from the force like 10 years prior to tlj– somehow he’s able to hold a long-term projection of himself to taunt kyle and buy time for the fleeing resistance? and then, at the end, he just….. gives up and dies? becomes one with the force? ???????

lame foreshadowing/repetition

so, when kyle and rey’s first skype session goes live, kyle makes a point of asking rey if she was causing this, this almost astral projection skype convo from light years away, only to say ‘no….. the strain would kill you.’ cue the end of the movie, where it’s revealed luke was just projecting himself all along, and…. he dies.

there’s also this scene where luke asks rey what the force is, and being inexperienced in it, she makes a comment about it being about making things float. luke says no, everything you said is not-true– its not about making rocks float, ( which is then brought back as a concept at the very end of the movie, when rey has to float rocks to free the resistance from the caves they ran into, again, bad foreshadowing. ) this is then brought back later when astral luke is facing off with kyle, and kyle says something about destroying the resistance and the jedi…. only for luke to, verbatim, say what he said to rey about every word he said being not-true.

this almost bashing it into our heads notion of ‘kill the past, it’s only holding you back’ that’s mentioned by kyle, that seems to be the central thread– the past is just that, the past. it’s time to completely ignore it and never look back. it’s time to wipe away the misty-eyed wonders of your hero worship of your childhood… the reality is that people fuck up and your heroes are nothing and in the end we all die, jan. ( what a fun, hopeful message. )

but with this message, this idea of all your heroes are dead and don’t even think of people as heroes because that’s just unrealistic and you’ll be disappointed when they fuck up because we’re all human :))) – with that message we’re then meant to leave the theater somehow emboldened because luke took up the mantle of being a legend in the end…. even though there’s no reason he should be considered one when the only people who witness this astral fight technically are kyle and the first order– the resistance didn’t watch because they were trying to escape through the base’s tunnels with the time luke was buying them. so we’re supposed to treat luke as a legend now….. or are we supposed to hate this idea of hero worship? i’m getting mixed signals.

literally everything built up in tfa…. rey’s parents/backstory, snoke’s history/why the resistance even knows about him, why kyle became evil, why rey was able to call the lightsaber over him, why luke exiled himself but left a map………… so many questions to be answered! and tfa laid out a beautiful table for johnson to sit down at and serve dinner.

only johnson decided to say fuck you, fuck your dinner, fuck everything you thought about this movie because it doesn’t matter

rey’s parents? nobodies– drunkards. sold their daughter into literal slavery for drinking money.

snoke’s backstory? doesn’t fucking matter if we hyped him up as more dangerous than vader or palpatine– he’s dead now because he apparently couldn’t sense kyle about to kill him. the man can bond two people across light years of distance, but he doesn’t notice the lightsaber that’s slowly being turned towards him? hm.

why is rey so strong with the force? because it belongs to everyone and not the elite skywalkers who literally came from slavery so fuck you for that too

luke’s exile? because he felt bad about considering killing his nephew when he probed his mind and felt he was completely evil. luke skywalker considered killing his nephew, the son of his twin sister, son of his best friend– let that sink in.

kyle’s evil…. but he’s good, right? there’s good in him? or not. for someone who rian says we can all relate with ( sorry but i don’t relate with fascists :/ ) he made it pretty clear that he wanted kyle to be the end all be all villain by the end of 8. so ??????

also why is kyle so obsessed with vader? what the fuck? guess what? you don’t get to know. fuck you again.

character assassination / regression

luke was……… not luke. clearly. mark hamill has said it’s not luke. that’s more than a bit telling.

rey’s whole story literally revolved around following luke around ahch-to while learning jack shit only to then follow kyle around trying to say there’s still good in him. ( another fun fact rian……… luke only was willing to forgive vader when he realized that was his dad. why would rey feasibly trust her abuser / han’s murderer / man who put finn into a coma so quickly unless maybe they had a prior connection, particularly familial? )

finn was turned into a joke, called a coward, called selfish, tased by rose, slapped by hux……. like finn had literally no character progression at all.

poe went from well-decorated commander of the resistance, former officer with the new republic, to hot-headed flyboy who doesn’t take orders and just needs to learn from his white superiors :)))) like……………… do i even need to say it

leia was practically non-existent, and when she was, she slapped poe and later shot at him, stunning him. which, she…. y’know………. never did to han.

chewie and r2 were literally there as props, don’t even try and tell me otherwise. r2 showed luke leia’s hologram back from anh as a means to like…. spur him into action, but??? luke literally did nothing as well even after that?

lack of lando. can i include that? rian said he ‘wanted’ to include lando but he ‘wouldn’t work’ so i think rian just owes me money for having to even try to comprehend his bullshit

hux??? y’know, the fascist general with that terrifying speech before he decimated an entire star system? that hux? he’s just comic relief now. :)

he even has a ‘your mom’ joke thrown at him which is super funny when you remember he’s a bastard and never knew his birth mom so like #goodwriting

kyle is redeemable now!! even though he’s shown no remorse and has already been offered the chance to redeem himself but he took the opportunity to say ‘fuck you’ and kill han so…. ignore all that, ignore the fact that he’s a fascist leader and massacred children and countless others………….. his uncle tried to kill him so he must be in the right :)))

phasma…. you liked phasma? strong villain woman? yeah, well, watch the most unsatisfying fight that ends in finn winning purely by luck because she falls down into a firey pit. mmmmmm that sure was satisfying? :/

regular star wars rules need not apply?

bombs can just be dropped in space because gravity exists in the vacuum of the stars apparently

but a body on a blown-open bridge can remain on the bridge instead of getting sucked out into space….?

a slow-speed ship chase where one ship is running out of fuel? cinematic gold, apparently

for some reason the first order ships chasing the resistance couldn’t have just….. sped up their ships a bit and plowed them over / took them out with tie fighters for no other reason but….. it wouldn’t be convenient that way?

there’s a lot more than this but i’m tired and should have gone to bed hours ago, so i’ll probably just reblog this sometime tomorrow and add more, but here’s this for starters!

#anti tlj #anti rian johnson #tlj spoilers #this movie makes me so tired and i haven't even touched on the handling of new characters yet #in-relative-time

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rpbetter · 3 years

Note

Hmm.. I don't why I even bother with my mutuals. I'm the only one who engages with them. Yet, when I send a simple cool starter meme to a mutual they don't reply to mine, but other people. This has been happening for several months, it's a small rpc, but the fandom is large. Whenever I reblog a meme I don't ever expect anyone to send me anything that's their choice, but its quite dishearting when my mutuals doesn't send any. Only one or two do sometimes five, while I'm nice enough to send it in their askbox. Sometimes I wonder if its because I don't post my fanart on my blog or I write a popular character; some rpers have a negative stigma against.. which is unfair and wrong.. Its so depressing. I don't know why I'm sad I'm in my 30s I should not be feeling this way. Or perhaps I'm being taken advantage of due to how genuine and considerate I am.. its like they sit back and do nothing while I do the work. God I hope not. I'm very chill and respect my mutuals. It just seems as though I'm being lead on and I'm afraid to express how I feel.

I'm really sorry you're feeling like this, Anon, I don't know if anything I have to say will help, but maybe it'll at least be helpful that you've gotten to express it somewhere! I'm definitely going to try, though.

Unfortunately, all of this is way too common. You're not at all alone in feeling this way, any of it! I think we've all had the experience of what amounts to being in one-sided RP, if we haven't, it's because we haven't yet. You'd think that being in a smaller area of the RPC that it would make this less likely to happen, but I think it can be worse sometimes in this situation because people in smaller circles have a tendency to become insular in a way that can be really bad.

It isn't usually intentional, you just become very comfortable with this smaller number of people and your relationships with them, everyone ends up with a sort of role within it. We establish in our minds that muns a, b, and c are our go-to writing partners, b and c are those we always send to or answer memes from, a we always interact with extra OOC, and so on. When you're muse d, your efforts go nowhere, you're not the mutual for any of it in their minds.

There probably is something making this easier, though, and you might very well be right about you being genuine and considerate being a factor. As much as that is the way to be, it can act against you as well if you're being viewed not as just a nice, considerate mun, but as someone who just exists to quietly support others. People could be viewing you as so relaxed and without demand that it doesn't matter to you much, or that even if it does, you're not a priority compared to the mutuals they might be concerned about dropping them if they don't give enough attention to them.

To that end, there is honestly not much you can do. Anything you say on the dash is likely to come across as suddenly too demanding or guilting, and coming to them individually to ask if there is something you could be doing for more interactions might not be seen as a genuinely no-pressure question. I'd recommend, if there are any changes you end up enacting in order to help combat all of this, that you post a very pleasant message saying, essentially, "I've made some updates and I'm looking to do some new threads, if anyone is interested, here is my meme tag! If you'd like me to send you a meme, comment what your meme tag is so I can."

That way, you're making them aware that you have changed some things (you can even post about those specific changes so they can all see if those are things that they felt were holding them back from interacting), directly stating you want/are seeking new interactions with them, and giving them two options to start that up quickly. Nothing guilt-trippy about it, just informative and direct, but polite still.

Now, about those possible changes, because there might be some other factors compounding this situation.

Do your current mutuals seem to be just meme based? I mean, do they primarily interact only through memes, or do they prefer to do some plotting first? It could be that they don't feel like responding to the starter meme coming from you is going to turn into a lasting thread if they require some plotting. It's possible that they started out just doing memes, but as time has gone, they've changed...and not mentioned it.

For example, I do require plotting or established interactions between mun and muse alike before I'll do a starter-style meme with someone. That's because I want it to be a longer-lasting thread, and I don't have to do plotting with these muns to make that happen. I also put that in the tags on the incredibly rare occasion I reblog one because that's the polite thing to do, but they may feel afraid that they'll be accused of favoritism or elitism if they do that. I'm not saying that's right, it's not, it's unfair and kind of mean to ignore people for their failure to do something you require that you're not telling them about, but it could be part of what is happening.

If they have open starters, do starter calls, that they're also not responding to (or have things in their rules about plotting) that could be a big part of this issue. They'd rather you react to the open starters, or contact them about writing a starter, and/or contact them for plotting.

There is also the possibility that the memes you're sending do not seem, to them, like situations that are either going to work out or that are appealing from your muse. Obviously, you thought so, or you wouldn't have sent it! It's always hard to tell what someone else thinks, however.

The memes you're sending could be too vague, or conversely, too specific for a situation they don't see with your muse/don't want with your muse. If they're very simple sentence starters, that could be hard to respond to with a muse they don't have established interactions with. If they're too specific, they could feel it's implying a relationship with your muse that theirs doesn't have.

It's a difficult balance and a lot of guessing, but try to send something in the middle of the two. Something that doesn't imply the muses know each other, but also gives something interesting to go off of easily.

Could also be the number of memes you're sending. Everyone wants to get memes, we're all upset when we post a meme and get absolutely nothing! But one person sending us many memes can feel overwhelming or even demanding. I know you're not trying to come off that way, and I cannot say that it is being perceived as such, but this is a possibility and I am trying to cover as many of them as I can in case one works out so you can enjoy yourself in RP again!

If you think this may be the case, try holding off on sending them. Give yourself a set number...something very small at first like one to each mutual a month only when it comes to starter-style memes specifically. That's going to be lame, and I'm sorry! You clearly don't have the interactions you want and it's upsetting enough to you as it is, but if running this experiment means figuring out something that allows you to have them, it'll be worth it, right?

As for the memes you do receive from others, what kind are you getting? Are they sentence/starters, or ones you can answer OOC? Variety of both? Are they the most basic, non-committal sentence on the meme, or interesting, engaging ones? This could be an important clue as to what your mutuals want/where they hold the possibility of your interaction and why. It could also be adding to their perceptions.

I feel like I should say again, as I've no desire to add to how bad you're feeling, that I mean none of this in either an assured way or a judgmental one. I'm just covering all bases of possibility, and even if any of these things are the case, you're not being a bad RP partner, you just might be the wrong one for some of your current mutuals.

If you are primarily getting OOC or non-committal sort of sentence starters, they could be trying to send you memes to be nice, but not have an interest in writing with you. They could be trying to see more of your muse before making that commitment, too. It could be that they're seeking some more development on the muse from you, or more development of a verse they think their muse would work out best with yours in.

So, if you're getting questions that are giving you an opportunity to talk about your muse, develop them, show everyone how you write them, be sure you're taking that opportunity. Try not to reply to those with really short, obvious answers/responses. If it seems there is no way to answer without being obvious, think on ways you can give new information involved with the obvious answer.

If you are getting sentence/starter memes, make your reply as personally interesting to that mun as possible. Go through their wishlist tag if they have one and write your response based on one of them. If they haven't any plots they've expressed a desire to do, you can still get a good idea of what they find particularly appealing by both the threads they already have and the sort of things they reblog. It could just be that, in the past, what you've given in return wasn't something they felt drawn to enough.

Since you said in the second message you sent that this was a relatively recent thing, they used to interact with you, I'm really wondering if they've lost interest in your muse for another fandom favorite, or there is a similar issue going on. Because that certainly implies that something changed for them that did not change for you.

Has there been a significant change in fandom? An old favorite character returned, there is a new one the whole fandom is about, or yours did something in canon that the fandom didn't like? It's always the risk of playing a canon...even one that is canonically dead can end up having something in their story added to that drastically changes the fandom's opinion, so it's a possibility.

In any event, on the other points, big fandom favorite-of-the-moment canons always, I mean that, knock everyone else out. jusAnd it doesn't even have to be in your fandom, either! It can be in a popular enough fandom that your mutuals accept crossovers from, and can feel really shocking when you have a situation like...they all left that major fandom due to burnout with it or drama, but were still attached to it enough to accept crossovers, and suddenly, new media, especially with an old favorite, appears - you are categorically ignored for another fandom's MC lol Neat feeling!

So, it could have nothing at all to do with you. You're just not the hyperfixation right now.

There are some changes that could have happen that might be more involved with you. I don't want to say "have to do with you," because that implies fault and it's not a fault situation when people change and want different things than what they one enjoyed with you. It's possible that some of your mutuals have grown into lengthier writing, different plot genres (they were about hurt/comfort, now they're about fluff), are more/less into shipping than they were, things like that.

I feel I should clarify again that this isn't judgment! It's unfortunately stigmatized to call this "growing into/progressing/etc." when that's just the best way to put it. It implies that you lack growth, you're stuck somewhere, you need to progress. That's not what I'm implying, or that there's anything wrong with continuing to enjoy a hobby the same way you always have...just as there's nothing wrong with expanding on it.

This could be part of the situation. Especially if your mutuals are at one of those awful age ranges where people experience rapid changes in how they enjoy things. What is a great time when you're RPing in your late teens is really different from what you enjoy in your early twenties is really different from what you enjoy in your mid to late twenties is different from what you enjoy in your early thirties is...you get the point. (Though, I will say, for all y'all ageist folks out there: you need to both stop shitting on teens/early twenties people for writing at a lower level than you in your late twenties and stop acting like anyone over thirty is a pedo, unapproachable, and into their forties and beyond are just incomprehensible as writers. Writing is a skill, you improve by doing it, and there is no magical age at which one turns into a pedo and has to give up their interests.) It's really possible that many of them have moved into different aspects of RP than you have.

If that seems to be the case, you have a couple of options. Pay attention to what they are writing, see if that's something you would enjoy working on doing as well. If so, start working on it by increasing your writing skills with any threads you do have or memes you do get, practice is the best way. If you have literally nothing to practice with, you'll have to practice on your own by taking a meme line you would have loved to get, using it as a writing prompt, and writing out what comes to you, just as you would in a meme someone sent you.

Okay, so what if you aren't interested in doing what they are? That's fine! Instead, you may want to look into attracting new mutuals that are more into what you are.

Honestly? If you feel like you are questioning why you even bother with these people already...that's my honest opinion of what you should consider doing regardless. Find new mutuals.

We all know there's a bit of a promo issue, they don't bring in new partners the way they once did, but it's still a good idea to have one floating around. Promo yourself on any relevant lists of active RPers out there you can find. If it's something you'll be alright with, be sure you're crossover and OC friendly to attract the maximum amount of muns and advertise in the maximum number of lists (though, if you say you have a verse in a fandom, do actually make that verse). Verses are a great way to give your potential mutuals the possibility to interact with your muse, consider adding ones from any major fandoms you enjoy and the usual favorites like a "modern" verse.

Other things you can do/should check if you're going to try attracting new mutuals would be having some writing on your blog for them to see and being certain your rules, muse bio, etc. are all up to date and finished out.

With the writing, I realize the situation you have going on is not great for showing potential mutuals your writing! Whatever current things you have, be as active with them as possible, and consider doing some headcanons or one shots. That way there is something that shows you're active, a bit about what interacting with you and your muse is like, and what you're capable of writing.

And with the other things, they're all really important information for mutuals to have, especially new ones who haven't been there with you this whole time. Your old mutuals may know, for example, what putting in your rules "just don't be a dick" means to you, specifically, but new mutuals do not. So, give your rules a once-over to be sure they're clear on what you do/do not want, how you approach RP, etc. Make sure all the common things are covered, but things unique to yourself as well.

If you haven't finished your muse bio, or you feel there are new things for you to add to it now, it's the best time to do so! Since you have a canon, I have to say it - don't just link to a wiki. Take this time you've been unfortunately gifted by inactivity to write up your own take on this muse - your portrayal is different than anyone else's, show your new mutuals how.

If you haven't a page for verses yet, or that page/post is really brief and has things like, "this is a modern verse, it takes place in our world" now is also the time to either make it or improve this. Really tell them what is different about your muse in each verse, what's interesting about this verse, where they fit into the canon of whatever fandom. Treat these verses as foundations for what you'll build with your mutuals, not hard stories that have to be followed, and be sure you're clear about that on the page/post! It'll help more people engage with your muse when they don't feel like you have an immutable story already without them.

Consider adding a navigation page/post if you do not already have one. A pinned post can work for this! That way you can link by your tags as well, so new people checking out your blog can quickly see your memes, headcanons, aesthetic posts, everything. And if you haven't been tagging those things? Start doing it for this purpose! Give people a way to quickly and passively check out as much as possible on your muse before they choose to interact, it'll help them make that choice.

As a last thing...I have to ask, have you asked any of your present mutuals why you're not interacting anymore?

I understand if you haven't, especially if you hadn't developed a good rapport with them yet. They could take that as guilting or pressuring and get annoyed with you, so I get the anxiety and reluctance. People also have an unintentionally horrible way of lying, too. Their intentions are good, they just don't want to make anyone feel bad or start an argument, but the outcome isn't nice. Yeah, people do totally ask these things expressly to be lied to and validated, or even to start an argument, but we shouldn't be treating everyone like that's what they're doing. We should assume that when people ask for help understanding a problem that they want the help. Community problem we all need to work on!

But anyway, if you feel like any of them are going to be honest and polite with you, and you haven't done so already, try asking them what is going on. No one knows better than they do why they're not engaging with you anymore, after all. Even if this isn't a situation that is going to improve with these mutuals, it's good to know for the future.

To avoid sounding like you're pressuring/shaming/guilting them, choose your words and phrasing carefully. Instead of, "I noticed you don't respond to the memes I send you, but do respond to memes from other mutuals," try, "I noticed we don't interact much anymore, it's fine if you're just in a different place now, but if there is something I can be doing differently, it would help me a lot to know, if you're alright with discussing that with me."

I'm not trying to imply you don't know how to converse with people, Anon lol I just know that it can be a difficult situation, it can lead to us unintentionally saying something that come off wrong to the other party. I'd really love for you to get an answer, even if it isn't one you like, so you'd at least know what went on and could move on from it.

Because this, reasonably, is pretty upsetting.

You are never too old to feel disappointed, hurt, or confused, Anon! It's okay to be depressed at any age when you've invested your time and energy in a hobby only to have it passed over for nebulous reasons. Hobbies are supposed to be fun, but that's the thing...hobbies aren't your job, the time and energy you invest in them is just for you. It's a passionate pursuit, if you want it to be. So having this kind of situation is hurtful, and you don't even know why it's happening.

Tumblr has this extremely gross problem with throwing around shit to shame muns over twenty-five for having a hobby still, don't internalize it! I'm not remotely sorry that I have interests outside of my work, cleaning my house, paying my bills, or having offspring (which, I do not, but that's the expectation, at midnight on your twenty-sixth birthday, if you don't drop dead, you have three children and a spouse and they're your sole interests, this is the only way to be an adult)...and I'm not remotely sorry for being as passionate about those interests as I was ten and twenty years ago, either. Including the emotions that come with it. I'm sure that if being a PTA parent was my primary hobby and someone snubbed me repeatedly in it without telling me why, I'd be upset about that, too. It's okay to have a hobby, it's okay to have feelings, including negative ones like being depressed. No matter what the RPC has to say about it.

I just hope that something in here helps! It might take a little bit to find new mutuals, talk to your current mutuals, try out new things with your writing, whatever it is you end up trying, but try to stay patient and looking forward to better things to come. I believe this can work out, and you deserve for it to!

Oh, on a side note? If it is your muse being one the fandom has stigmatized? Same, and fuck them. Is that hostile? Yes, and I'm not sorry lol Don't feel like you need to change muses because of that. You need to find the right mutuals, not cater to negative, irrational, and almost certainly purity culture-based attitudes of the wrong ones. When you take up a muse your fandom, or even corner of your fandom's RPC, has taken issue with, your only responsibility is to accept that you likely will have fewer interactions as a part of that choice. Fewer does not mean none, nor does it mean the interactions you don't want/are not fulfilling or otherwise enjoyable for you. Again, you just need to find the right group of muns!

There are muns out there who will appreciate your muse, and exactly as you are writing them too. There are muns who will appreciate your writing style, activity level, and preferred genres. If it takes you a bit to find them, just look at it as an exercise to spend more time developing your muse and writing for when you find them. It'll all be worth it if you hang in there.

#answered #anonymous #rp problems #rp advice #interactions

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thefloatingstone · 7 years

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Dang I'm really sorry to hear Steam is screwing you over like this. I even found the thread you made and you didn't get much help there either. I don't know much about NiTW but I hope you manage to get a copy of the game that runs for you!

Thank you very much ;w; I was waiting for supper so I was also hungry X’D so I was probably angrier than usual about it too. But that doesn’t stop it being really really lame >.> especially since I’ve always bought games with paypal. and just the lack of a way to try and talk to someone? ugh.

I ended up buying the game from the official website which took me to Ich.io :) And I’ve made the purchase. I’m trying to download it but my internet seems to be freaking out on my today because the download keeps interrupting or just stopping u.u Apparently today isn’t my day…

But technically I have at least been able to buy the game X’D so that’s a start.

Thanks for the kind words though! 8′D

#C-Puff Answers

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fangirlnovel · 7 years

Text

“Though it takes a little effort, I'm able to quell my inner fangirl, prevent any nervous sweats, and sit there calmly next to him. He's just a man—a good looking man who I find attractive—buying me a drink.”

“So what were you doing down here alone?” Weston asks.

“I just didn't find myself tired, I guess. Too wired from…everything.”

“Can't say I'm unhappy about that,” he says with a smile. “Wouldn't have run into you, otherwise.”

“Oh, 'cause it's not like you had my number or anything,” I say saucily. I know he tossed it, but I can't help but mention.

“Yes,” he says, his tone serious. “I do indeed. Been wondering about you. If I hadn't seen you tonight, I would have called.”

Wait—

“You still have my number?” I can't keep the incredulity out of my voice. Fail.

“You gave it to me, didn't you?”

“Didn't think you kept it,” I respond softly, stunned.

“Anyone else, and I wouldn't have,” he says, sincerely.

“Still, you didn't use it,” I say, shrugging.

“A mistake I won't repeat,” he says, gazing at me with a smile.

I realize I'm half smiling at that, so I turn my head and look away, having a Miss Celie from “The Color Purple” moment. His hand gently grasps my chin, turning my head back towards him. His eyes are hooded, fixated on my mouth.

“No, don't look away. I love your mouth. Particularly when it's smiling.”

My smile involuntarily widens at that and I glance down at his mouth. His lips are slightly parted, the lower, full lip looking utterly delectable. I turn my gaze to his eyes and he's looking back at me, his lids still heavy as if he's just awoken from a deep sleep.

“What?” I ask softly, breaking the silence and trying to figure out why the crap he's staring. Do I have something in my teeth? A boogey in my nose? What is it? The way he stared at me—in sections—I kind of feel like he's taking me apart with his eyes, which is disconcerting...although exciting. I simultaneously lean toward him.

It feels as if he's drawing me in.

“Does it bother you? My looking at you?” he asks in a rumble, voice just as heavy and drowsy as his eyes.

“No.” I close my lips, pull them inward and lick them quickly.

“Would it bother you if I kissed you?”

I take a sharp inhalation of breath at that.

Fuck no, it wouldn't bother me.

“Nope, don't imagine it would,” I say, voice somewhat higher than usual for some reason. I avert my eyes and grab my seltzer and lime, taking a few swigs; my mouth is kind of dry. I put the glass down and say, “So—”

Before I can say anything else, he shrinks the gap between us and kisses me.

Dude, he's fucking kissing me!

Softly. Lips still closed. It's a quiet ask for permission. My mind suddenly goes blank as my eyes close; all I can do is feel. All I want is to feel.

A moment passes, and his tongue gently pushes its way into my mouth, moving against mine in long, leisurely strokes. I angle my head, allowing him to go deeper, my fingers threading through his gorgeous head of hair. The kiss is long, slow and deep. My hormones are beginning to run amok, but I don't care. Part of me acknowledges that this man could probably have me here and now if he wanted—on the table or the booth bench. Oh, dear, sweet naughty thoughts.

Goodbye, once upon a time dry panties.

He ends the kiss with a soft peck, slowly pulling away. I open my eyes, my body warm. Tingly. I push my thighs together tightly.

“Here are your drinks, guys,” the waiter says, avoiding eye contact with me and Weston. Guess he saw the make-out session. The waiter clears his throat, smiles to himself, and hurries away.

"I guess we put on a bit of a show, huh?" he asks with a wicked grin.

"Oh god," I say, half laughing from the absurdity of the situation, half laughing out of nervous embarrassment.

"Eh, I'm not worried. A guy makes out with a beautiful woman, nothing wrong there. Now, if I felt you up while we were—"

"What?" I say, simultaneously panicked and aroused. He just gives me one of those looks again where it feels as if he's taking off articles of clothing with his eyes. I avert my gaze, trying to focus.

I grab my glass and take a long sip. Huh. It really is quite a refreshing drink. I take another sip. I can tell it's one of those deceptive drinks; I can't really taste the alcohol, and it lulls me into a false sense of safety as to how much I'm drinking. I put the glass down, realizing I've downed half of it.

"Would you like another?" Weston asks, grabbing his own drink and sipping slowly.

"No, I'm good. One drink for me is fine."

"Not much of a drinker then?"

"Um, not really, no."

Not since that embarrassing incident with asking out my hot professor. After my “nap” on the toilet, I had a horrible vomit session. Not looking to repeat that anytime ever.

"Just socially," I say with a smile, fiddling with one of the silver rings on my finger.

Nervous ticks? Who me? Nah.

"That's a good way to be, actually."

"What about you?" I ask.

"Well, social drinker now. Though I must admit about a decade ago, or hell, even the last few years, it was a bit of a problem."

"And now?"

"And now..." He grabs his glass, raises it, and waits for me to raise mine as well. "Everything in moderation." We clink glasses and take another sip from our drinks.

I look around the bar and notice several pairs of watchful eyes. It's like people just materialized out of nowhere once Weston showed up. No worries though; it only makes me slightly uncomfortable.

Weston leans in to whisper in my ear. "I'd like to say you get used to this, but you really don't. Care to go for a walk perhaps? Away from prying eyes?"

Wow. I hadn't considered...well, anything going beyond this bar, beyond this moment.

"I'd love to," I say simply.

Weston stands to go to the bar and close his tab while I excuse myself to the ladies' room. I check the hair and makeup, and that's cool, but then I realize (gasp!) I'm wearing a girdle. With no way of changing or taking it off. Sure, it's a nice, fancy body-shaper from the line of that plastic surgeon with his own reality show whose name I can't recall, but a girdle all the same. With near impossible snaps! Not that sex with Weston would be a good thing in the grand scheme of things anyway. So, this was good. Embarrassing undergarments were a good way for clothes to stay on.

And stay on they shall.

I'm not gonna be ruled by hormones, or end up some weekend girlfriend or whatever. This will just be a nice walk (and maybe another nice, make-out session). A great end to a great vacation. Yep. And I’ll get my endgame—talk to him like a regular human being. What more could I ask for?

Weston is waiting by the door when I exit the bathroom. I smile shyly, looking down. I have to be honest and say I'm half expecting him to not be there. Which is lame, but there you have it.

He reaches out for my hand and I place mine in his. We walk out, ignoring the gawkers.

The streets are filled with people milling about, The night air is warm, but not uncomfortable. There are still a ton of people milling about—from party to hotel room, or hotel room to party. I couldn't be sure. What was certain, however, was Weston still holding my hand in his, out in the open. He casually shifts me inward, so that he's walking closest to the street.

Quite the gentleman.

A group of young women recognize him.

“Oh my god!”

“Weston!”

“Can we take a pic with you? Please!”

The fourth girl just squees, bouncing up and down. He looks at me, mouths “Sorry,” and turns to take the pic with them.

“Oh, do you mind?” the once suqeeing girl asks. I smile, taking the camera.

“Sure,” I say. I take three shots, just in case someone blinked or something.

“All right, girls. Take care,” Weston says, once again taking my hand. We both notice the crowd that is slowly beginning to materialize and head our way. They were coming for him.

“Let's move,” he says, and we start to speed walk away. Kind of in between a sprint and a jaunt. Weston spies a guy on a cycle rickshaw, flagging him down.

"Hey man! Want to give your pretty lady a ride?" the cyclist asks Weston. I blush, not being able to ignore the double entendre that my perverted mind hears.

Weston shrugs, looking to me. "What say you, pretty lady?" He leans in close to my ear. "Care for a ride?" His voice is low and husky, sending shivers along my body. The fink.

Well, at least I'm not the only pervert.

Ignoring his double meaning, I say, "Sure! I've never ridden in one of these actually."

Weston takes my hand again, helping me up the step of the rickshaw. Who says chivalry is dead?

The rickshaw is quite fast, zipping down the street, and the breeze feels wonderful. Weston wraps his arm around my shoulders. I look over at him and he's giving me that lazy stare again.

“What is it?” I ask. “What are you thinking now?”

He traced a finger slowly across my collarbone. “Honestly? About taking you home.”

Holy shit.

He presses his face into my neck, inhaling deeply.

“Um...did you just sniff me?”

“Yes,” he says matter-of-factly. He leans in again, sniffing me slowly. If there is such a thing as suave sniffing, it's this.

“Smells like...coconut.” He gives me a light kiss on my neck, staring at me intently.

“Weston?” I say softly.

He moves closer, really slowly, and kisses me. Somehow, it's better than the first. More tender, and there are all kinds of butterflies. His lips are amazing—perfect for kissing. He lets his free hand kind of drift along the top of my crossed legs, looking at me from under hooded lids.

Tipsy and kind of drunk from the kiss, I say, “You're a bad, rude man, you know that?”

He smiles. “Yeah, I know.” And then he kisses me again, but this time, that perfect hand is caressing my neck. He pulls back, the expression on his face somewhat dreamy. "God, what are you doing to me?".

"Could ask you the same," I say, leaning in once more to that perfect mouth; I can't get enough of it. Of him. It's as if it's some kind of dream. At the very least, I'm sure I've had a fantasy like this at some point.

But that isn't good. This isn't good. Being this horny is bound to make me irrational. I mean, making out is perfect. Sure, it's leaving me all longing and full of want, but damn it, it's safe. Sleeping with Weston would be the opposite of that. Right? It can't possibly lead to anywhere good… Can it? What if this is just some kind of one off? What if I make myself an easy target and he thinks I'm some kind of groupie. Or what if—

Oh! Warm, perfect hand on my knee.

Please, just go a little further up...

I pull back from the intensifying kiss, gripping his shirt.

"You okay, baby?" he asks, concerned.

Damn..."baby"…

"I'm good. Good, good. Um...where are we going?"

He pauses, looked around. "Seems to be a circle. Want to go back to the hotel?"

God, yes...

"What? You plan on walking me to my room like a gentleman?" I ask breezily.

He chuckles.

"Whatever the lady likes."

"Then yeah, we can go back...that's fine. It is..." I reach into my purse and pull out my phone. Huh. One thirty-seven. "Late. Late for someone who has to get up early for panels."

"I don't have anything until one, so late day for me. I have time if you do."

I bite my lower lip, pondering.

"Sir, can you take us back to the hotel, please?" Weston asks the guy.

"Sure thing," he says, maneuvering around a corner.

I lean against Weston and he wraps his arms around me again. I feel warm...and safe. Comfortable.

I don't want to let go of him or this moment.

----

The rickshaw ride is entirely too short. Before I know it, we are back at the hotel. I get out, trying to ignore the bit of dread gnawing at my gut, and watch as Weston pays the guy. He turns and smiles at me, holding out his hand.

The automatic sliding doors part and we walk toward the lobby. I glance at the bar we had just been in not more than an hour before, and marvel at where the night has lead me. I feel myself settle down a bit, realizing that even if this might be the only thing that comes from this fantabulous encounter, it doesn't negate the wonderful night I just had.

All good things have to come to an end, right?

We head toward the elevator, still holding hands but not saying a word. I really wish mind reading were possible. Well, only if it's one way. God forbid anyone should be able to read my mind...

We step into the elevator and Weston finally looks at me again.

"What floor, m'lady?" he asks, hand poised over the elevator buttons.

"Oh, eleven, please."

He nods, presses the button, and just as the doors close, he pushes me back against the wall, mouth at my neck, the short hairs of his beard tickling the flesh there. One hand is busy fondling my breast while his other hand grabs my ass. I gasp and then moan, my leg raised with my foot bracing against the wall, allowing him to lean more heavily into me. I can feel him pressing against me and I can't help but rub against him.

"Oh, sorry dude..." I hear some guy say. Weston jerks his head around just as the elevator doors begin to close.

Be rational. Be rational, damn it!

"What floor is your room on?" I hear myself pant out.

This is the beginning of the end. And hot damn, it's been awhile.

Read Fangirl in full here.

#Fangirl #comic con #fiction #romance #chick lit #free sample

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