#(and why does everything in there have to taste so good)

[itrainswhenurhere]

party 4 you 2 frat!rafe x sorority!reader

18+ mature

mlist

a/n: finally part 2!! (part 1) probably best not read as a standalone but if ur just here for the smut then sure🤷🏼‍♀️ i’m debating making it an au or just a two shot cos this one is lowkey just pure smut but i wanna write more for them but but and and and

you had woken up with the most pounding headache in the world, barely making it downstairs to greet all of your similarly hungover sisters.

it was 1:30 and hanna was unsurprisingly, still in bed. you go to find to sarah, one of the only girls in the house without a splitting feeling deep in her brain, to ask if she’s seen the advil.

you had never been someone who didn’t have to face the consequences of their drinking, almost always waking up like this after a night out, even when you occasionally weren’t even that gone.

it’s only when you take a second to register everything that you remember the events of the prior night.

not the sweaty bodies surrounding you and your misery from the beginning of the night. not the numerous men that had tried, and failed. not even the ringing of the bass that still faintly haunts your ears.

rafe cameron.

ohhhhh fuck. sarah’s gonna be so pissed, is your first thought.

your second one is of his hands, his sapphire eyes burning into yours, the feeling of his leg underneath your hot cun-

“i feel like fucking death.” the sound cuts through your thoughts quick enough that you almost jump.

you turn around sloppily to see kiara is now stumbling into the shared kitchen you had walked into looking for sarah, probably for the same thing.

“have you seen sarah?” she questions lowly, one hand leaning against the island, the other rubbing over her still mascara stained shut eyes.

you’re now facing her, coffee in both hands like it’s the middle of winter, your face permanently scrunched in disgust like there’s a taste in your mouth you just can’t get out, though a little more awake due to your previous thoughts.

“jesus i know, she’ll be with hanna though.” if you had the energy to giggle, you would. “god that girl parties hard.” kiara lets out a breathy laugh.

kiaras eyes open more than they have in the last half hour, glancing at you in remembrance and still groggy excitement.

“soooo…” she starts. “how was the dick???” she raises her eyebrows, eyes still swollen.

for a split second you think she knows about rafe, but no, sarah and hanna must’ve come in and announced to everyone that they could that you didn’t come home with them because you were ‘getting fucked hard,’ which has happened more than once.

“hmf, i don’t kiss and tell.” your voice is slow and slurred and tired, but carries a playful energy nonetheless. “but..”

kiara let’s out a ‘pfttt’ before you continue. “we like didn’t even fuck.”

“okay who though??” she leans curiously at you, now sitting on the counter, pulling yourself up cautiously.

“okay but you have to wait till after i go over to his today, which yeah he invited me over again,” you smile and look to the side, smug. “but no wait to tell sarah cos i’m gonna anyways, maybe be we can be like real sisters.” you joke.

kiaras still foggy mind takes a second to process, but when it does, her eyebrows lift as if to say ‘really???’ and her jaw slacks in surprise and astonishment.

“no fucking way!!!” her enthusiasm shines through her tired voice. “rafe is like, kind of not good news though.” she says, lowering her voice at her words and looking around the room, still smiling through the shock.

“babe i know, he wouldn’t fuck me aswell.. he just like…” you grit teeth and pull your smile back. “..you know.” you breathe out, scratching the nape of your neck awkwardly at your last sentence.

“wait why??” kiara pries. “i don’t know, i think it was cos he realised how drunk i was.” you shrug, face still twisting in occasional discomfort at your headache.

“wait why is he being so… caring?? and he wants to see you again? this was not cecilys description of rafe.”

you and kiara both take a second to recount her stories of how you he would fuck hard and then send them all home without a care, not that she had minded though, apparently she had ‘left satisfied anyways.’

after you both lock eyes again, you shrug at her. “like i honestly don’t know, he had asked hanna before to see if i was drunk anyways.” kiaras mouth opens like she’s going to speak, before she takes another second to think and then finally shares her opinion.

“so he wants you bad.” she concludes with a nod and a lift of her shoulders.

“hm, we’ll see.” you smile excitedly. “i’m gonna find sarah for some form of pain relief and then go over like he said.” you hop off the counter with a still slightly slow and clenched spring in your step, sparing kiara a glance of acknowledgment before moving through the girls in the living room, who are also severely hungover, some of them still wearing yesterdays party clothes.

once you find sarah and she points you to the medicine, you head for the shower, hoping to wash away the lingering smell of sex and alcohol from the party.

you put on a nice skirt and the smallest top you can find, slowly regaining full consciousness and the ability to move your joints.

once your hair is nice enough and kiara gives you the once over, approving lazily of your outfit, still in sweats and a tank, you make your way to the frat.

the place still looks and smells like a war zone when the someone answers your knock.

“hey, rafe told me to come over.” you deadpan vaguely, recognising the boy as the one that you ran into in the kitchen trying to get hannas phone back.

“oh, ok.” he replies, slightly confused but mostly struggling to not fall asleep on the spot.

yeah, they clearly had not gotten round to cleaning yet.

the house still stank of sweat and aftermath, articles of clothing, drinks and the occasional phone or pair of car keys littered all over the floor.

rude. you thought. yeah sure just invite me over to your pigsty. it was around 4 now and atleast half of the men were still passed out on couches.

you make your way upstairs and try to remap the house for his particular room, but he finds you before you find him.

“hey.” you hear from behind you, turning around to see the man who’s thigh you had shamelessly humped the night before.

“i’m glad you came.”

embarrassment almost rushes through your veins at seeing him in broad daylight, which is weird, you don’t think you’ve ever been nervous about a man you had just met.

“let’s go to my room, it’s uh- the only clean room in the house.” he’s smirking slightly, something glossing over his eyes.

he guides you with a hand on the small of your back, mirroring his actions from the night before, although you are now hyper aware of everything because, it’s just him.

he and you both promptly ignore what sounds like man fever coming from some of the rooms, groans and whines of frustration about how they’re ‘literally going to die.’

he eventually clicks open the door of his room and gestures you to sit down.

“so, why am i here?” you make an attempt at indifference.

you try a different question as he locks the door behind him. “what did you mean last night?” that grabs his attention.

“hm?” he questions, moving to sit beside you on the bed.

“like the whole waiting thing? i’ve waited before so i can wait one more night,” you quote “i don’t remember speaking to you before… then.” you deliberately make it sound like you haven’t heard in excruciating detail how his dick feels.

“i see you around.” he gestures. you shift so your legs are in a basket, facing his side before he turns his torso and meets you directly.

“stalker.” you giggle at his confession.

a smirk creeps onto his face at your teasing tone “maybe. bet sarah wouldn’t be happy.”

“i won’t tell if you don’t.” you furrow your eyebrows in mock concentration and inspection.

you definitely will be telling.

he grabs your waist and pulls you down onto the bed, climbing over you.

you giggle and laugh until a single finger trails down your sternum to the waistband of your skirt, to which you shut up.

you figure you’ll worry about why he’s being like this with you and only you later, probably once he’s done fingering you like it’s the only thing keeping him alive.

his fingers had swiftly moved to push your skirt down and over your ankles before landing on your underwear and pulling them to the side. they feel so different from anything you have ever experienced before, you realise.

calloused rough fingertips open you wide with their length, nothing like your feeble attempts with your own small ones, usually reaching nowhere pleasurable.

you’re now gasping and fighting to contain yourself as he leans over your figure, thrusting his fingers in and out of you, gaping at where they connect like it’s him being pleasured.

his touch is everywhere and nowhere all at once. it’s sometimes too much and always too little.

you squeeze your eyes shut in hope that you don’t moan too loud when his thumbs begins to toy with your clit- a little less shameless than yesterday.

his fingers move with fervour and wet gushing sounds echo around the room. “you close?” he strains, like he can’t already tell with the way you’re tightening around him.

“hmff, y-yeah.” you struggle out.

when rafe, in response, presses and holds down on that bundle of nerves inside you, you snap, head turning to the side in hopes of hiding the strangled whimpers and cries that escape you.

he doesn’t stop. his eyes are now trained on you, your every reaction going straight to his dick, which is paining him for not already being inside you.

his fingers continue their attack on your most sensitive areas until you start to tremble from overstimulation, in which he slows and slows until he’s going at a pace that lets you atleast slightly recover, and you whine when you feel him leave you.

wow. you don’t think you’ve ever cum that quickly.

well, excluding the night previous.

you would be embarrassed was rafe not now kneeling up and fumbling with his belt at such speed you’d think it was a competition.

his hand that had just previously left your cunt was wet with his spit, having licked up your release.

when he returns to his place on top of you, now free from the containments of his boxers, you feel his hard on lying heavy on your hip bone as he pulls you in for a searing kiss.

his mouth meets yours with such passion that it knocks the wind out of you. his left hand cradles (paws at) your face while the other holds himself up on his mattress.

it’s needy and messy and disgusting and turns you on so, so much.

the two of you are vigorously swapping spit for maybe 30 seconds before you grow impatient and reach down to grab his length.

when he feels you wrap around him, he disconnects with your mouth and you marvel at the long string of spit connecting between you.

you look down at your hand and suddenly anxiety spikes. there’s is no way that he’s going to fit.

sure you had heard all about how big he was, but seeing it up close? your pussy paling in comparison at his length sitting comfortably in your hand right next to it.

you slowly drift from the bottom to the top of him, thumb brushing over his tip.

he groans and drops his head into your shoulder, murmuring a curse word you can’t quite make out.

“hm?” you mock, now stroking him him increasingly faster.

“fuck, s-sto-” he cuts himself off, and a selfish part of him wants to let you continue, but he soon realises he needs to actually stop you before he does something he doesn’t think his ego would ever recover from- finish embarrassingly early in your singular hand.

his hand on your face reaches down and grabs your wrist with much more force than he’d like, unable to contain himself.

he stutters your hand away and replaces it with his own, moving to line up with his entrance.

his head is still buried in the crook of your neck, slightly ashamed at his neediness, when his head cranes down further and he takes in his cock directly on top of your pussy, he and you share a thought.

fuck, how is he going to fit.

sure, his version is a little more riddled with arousal, but he speaks up to ease your worries.

“relax.” he reaches up to gently peck between your eyebrows, highly contrasting what he’s about to do to you. “it’s fine, it’ll fit.”

hopefully.

with his cock in his hand, he starts to push into you, stroking your face, the both of your mouths hanging open.

“god, you’re tight.” he moans out, feeling the stretch around him. your warm heat surrounds him and he doesn’t think he could stop himself from pushing deeper if he tried.

when he finally bottoms out, tip nudging at your cervix, he gives you a second to accommodate him.

“move.. p-please.” you whimper, not realising you had that kind of begging in you.

he’s more than happy to comply, pushing almost fully out before slamming himself back in.

“oh god.” you practically scream out at him hitting your g-spot directly, definitely understanding what all the fuss is about.

“jesus fuck.” he groans into your mouth, breath hot against you as he keeps up his destroying pace.

he’s slamming into you so loudly you’re sure half of the frat can hear him, wet squelching sounds and rhythmic slapping bouncing off the walls.

you’re both absolute messes for eachother, either of you occasionally whimpering while you make attempts at kissing, basically just licking at each others open mouths.

he moves his free hand to scrunch up your top and rest it just above your breasts, fondling with them eagerly, watching them bounce.

fuck, he’s already so close. your first impression of him cannot be that he came deep inside your guts before you could even finish.

he rests his full body weight on you, not letting up his pace for even a second (except maybe to stutter his hips,) as he reaches the hand that was holding himself up to play with your clit.

your mouth falls open in a silent scream, tightening around him in a way he almost whimpers at.

it’s all too much, his hands on your tits and your pussy, his cock violently splitting you open.

you release in a loud cry, wetness coating rafes dick and up his hips. the pleasure goes white hot and you swear you lose consciousness for a split second.

“oh fuck, y-yeah, good girl.” he breathily cries into your cheek, thick spurts of his cum splashing your insides.

your hips are rutting up into him desperately chasing the last bit of pleasure as he sporadically does the same, losing all rhythm.

once both of your highs finally wash over, you and rafe are left gasping for breaths above and beneath one another, mouths still hanging open and eyes lazily shut, still rolling back.

rafe is the first to speak through bated breaths.

“can i uh, get your number?”

[bleedingichorhearts]

Ideally open to who this tickles your fancy on! But!

There are ways to purposely woo someone- apparel, posing, pictures, texts, etc. What about something you do without realizing that drives them wild? Could be mundane, could be situational, could be a meal, could be a gesture! Anything goes!

“Oh? How sweet. I shall make a lil head cannon for all of them. I kept going in and out of this one.😭” - Ichor

Summary - “What drives the Emperor & Primarchs wild about you? More so what they like about you.”

TW // Not of Lore Cuteness?

||Masterlist Is Pinned Post||

The Emperor; “Revelation:”

Tricky man god this one is, for he has lived and see anything and everything. His emotions going cold and unreadable with time, and so does his preferences. However, I do think he would find the humaneness of you… “adoring.” Perhaps your refusal of him too. It just.. reminds him.

Lion El’Johnson; “The First:”

He likes the mere way you move. Something about it… excites him. Either with grace or not he still feels like it’s *cough* *cough* “admirable.” Well, not the times where you trip over thin air, but he somehow finds that… “cute,” he dares to think. Will he tell you? No, will you know? Yes, because the bastard comments about how frail you are when you trip. (P.S. Don’t ever call him a bastard.)

Fulgrim; “The Phoenician:”

This Demi-god will love anything about what you do or what you look like. Ain’t nothing stopping him from spewing any positive, teasing words. You, the whole being of you, is his wild card. Just seeing you excites him; and either it would be romantic or the Daemon Prince of him. You are his heart. You work him to his admiration.

Perturabo; “Lord of Iron:”

Messing with his tools. Something about you being curious of what he crafts with pleases him. His eyes watching as you observe them and then questioning him about them. That you take an interest in his work, or well, what makes his work. It feels nice.

Jaghatai Khan; “The Warhawk:”

Riding with him on his bike. He honestly likes when you suggest to ride with him, even if it’s short or not. He likes the little feeling of warmth of your body against him, letting the wind speak between the two of you. It as if he isn’t truly alone…

Leman Russ; “The Wolf King:”

Hunting with him and his sons! It’s very thrilling and exciting for him! Well, not much for you, but still! He enjoys to have your presence around him, if you’re watching him or not, but if you do hunt with him. He likes your skill on putting down a kill. It also gives this wolf man an excuse to show off. ;)

Rogal Dorn; “Praetorian of Terra:”

When you overlook the building plans. He feels very pleased when you look them over and reject them or accept them. Never judging you when you rejected them for it means something can be better within the blueprints. He never thinks that you wouldn’t necessarily dislike them for he is a good man of taste.☕️

Konrad Cruze; “Dark King:”

Just being in his presence while he just… stares you down. Trying to think of why you look at him like that, like he means something to you, and not in the bad way either. I drives his mind to figure you out more… He concludes that he finds you… memorizing when your heart beats a bit faster than necessary.

Sanguinius; “The Angel:”

The way you seem to trust him and his legion despite the horrors it brings. He has a keen eye for what people like and dislike, and his legion is… part of it. He knows baselines; enemies do not like “vampires,” but you honestly don’t seem to mind and that makes his heart’s flutter. You do not judge them for their beauty or the blood straining their fangs and hands.

Ferrus Manus; “The Gorgon:”

Trying to help him with his crafts. He likes it when you join in and inquire about what he is doing. His firm a bit more at ease when you’re around to question or help him. His… hands engulfing yours with ease and he can’t help but be amused and… grateful with you. You’re learning his crafts, but not demanding; wanting to be an emotionless, metal sentinel.

Angron; “The Red Angel:”

Your ability to be in his presence despite his anger literally clawing at his mind. It… almost surprises him. He expects you to run; turn away from his pained fury, but you don’t. You… endure it like a slave would to a whip… He doesn’t deserve you…

Roboute Guilliman; “The Avenging Son:”

Reading him something. He would pause in his work to listen or perhaps call you over to him as some background noise while he does his work. He finds himself soothed, and well… less alone. His shoulders a bit lighter than before. He is… also grateful of you.

Mortarion; “Death Lord:”

Gardens. Take this Death Lord through the gardens and just… shoot out some random facts. Bring some petals up close to him, let him smell the very different air quality and beauty of the worlds. The man would be just happy that you’re including him into something that could be easily be destroyed by chemicals…

Magnus The Red; “Crimson King:”

Honestly, anything you do with a book. You have a book in your hand? Your tongue sticking out in focus, or how you try and figure out the position of some… things. It warms his heart and makes him amused. He also likes it’s when you inquire about his own knowledge and try to learn from his as well.

Horus Lupercal; “The Lupercal:”

The way you speak. He loves it. He loves you. Honestly, you could do anything and this man would still look at you like love at first sight. This man is a hopeless romantic for you. Well, there are some bounds, but still! You get his heart fluttering when you’re by his side.

Lorgar Aurelian; “The Urizen:”

Take an interest in anything he does. Compliment him, give him praise and he shall melt under your fingertips. He just wants true, loving attention and you? Well, you’re giving him it willing and shall praise you in return. It’s almost like two oblivious lovers, but neither gets a room lol.

Vulkan; “Lord of Drakes:”

When you try to gift him back. This maybe a gifting war, but he still loves it nevertheless. He gifts you, and you gift back. He’s amused by your audacity to do such, but he also just… loves it. Cuteness aggression style. So, the mini lover forge wars has started.

Corvus Corax; “The Raven Lord:”

Playing with his crows. He finds a strange… feeling when he watches you. How you coo at them and talk to them as if they are capable of giving you a full sentence. How you pet the gently and give them little not-so-sneaky snacks when he’s not looking…

Alpharius & Omegon; “The Last Primarch:”

Mystery’s and solve. These guys like being detectives or blackmailing. They like knowing things and then gatekeeping it, and this includes you too. They like when you get curious though and come to them for the answers they could provide. Not without something of course.

“@kit-williams, @egrets-not-regrets, @bispecsual, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @sleepyfan-blog.”

“+@c-u-c-koo-4-40k, @marcela2000, @passionofthesith, @insanity6666, @ilovewolvezz.” - Tagged

[pyretta666]

IN BED WITH…TYPE O NEGATIVE (transcribed) he’s into rubber! he’s into fur! christ, he’s even into getting his willy out for playgirl magazine! stand proud type o negative mainman peter steele, and prepare to be undressed by slyvie simmons!

KERRANG!: when were you first aware of the birds and the bees?

PETER STEELE: "when i was about 12 years old, i had a very outgoing older friend who had no problem any time he was excited to take his penis out and just masturbate. so i had a go - and sure enough, i came!

K!: when did you lose your virginity and what was it like?

PS: "i was 18 years old and she was 16; we were both virgins. the only problem was her hymen was still intact and i had some difficulty inserting myself into her. i was downstairs in my parents' basement, and i ran upstairs and got some corn oil - that's all we had - and as i was lubricating myself i dropped the bottle on the floor! i didn't want to lose my erection, so i ran downstairs covered in corn oil, leaving the glass on the kitchen floor. the sex was almost over as quickly as it began!"

K!: do you practice safe sex? PS: "yes i do. there have been some accidents of course - things split - but i think i get an a for effort."

K!: do you get off on pornography? PS: "not really. if i'm going to get excited, there are plenty of women that i'd like to spend my time with: i don't have to look at books."

K!: why did you pose for playgirl magazine then? and what gave you the enormous hard on?! PS: "i did it to further type o negative's career. i figured i would be exposing myself - no pun intended! - to a whole new audience. and sure enough it definitely affected record sales. i had some manual stimulation and a catalogue of erotic thoughts i can easily access that kept me going."

K!: your todger looks enormous in playgirl - were the photos retouched? PS: rumor has it that my penis is not real in those shots - which is a compliment and an insult at the same time. there were no tricks. i'm 6ft 6 and i'm proportional. everything on me happens to be very long and thin - my fingers, my ears, my toes, and of course what hangs between my legs. it's like a package deal."

K!: are you a whips and chains kind of guy? PS: "my only rule in bed is never to say no - unless it includes excruciating pain or long-lasting damage. i like latex and fur, things that feel good to me sexually. i was always turned on by rubber - the feel of it, the smell of it, even the taste."

K!: are you a considerate bed partner? PS: "i'm a pretty good playmate. i really don't mind if i don't come - it's not a big deal to me. i've come probably 100,000 times already, so my partner's pleasure comes way before mine."

K!: how does that gel with songs like 'jackhammer rape?' PS: "it probably doesn't. of course it's not about raping anyone with a jackhammer, it's just screwing somebody so hard. when i wrote that, i was really really pissed off at somebody. i'm also into shock value."

K!: have you ever paid for - or been paid - for sex? PS: "i have never paid for sex and never will. i definitely think there's trade-offs though. if you want to be physical with somebody, you can pay them with other things - by caring about them." "but i've had offers from women to pay me. when i used to work with the new york city parks department as a maintenance worker, this woman i had seen there every day for about two weeks came over to me. she asked me how much money i made per year and i told her $40,000. and she said, 'how would you like to make that in one night?' i said, 'what do i have to do?'. what she wanted was a sperm sample."

K!: you took her up on it? PS: "yes i did. but i haven't seen the result."

K!: do you know where the woman's g-spot is? PS: "well, honestly i don't know. but i think i've found spots a to f!"

[kings-highway]

Your writing is so amazing..... do you have any tips on writing character arcs and plots?

Ooooooooooooohh okay okay what a fun question. It’s a little bit broad, so I’ll do my best not to blather on for too exceptionally long, but you know me. First, my usual disclaimer for all my writing advice - dismiss anything I say that makes the experience less enjoyable for you. If I say something that totally conflicts with the way you want to write a character arc or plot, and you really, really like what you had, then I am wrong. That is simply how art works. This, however, will be me providing some advice as it relates to how I myself construct these things and what I think makes the best story.

What comes to mind first as my biggest piece of advice for character arcs and overall plots is to THINK SMALL.

Seriously. Now, that does not mean “write small” or write small scale or little plots or anything like that. I mean, in your own mind when you talk about what your character arc is, or what the plot is, it should only be one line, or a few points. Ideally just a single concept.

Example: If someone were to ask you “what is your main character’s arc” you should not be responding with “Oh, she discovers that her mother was a magician and that she has secret magic, but in discovering that she gets swept up in a plot to steal all the magic in the world, so she travels to another kingdom to meet other people like her and has to hone her magic and then connect with an even older magic and bring it back to her home kingdom where she uses it to fight off a cruel dictator and liberate the magicians of the land and establish peace” <- that, my friend, is neither a character arc or a plot. That is a synopsis. This could be the entire plot of your story, your character arc is “oh, she learns to trust the judgement of her allies.”

And then you write the story. You can write this grand, sweeping story about this girl’s magic and her hero’s journey and her saving her land - take the time, take the agonizing time over multiple chapters to tug-o-war with this character’s ability to put control into someone else’s hand. For the first 20% of the story she gets in trouble and causes huge problems and gets kidnapped because she refuses to let anyone else plan or aid her, and this is why she has to flee, because her own arrogance causes her to misjudge a plan, and nobody is there to help her. For the next 20% she is fighting with her allies and really being forced to contend with her beliefs about other people, seeing how much skill they have that maybe she doesn’t, considering that they might actually be able to protect her, help her, maybe she doesn’t always need to be in control of everything. The next 20% of the story proves her wrong, she gets saved, she still fights, she still hates it, it makes her very being itch to put herself into someone else’s hands, but it works. On a small scale, in little ways. She trusts someone to make her dinner, and use that weird spice she doesn’t know, and it tastes delicious. She learns a new fighting technique, and unlocks something incredible important that will help her save the day. In the next 10% an ally betrays her, and she’s suddenly questioning all her learning and her own change of heart. She’s about to go into battle, and an ally has gotten killed because she trusted someone and was wrong about it. What if this whole plan falls apart because of that? The next 20% has her slip into her old habits, chase down the dictator on her own, return to her own kingdom and - get destroyed, collapse, the dictator is going to kill her because, yet again, her own folly has led her to ignore anyone else’s plans but her own. This is the final hour, the hardest moment for her. The last 10% has her rally, has her realize that it’s not, actually, her final hour - it would be her final hour if she was alone, but she’s not. There are people she trusts, people who are good, and maybe she doesn’t even kill the dictator. Maybe, since he’s so focused on her, she plays the puppet and distracts him, while someone else’s plan is executed perfectly, and she watches someone else kill, the man she swore vengeance on.

THAT is a character arc. It’s a character arc told entirely through the tiniest of concepts: Trust. And if you focus on that tiny, single concept, that one line of an arc, you can write an entire, incredibly interesting story with all of you fun magics and cool worldbuilding, but while it remains grounded in the character. And you’ll find that your character arcs and your plots are, of course, deeply intertwined - if you write this way, all your scenes become about building that character arc. Maybe you were going to have a big sweeping adventure but realize that entire excursion she was going to take to a third kingdom isn’t conducive to her character arc, so instead you rewrite it, and keep her at home and really focus in on that internal conflict. The story will be better for it, when you formulate your events for the needs of the character arc rather than what looks cool on paper. I mean, my initial pitch for this story idea is really boring and simple, isn’t it? That second one about the character arc is where ALL of the interesting dynamics kick in. You can try as hard as you want to say “no this story is really cool because she has to discover this intense magic and do all this training and come back and it’s a really great story about never giving up and not bowing down to dictators and it’s commentary on not letting-” irrelevant. It’s a story about admitting that you’re not the only person in the world. It’s a story about loving someone enough to let them save you. Don’t justify why your character arcs are cool, just write them.

But write them small. Someone should be able to get it in just a line.

“But Kings! What if my character arc ISN’T simple and I want it to be complex where they have to go back and forth-” that’s plot, my guy. That’s a synopsis. Boil it down. Boil it the fuck down. Not necessarily on the page, of course, write with your brilliant purple prose and complicated worldbuilding. But in your own mind, for your outlining. Keep it simple for the purposes of planning.

---

And of course, the same applies to plots: THINK SMALL. The above plot, that entire thing? The rambling synopsis? The plot is “a hero defeats a dictator.”

Of course there’s room for nuance and extrapolation, but really trying to cut any fat off the concept helps keep the story streamlined and focused. Yes, you can have asides to B-plots or cute fluff scenes or fun worldbuilding moments, but if you find yourself 15k in a side plot about animal husbandry in the fantasy world you invented, maybe remember that this isn’t a big, rambling story about the world and its citizens. It’s a story about a hero defeating a dictator. (Who learns to trust her friends along the way.)

Im not gonna use any original works as example bc there's be no way to see what im talking about but my longest fic to date is “This is Not the End,” which, of course, isn’t done, but to explain how big, sweeping stories can have really simple plots, the CORE idea, when I tell anyone about it, is “it’s about rebuilding society after an apocalypse has ended, with an emphasis on the preservation of knowledge.”

Everything else be damned. If they ask they can hear a bit about how I tell that story, but that’s the story. That’s the whole story. Everything else that happens in it is just… features of how I think that would go, features of interest that relate to that idea, that I think are interesting.

Paranormality was “the captain squad goes ghost hunting”

Time Enough was “time stops for one person without explanation”

Soulmake Adventures was “people join a singles club in a soulmate au”

DO NOT overcomplicate your plots!!! If your initial concept is overcomplicated, you’re going to get a messy, confusing, difficult story, your character arcs are going to be impossible to tell, and you’re probably not going to finish writing it. But if you can really pick just one simple thing that your story is about, and accept that it doesn’t have to have all that nuance crammed into it’s very core (the nuance can occur in other places, but not in its core) EVERYTHING ELSE about your story will fall into place, and people will be able to fucking taste the throughline that connects it all. Everything you write should serve that one little concept.

Anyway I hope this was at all helpful?? I know I am a bit of a yapper but I do like getting to talk about writing because it is my most favourite thing so thank you for the ask!!!

think small

[silversinfinity]

Taste Of Your Own Medicine

*this is a fetish blog- non-fet blogs and minors DNI (no age in bio -> blocked)*

Fandom: J/ujutsu K/aisen

Spoilers: None

Pairing/AU: N/anaG/o, normal universe set during N/anami's Salary Man Era TM

Length: ~2k

Tags: sneeze fetish content, sickfic, sneezing via flu swab test, inducing, light contagion themes, mess

ANON, IT'S BEEN 84 BILLION YEARS... ARE YOU STILL OUT THERE 😭😭😭

It’s 5/7 for a few more hours here still, aka n/anag/o day!! So I’m taking it as a sign to kick myself in the ass and drop a little n/anag/o treat for you all 🤑 I loved writing this when I first started it, and then I lowkey forgot about it, and THEN couldn't find the document when I remembered it existed... 😭 it’s been a long journey for a mere 2k words, woof!

It’s surely the flu. Surely. Anything else would feel far better than this. 

Far better than the brain fog, the lethargy, the massive pressure behind his eyes and sinuses. 

Far better than the fever that stole his sleep last night, left only to shiver, sweat. Too hot with a blanket, too cold without. 

And anything else would be far, far better than the body aches. That was the worst of all, the thing that dug the last nail into Nanami's personal coffin. Everything hurt, dull yet wickedly persistent- even the very hairs on his head weren't an exception. He didn't know hair was capable of hurting, and boy, he's finding it out the hard way.

And maybe, maybe, despite all that, it would all be far better, if not for the annoying weight currently clinging to Nanami’s shoulders.

“Get off of me.” Gojo only presses into him heavier, mocking the few inches of height he has on him.

“Come back to bed then,” Gojo whines in his ear. Nanami’s headache squeezes tighter at his temples.

He sighs, breath crackling unpleasantly in the lower depths of his lungs. Though grating, Gojo’s voice has never sounded so convincing. “Trust me, I wish I hadn’t left.” The misconduct in his lungs catches on the end of his words with a weak, wheezing cough.

It should motivate him, at least. The sooner he gets this done, the sooner he can go back to bed, and hopefully, sleep.

Gojo rests his head on Nanami’s shoulder, idly watching him tear open the plastic wrapping in his hands. “Why even bother testing?” he mumbles, cheek squished against him.

“I need proof to get time off.”

“Man, your job sucks.” 

“Thangks, Captain Obvious.” Nanami wishes again that he would stop talking, just so he didn’t have to hear himself reply. The congestion dragging his consonants down is unpleasant to his ears, only worse layered over the roughness of a sore throat.

While Gojo manages to hold his tongue, Nanami assesses the items below him. He hovers his hand above the test kit on the counter, with a long q-tip lazingly perched between two fingers. His eyes glaze over the instructions; this isn't the first time he’s ever taken such a test, but a refresher never hurts. 

… Whether looking at it actually helped refresh anything was contentious, however. The font and diagrams were muddy where they lay, only legible enough to jog his memory.

15 seconds in both sides, mix the end into the tube of fluid, place a few drops into the test strip, and then wait for the result that wouldn't surprise anyone with an ounce of common sense.

Easy enough.

…Sort of. Nanami’s eyes water the instant the cotton swab touches just inside one nostril. A sharp tingle radiates up into his sinuses and lingers. He dreads actually moving the thing, knowing it will only prod and tease at each swollen, sensitive nerve within. 

Simply holding it in place won't do him any good either, though. He does as instructed, swirling the cotton tip along the walls of his nasal passages in a circular motion. The urge to sneeze increases tenfold. Nanami scrunches the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezed in a tight, focused squint.

Gojo notices all of this, much to his dismay. “Don’t sneeze…” he sings into his ear. 

And Nanami nearly does. “HHdt-!” Tongue smacked to the roof of his mouth, he manages to withhold the urge from completely seizing him. But just barely. He blinks tears from his eyes. 

“Cand you please nod- guh…” Nanami is left with a lingering, even thicker congestion, if that's even possible. He should really blow his nose, except that he also really shouldn't, not until this test was over. 

The cotton swab dips into his other nostril- the one that's more sensitive of the two, because of course one of them has to be. It's the one Gojo has a better view of, too. Oh, joy.

Nanami’s breath catches almost instantly, only to release in an uncertain, tight exhale. “...hehh…” Gojo sees his abused nostril flare up and twitch, hiking upward as the entire bridge of his nose crinkled. Torturously, he swirls the cotton swab once, twice, three times. Hand trembling, breath shaking. The natural lines of his face turn more rigid to match his expression, barely holding it together. 

Don’t sneeze. Don't sneeze. Gojo’s earlier advice echoes in his head, much as he loathed it at the time. Just a few more seconds…

“That looks like it really tickles…”

It's a few more seconds too long, and Gojo’s urging is the final straw. “hhuH-!” Nanami gasps loudly, urgently, shuddering under the other sorcerer’s still incessantly pressed weight on him. That inward breath messily crashes into the main production- “hEHH’SHIEhh-! hEHHH’ZSHHieh-!” His shoulders jostle violently. His throat barks through the deepest parts of it, fully exposing the flu-centered trauma his vocal cords carry.

Spray sprinkles wet, grey dots in a random pattern on his shirt, baggy and soft to the touch. Gojo’s weight against him only lightens a little, although Nanami is too distracted to care or notice. “hhdh… hiH-!” Without opening his eyes, he draws up for a precursor to another sneeze. He clumsily grabs the collar of his shirt, ducking down within the fabric this time- “hiehHH’SCHFHH-!”

Oh, God.

“Oh. Bless you.”

Gojo says it like he's surprised to hear him sneeze. Nanami feels a vein threaten to bulge on his temple.

Pinching away any excess evidence with his shirt- he winces when the damp fabric touches back to his chest- Nanami re-emerges with a scowl no less irritated than before. In his other hand hovers the soiled cotton swab, having been yanked from his nose the second before disaster. 

He blinks away the stars that dance in his vision, wondering if it's possible to actually sneeze his brains out. The pain behind his eyes swells significantly, heightening his suspicions. Ugh.

He glances back down at the instructions. Right, next step. Into the tube the cotton swab goes, and Nanami swirls it, pushing against the sides of it. Just watching the motion stirs a tingle high in his sinuses, having not quite abandoned the sensation of the swirling motion.

Nanami glances at his watch after applying a few drops to the test strip. 6:51. He'd know by 7:06, then. 

Gojo watches him set his watch, cheek pressed into his shoulder. “Hm… I don’t see anything in those instructions about sneezing all over yourself?” he teases.

The vein from before does finally bulge on his temple. He’s almost- almost- exhausted enough to sigh another sigh and let it go. But there’s fifteen minutes he needs to kill before he can send his halfwitted boss a picture of this stupid test, and Gojo doesn’t sound like he’s going to become any less insufferable in that time. 

A taste of his own medicine might shut him up, or at the very least dent his pride. The unopened test kit resting on the counter is snatched into Nanami’s hand. He pauses for a dreadfully damp sniffle. “Gojo, I don't suppose you'd like to show me how to do this properly, then?”

Silence. Then, the other man tilts his head. “That’d be a waste of a good test, wouldn't it?”

“Haven't you considered that I might be contagious?” Might be, he says- more like definitely, absolutely. “Antivirals work better if you catch it early, you know.” Nanami maintains an even tone under the blanketing congestion.

“ …My Infinity protects me.”

Nanami pulls the new, fresh cotton swab from its packaging, careful not to touch the soft end. “You’re touching me right now, though.” And all this morning. And all last night. Satoru Gojo, the Strongest, Clingiest, Sorcerer in the world.

Said Sorcerer finds nothing to argue back with, instead speaking a short, “Fine.” Though his blindfold conceals his eyes, the pout on his lips is enough for Nanami to imagine the faux, pity-seeking look they’re wearing. Good thing he knows better than to fall for it.

Quicker than before, Nanami arranges the test tube and test strip on the counter top. Fresh cotton swab still in hand, Gojo actually steps back an inch when he faces him, showing reluctance. It's a rare emotion for him to express so physically.

He takes Gojo’s chin in one hand, holding him in place. The other man grimaces. “Hey, I can do it- myself, ya know…!”

”This is how Shoko would do it, and a doctor knows best. Chin up.” His hand grips a little firmer, and he tilts Gojo’s head up and towards himself. It’s an angle suited to expose his- and he hates to admit it- absolutely perfect nose. A straight, long bridge complimented by a set of narrow, symmetrical nostrils, all aesthetically framed by the dark fabric of his blindfold. 

Given a few minutes though, it won't look nearly as composed.

Nanami doesn’t bother to warn Gojo when he slips the cotton swab into his nose. The other man gasps reflexively, and the bridge shivers in protest. Nanami’s hold on his chin keeps him steady though. 

Any other day and he certainly wouldn't tolerate getting sneezed on- especially by someone who got on his nerves so regularly. But considering current circumstances, he can't find it in himself to care. He fully intends to change into a fresh pair of sweats after this test, not to mention that he's already dealt with enough of his own outbursts and fluids in the last 24 hours- what's a little more?

It would be worth the brief euphoria that came with getting payback, until his headache along with all the other bits of his misery tugged him out of that moment.

He changes the angle of the swab just slightly, softly bumping the shallow top wall of his nasal passages. Gojo swallows under Nanami’s palm. A circle is drawn along the rims of one nostril, and then another. His lips part to whine, but the sound melts into a telltale hitch.

“Nanhha- Nanami, whhait-hih-hihHH’SHIhh-!” Nanami doesn’t stop, nor does Gojo. “hyH’SHh-! ihhk‘SHieh-!” They’re fittish, rapid, and yet they drag out of him, like the last bit of juice squeezed from a lemon. He's trying to hold them back, but his willpower is faltering under Nanami's efforts and hurling out his throat instead.

A few more sneezes later, and Nanami gauges it's been long enough. He wordlessly removes the torture device from Gojo’s nose, and he sighs something between relief, exasperation, and another sneeze stopped in its tracks. He sniffles and tries to pull away, but Nanami tuts his disapproval.

“Still need to do the other side.” He doesn't allow Gojo so much as a spare breath to fight him on it. The nasal swab is already pressed to his septum, just inside the other nostril.

The tighter, desperate pinch of his eyebrows is visible even through his blindfold. Gojo’s lip quivers. He actually manages to hold it together this time- for the first five seconds.

Then…

“hih…hh, hihH-! hh…ghh-hiHH-! Hhp’TSHhh-! hihT’SHh-! Hh-hhH… HH’TShiew-! hY’ISHH-!”

His nostrils turn pink, shiny at the rims. Nanami ignores the mist settling on his wrist in progressively wetter qualities. It's generously soaking him when he decides again that he's done enough again, and he promptly wipes his hand on the leg of his sweatpants.

Gojo’s repeated sniffling, panting, and whining is mere background noise as he goes through the motions of this test.

“Nanamiiii… you're so meannn…”

Without taking his eyes off his watch to acknowledge Gojo’s Man-Child-like behavior, Nanami hands him a tissue. He always keeps a box close at a time like this. “Blow your nose, Gojo.”

There's still about 10 minutes left until he can actually consider this hassle taken care of. 

Well, one hassle taken care of, anyway. Gojo has regrettably pressed himself back against him, sinuses cleared into a now crumpled tissue. “Can we please just go lay back down now?”

That, Nanami could seriously consider. A dull throb trickles back up into his head, coupled with a growing feeling he'd swallowed glass in his throat. He may as well take Gojo up on this- standing here isn't doing him any good.

A fresh change of clothes and a new dose of ibuprofen later, and enough time has passed that Nanami’s watch goes off, once for his test, which he snapped a picture of, and then again a few minutes later.

Test results on Nanami’s read positive- no surprise. Test results on Gojo’s read negative- for now, at least.

[clowndensation]

it's like. louis attempted to tell this story to daniel the first time, broke down, and attacked him before he could finish it.

and then decades later he's convinced himself that it was leaving the story unresolved that's holding him back from living his life fully now. so he invites daniel back again. and louis is sitting poised and put together, confident in his ability to recite his history in a pretty, poignant, neat little narrative that will resolve all the guilt and yearning and emptiness inside of him. that if he can just tell a compelling, satisfying story, maybe it will actually be that, and not the life he lived through, with all the pitfalls of his own failures lurking inside.

and then season 1 ends with him once again being forced to confront that the story he wants to imagine and the life he actually lived aren't the same thing. the boundaries around his narrative are shredded and he's left exposed, and subsequently able to face his past for the first time since that original interview. and you think, you think, "well this is it. they've crossed the event horizon. there's no use hiding the truth anymore, not after it's come flooding out into the open like this"

and then season 2 opens. not only is it back to the original, practiced distance, we now have armand literally enforcing that distance. a man sitting at the table who's interjections must be disregarded, an intentional interruption to the flow of the story. he doesn't exist to aid or add detail, he exists to distract louis when he gets too deep in the story. the only time we do get louis allowing any deep truth to come out is when armand leaves the room.

it's like. louis wants a story that's true, and the truth is what he's convinced will leave him satisfied. armand wants a story that will satisfy louis, to the extent louis will accept it's true.

[crossbackpoke-check]

Substance, Shadow, and Spirit [remixed, abridged] by Tao Yuanming

[tanicus-caesareth]

guarana drama, damage control

[worstloki]

Thor: your food tastes horrible, what have you done to your natural produce

Tony: I order in from Iraq to feel something

[insanechayne]

~ ~ ~

[metamercury]

Hang on I was gonna put this in the tags, but I have contributing thoughts that are a bit larger:

This is a long post, but I thought it was an interesting read that gives a take that I feel many fandom creators share. So it's worth reading for that perspective at the very least.

For me personally though, I don't believe these problems are solved at all by locking fics on Ao3. It's not going to do much to stop the people who want to take it and disseminate it to the masses, as it only takes one "fan" to pass your work onto all the tourists.

But whether or not you can meaningfully stop theft isn't my main comment.

I think what locking fic on Ao3 in particular is more likely to do however is dissuade curious onlookers from actually getting more involved in the fandom (as a dedicated lurker or otherwise). This is specifically because when you're logged out of Ao3, it doesn't show you locked fics as things that exists but you can't access. Instead, ao3 it doesn't show you the locked fics at all. They don't exist. If everyone locks their fic, a curious onlooker trying to see if anything has been written for a show/movie/game they love will look on Ao3 and find.... that there's no community there at all. They would find nothing.

If it were a situation where it showed you the locked fics and then hit you with a "log in to continue" page if you tried to read it, then this wouldn't be so much of an issue. But because Ao3 hides locked fics from you completely if you're not logged in, I think it really is a detriment to new fans. These new fans can't even see that there's a barrier or a gate that they need to cross to get involved in fandom, they just see that nothing exists. And if nothing exists, then they're likely to move on and find something new to get interested in. Who is supposed to tell them that the community exists if only they knew the magic word?

I get why people choose to lock their fics, and I don't think anyone is wrong in making that choice for themselves. But I also think that it is overall a detriment to fandom spaces. Communities need to have ways of bringing new people in, and I worry that we'd miss a lot of great writers and readers this way.

Fandom can do a little gatekeeping. As a treat.

So I finally decided to archive-lock my fics on AO3 last night. I’ve been considering it since the AI scrape last year, but the tipping point was this whole lore.fm debacle, coupled with some thoughts I’ve been thinking regarding Fandom These Days in general and Fandom As A Community in particular. So I wanna explain why I waited so long, why I locked my stuff up now, and why I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m a-okay with making it harder for people to see my stories.

Lurkers really are great, tho

I’m a chronic lurker, and have been since I started hanging out on the internet as a teen in the 00s. These days it’s just cuz I don’t feel a need to socialize very often, but back then it was because I was shy and knew I was socially awkward. Even if I made an account, I’d spend months lurking on message boards or forums or Livejournals, watching other people interact and getting a feel for that particular community’s culture and etiquette before I finally started interacting myself. And y’know, that approach saved me a lot of embarrassment. Over the course of my lurking on any site, there was always some other person who’d clearly joined up five minutes after learning the place existed, barged in without a care for their behavior, and committed so many social faux pas that all the other users were immediately annoyed with them at best. I learned a lot observing those incidents. Lurk More is Rule 33 of the internet for very good reason.

Lurking isn’t bad or weird or creepy. It’s perfectly normal. I love lurking. It’s hard for me to not lurk - socializing takes a lot of energy out of me, even via text. (Heck it took 12 hours for me to write this post, I wish I was kidding--) Occasionally I’ll manage longer bouts of interaction - a few weeks posting here, almost a year chatting in a discord there - but I’m always gonna end up going radio silent for months at some point. I used to feel bad about it, but I’ve long since made peace with the fact that it’s just the way my brain works. I’m a chronic lurker, and in the long term nothing is going to change that.

The thing with being a chronic lurker is that you have to accept that you are not actually seen as part of the community you are lurking in. That’s not to say that lurkers are unimportant - lurkers actually are important, and they make up a large proportion of any online community - but it’s simple cause and effect. You may think of it as “your community”, but if you’ve never said a word, how is the community supposed to know you exist? If I lurked on someone’s LJ, and then that person suddenly friendslocked their blog, I knew that I had two choices: Either accept that I would never be able to read their posts again, or reach out to them and ask if I could be added to their friends list with the full understanding that I was a rando they might not decide to trust. I usually went with the first option, because my invisibility as a lurker was more important to me than talking to strangers on the internet.

Lurking is like sitting on a park bench, quietly people-watching and eavesdropping on the conversations other people are having around you. You’re in the park, but you’re not actively participating in anything happening there. You can see and hear things that you become very interested in! But if you don’t introduce yourself and become part of the conversation, you won’t be able to keep listening to it when those people walk away. When fandom migrated away from Livejournal, people moved to new platforms alongside their friends, but lurkers were often left behind. No one knew they existed, so they weren’t told where everyone else was going. To be seen as part of a fandom community, you need to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known, etc. etc.

There’s nothing wrong with lurking. There can actually be benefits to lurking, both for the lurkers and the communities they lurk in. It’s just another way to be in a fandom. But if that is how you exist in fandom--and remember, I say this as someone who often does exist that way in fandom--you need to remember that you’re on the outside looking in, and the curtains can always close.

I’ve always been super sympathetic to lurkers, because I am one. I know there’s a lot of people like me who just don’t socialize often. I know there’s plenty of reasons why someone might not make an account on the internet - maybe they’re nervous, maybe they’re young and their parents don’t allow them to, maybe they’re in a bad situation where someone is monitoring their activity, maybe they can only access the internet from public computer terminals. Heck, I’ve never even logged into AO3 on my phone--if I’m away from my computer I just read what’s publicly available. 

I know I have people lurking on my fics. I know my fics probably mean a lot to someone I don’t even know exists. I know this because there are plenty of fics I love whose writers don’t know I exist.

I love my commenters personally; I love my lurkers as an abstract concept. I know they’re there and I wish them well, and if they ever de-lurk I love them all the more.

So up until last year I never considered archive-locking my fic, because I get it. The AI scraping was upsetting, but I still hesitated because I was thinking of lurkers and guests and remembering what it felt like to be 15 and wondering if it’d be worth letting a stranger on the internet know I existed and asking to be added to their friends list just so I could reread a funny post they made once.

But the internet has changed a lot since the 00s, and fandom has changed with it. I’ve read some things and been doing some thinking about fandom-as-community over the last few years, and reading through the lore.fm drama made me decide that it’s time for me to set some boundaries.

I still love my lurkers, and I feel bad about leaving any guest commenters behind, especially if they’re in a situation where they can’t make an account for some reason. But from here on out, even my lurkers are going to have to do the bare minimum to read my fics--make an AO3 account.

Should we gatekeep fandom?

I’ve seen a few people ask this question, usually rhetorically, sometimes as a joke, always with a bit of seriousness. And I think…yeah, maybe we should. Except wait, no, not like that--

A decade ago, when people talked about fandom gatekeeping and why it was bad to do, it intersected with a lot of other things, mainly feminism and classism. The prevalent image of fandom gatekeeping was, like, a man learning that a woman likes Star Wars and haughtily demanding, “Oh, yeah? Well if you’re REALLY a fan, name ten EU novels” to belittle and dismiss her, expecting that a “real fan” would have the money and time to be familiar with the EU, and ignoring the fact that male movie-only fans were still considered fans. The thing being gatekept was the very definition of “being a fan” and people’s right to describe themselves as one.

That’s not what I mean when I say maybe fandom should gatekeep more. Anyone can call themselves a fan if they like something, that’s fine. But when it comes to the ability to enjoy the fanworks produced by the fandom community…that might be something worth gatekeeping.

See, back in the 00s, it was perfectly common for people to just…not go on the internet. Surfing the web was a thing, but it was just, like, a fun pastime. Not everyone did it. It wasn’t until the rise of social media that going online became a thing everyone and their grandmother did every day. Back then, going on the internet was just…a hobby.

So one of the first gates online fandom ever had was the simple fact that the entire world wasn’t here yet.

The entire world is here now. That gate has been demolished.

And it’s a lot easier to find us now. Even scattered across platforms, fandom is so centralized these days. It isn’t a network of dedicated webshrines and forums that you can only find via webrings anymore, it’s right there on all the big social media sites. AO3 didn’t set out to be the main fanfic website, but that’s definitely what it’s become. It’s easy for people to find us--and that includes people who don’t care about the community, and just want “content.”

Transformative fandom doesn’t like it when people see our fanworks as “content”. “Content” is a pretty broad term, but when fandom uses it we’re usually referring to creative works that are churned out by content creators to be consumed by an audience as quickly as possible as often as possible so that the content creator can generate revenue. This not-so-new normal has caused a massive shift in how people who are new to fandom view fanworks--instead of seeing fic or art as something a fellow fan made and shared with you, they see fanworks as products to be consumed.

Transformative fandom has, in general, always been a gift economy. We put time and effort into creating fanworks that we share with our fellow fans for free. We do this so we don’t get sued, but fandom as a whole actually gets a lot out of the gift economy. Offer your community a story, and in return you can get comments, build friendships, or inspire other people to write things that you might want to read. Readers are given the gift of free stories to read and enjoy, and while lurking is fine, they have the choice to engage with the writer and other readers by leaving comments or making reclists to help build the community.

And look, don’t get me wrong. People have never engaged with fanfic as much as fan writers wish they would. There has always been “no one comments anymore” wank. There have always been people who only comment to say “MORE!” or otherwise demand or guilt trip writers into posting the next chapter. But fandom has always agreed that those commenters are rude and annoying, and as those commenters navigate fandom they have the chance to learn proper community etiquette.

However, now it seems that a lot of the people who are consuming fanworks aren’t actually in the community. 

I won’t say “they aren’t real fans” because that’s silly; there’s lots of ways to be a fan. But there seem to be a lot of fans now who have no interest in fandom as a community, or in adhering to community etiquette, or in respecting the gift economy. They consume our fics, but they don’t appreciate fan labor. They want our “content”, but they don’t respect our control over our creations.

And even worse--they see us as a resource. We share our work for free, as a gift, but all they see is an open-source content farm waiting to be tapped into. We shared it for free, so clearly they can do whatever they want with it. Why should we care if they feed our work into AI training datasets, or copy/paste our unfinished stories into ChatGPT to get an ending, or charge people for an unnecessary third-party AO3 app, or sell fanbindings on etsy for a profit without the author’s permission, or turn our stories into poor imitations of podfics to be posted on other platforms without giving us credit or asking our consent, while also using it to lure in people they can datascrape for their Forbes 30 Under 30 company? 

And sure, people have been doing shady things with other people’s fanworks since forever. Art theft and reposting has always been a big problem. Fanfic is harder to flat-out repost, but I’ve heard of unauthorized fic translations getting posted without crediting the original author. Once in…I think the 2010s? I read a post by a woman who had gone to some sort of local bookselling event, only to find that the man selling “his” novel had actually self-published her fanfic. (Wish I could find that one again, I don’t even remember where I read it.)

But aside from that third example, the thing is…as awful as fanart/writing theft is, back in the day, the main thing a thief would gain from it was clout. Clout that should rightfully go to the creators who gifted their work in the first place, yeah, but still. Just clout. People will do a lot of hurtful things for clout, but fandom clout means nothing outside of fandom. Fandom clout is not enough to incentivize the sort of wide-scale pillaging we’re seeing from community outsiders today.

Money, on the other hand… Well, fandom’s just a giant, untapped content farm, isn’t it? Think of how much revenue all that content could generate.

Lurkers are a normal and even beneficial part of any online community. Maybe one day they’ll de-lurk and easily slide into place beside their fellow fans because they already know the etiquette. Maybe they’re active in another community, and they can spread information from the community they lurk in to the community they’re active in. At the very least, they silently observe, and even if they’re not active community members, they understand the community.

Fans who see fanworks as “content” don’t belong in the same category as lurkers. They’re tourists. 

While reading through the initial Reddit thread on the lore.fm situation, I found this comment:

[ID: Reddit User Cabbitowo says: ... So in anime fandoms we have a word called tourist and essentially it means a fan of a few anime and doesn't care about anime tropes and actively criticizes them. This is kind of how fandoms on tiktok feel. They're touring fanfics and fanart and actively criticizes tropes that have been in the fandom since the 60s. They want to be in a fandom but they don't want to engage in fandom 

OP totallymandy responds: Just entered back into Reddit after a long day to see this most recent reply. And as a fellow anime fan this making me laugh so much since it’s true! But it sorta hurts too when the reality sets in. Modern fandom is so entitled and bratty and you’d think it’s the minors only but that’s not even true, my age-mates and older seem to be like that. They want to eat their cake and complain all whilst bringing nothing to the potluck… :/ END ID]

-

“Tourist” is an apt name for this sort of fan. They don’t want to be part of our community, and they don’t have to be in order to come into our spaces and consume our work. Even if they don’t steal our work themselves, they feel so entitled to it that they’re fine with ignoring our wishes and letting other people take it to make AI “podfics” for them to listen to (there are a lot of comments on lore.fm’s shutdown announcement video from people telling them to just ignore the writers and do it anyway). They’ll use AI to generate an ending to an unfinished fic because they don’t care about seeing “the ending this writer would have given to the story they were telling”, they just want “an ending”. For these tourist fans, the ends justify the means, and their end goal is content for them to consume, with no care for the community that created it for them in the first place.

I don’t think this is confined to a specific age group. This isn’t “13-year-olds on Wattpad” or “Zoomers on TikTok” or whatever pointless generation war we’re in now. This is coming from people who are new to fandom, whose main experience with creative works on the internet is this new content culture and who don’t understand fandom as a community. That description can be true of someone from any age group.

It’s so easy to find fandom these days. It is, in fact, too easy. Newcomers face no hurdles or challenges that would encourage them to lurk and observe a bit before engaging, and it’s easy for people who would otherwise move on and leave us alone to start making trouble. From tourist fans to content entrepreneurs to random people who just want to gawk, it’s so easy for people who don’t care about the fandom community to reap all of its fruits. 

So when I say maybe fandom should start gatekeeping a bit, I’m referring to the fact that we barely even have a gate anymore. Everyone is on the internet now; the entire world can find us, and they don’t need to bother learning community etiquette when they do. Before, we were protected by the fact that fandom was considered weird and most people didn’t look at it twice. Now, fandom is pretty mainstream. People who never would’ve bothered with it before are now comfortable strolling in like they own the place. They have no regard for the fandom community, they don’t understand it, and they don’t want to. They want to treat it just like the rest of the content they consume online.

And then they’re surprised when those of us who understand fandom culture get upset. Fanworks have existed far longer than the algorithmic internet’s content. Fanworks existed long before the internet. We’ve lived like this for ages and we like it.

So if someone can’t be bothered to respect fandom as a community, I don’t see why I should give them easy access to my fics.

Think of it like a garden gate

When I interact with commenters on my fic, I have this sense of hospitality.

The comment section is my front porch. The fic is my garden. I created my garden because I really wanted to, and I’m proud of it, and I’m happy to share it with other people. 

Lots of people enjoy looking at my garden. Many walk through without saying anything. Some stop to leave kudos. Some recommend my garden to their friends. And some people take the time to stop by my front porch and let me know what a beautiful garden it is and how much they’ve enjoyed it. 

Any fic writer can tell you that getting comments is an incredible feeling. I always try to answer all my comments. I don’t always manage it, but my fics’ comment sections are the one place that I manage to consistently socialize in fandom. When I respond to a comment, it feels like I’m pouring out a glass of lemonade to share with this lovely commenter on my front porch, a thank you for their thank you. We take a moment to admire my garden together, and then I see them out. The next time they drop by, I recognize them and am happy to pour another glass of lemonade.

My garden has always been open and easy to access. No fences, no walls. You just have to know where to find it. Fandom in general was once protected by its own obscurity, an out-of-the-way town that showed up on maps but was usually ignored.

But now there’s a highway that makes it easy to get to, and we have all these out-of-towner tourists coming in to gawk and steal our lawn ornaments and wonder if they can use the place to make themselves some money.

I don’t care to have those types trampling over my garden and eating all my vegetables and digging up my flowers to repot and sell, so I’ve put up a wall. It has a gate that visitors can get through if they just take the time to open it.

Admittedly, it’s a small obstacle. But when I share my fics, I share them as a gift with my fellow fans, the ones who understand that fandom is a community, even if they’re lurkers. As for tourist fans and entrepreneurs who see fic as content, who have no qualms ignoring the writer’s wishes, who refuse to respect or understand the fandom community…well, they’re not the people I mean to share my fic with, so I have no issues locking them out. If they want access to my stories, they’ll have to do the bare minimum to become a community member and join the AO3 invite queue.

And y’know, I’ve said a lot about fandom and community here, and I just want to say, I hope it’s not intimidating. When I was younger, talk about The Fandom Community made me feel insecure, and I didn’t think I’d ever manage to be active enough in fandom spaces to be counted as A Member Of The Community. But you don’t have to be a social butterfly to participate in fandom. I’ll always and forever be a chronic lurker, I reblog more than I post, I rarely manage to comment on fic, and I go radio silent for months at a time--but I write and post fanfiction. That’s my contribution.

Do you write, draw, vid, gif, or otherwise create? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you leave comments? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you curate reclists? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you maintain a fandom blog or fuckyeah blog? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you provide a space for other fans to convene in? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you regularly send asks (off anon so people know who you are)? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you have fandom friends who you interact with? Congrats, you're a community member.

There’s lots of ways to be a fan. Just make sure to respect and appreciate your fellow fans and the work they put in for you to enjoy and the gift economy fandom culture that keeps this community going.

[reignpage]

Doctor's Orders

Summary: in which you can now finally get the fucking from your husband, Nanami, you've been missing out on because of a stupid injury Warnings: smut, fluffy, a little angsty, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, cunnilingus, cumplay, unfortunately has a little daddy kink, breeding kink to the max, pussy slapping, dumbification, praise, dirty talk, a little degradation, cum eating, some swearing, very loveydovey - sickeningly so, emotional near the end, not proofread Word Count: 3.1k

“Thank you, Doctor.

You hang up the phone, grinning ear to ear and practically vibrating with excitement. With haste, you run to your husband’s office, the door swinging and slamming. He doesn’t flinch nor look up from the stack of papers on his desk. If you didn't know him so well, you might have found that discouraging, a sign he's too busy for you. But your Kento could never possibly be too busy for his darling wife. 

“Sweetheart,” he begins, a little tired, you can tell, “before you start, I hope I won’t need to remind you once more that I will not let you anywhere near my cock until you’ve fully recovered.”

Slithering behind him, you wrap your arms around his shoulders like you’ve been doing every day and every night since your accident, hoping to make him change his mind. Kento smells clean; he always does. But that cleanliness, that natural scent of a man so disciplined, controlled, and patient, drives you insane. Perhaps that’s why, when you next speak, there’s a hint of crazy in your voice. “It’s great then, Kenny baby, that I’ve been given a clean bill of health, isn’t it?”

His pen clatters. 

Kento gulps. “You know how I feel about lying, darling.”

Your lips skim the shell of his ear, blowing on the sensitive spot there to watch him shiver and grip your wrists with firm hands.

“I wouldn’t lie to you, Ken. Not about this. Call him yourself if you don’t believe me.”

And that’s how you find yourself sprawled on his desk, those boring sheets of paper scattered all over the floor. You’re giggling, head thrown back, when he rips your panties off, baring you to the cold air and his desperately observant eyes.

“Oh, God, you’re soaked.” Thumbing your clit just to watch it twitch, he marvels at the swollen lips of your sloppy cunt as if he’s seeing it for the first time. He’s got your legs spread, pushed far and wide to their limits so he can look at you — really look at you. “You're sure he told you you're all clear, yes?"

"Healthy as a horse, Kenny!"

He groans. The promise of all that the go-ahead brings is making his knees weak. "I’ve missed this. Her. You. Ah, fuck, I can’t wait anymore. Forgive me, my love.”

That’s all the warning you get before his mouth descends upon you. Immediately, loud slurping resounds. Your husband is feral, moaning and groaning at your scent, your taste, and your warmth. Everything overwhelms him, and he can’t seem to focus his sight because when you meet his eyes through his fogged glasses, they’re half-lidded and glossy. 

“Tastes so good, darling. I love the way you taste. So sweet. My sweet wife. So pretty for me.”

He’s mumbling, muttering, musing about anything and everything he’s seeing and feeling, and his narration sends jolts of lightning through your spine. Working two thick fingers inside your pussy, he attempts to soothe your pained whimpering with an especially eager suck of your clit. You whine even more, hands flying and pulling at his hair. 

“It’s alright, s-sweetheart. Kento’s got you. He’s sorry, so very sorry. B-but you need to be stretched out thoroughly, remember? It’s been too long so be good for me and take deep breaths, alright? There you go.”

You’re writhing on his desk, sending paperweights tumbling off the mahogany and onto the floor. Neither of you pay any mind to the thumping. “K-ken, more, stretch me out more, please! Want to take your cock soon. Need to.”

Fitting a third finger in, you tug at his hair harder, biting your lip to hold back the moan threatening to leave. Every time he scissors his fingers in, pushing your gummy walls to their limits, he curls those fingers against that gooey spot inside you. Always taking care of you even before his own needs. That very sentiment forces you over the edge, body tensing up, crying out his name. 

“Oh, I’ve missed that beautiful face you make when you cum. You’re gorgeous. So gorgeous. That’s it, sweetheart, ride my tongue, good girl. Hmm.”

Kento laps up every wave of cream you grace his mouth, muttering expressions of gratitude as he gulps all the drops he can, lips and chin soaked and shiny, and it still isn’t enough. “Do you think you have one more in you, darling? I-I don’t think I had my fill.”

Dazed, you can barely hear the pleadings he makes. He taps your cheek, spreading your wetness on your skin to wake you. Much is still left to be done, and he won't let you get in the way of your pleasures. You gasp. 

“Ah, I’m sorry, love. Oh, how terrible of me. I’m making a mess of my wife. Here, let me clean you up,” he says right before his tongue licks up the remnants of your juices. He groans and then laughs. “D-do you see what you’ve done to me? I told you I was fine, that I could push my needs away, but I'm starting to think I was lying. I think they might've gotten the best of me, actually.”

When he makes a move to sit back into his leather chair and continue tasting you, you grab his face and keep his focus on your own. “Ken, you’re shaking. Are you okay?”

He slumps over you, bent at an awkward angle, but he doesn’t seem to care. All sticky and sweaty, he suckles one breast through your —his— shirt and flicks the other nipple with his fingers, eyes fluttering shut at the melodic sounds of your moans. 

“Yes. Yes, sorry. I just — I can’t, ha fuck— S-sorry, I’m a little overwhelmed. Would you hate me if I was selfish? If I just filled you up right away? I feel as if I might die if I don’t feel you around me soon, my love. Can I? Please. I’ll try to be gentle, I promise.”

Before you’ve even made the first nod, he’s fisting his cock and sliding his length through your slit, thoroughly coating his length with your wetness. His tip is leaking already, and the pearlescent beads drip down your clit in a tantalising dance. Kento gulps. Hard. 

With his head thrown back, he wallows in the feel of you, reminding himself what he’s been missing and abstaining from, telling himself he doesn’t yet deserve because of what he’s let happen to you in the first place. 

But now you’re fine. Now you’re laid out for him like the most splendid feasts, and his morals seem to have disappeared. He’ll repent later. 

Hurried and somewhat clumsy, his erratic movements almost make you laugh, and they would have if you weren't just as needy as he is.

“How’s your ribs, love? Any discomfort?” He lifts your shirt up, partly to see if there’s still any bruising and partly to see your breasts bounce when he finally thrusts into you. At the shake of your head, he smiles, shaky and fleeting, before his brows furrow. “You know our safe word, don’t you, honey? If, at any point, I’m hurting you, please say something, alright?”

Then, he’s inside you in one unrelenting thrust. 

“Oh, God.” He grunts, fingers digging into your hips. “Oh, God, sweetheart. Y-you feel so -ngh- g-good.”

All you can do is moan his name on repeat as he pounds you without reservation. Deafening squelches, creaking wood, slapping skin — all those sounds make you dizzy, stealing your senses. You’re grabbing his biceps for purchase, and the hard muscles flex under your grip. “Ken! Yes, fuck! I missed this soooooo much.”

“Me too, h-honey. It’s been so —ha, d-don’t clamp down on me like that— so long. My memory wasn’t cutting it anymore. Neither was my fist. Oh, that’s n-not so gentlemanly of me, is it?”

He throws his sweater off, overstimulated by the scratchy material which stuck to his skin from the clamminess, revealing the sharp contours of his torso and a light dusting of blonde hair on his chest. Abs burning with each ragged thrust of his leaking cock, he pushes through the exhaustion his out-of-practice body’s experiencing. 

Craning your neck, you urge, “K-kiss. I want a kiss, Ken.”

Those plush lips are on yours faster than you can process. You groan into each other’s mouths. Anything more than pecks had been forbidden by him lest they tempted either of you to go further before you were ready. It was killing you both. He needed your kisses like air, and yet he couldn’t even get his morning boosts, as he called it, before he went off to work; his coworkers were suffering under his short fuse. 

“Can you taste yourself, sweetheart? Hmm? Can you —oh, you’re so t-tight— t-taste how sweet you are?”

Shaking your head, you admit, “I just taste you, Ken.”

He shuts his eyes tight, pulling back abruptly and fisting the base of his throbbing cock. “T-that’s bad of you, darling. Very bad. You’re gonna make your husband cum too early. Can’t have that, can we? N-no, you come first. Always. Ha, I didn’t mean to make a pun. S-sorry.”

There are so many positions he wants to do, so many different ways to make you see stars, to make you fall apart in his arms so he can rebuild you back up again, yet he feels there isn’t enough time. It’ll never be enough time. Not even infinity could satiate his need for you but he sure as hell will keep trying. All these thoughts rush through his mind, rendering him stupid, he thinks. Too stupid to keep track of what he’s saying anymore, at least.

You tease, “Dad jokes come so easily to you, don’t they? Oh, you’d be such a good dadd—AH! Ken! Fuck!”

Kento rams his cock all the way back in, your clit tickled by the hairs at his base. He’s reaching every nook and cranny, massaging your pleats with his massive girth, stretching you to your limits and beyond. “Don’t do that. Don’t tease me like that. If you do, I -ngh- might j-just fuck a baby into you and become a real daddy. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? You’ll get all big and swollen. I’ll have to tie y-your shoes for you, soothe the —oh, are you close, honey? You’re fucking down onto me like you are— w-what was I saying? Oh, yes. Papa Ken will soothe the aches on your feet and fuck you g-gently when your -hah- hormones get the best of you, won't he?”

His fingers splay out on your stomach, pressing down hard. You tighten impossibly more, and you swear you can feel his cock get bigger as he feels for his length through your skin. “Yes, Ken! You’ll take such good care of me.”

“That’s right, m-my love. Papa Ken will keep his f-family happy. Safe. What happened to you, to your beautiful, perfect body, will never happen again. Do you hear me? I’ll keep you safe. Kento will keep you and our b-baby safe.”

Your left hand is carried over to his lips. He breathes warmth into your ring and kisses it, all while keeping his eyes on you. "You sure you won't regret saying that? I'm gonna look all ugly and fat—Ow!"

Kento's slapped your clit. Tutting, he warns, "Don't talk about my wife like that. You couldn't p-possibly ever look -ngh!- u-ugly. In fact, I'm certain I won't be able to keep my hands off you."

He cups both breasts, which bounce with the sheer power in his hips as he works that girthy cock inside you. From where you're laid out, you think you see drool slipping out the corner of his mouth. A crazed look shines in those eyes, blocked only by his foggy glasses — though he resents how they get in the way, he resents even more that he wouldn't be able to see you as clearly without them.

"I especially wouldn't be able to keep my hands off these. Have I ever told you that even before we got married, I imagined these full of milk? Don't worry, sweetheart. I'll help you pump. I'll squeeze them out for you. You won't ever have to lift a finger."

Grinning, you clench down hard on his cock. You both moan. "W-when they get too full, will you drink the milk instead, Ken?"

Hips picking up speed, you're being pushed further and further back on the edge, head dangling. He's no longer looking at your face, just where you're both connected, eyes trained on the ring of cream at his base like to look anywhere else would send him cumming before you, and that just won't do.

"Y-you're too cruel on your poor husband, my love. God, you know just what to say to get what you -hah- want, don't you? My b-beautiful little slut. Must have been starving for cum, no? It's alright. Kenny will take care of you, even when you're all -oh fuck, I'm close- m-mean and grumpy because you can't see your toes."

Babbling now, you can't even respond to his provocations. Your brain's fried from the overwhelming pleasure being fucked into you. The vision of him, grey-haired and bigger from putting on dad weight, has your clit throbbing, perfectly stimulated with every harsh grind of his pelvis against yours. He's no longer concerned about your ribs. You're not even sure he remembers that they were bruised before.

"I know, I know. You're very close now, aren't you? That's alright, dear. Just let go. Kento's g-got you. Show him just how much you love him, won't you? M-make him -hngh f-fuck- p-proud, sweetheart."

The tenderness, the adoration, the damn near deification in his voice drives you over the edge, and your pussy pulses around his cock, the thick veins there stimulating your gummy walls. Sudden tightness stealing his breath, he shudders and follows. Almost at the same time, you both orgasm, steamy air suffocating whilst you both gulp air down desperately. Scalding ropes of cum pool inside your squelching pussy, branding you from the inside. "Soooo goood! T-thank you! Fuck, Ken, I feel so full." 

Many seconds pass while you calm down from your high, vision blurry from the tears. A quietness, welcoming and homely, settles in his office. You’re growing aware of the mess you’ve made and the fact that neither of you have even begun to think about dinner even as the sun sets but you don’t move, much too content to absorb that deep satisfaction you’ve been seeking this entire time. 

Fat drops of wetness fall on your skin. It startles you. “Oh my God! K-ken, you’re crying.”

He shakes his head when you attempt to get up. 

“I’m -hah- alright, love.” Still rocking his cock into you, he keeps your cum, mixed up and making a sticky, gloopy mess, inside as much as he can. You’re plugged up nice and full, exactly how he wants you. “Just happy you’re alright now. Ha, for a while I thought you might forever be bruised and hurt. Silly, isn’t it?”

Hips stuttering to a slow stop, he nuzzles the palm of your hand, taking a deep inhale to calm himself with your scent. He never shies away from expressing his innermost thoughts and it’s one of the things you love about him. But the sight of him looking so exhausted, both physically and mentally, has your heart clenching. 

"S-seeing you walk with a limp, wincing when you move too fast or in the wrong way, was killing me. God, it was like I felt your pain. Not being able to satisfy you, even when you begged me to make love to you with tears in your eyes, made me feel like such a terrible husband. I vowed never to make you cry, didn't I? What kind of man am I to not live up to my promises? To deprive you of pleasure? — No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be making this all about me.”

Sitting up, you peck him on his lips, wincing a little when his softening cock leaves your pussy. You’re squeezing around nothing, pushing out all that cum, but soon, his hand creeps between your thighs, plugging you up with two fingers. He knows just how much you hate feeling empty. 

With a reassuring smile, you brush his cheek with a thumb and say, “I’m okay, Ken. You got there just in time and helped me recover much faster than I was supposed to. You bathed me for the first couple weeks and fed me every day! You already did so much for me.”

"I'm afraid that was just the bare minimum, love." Smiling now, slightly energised by your voice, he presses a kiss on your forehead, hand tentatively squeezing your ribs. Visible tension leaves his body when you don't flinch.

"No, Kento. Even from the very beginning, you’ve gone above and beyond for me. Even when we were just friends, remember? You've shown me just how much love I deserve. You taught me to never settle for less. I am who I am today because of you. I'm here because of you.”

He whispers, love softening his features until he looks years younger, until he looks like the boy you first fell in love with, "Likewise."

"Good." The kiss you share with him is sweet. You smile into each other. "I don’t want to hear any more negative talk, alright? It’s not good for the baby, after all.”

You see a glint pass through in his eyes; he’s ready to play along. 

“Quite right, my love. But you don’t really think one time will do it, do you?” He’s sucking your neck to hear you moan, rejoicing in your warmth, your softness, and your sweet scent. As good as he is with words, his actions always prove just how much you mean to him. So, as a thank you, he slides his cock, already hardening up, inside your fluttering cunt. “Don’t be silly, darling. We have to go a couple more rounds, at least.”

“Just a couple?” You tease, grabbing the hand he had inside you. Your mixed cum drips down his long digits and he watches you with bated breath draw them in, cheeks hollowing so you can suck on them, making nasty noises that sends his cock throbbing.

Delirious with the captivating sight you've put on, he acquiesces, “F-fine. We'll go all night. As many as it’ll take to satisfy my insatiable wife b-but every orgasm must be accompanied by a name suggestion, doctor's orders.”

You laugh, clinging to him when he carries you out of the office and into your bedroom. "Isn't that a little early?"

"On the contrary, my love, we're behind schedule."

[littleapplle]

mating season!

bad pup! - 1.5k w. part two is now out!!! read bad dog! here

cw.: dog hybrid!caleb, afab!reader, knot mentioned, masturbation, cunnillingus, caleb is stupid and i hate him, panty sniffing obviously. caleb is desperate and kinda pathetic. not proofread... again.

note: this was supposed to be a joke. tf went wrong dawg.

puppy!caleb who's the biggest sweetheart ever. he likes belly rubs, headpats and blueberry treats. he likes roughhousing and chewing on the baby teethers you give him so he doesn't destroy everything in your apartment while you're gone.

puppy!caleb who's the sweetest pup around <3 he waits for you to get home by the door and when you do, his tail wags so fast, his heart beats quickly and you can see the tears of relief pricking in his lilac eyes. 

puppy!caleb who can't stand that you leave for work everyday. who's going to play with him?!

puppy!caleb who's usually very obedient but has been acting up lately. you brush it off at first but caleb isn't one to growl when you try to get close to his food. bad dog!

puppy!caleb who sniffs you head to toe when you come home tired from work. and if he finds something he doesn't like? his fluffy ears drop down to the back of his head and he growls.

you try to search up online what's wrong with your pup and all you can find is rutting season, which is pretty weird since his last owner swore he was neutered.

puppy!caleb who gets sosososo anxious and stressed when you're not home:( he needs something- anything with your scent to calm down!

puppy!caleb who goes through your laundry basket. he knows it's bad and he made a mess but he'll clean it up later! the only thing important right now is that he found the white frilly panties you wore on monday.

puppy!caleb pupils dilate as his eyes stare at the discharge stain on the delicate fabric and something snaps inside him. He brings the panties to his face, giving it a first, innocent whiff and fuuuuuuuck

you’ve always smelled good, puppy!caleb likes your shampoo and bodywash and cologne and- but this? this is heaven. caleb gives it a whiff again. there’s a hint of sweat, it’s not nasty, it smells like  you and that does it for your sweet pup.

puppy!caleb who doesn’t know why he has been so pent up lately:( he likes being good for you! you smile and praise him and let him have a spoon of peanut butter! but his brain feels fuzzy and there’s a knot growing bigger and bigger on his lower stomach and he feels like he’s gonna pop like a balloon and he’s anxious and he’s alone and you’re not here to help him!

puppy!caleb kicks his wet boxers — which he did pee a little from anxiety but he’d rather die than accept that he is that desperate — and whines loudly when his sensitive cock hits his tummy.

puppy!caleb who paws his cock on a miserable attempt to relieve himself. his hand wraps itself around the shaft, his thumb presses down on his angry red, leaky tip and another loud whine escapes his lips.

puppy!caleb who sniffs your panties again, now gaining enough confidence to lick the patch of arousal and discharge left on the fabric. at the taste, his fluffy tail wags excitedly, thumping on the ground hard enough you’d definitely hear an earful from your neighbor downstairs later.

puppy!caleb who can’t help but sink his itching canines on your panties- sorry! he panicked! 

wet squelches fill the bathroom walls as his hand works up and down on his sensitive cock. melodic, obnoxiously loud moans and whimpers leave his throat as his already creamy dick finally shoots out strings of thick, milky cum and the base of his cock forms a big, swollen knot.

puppy!caleb ears perk at the sound of your keys unlocking the front door and he barely takes time to put his boxers back on before he runs to the entryway. oh you’re finally home! you’ve been gone for so long- too long!

he doesn’t give you any time to scold him for not wearing anything but underwear- or to question him why his heart is beating impossibly fast or why he’s whining so much. puppy!caleb who brings you down to the floor in a harsh pull, ignoring your complaints.

“s-sorry! ‘m sorry! so hot- you smell so good!” the pup cries, his breath tickles the sensitive skin of your neck as he takes a good whiff, drowning in what's left of your perfume and natural musk.

and it’s not like you can pull him away:( first of all you don’t have the heart to leave your pup crying like that, especially when you don’t know what happened and he’s just stupidly strong! 

“ah! b-bad dog! get off caleb- you’re heavy!” your nagging falls deaf in his ears. you shudder at the moment his tongue licks the skin where your neck and jaw meet, twitching at the weird feeling.

puppy!caleb who is so fucking dumb and can’t seem to figure out how to unbuckle your belt and unbutton your pants. you squirm under him and a raspy squeal of surprise leaves your throat. 

“bad dog! argh- what has gotten in you today?-” — “please! promise it’ll feel good- jus’- jus’ needa taste you, please? need it? i’ve been nice and didn’t chew on anything- can i get a treat? please? please please-” he asks- no- begs.

you don’t give him a proper answer, just accepting that there’s not much you can do under him. with some struggle, stupid puppy!caleb gets you out of your tight jeans.

a string of whines and sniffles come out of him. you feel overwhelmed- his hands are everywhere, puppy!caleb has always been the anxious type, if he can’t touch every bit of skin in your body and mark you as his then what else is he going to do?!

even in so much distress, puppy!caleb’s tail still wags excitedly behind him as he kisses your tummy and licks a stripe from your belly button to the hem of your panties. a different pair, he notes. this time, a pretty lacy red design barely covers your fat folds.

he takes a whiff first, of course, before licking the wet stain forming where your slit would be. “fu-uck- caleb! you- aha- bad fucking dog!” you moan, covering your face with your now sweaty hands. caleb doesn’t pay attention to your curses, only trying to dig deeper on the fabric in hopes to get to his meal faster.

frustration bubbles on his dumbed down brain. bothered by the fabric getting on the way, puppy!caleb’s teeth rip the delicate lace and pull it to the side, finally able to get his prize.

“c-caleb- are you fucking kidding-? what has gotten- h-hey no teeth! bad dog!” you chastise in disbelief. you don’t really know what’s worse, caleb non stop whining and the fact that you can’t pull him away from your cunt or that you find it hot.

puppy!caleb who licks a stripe from your slit up to your clit before diving in for a little snack!!! you taste so much better than your panties:( he really tries to be gentle and start slowly, kissing the hood that protects your clit but it just isn’t for him! he needs it now!!!

sucking harshly on your folds, he lets go with a loud ‘pop!’  before teasing your clit with the tip of his tongue attempting to get a positive reaction from you. seeing you squirm on the floor only makes it harder for him to think properly:( 

puppy!caleb whose tongue’s swirls on the sensitive bundle of nerves in a way that makes your head spin- how does he even know how to do all of that?

puppy!caleb who can’t help but rut his hips on the cold floor as his tip grows redder and leaks more pre cum than before:( he feels so good though… he can’t really stop right now to take care of himself! you’re basically overwhelming his every sense and his puppy brain can’t really focus:(

puppy!caleb who accidentally nips on your clit, making you jolt and curse at him. “s-sorry! ‘m sorry!” – he cries out as his ears drop and he spits on your cunt.

it’s messy, you feel ashamed for doing something like that with him of all people and what’s worse is that you can’t deny that it feels fucking good. puppy!caleb’s tongue slurps everything he can get leaking out your slit before digging in impossibly close for more. shoving his tongue as deep as he can to taste you better, his nose hits your clit for the nth time, the constant sniffing making you squeal in pleasure.

“a-ah! fuck! f-fuck caleb- gonna cum, can you keep going pup? be obedient for once, y-yeah? please- shit- mghh!-” at the sign to keep going, caleb’s eyes roll to the back of his skull. he shifts to suck on your clit again and that finally breaks you. your back arches and an embarrassing loud moan escape your glossy lips, your legs twitching and closing around his head. 

puppy!caleb who apparently is insatiable and doesn’t stop licking you clean until you scold him – again – and pulls his head  back by the hair. bad dog!

“did you cum on your boxers?-” — “sorry!”

⊹ ࣪ ˖ reblogs are very much appreciated. thank you for reading! (*´▽`*)

[amalgamgooze]

mall adventure with my sleep deprived friends

Prom was last night. We all had a good time.

======================

Of course, everyone's either super tired today or just feeling weird.

I ended up only waking up at 1:30 this afternoon because of how late I'd stayed up. I'd felt tired leaving prom but I also couldn't really fall asleep.

Regardless. I didn't feel that tired, but that's probably because I probably got a good amount of sleep last night AND I usually don't get more than 8 hours of sleep on regular days.

The same can't be said for my friends, I'm afraid.

At the mall, I practically had to drag them out of the kitchenware section, breaking up a conversation something along the lines of "do we need anything for our graduation parties from this aisle?". I might be an asshole for doing that, but come on. If you're getting a waffle iron for your grad party, that's something you should probably coordinate with whoever's helping you host the party--not your friends that you're just going on a trip to the mall with.

(Though I suppose a waffle iron could be fun at a grad party. To an extent.)

(Frying pans, however, are just weird.)

After doubting the purity of two-dollar Target lemonade jugs and spending an obscene amount of time in the cheese and kitchenware aisles, this party ambled onwards into a Bath & Body Works.

Bath & Body Works is, if you're not pursuing delectable-yet-manufactured fragrances, an excellent exercise in distinguishing between farce and reality, between satire and truth.

"Lemongrass" and "Lavender" are two tangible scents. They are "things". I can pick up a "lemongrass" and smell it.

Our slippery slope begins at scents like "Rain" and "Tropical". Obviously, "Tropical" is a collection of various "tropical" smells masterfully blended into one fragrant concoction, and "Rain" does, in fact, have the scientifically-proven-and-named smell petrichor. But Bath & Body Works "Rain" does not parallel that of the post-downpour smell of petrichor. Bath & Body Works "Rain" is just sweet. "Rain" is just a name attached to this specific smell.

(See Hayakawa's book Language in Thought and Action.)

Finally, at the bottom of our descent, we find smells such as "Water" and "Canyon". Things that don't really have a smell. But somehow, the geniuses at Bath & Body Works came up with a way to attribute scents to "Water" and "Canyon".

(Again, Hayakawa's Language in Thought and Action.)

But alas. There is no bottom, nor is there a top. There was never a descent to begin with. At Bath & Body Works, the smell of "Water" is as real as the smell of "Lavender". It's all fake chemical fragrances anyway.

And therein lies the farce.

I suppose the wine-taster-like antics that I've seen Bath & Body Works customers do also contribute to this. For instance, when they give you paper to spray with a fragrance to see how it smells, you should probably, you know, spray the paper. However, I got to witness some geniuses spray the air, then wave the paper around in the now-scented air. I commend you, for far too long when I shoved the sprayed paper up my nostrils did I feel the scent was much too bold and unbearable. Now, however, I am fortunate enough to have happened upon superior intellect in action, and now when I shove the Bath & Body Works scent-test strips up my nose, the scent becomes much more bearable.

I don't know. Might as well start holding the scent up to your ear and sampling how it sounds too at that point.

(Yes. Of course I tasted a few scents today.)

I've got gripes with Bath & Body Works and revisiting it today didn't fix any of them. Like, why not just buy normal soap? Why not buy something real? I get that nice smells are nice, but nice smells can also be attained via other means!

Is it too much to ask in today's America that my hand soap fulfill its one job without making my hands smell like "Canyon" afterward? Is it too much to ask that the lavender I smell be from flowers or perhaps even a lovely chap steeping a splendid cup of lavender tea, someone who'll talk to me and hold real conversation instead of smelling of "Lavender"?

…

I wonder what "Pessimism" smells like.

…

Anyway.

Thankfully, after fleeing the stank halls of Bath & Body Works, we went to a few other stores.

And then I got peer pressured into buying a totally radical hat. Sweet!

…

That was about it, I suppose.

A fun trip, no doubt!

But damn. I could go on and on about goddamn Bath & Body Works.

But I won't. Eventually I'd hit a point where it'd stop being funny and true.

And that's a fundamental part of dancing on that line between reality and farce.

…

Bath & Body Works should not be bothering me this much.

…

See you all later, I suppose!

[demaparbat-hp]

Hiya!! 👋🏼😄 How's it going? Your fashion taste for Zuko in a Modern AU seems to be artsy, or maybe "formal" is the word. That shirt he wore when he gave Sokka romantic song advice looked Versace🧐. Anyway, I was wondering how you came up with it, he always struck me more as the type that didn´t care much about fashion, so I'm curious about other´s opinions and heacanons about it. And do you have any other fashion headcanons for the rest of the GAang? Also, their music tastes. How did you come up with them? Especially Katara's! 😍

Hello! As it happens, I have a lot of Thoughts and Feelings™ about this, so I'm leaving these over here, and the rest of my ramblings down below the cut!

Let us begin with the Gaang, shall we?

SUKI always struck me as that Pretty Girl from the Gym. She is so incredibly fit it isn't even funny. She could kick anyone's ass, and we'd all thank her. She has this casual gym style that somehow always looks glorious on her, as it should! Comfy yet fashionable clothes for a nice workout or a day in town.

Her music tastes are basically any and all power songs from the eighties and nineties. (Eye of the Tiger, anyone?) She also enjoys metal via Toph, and bands like BSB, NSYNC, or Boyz II Men with Katara. My girl has a very eclectic Playlist and we all love her for it.

SOKKA is That Guy™. Loose T-shirts and shorts everywhere he goes, no matter the weather. He's stupidly into fashion but it doesn't show! At all! And everyone teases him about it. His closet is about 90% Cactus Juice merchandise, hence the "it's the quenchiest!" shirt.

His fashion and music tastes are pretty much the same. He loves poetry but isn't really into lyrics. He'll misinterpret just about anything you place in front of him. His Playlist is mostly vibes and tiktok songs he kind of enjoys. He isn't really into music...at least not as much as his sister.

AANG owns exactly one hoodie, one pair of shorts, and one beanie (THE beanie). Oh, and the crocs—don't forget the crocs. Somehow, he's always wearing the exact same outfit. Every. Single. Day. Ancient Gaang lore suggests that the day Aang goes out without his beanie, it's the end of the world.

His Playlist is the poppiest, most bizarre thing ever. Every single song is Happy by Pharrell Williams levels of happy. Yet sometimes, among the bouncy dance-to songs, you'll find the strangest of things... (He does know what Good Day by Twenty One Pilots is about. That's the reason he likes it so much, actually. And it's so weird.)

KATARA is all about sundresses and loose pants. The epitome of comfortable loveliness. Light fabrics in blue shades, careful embroidery, delicate shoes, and little to no accessories—hers is a simple, yet quite adorable, style. She just needs to add more colors to her usual palette...

She is, first and foremost, a Florence + The Machine girl. It's the Dark Goddess of the Sea vibes, to be honest. Florence Welch is her idol and yes, she will fight you about lyrics interpretation, and win. It may not seem like it, but her music tastes are also very varied.

She draws a little from each member of the Gaang, so you'll hear her humming along to Gorillaz (where did you even find out about them, Aang?), The Weeknd (I...don't think this song means what you think it means, Sokka...), and Hozier (Zuko why did you dedicate Talk to me, Zuko WHAT DID YOU MEAN BY THAT).

TOPH...ah, lovely girl. I'll summarise everything about Toph’s fashion sense in two words: comfort and rebellion. Stuffy dresses forced on her by billionaire parents? No thank you! Give her tank tops with loose shirts and short pants. Bandaids shared with Aang, bracelets from Katara, and even piercings she got in tandem with Sokka. Shoes? What even is that?

Something I love about this fandom is our collective agreement that Toph is into the dirtiest, heaviest, most ear-splitting and soul-crushing death metal of all times. Her Playlist is full of the most obscure names to ever exist, and she can and will blast through your walls with the sheer volume of her speaker.

Zuko. ZUKO.

Even in a modern AU my boy must suffer. That being said, I envision Tales from the Couch as—well, exactly what it is: an ATLA modern AU. While there is not a war to fight, and a lot of plot lines are discarded or expanded upon, much about the core story remains the same.

This is my way of saying that Zuko still goes trough his redemption arc, and it reflects on his fashion choices.

The way you described it works perfectly because of one single reason: in this AU, Zuko is an artist. He had to suppress his love for writing and drawing because of his background and the expectations Ozai had for him (taking over the family company), and a very large part of his redemption arc directly affects his relationship with art.

In the Couch equivalent of S1, Zuko has fallen out of Ozai's graces, and is desperate to protect his place in the company and the Kasai household. He's pretending to be someone he isn't and trying to live up to his Father's image of a perfect heir while still being somewhat cut-off financially, and it shows.

He's all about imposing long coats and a semi-formal style, imitating what he knows Azula and Father would respect. He's striking and sharp and dark. But no matter how he dresses or carries himself (that air of cold superiority and arrogance)—it won't help him when he needs it the most.

In S2, Zuko has hit his lowest point. He's officially disinherited and tossed away by his father, and would be out in the streets if it wasn't for Uncle Iroh. He goes from sharp, high-tailored outfits to old second-hand clothes that hang loosely on his frame. He starts smoking and cuts his hair off, forgoing the undercut for the first time in years.

But then...Father accepts him back. When Zuko returns home, it's with respect to his name and a very high position in his father's company. He's finally the perfect Kasai heir, dressed in overly expensive suits and finery, even at home... But Father forbids him from wearing Lu Ten's earring, and Zuko can no longer recognize himself without the familiar glint of gold dancing on his peripheral vision.

When Zuko leaves the Kasai name behind him and goes back to living with Uncle Iroh...he's finally at peace with who he is, and what he wants in this life. The sharp edges aren't gone (they'll always be a part of him, after all), but now they're dulled by looser clothes and softer hairstyles.

He's an artist, and for once in his life, he is determined to pursue his own ambitions. Zuko's outfits may not be designer-made anymore, but he takes what he has and makes himself look like he wants to look, like the person he wants to be.

He doesn't read fashion magazines or keeps up to the latest trends like Azula does. He's just...Zuko. And his newfound confidence makes everything he wears look like it belongs on him.

As for music...well, Ursa raised a literature boy.

He loves lyric-heavy music and natural voices, be they soothing or powerful. Dissecting song meanings and possible interpretations with Katara is one of his favorite parts of the day. They're both very passionate and strong-minded individuals, so it stands to reason that their debates can get quite...heated.

Zuko's Playlist is both incredibly eclectic and somehow very...him. There's a common thread that binds together every song and artist he likes, and he's hilariously unaware of this. To take a look into his Playlist is a higher honor reserved only for those closest to him.

In the wide spectrum of things, it is no wonder that Zuko is, first and foremost, a Hozier man. But though Andrew is his God in all aspects of this life, there's someone else that has had a huge impact on him...

Two someones, actually.

Zuko refuses to tell anyone how he got into Twenty One Pilots, but it's kind of a moot point when the beginning of his obsession is nothing compared to everything that came after. They have just about the right amount of everything that makes Zuko...well, Zuko. The poetic lyrics, the soothing or raging music, the heavy, intensely resonant themes...

Up there, in the second artwork, I placed an album cover behind each period of Zuko's life. The election of these records is intentional, as I feel like their general themes work incredibly well with Zuko's arc and growth.

Blurryface in S1. For the demons within us. For giving a name to our fears and shame.

Trench in S2. For escaping the confined walls of a depression city, and fighting to understand the depths of the map of your mind.

Scaled and Icy in the first half of S3. For returning to places you had left behind. For convincing yourself and everyone around you that you're fine, that you're perfect, even though everything is crumbling inside...

Clancy in S3. For recognizing that you can backslide, that you can have fears and shame and pain—but you're shaping yourself with each step you take. For knowing that seeking help from others is okay. Nobody learns to walk on their own.

(And, in the end, you'll always be better than the person you were yesterday. If only because you're still here. You're still alive. You're still yourself.)

.

Overall, I rambled a bit too much, don't you think?

If you made it all the way down here—thank you so much for reaching out and being interested in this crazy AU! I hope you enjoy these ideas and tell me some of your own ❤️

[sayangrafayel]

LADS react to your failed homemade chocolate for them! Happy Val's Day!

It's Valentine's day! So you decided to make them a homemade chocolate or other baked goods for your beloved.. but no matter how hard you try, turns out making a chocolate is not easy... how would they react to it?

Sylus, Xavier, Rafayel, Zayne, Caleb

Sylus

His trademark raised eyebrow is on full display right now seeing his kitchen a big mess and you covered in flour, chocolates, and.. are those strawberry jams? He hopes so.

Mephisto is EXHAUSTED because you used him all day to look up for tutorials and recipes and every single one he had to witness yet another fail.

"This tastes... different than the ones I would usually buy." "Just say you hate it!!!" "Hate it? No no no. This is.. amazing! What do you mean it's burnt? It's so good! So so so good!"

Xavier

Eats it with no problem at ALL. Doesn't even bat an eye.

"So.. what do you think?" "It's good." "But.. it's all.. burnt.." "Oh yeah, they taste like the ones I made." "Sorry?" "Yeah you should try the ones I gave you. They taste almost the same yet yours have more sweetness."

You. Were. Scared. To. Try. His. But your beloved worked so hard on it! So why not try it!? Another trip to the ER would be worth it if it's for your beloved!!

Rafayel

TEARED. UP.

"Do you hate me?" "What?" "You hate me and you want me to die. So you decide to poison me?!" "WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?" "I CAN UNDERSTAND THE BETRAYAL. BUT DOING IT ON VALENTINE'S DAY?" "OK YOU UNGRATEFUL LITTLE BRAT-"

You end up having to share HIS homemade beautifully designed chocolate with him because he's not gonna eat your batch...

Zayne

He was really silent.

"So? How is it? I know it's a bit burnt but-" "It's okay. It's.. good." "Zayne, you don't have to lie.." "Why would I lie to you? I love these. I'm gonna cherish these and put it somewhere out of anyone's reach for their own safety- I mean, so I can look at it when I miss you."

He took you to a chocolate making class the next day. You know he likes his sweets DIABETIC.

Caleb

This man ate your wasabi sandwich without batting an eye. You think a little burnt dessert is gonna stop him?

"Caleb I know it's bad you don't have to keep eating it-" "What are you saying! It's not bad! Plus it's good, I need to train my stomach. It's been awhile since I ate your homemade food! Is there any left?" "CALEB STOP EATING IT PLEASE"

You had to pry his hands off of the baked goods because he would Not stop. Puppy wants to appreciate your effort!!! Okay!!! 😭🥺 He gives you his own batch and they're sooooooooooo good you almost didn't believe it's homemade, but it's Caleb, so of course he's annoyingly good at everything he does. 🙄

Happy Val's Day, everybaaa!! Thank you so much for every support, likes, reblogs, comments, asks you have given me! I really appreciate it! 🥰