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everythingthemoontouches · 3 years ago

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💙Hi there! , First of all i want to tell you that i love your blog! And i love how your posts are so accurate!💙 If its okay with you could you please do me a favor by describing how others see me,my appearance or more specifically the vibe I radiate to others! It would mean alot to me if you you do that💙I'm a cancer sun,leo rising,Lilith sextile asc, Pluto trine asc, Uranus opposition asc, Moon opposition asc, mars sextile venus, mars opposition neptune, asteroid lilith conjunct mc and jupiter in the 1st house!💙

Hola!

Thank you that's really kind of you 💛💕

You know that quote that says Cinderella never asked for a prince. All she wanted was a night out and a dress. You kind of exude a similar vibe but with respect to leadership positions. 'I never asked to be Queen/King, but the people have spoken' kind of an energy. You would be equally happy to be by yourself, learning about the subconscious mind, higher realms and other esoteric science.

For more on Jupiter in LEO I'd recommend watching Astrofinesse.

For jupiter in the first there's KRS.

🌻As a Leo rising you come across as someone outgoing, with a playful energy but you're also somehow someone people would expect to see in a position of authority. You're drawn to people who stimulate you intellectually and love to exchange ideas.

😬If you have an Aquarius saturn you could be having some challenges in your relationships since December 2020 as saturn transits your 7th house. I'd suggest practicing discernment in this area as well as signing contracts with people until it passes( early 2023) ..

😇12th house sun could take on other people's energy. I feel like you need some time away, by yourself, preferably at the beach / pool/ shower to declutter, clear your head and replenish your sense of Self. You could be highly intuitive. If this resonates, I'd urge you to look up empath drain and how to protect yourself from energy vampires.

Ruler of the ascendant in the 12th :

spirituality could be a huge part of your life. For some people this could show a father (figure) who was convicted or worked in a prison / asylum. They could also have a really remote job. Since the sun is also your own personal identity, you could profit off these themes. Working in a mental health facility, overseas, in esoteric crafts.

🌛With your moon in the 7th house, you probably attract a lot of older women, (queen of swords) nurturing energies . Your mom could have a major influence on any business partnerships that you enter.

In relationships you could have a here today gone tomorrow kind of a presence. This is because as the moon waxes and wanes so does your attraction / attachment to specific people?

♒Aquarius moon : it could be really hard for you to express your feelings. So Instead of asking for a hug there could be a tendency to say something like ' ew imagine asking for one?' you leave a place better than you found it. If you watch hindi movies, 3 Idiots could be a movie you really resonate with. ( I pretty much spent the day looking up the lead actor, who has major aquarius placements and his films have always been disruptive with a really nice social message that left people talking for years after they were released. I tell you this because he shares 2 of your big 3 - aquarius and cancer.)

Going off on this tangent you could be a well respected teacher / writer / entertainer. Jupiter in LEO could help with this.

I do feel like you need a certain amount of inventiveness in your relationships. The people you're with are people who introduce you to new hobbies / ideas / technologies. You need to feel like you guys learn something new or create something that matters together. This is enhanced by uranus in the 7th house. You could come across really cold because you always give people the naked honest truth when asked. You do this from a place of love. I'm reminded of the Queen of Swords card in the rider Waite tarot. Not everyone has the maturity to take it. Or maybe they've just had a bad day. It is what it is. Perhaps try to not be so incisive if this is something you struggle with.

In the same vein, if I asked you to write down how you were feeling how long would it take for you to identify the right emotion. How honest are you with yourself?

Moon and Uranus being in the same house could show that stagnation could really hurt your mental health / happiness / satisfaction levels.

With a saturn ruled moon I feel like I need to remind you to not be so hard on yourself. Like. The world won't crumble to dust if you allow yourself to take care of you once in a while.there's only so much you can do.

All those coffee mugs will catch up. There's no such thing as extra hours in the day. A lack of sleep manifests as early signs of aging. No hate for the elderly but arthritis is not a fun ailment to have. Do you wanna be 60 with 80 year old nervous system problems? I rest my case.

Uranus and moon aspect your ascendant so you could have a slightly plump look?

Jupiter in the first house people usually have prominent thighs. I had a friend with this placement and when we were growing up she used to complain of chafed thighs a lot?

Mars sextile venus you could be your own type? The way you act and the way you want your future partners to express love could be quite similar which is good for healthy relationships.

There could be a tendency to spend impulsively.

With Mars sextiling venus you could be someone who earns more the more active their lifestyle is? Like, you may need to be an agile learner to keep money flowing in .

Jupiter in LEO in a woman's chart usually shows they'd have a financially well off spouse so money may not be a huge concern. He could be a sailor or earn via exports/ navy. It's hard to say without knowing where your Saturn is.

The image you project to the world could be a lot more outgoing than how you actually feel. You're more private than people think.

With a fire rising, water sun and air moon you could either be a really balanced person or just have a number of clashing ideas on who to be, what to do and achieve.

Descendant : The people that hate on you could attack your need to stand out /try to dim your time in the spotlight. Think aquarius themes of standing out to improve community clashing with Leo's need to stand out solely because it helps their ego. Like your confidence could trigger the part if them that felt judged negatively for expressing their individuality.

Do you feel like you thrive in chaos? I'm guessing you're atleast in your late 20s if not older, so you might have gotten better at dealing with people acting unexpectedly. Your mom could have been unpredictable. Really intelligent, but forgets to eat ..

🥤🦀As a cancer sun, you could be the friend your friends come to for advice. There could be a tendency to be a little too selfless. I think your aqua moon really serves as a shield to those who try to take advantage of your caring nature. Have you considered a career in psychic medium ship? Or any spiritual art/ past life regression / you get the drift..

Is there a family craft or hobby that you could monetize? Jupiter in LEO could signify ancestral gains.

Lilith and Pluto aspects to ascendant can make you come across really sexy / a bit unapproachable because people feel like you have some kind of power that places you above them?

Due to this, people with Pluto / Lilith aspects can feel some kind of hurt around people clearing up the path around them if that makes sense.

Jupiter opposite moon : there could be a clash between you want to do VS what you feel you should be doing.

Jupiter in the first house : you could have been born rich? Or people just perceive you that way. They also see you as someone wordly wise and lucky in general. You could know a lot about a wide variety of things. Specially on topics related to appearance, personal development, image consciousness etc. Since the ruler of the first is in the 12th I feel like some of your wisdom comes from a divine source. Like you're tapping into some kind of a collective reservoir of knowledge. In starseed terminology we would refer to this as downloads.

Jupiter rules the 8th house and 5th house.

So love, romance, games, early education may have been a bit of a breeze for you.

Jupiter is usually a bit of a celibate spiritual person. So, while it may make you really wise with respect to things like the occult / tarot / other 8th house themes, I'm not sure how it would impact your sex life with a spouse. Sex could be either a deeply spiritual experience for you or take on more neptunian traits. Addiction / alcoholism / drug use the works. Jupiter expands the themes of the house it rules so a word of caution there.

Travelling could bring you luck. Or even love.

Did I hear Mars opposite Neptune?

This could be a literal battlefield. You could feel like you need to work for love.if Neptune is unconditional love and Mars is your drive, then you could literally match to get to taht elusive unconditional sense of belonging /love / acceptance. But what are you marching towards really? A mirage? With this aspect I'd really be on the guard against addiction of any kind. Neptune is enticing, alluring, mocking Mars for its need to conquer. It could lend a really nice swagger to your walk. A runway model could benefit from thus placement. At uts best this aspect imbues you with creativity, inspiration, otherworldly imagination and the energy required to turn your abstract ideas of art into something tangible.

Here's a source for more on this placement. Sometimes I find that the comments really help me make sense of my own placements

Toodles

Before I sign off, I just have to say this :please try to restrict asks to 2-3 placements. You can send in multiple asks if you'd like, but answering them all in one ask can get a bit cluttered and I'd hate to miss out on something 😊

Hope this helped 💕as always, I'd really appreciate your feedback on this take on how these placements affect you.

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laurasimonsdaughter · 3 years ago

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The Counterfeit Marquise

A literary fairy tale published in 1697, presumably by Charles Perrault and François-Timoléon De Choisy (who spent a considerable amount of his life in drag, just like the protagonists of this story).

Translated by Ranjit Bolt, featured in Warner’s Wonder tales: six stories of enchantment (1996).

Cw: gender disphoria.

The Marquis de Banneville had been married barely six months to a beautiful and highly intelligent young heiress when he was killed in battle at Saint-Denis. His widow was profoundly affected. They had still been very much in love and no domestic quarrels had disturbed their happiness. She did not allow herself an excess of grief. With none of the usual lamentations, she withdrew to one of her country houses to weep at her leisure, without constraint or ostentation. But no sooner had she arrived than it was pointed out to her, on the basis of irrefutable evidence, that she was carrying a child. At first she rejoiced at the prospect of seeing a little replica of the man she had loved so much. She was careful to preserve her husband’s precious remains, and took every possible step to keep his memory alive. Her pregnancy was very easy, but as her time drew near she was tormented by a host of anxieties. She pictured a soldier’s gruesome death in its full horror. She imagined the same fate for the child she was expecting and, unable to reconcile herself to such a distressing idea, prayed a thousand times to heaven to send her a daughter who, by virtue of her sex, would be spared so cruel a fate. She did more: she made up her mind that, if nature did not answer her wishes, she would correct her. She took all the necessary precautions and made the midwife promise to announce to the world the birth of a girl, even if it was a boy.

Thanks to these measures the business was effected smoothly. Money settles everything. The marquise was absolute mistress in her château and word soon spread that she had given birth to a girl, though the child was actually a boy. It was taken to the curé who, in good faith, christened it Marianne. The wet nurse was also won over. She brought little Marianne up and subsequently became her governess. She was taught everything a girl of noble birth should know: dancing; music; the harpsichord. She grasped everything with such precocity her mother had no choice but to have her taught languages, history, even modern philosophy. There was no danger of so many subjects becoming confused in a mind where everything was arranged with such remarkable orderliness. And what was extraordinary, not to say delightful, was that so fine a mind should be found in the body of an angel. At twelve her figure was already formed. True, she had been a little constricted from infancy with an iron corset, to widen her hips and lift her bosom. But this had been a complete success and (though I shall not describe her until her first journey to Paris) she was already a very beautiful girl. She lived in blissful ignorance, quite unaware that she was not a girl. She was known in the province as la belle Marianne. All the minor gentry roundabout came to pay court to her, believing she was a rich heiress. She listened to them all and answered their gallantries with great wit and frankness. My heart, she said to her mother one day, isn’t made for provincials. If I receive them kindly it’s because I want to please people.

Be careful, my child, said the marquise: you’re talking like a coquette.

Ah, maman, she answered, let them come. Let them love me as much as they like. Why should you worry as long as I don’t love them?

The marquise was delighted to hear this, and gave her complete licence with these young men who, in any case, never strayed beyond the bounds of decorum. She knew the truth and so feared no consequences. La belle Marianne would study till noon and spend the rest of the day at her toilette.

After devoting the whole morning to my mind, she would say gaily, It’s only right to give the afternoon to my eyes, my mouth, all this little body of mine.

Indeed, she did not begin dressing till four. Her suitors would usually have gathered by then, and would take pleasure in watching her toilette. Her chambermaids would do her hair, but she would always add some new embellishment herself. Her blonde hair tumbled over her shoulders in great curls. The fire in her eyes and the freshness of her complexion were quite dazzling, and all this beauty was animated and enhanced by the thousand charming remarks that poured continually from the prettiest mouth in the world. All the young men around her adored her, nor did she miss any opportunity to increase that adoration. She would herself, with exquisite grace, put pendants in her ears – either of pearls, rubies or diamonds – all of which suited her to perfection. She wore beauty spots, preferably so tiny that one could barely see them with the naked eye and, if her complexion had not been so delicate and fine, could not have seen them at all. When putting them on she made a great show of consulting now one suitor, now another, as to which would suit her best. Her mother was overjoyed and kept congratulating herself on her ingenuity. He is twelve years old, she would say to herself under her breath. Soon I should have had to think about sending him to the Military Academy, and in two years he would have followed his poor father. Whereupon, transported with affection, she would go and kiss her darling daughter, and would let her indulge in all the coquetries that she would have condemned in anyone else’s child.

This is how matters stood when the Marquise de Banneville was obliged to go to Paris to deal with a lawsuit that one of her neighbours had taken out against her. Naturally she took her daughter with her, and soon realised that a pretty young girl can be useful when it comes to making petitions. The first person she went to see was her old friend the Comtesse d’Alettef,11 to ask for her advice and her protection for her daughter. The comtesse was struck by Marianne’s beauty and so enjoyed kissing her that she did so several times. She took on herself the task of chaperoning her, and looked after her when her mother was busy with her suit, promising to keep her amused. Marianne could not have fallen into better hands. The comtesse was born to enjoy life. She had managed to separate herself from an inconvenient husband. Not that he lacked qualities (he loved pleasure as much as she did) but since they could not agree in their choice of pleasures, they had the good sense not to get in one another’s way and each followed their own inclinations. The comtesse, though not young any more, was beautiful. But the desire for lovers had given way to the desire for money, and gambling was now her chief passion. She took Marianne everywhere, and everywhere she was received with delight.

Meanwhile, the Marquise de Banneville slept easily. She was well aware of the comtesse’s somewhat dubious reputation, and would never have trusted her with a real daughter. But quite apart from the fact that Marianne had been brought up with a strong sense of virtue, the marquise wanted a little amusement and so left her to her own devices, merely telling her that she was entering a scene very different from that of the provinces; that she would encounter passionate, devoted lovers at every turn; that she must not believe them too readily; that if she felt herself giving way she was to come and tell her everything; and that in future she would look on her as a friend rather than a daughter, and give her such advice as she herself might take.

Marianne, whom people were starting to call the little marquise, promised her mother that she would disclose all her feelings to her and, relying on past experience, believed herself a match for the gallantry of the French court. This was a bold undertaking thirty years ago. Magnificent dresses were made for her; all the newest fashions tried on her. The comtesse, who presided over all this, saw to it that her hair was dressed by Mlle de Canillac. She had only some child’s earrings and a few jewels; her mother gave her all hers, which were of poor workmanship, and managed at relatively little expense to have two pairs of diamond pendants made for her ears, and five or six crisping pins for her hair. These were all the ornaments she needed. The comtesse would send her carriage for her immediately after dinner and take her to the theatre, the opera, or the gaming houses. She was universally admired. Wives and daughters never tired of caressing her, and the loveliest of them heard her beauty praised without a hint of jealousy. A certain hidden charm, which they felt but did not understand, attracted them to her and forced them to pay homage where homage was due. Everyone succumbed to her spell and her wit, which was even more irresistible than her beauty, won her more certain and lasting conquests. The first thing that captivated them was the dazzling whiteness of her complexion. The bloom in her cheeks, forever appearing and reappearing, never ceased to amaze them. Her eyes were blue and as lively as one could wish; they flashed from beneath two heavy lids that made their glances more tender and languishing. Her face was oval-shaped and her scarlet lips, which protruded slightly, would break – even when she spoke with the utmost seriousness – into a dozen delightful creases, and into a dozen even more delightful when she laughed. This exterior – so charming in itself – was enhanced by all that a good education can add to an excellent nature. There was a radiance, a modesty in the little marquise’s countenance that inspired respect. She had a sense of occasion: she always wore a cap when she went to church, never a beauty spot – avoiding the ostentation cultivated by most women. At Mass, she would say, One prays to God; at balls one dances; and one must do both with total commitment.

She had been leading a most agreeable life for three months when Carnival came round. All the princes and officers had returned from camp, and everywhere entertainments were being held again. Everyone was giving parties and there was a great ball at the Palais Royal. The comtesse, who was too old to show her face on such occasions, decided to go masked and took the little marquise with her. She was dressed as a shepherdess in an extremely simple but becoming costume. Her hair, which hung down to her waist, was tied up in great curls with pink ribbons – no pearls, no diamonds, only a beautiful cap. She had dressed herself, but even so all eyes were fixed on her. That night her beauty was triumphant.

The handsome Prince Sionad was there, dressed as a woman – a rival to the fair sex who, in the opinion of connoisseurs, took first prize for beauty. On arriving at the ball the comtesse decided to go and sit behind the lovely Sionad. Chère princesse, she said as she drew near and introduced the little marquise, here is a young shepherdess you should find worth looking at. Marianne approached respectfully and wanted to kiss the hem of the prince’s dress (or should I say the princess’s) but he lifted her up, embraced her tenderly and cried delightedly: What a lovely girl! What fine features! What a smile! What delicacy! And if I’m not mistaken, she is as clever as she is beautiful.

The little marquise had responded only with a bashful smile when a young prince came up and claimed her for a dance. At first all eyes were fixed on him, owing to his rank. But when people saw her answering his questions without awkwardness or embarrassment; saw what a feel she had for the music; how gracefully she moved; her little jumps in time; her smiles, subtle without being malicious and the fresh glow that vigorous exercise brought to her face, total silence, as at a concert, descended on the hall. The violinists found to their delight that they could hear themselves play, and everyone seemed intent on watching and wondering at her. The dance ended with applause, little of it for the prince, popular though he was.

The acclaim that the little marquise had received at the Palais Royal ball greatly increased the comtesse’s affection and concern for her. She could no longer do without her and she offered her rooms in her house, so that she could enjoy her company at her leisure. But on no account would her mother agree to this. The little marquise was almost fourteen and, if the secret of her birth was to be kept, it was vital that no one should be on intimate terms with her except her governess, who got her up and saw her into bed. She was still quite ignorant of her situation and, though she had many admirers, felt nothing for them. She cared for nothing and no one but herself and her appearance. People spoke to her of nothing else. She drank down this delicious praise in long draughts and thought herself the most beautiful person in the world; the more so since her mirror swore to her every day that the praise was justified.

One day she was at the theatre, in the first tier, when she noticed a beautiful young man in the next box. He wore a scarlet doublet embroidered with gold and silver, but what fascinated her were his dazzling diamond earrings and three or four beauty spots. She watched him intently and found his countenance so sweet and amiable that she could not contain herself, and said to the comtesse: Madame, look at that young man! Isn’t he handsome! Indeed, said the comtesse, but he is too conscious of his looks, and that is not becoming in a man. He might as well dress as a girl.

The performance went on and they said nothing more, but the little marquise often turned her head, no longer able to concentrate on the play, which was The Feign’d Alcibiades. Some days later she was at the theatre again in the third tier. The same young man, who drew such attention to himself with his extraordinary adornments, was in the second tier. He watched the little marquise at his leisure, as fascinated by her as she had been by him on the previous occasion, but less restrained. He kept turning his back on the actors, unable to take his eyes off her and she, for her part, responded in a manner less than consistent with the dictates of modesty. She felt in this exchange of looks something she had never experienced before: a certain joy at once subtle and profound, which passes from the eyes to the heart and constitutes the only real happiness in life. At last the play ended and, while they waited for the afterpiece, the beautiful young man left his box and went to ask the little marquise’s name. The porters, who saw her often, were happy to oblige him; they even told him where she lived. He now saw that she was of noble birth and decided, if possible, to make her acquaintance, even if he went no further. He resolved (love being ingenious) to enter her box by accident.

Ah, madame, he cried, I beg your pardon: I thought this was my box. The Marquise de Banneville loved intrigue and made the most of this one. Monsieur, she said to him with great frankness, we are indeed fortunate in your mistake: a man as handsome as you is welcome anywhere.

She hoped in this way to detain him so that she could look at him at her leisure; examine him and his adornments; please her daughter (whose feelings she had already detected) and, in a word, have some harmless amusement. He hesitated before deciding to remain in the box without taking a seat at the front. They asked him a hundred questions, to which he replied very wittily. His manner and tone of voice had an undeniable charm. The little marquise asked him why he wore pendants in his ears. He replied that he always had: his ears had been pierced when he was a child. As for the rest, they must excuse these little embellishments, normally only suitable for the fair sex, on the grounds of youth.

Everything suits you, monsieur, said the little marquise with a blush. You can wear beauty spots and bracelets as far as we’re concerned. You wouldn’t be the first. These days young men are always doing themselves up like girls. The conversation never flagged. When the afterpiece was over he conducted the ladies to their coach and had his follow it as far as the marquise’s house where, not daring to enter, he sent a page to present his compliments.

During the days that followed they saw him everywhere: in church; in the park; at the opera and the theatre. He was always unassuming, always respectful. He would bow low to the little marquise, not daring to approach or speak to her. He seemed to have but one object, and wasted no time in attaining it. Finally, after three weeks, the Marquise de Banneville’s brother (who was a state councillor) called and suggested that she receive a visitor – his good friend and neighbour, the Marquis de Bercour. He assured her that he was an excellent man and brought him round immediately after lunch. The marquis was the handsomest man in the world; his hair was black and arranged in thick, natural-looking curls. It was cut in line with the ears so that his diamond earrings could be seen. On this particular day he had attached to each of these a pearl. He also wore two or three beauty spots (no more) to emphasise his fine complexion.

Ah, brother, said the marquise, is this the Marquis de Bercour? Yes, madame, replied the marquis, and he cannot live any longer without seeing the loveliest girl in the world.

As he said this he turned towards the little marquise, who was beside herself with joy. They sat and talked, exchanging news, discussing amusements and new books. The little marquise was a versatile conversationalist, and they were soon at ease with one another. The old councillor was the first to leave, the marquis the last, having remained as long as he felt he could.

After this he never missed an opportunity of paying court to the girl he loved, and always made sure that everything was perfect. When the good weather came and they went out walking to Vincennes or in the Bois, they would find a magnificent collation, which seemed to have been brought there by magic, at a place specially chosen in the shade of some trees. One day there would be violins; the next oboes. The marquis had apparently given no instructions, yet it was obvious that he had arranged everything. Nevertheless, it took several days to guess who had given the little marquise a magnificent present. One morning a carrier brought a chest to her house which he said was from the Comtesse Alettef. She opened it eagerly and was delighted to find in it gloves, scents, pomades, perfumed oils, gold boxes, little toilet cases, more than a dozen snuff boxes in different styles, and countless other treasures. The little marquise wanted to thank the comtesse, who had no idea what she was talking about. She found out in the end, but reproached herself more than once for not having guessed at once.

These little attentions advanced the marquis’s cause considerably. The little marquise greatly appreciated them. Madame, she said to her mother with admirable honesty, I no longer know where I am. Once I wanted to be beautiful in everyone’s eyes; now the only person I want to find me beautiful is the marquis. I used to love balls, plays, receptions, places where there was a lot of noise. Now I’m tired of all that. My only pleasure in life is to be alone and think about the man I love. He’s coming soon, I whisper to myself. Perhaps he’ll tell me he loves me. Yes, madame, he hasn’t said that yet; hasn’t spoken those wonderful words: I love you, though his eyes and his actions have told me so a hundred times. Then, my child, replied the marquise, I’m very sorry for you. You were happy before you saw the marquis. You enjoyed everyone’s company; everyone loved you and you loved only yourself, your own person, your beauty. You were wholly consumed with the desire to please, and please you did. Why change such a delightful life? Take my advice, my dear child: let your sole concern be to profit from the advantages nature has given you. Be beautiful: you have experienced that joy; is there any other to touch it? To draw everyone’s gaze; to win all hearts; to delight people wherever one goes; to hear oneself praised continually, and not by flatterers; to be loved by all and love only oneself: that, my child, is the height of happiness, and you can enjoy it for a long time. You are a queen, don’t make yourself a slave: you must resist at the outset a passion that is carrying you away in spite of yourself. Now you command, but soon you will obey. Men are fickle: the marquis loves you today – tomorrow he will love someone else.

Stop loving me! said the little marquise. Love someone else! And she burst into tears.

Her mother, who loved her dearly, tried to console her and succeeded by telling her that the marquis was coming. There was a lot at stake and this incipient passion caused her considerable alarm. Where will it lead? she asked herself. To what bizarre conclusion. If the marquis declares himself – if he plucks up courage and asks for certain favours – she will refuse him nothing. But then, she reflected, the little marquise has been well trained; she is sensible; at most she will grant such trifling favours as will leave them in ignorance – an ignorance essential to their happiness.

They were talking like this when someone came to tell them that the marquis had sent them a dozen partridges, and that he was at the door, not daring to enter as he had just returned from hunting.

Send him in! cried the little marquise. We want to see him in his hunting clothes. He entered a moment later, all apologies for powder marks, sun burn and a dishevelled wig. No, no, said the little marquise. I assure you, we like you better dressed informally like this than in all your finery. If that is so, madame, he replied, next time you will see me dressed as a stoker.

He remained standing, as though about to leave. They made him sit and the marquise, kind soul, told them to sit together while she went to her study to write. The chambermaids knew what was what and withdrew to the dressing-room, leaving the lovers alone together. They were silent for a while. The little marquise, still flustered after her talk with her mother, scarcely dared raise her eyes, and the marquis, even more embarrassed, looked at her and sighed. There was something tender in this silence. The looks they exchanged, the sighs they could not contain, were for them a form of language – a language lovers often use – and their mutual embarrassment seemed to them a sign of love. The little marquise was the first to awake from this reverie.

You’re dreaming, marquis, she said. What of? Hunting? Ah, beautiful marquise, said the marquis, how lucky hunters are! They are not in love. What do you mean? she rejoined. Is being in love really so terrible? Madame, he replied, it is the greatest happiness in life. But unrequited love is the greatest misfortune. I am in love and it is not requited. I am in love with the most beautiful girl in the world. Venus herself would not dare put herself before her. I love her and she does not love me. She has no feelings. She sees me, she listens to me, and she remains cruelly silent. She even turns her eyes away from mine. How heartless! How can I doubt my fate? As he spoke these last words, the marquis knelt down before the little marquise and kissed her hands – nor did she object. Her eyes were lowered and let fall great tears.

Beautiful marquise, he said, you’re crying. You’re crying and I know the reason for your tears. My love is irksome to you. Ah, marquis, she answered with a heavy sigh, one can cry for joy as well as pain. I’ve never been so happy. She said no more and, stretching out her arms to her beloved marquis, granted him the favours she would have denied all the kings of the earth. Caresses were all the protestations of love they needed. The marquis found in the little marquise’s lips a compliance that her eyes had hidden from him, and this conversation would have lasted longer if the marquise had not emerged from her study. She found them laughing and crying at the same time, and wondered whether such tears had ever needed drying.

The marquis immediately rose to leave, but the marquise said to him pleasantly: Monsieur, won’t you stay and dine on the partridges you brought? He needed little persuading. What he desired more than anything else in the world was to be on familiar terms in this house. He stayed, even though he was dressed in hunting clothes, and had the exquisite pleasure of seeing the girl he loved eat. It is one of life’s chief delights. To watch at close quarters a pink mouth that, as it opens, reveals gums of coral and teeth of alabaster; that opens and closes with the rapidity that accompanies all the actions of youth; to see a beautiful face animated by an often repeated pleasure, and to be experiencing the same pleasure at the same time – this is a privilege love grants to few.

After that happy day the marquis made sure he dined there every night. It was a regular affair and the little marquise’s suitors, who had had no cause to be jealous of one another, took it as settled. She had made her choice and they all admitted that beauty and vanity, however powerful, are no defence against love. The Comte d’****, one of her most ardent admirers, had a keen sense that his passion was being made light of. He was handsome, well built, brave, a soldier: he could not allow the little marquise to give herself to the Marquis de Bercour, whom he considered vastly inferior in every respect to himself. He decided to pick a quarrel with him and so disgrace him, thinking him too effeminate to dare cross swords with him. However, to his great surprise, at the first word he uttered when they met at the Porte des Tuileries, the marquis drew his sword and thrust at him with gusto. After a hard-fought duel they were parted by mutual friends.

This adventure pleased the little marquise. It gave her lover a war-like air, though she trembled for him nevertheless. She saw clearly that her beauty and her preference for him would constantly be exposing him to such encounters, and she said to him one day: Marquis, we must put an end to jealousy once and for all; we must silence gossip. We love one another and always will. We must bind ourselves to one another with ties that only death can break.

Ah, beautiful marquise, he said, what are you thinking of? Does our happiness bore you? Marriage, as a rule, puts an end to pleasure. Let us remain as we are. For my part, I am content with your favours and will never ask you for anything more. But I am not content, said the little marquise. I can see clearly that there is something missing in our happiness, and perhaps we will find it when you belong to me entirely, and I to you. It would not be right, replied the marquis, for you to throw in your lot with a younger son who has spent the bulk of his fortune and whom you still know only by appearances, which are often deceptive.

But that’s just what I love about it, she interrupted. I’m so happy that I have enough money for us both, and to have the chance of showing you that I love you and you alone.

They had reached this point when the Marquise de Banneville interrupted them. She had been closeted with her agents, and thought she would refresh herself with some lively young company, but she found them in a deeply serious mood. The marquis had been greatly put out by the little marquise’s proposal. Ostensibly it was very much to his advantage, but he had secret objections to it, which he considered insurmountable. The little marquise, for her part, was a little annoyed at having taken such a bold step in vain, but she soon recovered, deciding that the marquis had refused out of respect for her – or that he wished to prove the depth of his feelings for her. This thought made her decide to speak to her mother about it, and she did so the following day.

No one was ever more astonished than the Marquise de Banneville when her daughter spoke to her of marriage. She was sixteen and no longer a child. Her eyes had not been opened to her situation, and her mother hoped they never would be. She was careful not to agree to the match, but to reveal the truth would have been a painful solution both for her daughter and the marquis. She resolved to do so only as a last resort. Meanwhile she would prevent, or at least postpone, the marriage. The marquis was in agreement with her on this, but the little marquise – passionate creature that she was – begged, entreated, wept, used every means to persuade her mother. She never doubted her lover, since he did not dare oppose her with the same firmness. Finally she pushed her mother to the point where she said these words to her: My dear child, you leave me no choice: against my better judgement I must reveal to you something that I would have given my life to conceal from you. I loved your poor father and when I lost him so tragically, in dread of your meeting the same fate, I prayed with all my heart for a daughter. I was not so fortunate: I gave birth to a son and I have brought him up as a daughter. His sweetness, his inclinations, his beauty, all assisted my plan. I have a son and the whole world believes I have a daughter. Ah, madame! cried the little marquise, is it possible that I …? Yes, my child, said her mother embracing her, you are a boy. I can see how painful this news must be for you. Habit has given you a different nature. You are used to a life very different from the one you might have led. I wanted you to be happy and would never have revealed the sad truth to you if your obstinacy over the marquis had not forced me to. You see now what you were about to do? How, but for me, you would have exposed yourself to public ridicule?

The little marquise did not answer. Instead she merely wept and in vain her mother said to her: But my child, go on living as you were. Be the beautiful little marquise still – loved, adored by all who see her. Love your beautiful marquis if you like, but do not think of marrying him. Alas! cried the little marquise through her tears, he has asked for nothing more. He flies into a rage when I mention marriage. Ah! Could it be that he knows my secret? If I thought that, dear mother, I would go and hide myself in the furthest corner of the earth. Could he know it? In floods of tears now, she added: Alas, poor little marquise, what will you do? Will you dare show your face again and act the beauty? But what have you said? What have you done? What name can one give the favours you have granted the marquis? Blush! Blush, unhappy girl! Ah, nature you are blind: why did you not warn me of my duty? Alas! I acted in good faith, but now I see the truth and I must behave quite differently in future. I must not think about the man I love – I must do what is right.

She was uttering these words with determination when it was announced that the marquis was at the door of the antechamber. He entered with a happy air and was amazed to see both mother and daughter with lowered eyes and in tears. The mother did not wait for him to speak but rose and went to her room. He took courage and said: What’s the matter, beautiful marquise? If something is distressing you, won’t you share it with your friends? What? You won’t even look at me! Am I the cause of this weeping? Am I to blame without knowing it?

The little marquise dissolved in tears. No! No! she cried. No! That could never be, and if it were so I would not feel as I do. Nature is wise and there is a reason for everything she does.

The marquis had no idea what all this meant. He was asking for an explanation when the marquise, who had recovered a little, left her room and came to her daughter’s aid. Look at her, she said to the marquis. As you see, she is quite beside herself. I am to blame. I tried to stop her but she would have her fortune told, and they said she would never marry the man she loved. That has upset her, Monsieur le Marquis, and you know why.

For my part, madame, he replied, I am not at all upset. Let her remain always as she is. I ask only to see her. I shall be more than happy if she will consider me her best friend.

With this the conversation ended. Emotions had been stirred, and would take time to settle. But they settled so completely that after eight days there was no sign of any upheaval. The marquis’s presence, his charm, his caresses, obliterated from the little marquise’s mind everything her mother had told her. She no longer believed any of it, or rather did not wish to believe. Pleasure triumphed over reflection. She lived as she had done before with her lover and felt her passion increase with such violence that thoughts of a lasting union returned to torment her. Yes, she said to herself, he cannot go back on his word now. He will never desert me. She had resolved to speak of it again, when her mother fell ill. Her illness was so grave that after three days all hope of a cure was abandoned. She made her will and sent for her brother, the councillor, whom she appointed the little marquise’s guardian. He was her uncle and her heir, since all the property came from the mother. She confided to him the truth about her daughter’s birth, begging him to take it seriously and to let her lead a life of innocent pleasure that would harm no one and which, since it precluded her marrying, would guarantee his children a rich inheritance.

The good councillor was delighted at this news and saw his sister die without shedding a tear. The income of thirty thousand francs that she left the little marquise seemed certain to pass to his children, and he had only to encourage his niece’s infatuation for the marquis. He did so with great success, telling her that he would be like a father to her and had no wish to be her guardian except in name.

This sympathetic behaviour consoled the little marquise somewhat – and she was certainly distraught – but the sight of her beloved marquis consoled her even more. She saw that she was absolute mistress of her fate, and her sole aim was to share it with the man she loved. Six months of official mourning passed, after which pleasures of all kinds once again filled her life. She went often to balls, the theatre, the opera, and always in the same company. The marquis never left her side and all her other suitors, seeing that it was a settled affair, had withdrawn. They lived happily and would perhaps have thought of nothing else, if malicious tongues could have left them in peace. Everywhere, people were saying that, while the little marquise was beautiful, since her mother’s death she had lost all sense of decorum: she was seen everywhere with the marquis; he was practically living in her house; he dined there every day and never left before midnight. Her best friends found grounds for censure in this: they sent her anonymous letters and warned her uncle, who spoke to her about it. Finally, things went so far that the little marquise went back to her first idea and decided to marry the marquis. She put this to him forcefully; he resisted likewise, only agreeing on condition that the marriage would be a purely public affair, and that they would live together like brother and sister. This, he said, was how they must always love one another. The little marquise readily agreed. She often remembered what her mother had told her. She spoke of it to her uncle, who began by outlining all the pitfalls of marriage and ended by giving his consent. He saw that, by this means, the income of thirty thousand francs was sure to pass to his family. There was no danger of his niece having children by the Marquis de Bercour whereas, if she did not marry him, her notion that she was a girl might change with time and with her beauty, which was sure to fade. So a wedding day was fixed on, bridal clothes made and the ceremony held at the good uncle’s house. (As guardian he undertook to give the wedding feast.)

The little marquise had never looked as beautiful as she did that day. She wore a dress of black velours completely covered in gems, pink ribbons in her hair and diamond pendants in her ears. The Comtesse d’Alettef, who would always love her, went with her to the church, where the marquis was waiting. He wore a black velours cloak decked with gold braid, his hair was in curls, his face powdered, there were diamond pendants in his ears and beauty spots on his face. In short, he was adorned in such a way that his best friends could not excuse such vanity. The couple were united for ever and everyone showered them with blessings. The banquet was magnificent, the king’s music and the violons were there. At last the hour came and relatives and friends put the couple together in a nuptial bed and embraced them, the men laughing, a few good old aunts weeping.

It was then that the little marquise was astonished to find how cold and insensitive her lover was. He stayed at one end of the bed, sighing and weeping. She approached him tentatively. He did not seem to notice her. Finally, no longer able to endure so painful a state of affairs, she said: What have I done to you, marquis? Don’t you love me any more? Answer me or I shall die, and it will be your fault.

Alas, madame, said the marquis, didn’t I tell you? We were living together happily – you loved me – and now you will hate me. I have deceived you. Come here and see.

So saying he took her hand and placed it on the most beautiful bosom in the world. You see, he said, dissolving in tears, you see I am useless to you: I am a woman like you.

Who could describe here the little marquise’s surprise and delight? At this moment she had no doubt that she was a boy and, throwing herself into the arms of her beloved marquis, she gave him the same surprise, the same delight. They soon made their peace, wondered at their fate – a fate that had brought matters on to such a happy conclusion – and exchanged a thousand vows of undying love.

As for me, said the little marquise, I am too used to being a girl, and I want to remain one all my life. How could I bring myself to wear a man’s hat?

And I, said the marquis, have used a sword more than once without disgracing myself. I’ll tell you about my adventures some day. Let’s continue as we are, then. Beautiful marquise, enjoy all the pleasures of your sex, and I shall enjoy all the freedom of mine.

The day after the wedding they received the usual compliments and, eight days later, left for the provinces, where they still live in one of their châteaux. The uncle should visit them there: he would find, to his surprise, that a beautiful child has resulted from their marriage – one to put paid to his hopes of a rich inheritance.

#Charles Perrault #François-Timoléon De Choisy #genderqueer folktales #trans representation #laura retells #except not really it's more like laura copy pastes this time

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hockey-hoe-24-7 · 4 years ago

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Subtle, feat. Matthew Tkachuk

Warnings: Smut, Jealousy, Edging, Rough sex

Length: 3.1k

Inspiration: I was actually inspired by a line in @jasonmorgan96‘s Meet The Parents with Vince Dunn. I almost used Vince for this fic, but Matthew fit much better.

To say your boyfriend hated your neighbor was an understatement.

A major understatement

Like, a wow understatement.

But you couldn’t really blame him. They were exact opposites. While your apartment neighbor, Will, was clean and put together, Matthew was wild and untamed. Whereas Will had has hair clean cut and slicked back, Matthew let his curls run wild. Will strutted around in J. Crew and Banana Republic, Matthew lived in sweatpants and ath-leisure. The differences went on for ages.

But the biggest difference was that you were dating Matthew and not Will. And this was a difference Will seemed unwilling to accept.

See, you and Will were a lot alike: Academic, intellectual, scholarly types that didn’t take up a lot of room in front. Your boyfriend, on the other hand, was a loud, in your face, take up all the air in the room type of man. And you adored him for it. Your totally contrasting personalities fit together like two pieces of a puzzle. While you brought peace and serenity to his life, he brought intensity and fire to yours.

It was this intensity and fire you felt in your belly that Friday night, his fingers digging into your hips, his hips strong against yours, his teeth sharp on your throat. You giggled as you both stumbled into the elevator of your apartment building, his strength enough to keep you both from falling to the floor. Pulling his head up, you took his mouth in a kiss that quickly turned hot as he took control. The two of you collapsed back against the wall of the elevator, mouths still fused. It was when you felt his calloused hand pulling your floor-length dress up your thigh that you dragged yourself away.

“No, no, no. No, sir. We were late for the last event. We will not be late for this one.”

Matthew only hummed in feigned compliance as you wiggled out of his grip and leaned forward to press the lobby button on the control panel. You barely made the reach, as he still had his hands firmly on your hips, which were cradled back into his own.

“They’ll understand. Especially when they see you in this dress,” he purred against the shell of your ear. You rolled your eyes. “Of course they’ll understand. They’ll understand so well I’ll hear about it for the next two weeks.” You could practically hear Matthew beaming with pride behind you.

Before the elevator doors could close, a hand shot out from the hallway and they parted again. You immediately felt Matt stiffen behind you, his hands tightening on your hips as Will slid into the elevator, his eyes narrowed judgmentally. Since you believed in keeping peace with your neighbors, you cleared your throat and smiled cordially.

“Hi, Will.”

“Y/N. Where are you headed this evening?”

“Oh, the Flames are having an event.”

“Again?”

“Yes, they have quite a few.”

“How...humanitarian of them.”

Jesus.

A few months ago, Will would have been your type. But since you started dating someone as open and unashamed as Matthew, you could better see a guy like Will for what he really was: condescending, judgmental, entitled. He never missed a chance to remind you that he thought you could do “better.” Though he never said this in as many words.

You should come to this new cafe with me. I’m sure you’re long due for a stimulating conversation.

While I can’t push a puck around, I can read Shakespeare and Balzac.

No amount of money or fame can replace a college education.

Jackass.

You replied before Matthew got a chance. “Yes, I certainly like to think so. They love to give back. What are athletes without the people who support them? Oh, here’s the lobby. Have a good night, Will.”

Lacing your fingers through Matt’s, you all but dragged him out of the elevator toward the front door. He fell easily into step next to you, your fingers still laced together. “You should let me beat him up in the parking garage one day.”

You let out a very unladylike bark of a laugh and brought his hand up to kiss him on the knuckles. He responded with a kiss to the crown of your head and a not so subtle squeeze of your ass as you made your way to his waiting car.

By then end of the night, your boyfriend had you dying for him. Soft, teasing touches under the table, deep kisses snuck when no one was watching, and filthy words of promise whispered in your ear made you so on edge you were dragging him out the door by the end of the night. His hand rested dangerously high on your leg the entire ride back to your apartment, his fingers only just brushing the seam of your thigh. You fidgeted desperately, trying to pull his hand where you needed it, but he wouldn’t give in.

As soon as you were alone in the elevator he was on you, his hands shoving your dress up so he could grip your thighs and hoist you up between his body and the wall. You grunted when your back met the metal, but it was muffled by his mouth over yours. The kiss was deep and wild, everything you had been holding back the entire night. It was everything that was Matthew. The ding of the elevator at your floor had you pulling apart reluctantly. As you stumbled out of the elevator you ran right into Will rummaging through his satchel at the door to his apartment. He looked up, eyes narrowing at your unkempt appearances.

“Oh, hi, Will. How was your night?”

“It was good, thank you. Very productive. How was your night?”

“It was great.”

“Yes I can see that.”

Before you could reply, Matthew opened his big fat hockey mouth. “And it’s going to get a lot fuckin’ better. Good night, Billy.”

With that, he pulled your key out of your hand, deftly unlocked your door, and dragged you inside.

“Very subtle, Matthew,” you scolded him drily, hoping your voice relayed at least some displeasure at his childish behavior. Unfortunately, his hands at your waist and mouth at your neck were making it difficult to hold your ground.

“Wasn’t trying to be subtle, princess,” he murmured against your ear, his chest rumbling against your back as he squeezed your hips and guided you toward the bedroom. You groaned as his lips moved from your ear down your throat to nip at your shoulder. His hands were also roaming, skimming up your sides to tug at the back zipper of your dress.

“Actually,” he continued. “I don’t want to be subtle for the rest of the night.”

“Wha-”

You yelped as he twisted you around and shoved you not ungently onto your back on the bed. He was stunning as he towered over you, eyes hooded in the darkness of the room.

“I want you to be loud tonight. Can you do that for me?”

Unable to deny him anything, you wordlessly nodded, still speechless at the sheer sight of this man that was yours.

“Hmm, good girl.” With that, he dropped to his knees, hooked his arms beneath your legs, and dragged you to the side of the bed. Shoving your dress to your waist, he buried his face between your legs. The sudden heat and pressure of his mouth made you cry out and buck against the feel. Collapsing back, you arched into the touch. He hadn’t taken off your panties, and it was torture to feel the pressure of his tongue against you, but not inside of you.

Pleading his name, you shoved your hands through his curls, both pulling him closer and pushing him away as the pleasure built. When he finally pulled your panties aside and curled two fingers inside of you, his name was a sharp cry, your back arching off the bed. Just as you were about to tip over the edge, he pulled away.

“Not yet, princess. It will be so good when I let you come. So fucking good, baby.”

Whimpering, you reached for him, but he was shoving your hands away and grabbing at the neckline of your dress. He ripped it off in one quick motion, having unzipped it a few moments before. Your panties came with it and you were bare to his eyes. When you reached forward again, he let you make quick work of his own clothes, his hands just as urgent as yours as you tore open his shirt and shoved aside his dress pants.

As he stood naked before you, cock hard against his stomach, you couldn’t help yourself. Moving to the edge of the bed, you wrapped your arms around his waist and laid kiss after kiss over his chest, nipping here and there with your teeth, worshipping him. His hands were in your hair, pushing you closer as a loud moan of your name left his throat. You could imagine his face: head tipped back, tendons strong against his throat as his eyes fluttered shut and his mouth opened in pleasure.

You felt his cock twitch against the skin of your chest and his hand was suddenly at your neck and shoving you down onto the bed. You felt his grip on your throat trael between your legs and you nearly came, but his voice was pulling you away again.

“Not yet, baby. You come with me inside you.”

Before you could object, he was moving over you, a knee coming to the side of your head, the other coming up beneath your arm and under your shoulder. One of his hands had fisted his cock. “Suck me off, princess.”

You did as you were told, greedily accepting his cock in your mouth. He groaned long and loud, his body pitching forward until he had to catch himself with one hand against the bed. You ran your nails up his thighs to his hips, digging them in hard as you took him as far back as you could. This drew a long, strangled moan from his chest and you whimpered in need. His other hand went to the back of your head, digging a strong grip into your hair and forcing your head forward.

The pace was rough and desperate as he fucked into your mouth, his hips snapping forward until he was hitting the back of your throat at every stroke. You welcomed him every time, giving him complete control to take whatever pleasure he wanted from you. You could only hold on, let his hold on your head dominate every movement you made. Words of filthy encouragement dripped from his mouth and you opened your mouth wide as you felt his cock twitch.

But before he came down your throat, he was yanking your head back and pulling away yet again. You collapsed back onto the bed, gasping for breath. Before you could raise your head or even open your eyes, you felt the heat of his tongue lick a long path up your pussy. Groaning out his name, you thrust your hands through his hair in welcome. But he was gone again the next second, the strength of your hands incomparable to his.

“Do you have any idea how fucking gorgeous you are like this?” He purred against the mound of your pussy before laying a gentle kiss there. “So fucking wet and wrecked for me. God, such a slut for me.” You could only whimper in reply as he kissed his way slowly back up your body. Your pussy throbbed at the soft brush of his cock, but it was gone again in the next breath.

His next words were murmured against your throat. “Who does this to you, baby? Who makes you this fucking wet?”

It took a long moment to find them, but your words left you on a rush of breath. “You-you do, M-Mathew.”

He hummed in approval against your throat before taking your mouth in a rough tangle of a kiss. You groaned again and collapsed back against the bed, wrapping your legs tight around his hips. No matter what he did, how far he pushed you, the pleasure he dragged screaming from your body, his kiss felt like sanctuary every time. The two of you stayed like that for a long moment, relishing the warm intimacy of the kiss before he was flexing his hips and biting hard at your bottom lip. You yelped in pain, but then squealed in surprise when you were suddenly moving off the bed and through the air.

Your back met the headboard so hard you grunted. Matthew’s body was hot and hard against yours, pressing you back until you could feel the tension of his muscles with every deep breath you took. You leaned forward to kiss him again, but he clapped his hand over your throat and shoved you back against the headboard.

“Matt...”

His hand gripped your hip and lifted your body up slightly. You gasped against his mouth as he pushed just the tip of his cock into you. Your pussy clenched reflexively, but he was pulling out again to the sound of your strangled sob.

“What do you need, princess?” he growled against your lips. “Tell me what you need.”

“Matthew, please. I can’t-”

You yelped again as he slapped your ass hard. “Tell me.”

You struggled to find words as he pushed in slowly again, only slightly deeper than before. You both inhaled at the pleasure, bodies moving as one.

“You, Matthew. I need you. Please. Please-”

He pulled out again, but was quick to push back again, his own need reaching a breaking point.

“What do you need? Tell me exactly what you need, baby.”

“I need to come, Matthew. I need you to come inside of me. Please. Please.”

He chucked against your mouth, shameless in his knowledge of your desperation.

“Whatever you want, princess. But be loud for me. Scream my name fucking loud.”

As he pulled out and slammed in to the hilt, you did just that, screaming out louder than you ever had before. His hands flew up and one of them manacled your own wrists to the headboard, dragging your body up until you had to sacrifice all control. His other hand went to the top edge of the headboard and held on tight. With every thrust against you, he slammed the headboard back against the wall.

Let that little prick hear whose name you screamed. Let him hear every slam of that headboard until he couldn’t think of anything else when he so much as saw you.

Your orgasm was shattering when you finally came, more powerful than any you had had before in your life. Your body sagged in his grip, but Matthew wasn’t done. He pounded into you until he reached his own climax, pulling out and thrusting in so deep you could feel him in your throat.

When he let go of your hands and let his own body relax, you sagged against him, collapsing as you struggled to catch your breath. He held you gently, murmuring praise into your ear as he stroked your hair.

When you finally regained some composure, you laid a hot, wet kiss to his throat, a silent thank you for the pleasure. He groaned and tilted his head to the side in compliance. When you felt his cock twitch in renewed interest, you flexed tight around him.

HIs next words came only after a strangled groan. “Not yet, baby. You did so good for me. We’re going to rest a bit.”

Before you could argue, he wrapped an arm tight around your waist and moved you both to lay down with your heads against the pillows, his cock still inside you. Your bodies more than enough heat without the blankets, you snuggled into him and let out a small noise of content and drifted off to sleep.

He woke you up twice more that night, dragging you on top to ride him and then putting you on your knees, head shoved into the pillows as he pounded into you from behind. The next morning, you could barely move, grimacing as you pulled yourself into an upright position.

“You okay?” Matthew’s voice was tired and raspy. You looked down at him and your heart fluttered like a teenage girl’s. He was beautiful next to you, unashamedly naked and taking up every inch of air in the room. You also didn’t miss the glint of concern in his eyes. Not being able to help yourself, you leaned down and pecked him on the mouth. “Yes,” you reassured him. “But you need to feed me.”

He grinned against your mouth and pulled his own body up and out of bed. You couldn’t help but glare at his retreating form as he sauntered to the bathroom. He was used to throwing his body around like a wrecking ball. You were not. You were going to feel last night for at least a week.

As you began to get ready to go out for breakfast, you caught a glimpse of the wall behind your headboard. You squawked in anger and disbelief as you took in the state of your wall.

“Matthew!”

He poked his curly head out from the hallway, his toothbrush hanging out of his mouth.

“What?”

“Look at my wall! It’s fucking dented!”

The cocky bastard didn’t even try to look ashamed. He looked unbelievably proud of himself. “We did good, babe.”

Grabbing the closet object - an UGG slipper on the floor - you lobbed it at his head. Of course, he ducked back into the bathroom just in time.

“You’re paying my security deposit,” you hollered over your shoulder as you stomped to the other bathroom.

When the two of you made it out of your apartment, who should you run into but Will. Who did not look happy. He got one glimpse of the two of you and his jaw set in an angry, judgmental line.

“Good morning,” he greeted you frostily.

“Mornin’,” Matthew replied, a wide smirk on his face.

You felt your own face flush a deep red. God, the two of you had been loud last night. And Will lived in the apartment right next to your bedroom wall. If you were rough enough to dent the wall, you were loud enough to keep him awake.

As Matthew was about to say something else, the three of you turned your heads as a tiny old lady hobbled out of the apartment. You and Matthew both stood in stunned silence.

“This if my widowed grandmother,” Will explained with a tight voice and a frosty glare. “She stayed with me last night.”

You gaped and looked up at Matthew, who had turned a concerning shade of white.

The little old lady took you both in before her face broke out in a big brilliant smile. She reached out and patted your cheek. “Good for you, sweetheart!”

Subtle.

#Matthew Tkachuk #Matthew Tkachuk smut #Matthew Tkachuk imagine #nhl imagine #nhl smut #nhl fic #smut #imagine #my work #hockey-hoe-24-7

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personasintro · 4 years ago

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either way | knj drabble

⏤𝘴𝘺𝘯𝘰𝘱𝘴𝘪𝘴; it's just a matter of time before one of you snap

⏤𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨; namjoon x reader

⏤𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘳𝘦: fluff, smut, e2l

⏤𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵: 5.5k

⏤𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: fingering, strong language, penetrative & unprotected sex, creampie, biting kink

𝘢/𝘯: commissioned by the wonderful @falsemagic who was kind enough to let me share this with you!

Humans are difficult to deal with it, especially when you're surrounded by hundreds of them every day. The older you get, you always realize how hard it is to work with them. Although, you're not someone who gets irked by the littlest thing and your patience is set high, there is still one person that makes your blood boil just from hearing his voice.

Kim Namjoon is the definition of perfect employee, who's doing more than his job. Maybe that's why he irritates you so much to the point, you can't even stand his voice. From what you've heard, he graduated from one of the best colleges in South Korea which earned him to work in this firm just a few months after he graduated.

It took you four years to get here, something he managed to do in record time, just because your college isn't as prestigious as his is. Jealousy is an ugly quality a human being can have, you're aware of that. Yet, every inch of your body hates him for being so perfect.

When you first started, it took you some time to get used to things, especially to a new environment along with your position. You messed up couple of times, didn't prove yourself of being worthy to get a better position, and Kim Namjoon didn't help with that.

You can perfectly imagine him being that one annoying kid in high school, who'd always raise his hand at every chance he got. Because it felt the same way whenever he interrupted your presentation, coming with wiser opinions and ideas. It was your only way to prove yourself that you're perfectly capable of doing the same job like he does, even without all the diplomas and experiences he had.

He had it so easy, and still has. It irritates you how everyone always agree with him, he could literally tell them to jump out of the window and you're pretty sure they would. Everything he says or does is a pure gold, an automatic success for the company.

It was exactly three years of watching him swaying his way to every meeting, proposing ideas which always became real. You've never had that many opportunities to talk to him outside of the meeting, when he'd just interrupt your speech with a brief raise of hand, pointing your errors. It was boiling inside of you for so long, that one day you just let it out.

“Who does he think he is? Just because he has a perfect education, everything he says is right and perfect?” you snap, trashing your hands to prove your point. Just the thought of the meeting that ended five minutes ago, is making you furious.

It's the same old story. You came with perfect idea how to save more money, where the Mr. I Know Everything just cut you off once again. He has to make it on purpose, there's no way he's being like this with everyone.

“Well, he had a point.” Jungkook says, causing you to glare at him right away. Did he just agree with Namjoon?

“See? This is my point! Everyone just agrees with everything he says,” you blurt out, not being able to contain your anger anymore. Jungkook widens his eyes, surprised by your sudden outburst and he opens his mouth, probably trying to calm you down and not to raise too much attention in the middle of cafeteria. “Education is not the most important thing. People can be very good in what they're doing but they're never going to get a opportunity to bring something new, when there are people like him.”

Poor Jungkook, the only employee you can vent to about your hatred feelings about Namjoon's personality, just stares at you with worried eyes. It pisses you off even more, because Jungkook is one of those people who think of him as an inspiration for the company and to other colleagues. Everyone is fucking blind when it comes to Namjoon.

Yeah, that guy knows what he's doing and his ideas are great. But he keeps attacking you, not giving you enough space to become better.

“Okay, I think you should calm down. I know you hate him, but even you know he's really best in what he's doing.” Jungkook interferes, words carefully spilling out of his mouth as he waits for his coffee to be done.

His words dig into your heart even more, spilling more anger and you try really hard not to scream in desperation.

“Yeah, go suck his dick, Jungkook,” you roll your eyes, catching the way his brows shoot up in surprise before he frowns in hurt. You're being rude to your only friend here, but he's not exactly being a friend, does he? “He thinks he's so perfect, always helping everyone even when they don't ask him for it. He's so fucking annoying, I can't stand him. Does he think he owns it here?” you continue, spitting every word with so much anger that you miss Jungkook's widened eyes.

“Y/N, I think you should--”

“What? Now you want me to shut up because I'm telling you my opinion? I'm not going to shut up just because we're talking about Mr. Kim Perfect Namjoon. He's so fucking irritating, always in everyone's faces--”

“Seriously, Y/N--”

“What?!” you yell out of frustration, completely oblivious that the whole cafeteria turned silent and people stare at you.

Your cheeks flush, embarrassment washing over you over the fact they probably heard every word you just said. You stand by it, but the look they give you makes you want to hide. Of course, they would stare at you like that, they're up in Namjoon's ass probably ever since he started to work here.

You finally notice the way Jungkook coughs awkwardly, reaching for his coffee as his eyes look behind your shoulder. Huffing, you turn around to follow his vision of line but your breath is hitched in your throat when your eyes meet the one and only, Namjoon himself.

His face is unreadable, standing just a few meters away from you with a piece of cake in his hands, before a dark glare illuminates his warm eyes. You're fucked. He heard every word you said, with the rest of the staff. You can't even open your mouth before he turns around and leaves the room, leaving you with your red cheeks and guilt digging in your heart.

Since then, nothing much changed. He still interrupted you whenever you had your presentation going on, barely looking at you but if he did, he'd have this dark look in his eyes. That time you've realized he hates you the same way you hate him. Maybe he always did, but now he just finally had the guts to show it.

A single glimpse of him wearing a dark blue button up with black slacks, a thick lenses sitting on the bridge of his nose, is enough to make you clench your jaw in annoyance. That bastard is hot, and he probably knows it by the heart eyes he gets from almost every women in the conference room. He's holding a pen, clicking on the small controller as another slide fills the white wall. He speaks clearly and wisely, explaining everything that needs to be explained, before someone can even think about the question.

You're not in denial, you know he's very wise and attentive, probably works hard in his free time as well. You're jealous that he knows everything and can think of solution in minutes, you're jealous how every colleague of yours admires him. It's okay to acknowledge his work, but constantly talking about him, praising him for the smallest things he does, is just irritating. Everyone is so far up his ass that it's unbelievable.

The conference room is darkened with blinds, making sure everyone sees Namjoon's presentations projecting on the wall, and you take that time to fully observe him. He doesn't seem to be abashed by the amount of eyes set on him, not showing an ounce of nervousness on his face or mannerism. He looks relaxed, the complete opposite of you when you're in the same position as he is.

It's wrecking enough that the CEO of the building is sitting at the head of the table, listening to presentations every Friday, along with other employees. There are twenty of you, throwing ideas at the end of each presentation and showing your opinions, but the final word always comes from Mr. Jung.

“Thank you everyone.” Namjoon says, bowing slightly when it's the end of his presentation.

The same round of applause resounds in the room, causing you to mentally roll your eyes at them. They barely give anyone applause and if, it's weak and forced. You hate how everyone seems to be so enthusiastic by him and his stupid presentation. Luckily, you had time to take notes and weren't busy gawking at that dickhead.

Blinds are up, a bright light illuminating the whole room as Mr. Jung gives him the words of praise which causes Namjoon to smile at him, showing a gratitude with a brief bow. You sigh, clicking your pen against the glass table as you look up at him. He catches your eyes, staring at you behind the desk as he cancels his presentation. He has the audacity to raise his brow at you, tongue poking the inside of his cheek almost as if asking you 'what you are staring at?'.

You can't hide your roll of eyes this time, quickly looking away from his. It's embarrassing enough that your eyes met in another hateful stare.

“Does anyone have any objections?” Mr. Jung asks, but it's a simple formality he always does, just to show that everyone can speak up. He knows no one will have any objections, not when it comes to Namjoon. Even the round of applause is the same as every time he speaks up in front of everyone.

Although, you haven't had that many opportunities to say something, because yes, it's hard to object against Namjoon. His ideas are wise and makes sense, that's why you always listen to his every word even if he and his stupid voice irritates you so much.

But now, it's a great opportunity to say something, and you raise your hand with a silent cough.

“Yes, Miss Y/L/N?” Mr. Jung speaks, hiding the look of surprise behind his glasses, as he acknowledges you.

The whole room is silent, surprised that you've decided to speak and since everyone knows about the hatred you feel to each other, it causes a weird tension in the room. Luckily, you've learned your lesson and you're professional. You won't let him interfere with your work and make you seem like a bad guy. It happened a year ago, and you haven't said anything close as explicit as you should've.

“Well, Namjoon wants BADA to be expanded Gwanagku district, which would be a great idea since streets are busy all the time. But,” you speak, eyes glancing at Namjoon who can't stop himself from frowning and you almost smirk at that sight. “Seoul National University is only about ten minutes away from the new building that's on sale.”

“I see, although, I'm not quite sure where you're heading with this.” Mr. Jung speaks, a mere confusion crossing over his wrinkled features.

“It means a lot of students would visit the place after their classes. BADA is known as one high-end bar that holds a specific reputation among Koreans, I think having and expanding the business there would create a different reputation. A lot of young students spend their time drinking with their friends after classes, not only on Fridays but every day. If the bar is going to be packed with students, it's presumable it'll lost it's elegance and seriousness between our permanent customers.” you explain, making sure you've read all your points that you've taken while Namjoon was speaking.

Mr. Jung nods, before he gives Namjoon the space to speak and explain himself. Good, now it's between you and this dickhead.

“I don't think it necessarily has to be a bad decision. It'd mean BADA would always be full of customers. Plus, young students are adults. They're free to drink alcohol, it's not like they're illegal.” he says, staring right back at you with coldness in his eyes.

From the corner of your eyes, you see some of your colleagues nodding along Namjoon's words, agreeing with him. Idiots.

His words or tone isn't necessarily rude, not giving a hint of irritation that's aimed at you, but you can see it. The look in his eyes, the same one he had when he heard you bad-mouthing him in front of Jungkook. But you're quick to react, Namjoon can't catch you off guard.

“They're adults, but look at others bars that are filled with students drinking and being loud, causing a lot of fights. BADA is full with or without student customers and is financially stable enough, actually better than that. The incomes have been raised by ten percent just this month, BADA is doing very good, even best since its inception.”

“I must say, that's interesting point of view, Ms. Y/L/N.” Mr. Jung says, your eyes brightening at his small praise as you smile with gratefulness.

“Thank you,” you tell him, your cold facade breaking as you glance at your boss. “I think the reputation and image of BADA is more important than money. Especially when it's doing great on its own, with or without student customers.” you explain yourself, your heart beating wildly in your chest as you try to read his face.

He scratches his chin in thought, before he straightens himself. “I think Ms. Y/L/N might be right. It's important to realize what we're trying to achieve here. The point of expanding BADA isn't money, but it's bringing it to people from that district. The bar has currently three locations, Busan, Daegu and Seoul and I think Namjoon's idea is great. It'd bring a new audience, however, our reputation and image is more important just like Ms. Y/L/N said.” he explains, a triumph feeling bursting in your chest as you can't help but proudly smile.

Jungkook gives you a thumbs up, a very brief one, but you see it and silently giggle at him. To be acknowledged by Mr. Jung and him saying he agrees with you, barely happens. He always praises Namjoon, barely pointing any errors to him, if any. It feels fresh to hear and say him something that's not just a pure agreement and astonishment.

“Our meeting is over. Thank you everyone for being a part of this, I'll see you next Friday. It's your turn, Mr. Jeon, right?” he asks, already standing up as he looks at your friend.

“Yes, sir.” he says him, bowing at him before Mr. Jung nods and leaves the room.

It's silent in the room, everyone scurrying away for their lunch break. Not even Jungkook waits for you, too busy thinking about his turn next week. You know how stressed he has been about it.

As you're packing your own stuff, which only consists of your notepad and pen, you glance at Namjoon who's sporting a frown as he packs his own stuff. You kind of feel bad, seeing displeasure written on his usually soft features, but it's all gone when he looks up and glares at you.

“Good presentation.” you speak, mentally cursing at yourself when it sounds like an attack, rather than a provocative comment. Either way, you're acting like an asshole right now, but thinking about all those times he did the same thing to you, this is nothing compared of what he has done to you.

This is the first time your facts are valid, Mr. Jung himself agreed with you, but this is the first time he's not on Namjoon's side. It should feel triumphal, but rather than to feel that, you don't feel anything. Yes, you're happy Mr. Jung finally acknowledged you and listened to your explanation with interest, but that's all. You thought you'd feel phenomenal once you see the look of displeasure on Namjoon's face, but you feel empty instead.

“Weren't you waiting for this? Listening to me so attentively, so you could do the thing you just did.” he chuckles, but it's dark and accusative, and it makes you feel attacked for some reason.

You've never heard him speaking to you this way, it was always just cold hatred glances. But you won't let him get to you.

“Nah, I just knew you're going to fuck up some day.” you tell him lightly, a little bit of edge and attitude behind your words as you innocently smile at him. You're just being bitch, you know that, but you won't let him affect you.

“You know what? Fuck you.” he spits, closing his laptop with a loud thud as you stare at him dumbfounded before you frown.

Did he just tell you 'fuck you'?

“No, fuck you,” you spit back. “You should put up with the fact that you're not perfect, and you can make mistakes. Or the fact that everyone is so far up your ass, and not everyone has to agree with whatever bullshit you're spitting out.” you bark, gripping your notepad tightly to your chest as you see his frown deepening with each word.

“I've never said I'm perfect, just because you're not capable of doing your job right and I was here cleaning up your mess, doesn't mean I'm perfect. I'm simply doing my job, you should learn to do that.” he barks back, his tone filled with venom as he furiously brushes his long fingers through his blond locks.

“Cleaning up my mess?” you exclaim, on the edge of yelling as you widen your eyes in fury. “Interrupting my presentations isn't cleaning up my mess! It's fucking rude of you to do that every time! At least, I've waited for you to finish. Maybe you should learn to do that, you prick.” you throw your notepad and pen back onto the desk.

“It's not my fault you don't know what fucking help means,” he spits, “You do the same fucking mistake every time and instead of asking for an advice to someone, you're just too confident. You're attacking me for doing a good job while you're fucking up!” he suddenly yells, your mouth falling onto the floor as you walk towards him.

“Oh, so what? Should I go to you and ask for an advice?” you mock him, laughing at that idea.

“You could, I'd help you.” he says simply, catching you off guard before you shake it off and scoff.

“Yeah, of course you would.”

“It's not my fault you're just fucking jealous of my success. Using my education as a reason for my success is just plain dumb.” he says through his clenched teeth, looking at you with so much intensity that it makes you shiver underneath his gaze.

He's talking about that time he overheard your outburst that was only meant for Jungkook's ears. You're sure of it, because you've never brought it up again. It was only that time when you spoke it out loud and he heard it.

“It happened a year ago, and you weren't supposed to hear that.” you mumble, embarrassed by the fact he brought it up.

“It doesn't mean it didn't hurt hearing you saying that.” he scoffs, causing you to open your mouth in shock.

“Stop playing the victim!” you snap, hating how guilty he makes you feel. “You might've wrapped everyone around your finger, but I'm not one of them.”

“I don't have anyone wrapped around my finger. That's just how people treat you when you're a decent human being and not a bitch.” he remarks, causing you to gasp in disbelief.

“Did you just call me--”

“Bitch? Yeah, I did.” he cuts you off, pissing you off even more since he likes to do that.

This fucking motherfucker--

You're launching yourself at him, hands trying to hit his firm chest, but before you can even make a contact with him, he's grabbing your wrists stopping you. You're trashing in his hold, cursing falling out of your mouth as he grunts at you.

“Calm the fuck down, you freak.” he scolds you, shaking with you once you start to kick his leg.

“How dare you to call me--”

He pushes you against the edge of the desk, your ass digging into the glass as you stare into his dark eyes. He's holding you, his fingers securely wrapped around your thin wrists, not too tightly to hurt but enough to stop your attack.

Your chests heaves with each breath you take, the fire in your eyes slowly dying once you calm down. You're reminded by your close proximity, enough to notice how soft his skin looks up this close or the small mole underneath his bottom lip. There's no denying he holds such a charisma, not just in his looks but the way he talks professionally. You envy that and you hate him for that. Even his stupid cologne smells so nice, another great quality you appreciate in men.

“What? Cat got your tongue?” he chuckles, smirking at your quiet state but it lasts only for a few seconds, before you're trying to pry your hands off his grip.

“You fucking asshole!” you trash again, hating how close he is.

You need some space, he's distracting you from your fury.

“I'm done with you acting like a bitch.” he spits, his breath hitting your face as he comes near your face.

“What are you going to do about it?” you speak up before you can think it through, mentally cursing from the way it sounded.

You sound desperate, cunning and provocative – enough for him to chuckle when he notices the glint in your eyes.

“Is that a challenge?” he frowns, studying your features to make sure you're hinting at the same thing.

He lets go off your hands, his fingers slowly sliding off as he stares right into your eyes, mirroring the fire in yours. But he doesn't move, about to take a step back when you scoff at him. That's all it takes for him to growl, before he grabs your face and kisses you roughly. You're surprised, your fingers wrapping around his wrists as you hold him. His lips are surprisingly soft, despite of the way he moves them, before he bites onto your lower lip.

“Ow!” you exclaim, voice muffled by his lips as he chuckles.

“That's what you get for that big mouth of yours.” he comments, before he starts kissing you all over again.

It's fast and rough, but you don't move away. You sit on the desk, legs wrapped around his thighs before you pull him closer.

You can't believe you're kissing him, the man that's been irritating you for so many years and become your enemy of your daily life, but you can't stop. So much anger has been built up inside of you and now it bursts again.

“I hate. You.” you tell him between the kisses, making sure to tag his hair which causes him to growl.

“Why are you kissing me then?” he smirks, causing you to roll your eyes.

His fingers trace your leg, making you to give him more space as he raises a brow at you. Before you can react with another roll of your eyes, your fingers fumble with his belt and zip. He does the same, hiking your skirt up before you glance at the clock on the wall. You've got thirty minutes before everyone's back.

Most of your colleagues go out for a lunch, so there's not a high possibility of you getting caught, but there is still some. However, you can't bring yourself to dwell on that simple fact, not when Namjoon's fingers caresses your clothed pussy with a light hum.

You moan, embarrassed how quick of a reaction he got from you. By the smug smirk, he thinks the exact same thing but it's all washed up when you touch him the same way through his black boxer briefs. You pull it down with his help, pulling out his hardened cock and feeling it for the first time. It feels heavy in your hands, the soft velvety skin takes you by surprise as you give him a few testing pumps. He clenches his jaw, biting onto his lower lip as he denies to give you a reaction. His fingers work at the same time, sliding away your lace panties before he starts to play with your clit.

Your head bumps into his shoulder, insides clenching at the simple feeling of his finger that's coated with your wetness. He doesn't comment on it, inserting his finger inside of you in quick movement, causing you to gasp.

“Fuck.” you curse, smearing his pre-cum over his head before you pump him again.

He adds another finger, fucking you with his two long digits with his rings cold against your walls. “Namjoon.” you gasp when he scissors his fingers, slightly penetrating your hole.

“Hmm, not being a bitch now, huh?” he comments, enjoying the way you squirm against him in pure ecstasy, trying to reach your high.

It feels so fucking good, yet it's not enough to make you cum. He knows it, judging by the way you meet his thrusts, desperately pleading for more.

“I-I hate you so much.” you breathe into his neck, inhaling his scent as you squeeze his cock harder to prove your point, but he only chuckles.

“I hate you too,” he says simply, slapping your hand off his cock as he pulls out his fingers out of you.

You watch him wrapping them around his cock, his fingers coated with your arousal as you take the time to admire his cock. It's long, curved in the right direction with red head that pleads for attention. Gulping at the hot sight, you feel yourself clenching around nothing.

With his free hand, he goes under your skirt, hand disappearing underneath the plain white material before he's sliding your panties off. A cold air hits your exposed pussy, a new rush of lust washing over your body as you stare into his dark eyes. He doesn't budge, looking at you with the same intensity. This is the longest time you've ever stared at each other, and it's only now that you realize that he's even hotter and more handsome than you previously thought so. Just thinking about him standing behind desk with firm look on his face and clenched jaw in concentration is making you all hot.

“Now be a good girl and spread those nice legs for me. I'm gonna show you what you're doing to me.” he commands, and embarrassingly, you're quick to follow his order as you expose your wet and swollen pussy for him.

His eyes drop down between your legs, taking a glance at your pussy before you're being pulled to the edge of the desk, standing closer now.

“Show me.” you breathe out, not caring how pathetic you must look and sound right now.

His eyes flicker to yours, his features relaxing before he's frowning again. “Are you taking pills?” he asks, pumping his cock.

You're greedy, you want him inside of you so much that you quickly nod, telling him that indeed, you're taking a birth control. He nods before he doesn't waste a second, guiding himself to your hole before he slowly enters you. The both of you gasp at the feeling, your heels digging into his plump ass as he bottoms out.

He doesn't give you a second to adjust, pulling out before he slams back into you. Your eyes roll at the back of your head, back arching at the feeling of his cock dragging against your walls in quick and rough way. He holds your hips, making sure you're not sliding away from him as he fucks into you with so much aggression that makes your breath hitch. Wanting to be closer to him you pull up yourself, hands disappearing under his dark blue button up, before you grab his back for support. The feeling of his naked skin makes you clench around him, causing him to growl for the first time. You messily kiss him, groaning when he bites your lower lip before he moves to your neck. He sucks your skin there while fucking you, his balls meeting your ass with each thrust. The shameless sounds of skin hitting skin fills the conference room.

You should be embarrassed that you're having sex in here, but it drives you crazy and closer to the edge.

The desk starts to shake underneath your body, caused by Namjoon's rigid thrusts as you gasp into his ear, moaning his name over and over again. You're yelping when you feel a sting pain in the crook of your neck from Namjoon's teeth, before he licks his mark.

“Ow! That hurts!” you complain, pain long forgotten when you feel his lips pecking you there.

You've never experienced someone being so rough, yet affectionate during sex and you can't believe it's Namjoon of all people.

“You feel it? That's how you make me feel.” he growls into your ear, before he tears off your blouse, some of the buttons hitting the floor with soft clicks.

He pulls down your bra cup, exposing your perky breast as he dives down, taking your nipple into his mouth. The feeling is incredible, your walls clenching even tighter around his cock. The sting pain comes back when he softly bites your nipple, more careful than he was with your neck before he starts sucking it again.

“Fuck, I hate you.” you spit, hating him for how good he makes you feel.

He pulls away, crashing your lips together and it's the final step for you, taking you over the edge as you cum around him. He fucks you through it, a deep growls leaving his plump lips as he tries to chase his own orgasm.

“Fuck me, Namjoon,” you tell him, ignoring the feeling of oversensitiveness as you scratch his back with your nails. “Fill me up.” you moan when you hear your name leaving his lips.

It takes him a few more thrusts before he's spilling into you, halting his thrusts as he comes off his high. You feel him filling you up, causing you to clench around him at the incredible feeling of being full, and it makes him hiss. He leans his forehead against yours, the sheer coat of sweat decorating your skin as he slowly pulls out. You feel his cum already dripping out of you, but he catches it with his fingers before he's stuffing it back.

Gasping, he silences you with his lips, this time softly meeting yours before he pulls away. To your disappointment, he's taking a step back as you watch him tucking his soft cock back into his slacks, buckling his belt and tucking his crinkled button up into it. He picks up your panties off floor, sliding them up your legs as you sheepishly put them on, material catching his cum right away, dampening it.

Just when you're about to leave and hide yourself for the rest of the day, he turns to you with unreadable eyes before he licks his lips. “Are you up for lunch?” he asks, his tone light a complete opposite from just minutes ago.

It's not just the fact he fucked you, that your heart jumps at his offer, but the realization from his words hits you. You've hurt him and you were both at wrong. You both said some hurtful things to each other, probably things you didn't even mean. He nervously lifts up the corners of his lips, a cute small dimple popping out of his cheek that makes your heart warm and features relax even more.

Either way, you both have tons to say to each other, including an apology.

“Yeah, lunch sounds cool.” you tell him, smiling down at floor, too shy to meet his eyes that are filled with hidden adoration and amusement.

#networkbangtan #bts smut #bts fluff #namjoon smut #namjoon drabble #namjoon x reader #bts au #namjoon fluff #kim namjoon au #namjoon fanfic #rm smut

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artificialqueens · 3 years ago

Text

Thrill Me, Chill Me, Fulfill Me, 1/10 (Gottrosenali) - Writworm42

A/N: Hi all!! I saw an infographic a while back of 10 types of orgasms people with vaginas can have, and got inspired to write this! I don't remember where the infographic was from (in my infinite wisdom, I took screenshots of the infographic, but not of the source lmao), but I hope you enjoy this!

PLEASE DON'T TAKE THIS AS EDUCATIONAL OR INFORMATIONAL!!!! THIS FIC IS ESSENTIALLY PORN. PORN IS NOT EDUCATIONAL, AND NEITHER IS THIS FIC!!! If you're looking for reliable sex ed info, check out scarleteen, they're a great resource!

Title from Touch-a Touch-a Touch Me from Rocky Horror Picture Show. Thank you x10000 Holtz for dealing with my dumb ass while I was writing this and for beta-ing <3

Denali misses Mik when he’s gone; both she and Rosé do. It’s hard not to, when their boyfriend has such a big presence in their lives all the time. Whether he’s starfishing on their bed and hogging all the covers in his sleep, chattering away to fill silence in the apartment, or just making his presence known by ruffling Denali’s hair as he walks by or tracing absent-minded hearts on Rosé’s arm while they’re piled on the couch to watch TV, Mik is a constant, someone who’s always at arm’s reach to enjoy. It’s comforting, something about him that neither Denali nor Rosé would ever want to change.

It’s a strange feeling when he’s away, one that neither of them particularly like. Like something is missing, something they can’t quite feel balanced without. Like the minute he leaves, they’re waiting for him to come back again.

It doesn’t help that Mik has been traveling so much for work lately. Fashion Week season has descended upon the world, and between New York and Paris and Toronto and Milan, Mik has been so busy that he hardly has time to pick up his phone. Add in time zone differences along with Denali and Rosé navigating their own busy schedules, and it might as well be a long distance relationship, one that is barely existent at this point. Denali knows it’s selfish to get upset about it; she still has Rosé, after all, so she can’t imagine how alone Mik must feel. But she can’t help it; the more Mik slips away, the more she wants him back, so bad that it hurts sometimes.

But there’s also a different kind of ache she and Rosé feel when Mik is away, one that may be a little superficial, sure, but is nonetheless one that Denali is particularly bad at leaving unattended. One that once again, she knows must be worse for Mik, seeing as he’s completely alone right now.

At least on the occasions that all three of them are free, it’s a lot easier to scratch that particular itch.

Michelada: guys im so horny

Denali rolls her eyes, shaking her head and laughing a little to herself as she reads her boyfriend’s message. He’s still in the UK right now, and if her math is correct, that means that it’s only around 1 PM where he is. As in, he’s probably still at work. When she says so, though, he seems unperturbed.

Michelada: hasn’t stopped you guys before

Michelada: sooooo

Michelada: sensing a double standard here

Denali hears Rosé cackle from the bathroom, and then her phone pings again.

Rosita: i mean

Rosita: im not opposed to shenanigans, you know that baby ;)

“Don’t encourage him!” Denali calls out, but of course Rosé doesn’t listen; she never does. The next text Denali gets is a picture of Rosé taken in the bathroom mirror, naked as the day she was born with an arm covering her tits.

God.

Michelada: ugh rosie don’t do this to me :((

Rosita: i thought u were horny, baby?

Rosita: gotta make up your mind xo

Another ping, and a second pic of Rosé comes through, this time biting down on one of her fingers through a devilish smirk. Denali shifts a little in her spot on the couch; as much as she doesn’t want to give in, it’s tantalizing, knowing that Rosé is just a word of permission away from being right next to her like that. And the fact that Mik could very well get caught, that they’ll be distracting him enough that he might falter, might give himself away?

Nali: i think it’s time you went on break, angel

She follows it up with a pic of her own, angling it so that both Mik and Rosé will be able to see right down her shirt. She hears a little gasp from the bathroom, and smiles to herself; Rosé is so easy, it’s almost funny. Both she and Mik are.

There’s a pause, and Denali almost wonders if Mik has been caught already, or if he’s changed his mind. She’s about to ask, but then the bathroom door opens, and she looks up to see Rosé coming towards her.

“Rosie…” she starts, but she doesn’t have time to get her full sentence out before there’s another ping.

Michelada: i have fifteen minutes

“Just enough time,” Rosé grins as she comes up behind Denali, drapes her arms over her shoulders and leans in to kiss the shell of her ear and letting out a little laugh when the sensation makes Denali squirm.

A call comes through not even a second later, and they’re greeted by the sight of Mik shut in a bathroom, cheeks already pink and pupils already dilated with lust.

“That was quick,” Denali smirks, but Mik doesn’t respond. One look behind herself, though, and Denali knows why.

“He’s only got fifteen minutes, D,” Rosé winks, clearly enjoying herself as she continues to play with her own tits, trailing her hands over them and palming them while grinning like the Cheshire cat. “Gotta maximize on that time, right?”

Well. She does have a point. And it’s not just Mik who’s mesmerized by the sight in front of him; watching Rosé continue to tease, still grinning cockily, is absolutely tantalizing, and Denali can’t help the sudden urge to touch her girlfriend that runs through her, making her shiver.

“Wanna touch, angel?” Rosé coos, taking her hands off herself long enough to grab Denali’s face, tilt her head up to look her in the eyes. “It’s okay--all you gotta do is say please.”

She swallows hard, mouth going dry as she nods, eyes trailing back down to Rosé’s bare tits. “Yeah. Yeah, I wanna… Please, Rosie, please can I touch you?”

“Of course you can.” Rosé purrs, coming around the couch slowly, teasingly, before coming right up to Denali, giving her a soft kiss as she throws a leg over Denali’s lap, easing down to straddle her.

“Hi, baby.”

There’s a whine behind them, one that jerks them out of the bubble Rosé has created, and Denali suddenly remembers Mik’s presence over the phone, that he’s watching everything going on.

“I think our sweet boy feels left out, Rosie.”

The remark is as much a taunt as it is a reminder, and Denali can’t help but peek over her shoulder to see how Mik is holding up. Sure enough, he’s already starting to come undone, cheeks flushed pink and mouth gaping open as he takes in what’s happening before him. His camera obscures what’s going on below his chest, but Denali knows Mik well enough to know from his stiff posture that he’s just waiting for permission to let go completely.

“Is that so?” Rosé turns to look over her shoulder, clicking her tongue in disapproval. “Poor baby, can’t even be close to us while we have fun. I hope you’re not touching yourself just yet, angel—it’d be a shame to get this over with too quickly, don’t you think?”

Mik swallows hard, but shakes his head, sucking in a sharp breath that’s just audible enough to go straight to Denali’s core.

“No, mommy, I’m not.”

“Good boy,” Rosé purrs before turning back to the blonde she’s currently straddling, looking her up and down discerningly.

Not even a heartbeat later, she starts easing off Denali’s lap, clicking her tongue when Denali squirms at the loss, lifts her hands to try and stop Rosé from moving.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” she grabs Denali’s hands, gently places them back onto her lap. “I’m just moving so Mik can get a better view. See?” She sits gently next to Denali, wrapping her arms around her waist and pulling her close. “Now, what d’you say we get you out of this pesky shirt, huh?”

Denali only nods, rushing to throw off her shirt as Rosé creeps her hands between Denali’s legs, lightly teasing her through her pajama pants.

“I’d suggest you start rubbing over your pants, baby boy.” Rosé throws the command back to Mik without even looking at him, too focused instead on increasing the pressure she’s placing on Denali’s pussy while bringing a free hand to her tits. Denali hisses in pleasure when Rosé’s fingers trace around a nipple, pinching lightly and watching with glee at how Denali’s hips buck at the feeling. Mik’s dissatisfied whines only spur Rosé on, though, and she ups the ante by leaning down to give Denali’s other nipple the attention of her tongue, sucking and nipping at the hardened bud.

“Rosie…” Denali gasps, only for the redhead to separate herself from Denali’s tit, coming up to lock eyes with her as she shakes her head.

“Look at Mik, sweetheart,” Rosé murmurs, her hands still moving, still working Denali up. “Look at what a mess he is watching you.”

Mik’s face is screwed up in frustration, pouting mouth trembling as his arm moves lightly, teasing at what’s going on out of the frame.

“What do you think, D, should we take pity on him?”

“Yes,” Denali answers without hesitation, closing her eyes in pleasure when her generosity is rewarded by Rosé finally slipping her hand below the waistband of Denali’s pajama pants, dragging light fingers along the blonde’s already-slick slit.

“You heard her, baby. You can touch yourself over your underwear now.”

“Thank you, mommy,” he gasps in relief, followed by a shaky breath when he dips his hand into his jeans.

“Don’t thank me, thank Denali,” Rosé simply shrugs. “Speaking of,” she turns her attention back to the blonde next to her, “How ‘bout we take things up a notch, huh?”

Denali doesn’t have time to ask what Rosé means before the older woman’s fingertips are making contact with her clit, tracing fast, yet light circles around it.

“Oh, fuck--”

“God, you have no idea how much this turns me on,” Rosé’s voice takes Denali’s breath away, low and husky in her ear as she continues to rub Denali’s clit. “Watching you and Mik like this, already such messes for me… fuck, makes me wet just listening to you whimper.”

“Why don’t you join us, then?” The idea clicks into Denali’s head instantly, and she has to admit, she loves the way Rosé’s eyes cloud over in confusion for a second, the redhead hesitating for a moment as she tries to figure out what Denali means. It’s the perfect opportunity for Denali to reclaim some power, grab Rosé’s hands and push her back to flip their positions so that Denali is straddling her.

“Mik, baby, you can play with yourself for real now,” she turns back to the camera and winks before wriggling out of her pajama pants, grabbing Rosé’s wrists and pinning them to her sides before closing the distance between them with a rough kiss. Behind them, Denali hears something close to a thank you from Mik, cut off by a strangled mewl that tells her he’s already close.

That’s okay; this shouldn’t take long.

Denali’s hips move naturally as they rut up against Rosé, their kiss deepening steadily as the two move in tandem against each other. Rosé traces her hands down over Denali’s back, down to her ass, and smirks against Denali’s tongue when the blonde moans at the touch. For her part, Denali isn’t exactly being gentle, either; while Rosé uses her grip on Denali’s ass to push her closer, force her to grind down harder, Denali snakes a hand into Rosé’s hair, tugging at the strands just to make her gasp.

“Love it when you make those sounds for me,” she breaks their kiss to suck a bruise onto the curve of Rosé’s neck, almost moaning herself from the way Rosé’s hips stutter at the taunt.

Behind her, Denali hears Mik curse from the phone, and she’s unable to resist looking back as she and Rosé continue to move against each other, their pace staying steady as Denali watches the sight on the other line.

Mik is a vision, one arm slightly out to capture the sight of his body as he gets himself off. A sheen of sweat covers his forehead, and his lip is swollen from the way he’s biting it, desperately trying not to make too much noise. His hand works patterns on himself that Denali knows well, ones she taught him, ones she experimented and trialled and perfected on his skin. Watching him now, Denali can’t help but speed up a little, a cue that both Rosé and Mik seem to take as they match her pace.

“ Fuck ,” Rosé hisses after Denali turns her attention towards her again, knowing that if she watches Mik any longer, she’s going to come right then and there; she doesn’t want that. She wants to come with Rosé and Mik both, all together.

Luckily, she knows exactly how to speed things up.

“What?” she coos, tracing a finger along Rosé’s cheek, trailing it along her jaw. “Are you close, Rosie? Gonna come for me and Mik already? Aww .”

Rosé nods, whimpering as Denali’s touch continues to travel over her body, down the line of her neck and then tracing along her collarbone.

“You’re so cute, you know that?” Denali continues between gasping breaths, channeling every bit of focus she has to keep the ability to speak while keeping up with the rhythm of Rosé’s hips, now becoming erratic from desperation. “Always acting all big and bad, like you’ve got control, but you just need to be put in your place, don’t you?”

The moan Rosé lets out is positively sinful, and when Denali looks back at Mik, his face is so red, his hand moving so fast that Denali knows he’s about to explode.

Time to finish things off, then.

“I’m gonna count to ten, then you’ll get to come, okay?” Denali says it loud enough for Mik to hear, but she doesn’t wait for a response; she doesn’t have the patience to.

“One… two…”

When ‘ten’ finally leaves her lips, Denali lets go, crying out loud enough that she’s afraid someone in Mik’s studio might hear what’s going on through the bathroom door. But she can’t help it; Rosé continues to grind against Denali through both their orgasms, and by the time Denali comes down fully, she’s too tired to do anything but collapse next to the other woman, completely spent.

“Fuck, you guys,” Mik’s breathy drawl jerks them both back to reality, and Denali can’t help but smile when she sees what a state their boyfriend is in; his clothes are mussed and cheeks are flushed, and there’s a dot of blood on his mouth from where he must have bitten through his lip trying to keep himself quiet.

“All better now?” she teases, laughing when he rolls his eyes, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

“I mean, I probably look like a mess, but yeah, I’m not horny anymore.”

“Give it five minutes,” Rosé mutters to Denali with a wry smile.

“Hey, I heard that!”

“Go and get cleaned up, babe.” Denali swats at Rosé as she addresses Mik, who’s busy pouting at them. “Call us when you’re done work, and have a good day, yeah?”

“Alright, bye gorge.” Mik sighs, and then just like that, the call is over, and Mik is gone again.

At least, mostly; not two seconds later, there’s another ping, and Denali checks her phone to see another message from Mik. More specifically, a picture of him in the mirror, still a mess, smiling and blowing them a kiss.

Michelada: gonna be thinking about u guys for the rest of the day

Michelada: love u sm <3

It’s not the same as having him next to her, not in the least. But as Denali stares at the picture, feels Rosé shuffle closer to look at it, too, it feels like enough.

#s13 #denali x gottmik x rosé #gottmik #rosé #denali foxx #poly #trans character #f/f/m #smut #thrill me chill me fulfill me #writworm42 #tw mommy kink #rpdr fanfiction

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randomidiocyncrazies · 4 years ago

Note

i know you like them both so yunichika and oda/aoki for the ship ask

thank you for giving me a chance to gush about these kids!!! they’re precious.... this got pretty long so imma put it under a cut

YuniChika, the main boys of 2.43:

• when or if I started shipping it:

tbh i didn’t really ship them when i read the first book... they’re the kind of pairing that i can see people shipping and i think it’s cute, but i’m not super invested in them as a romantic pairing. I think i was more sold about them as a ship in the second book, but i can’t quite remember if there was a specific moment that made me change my mind, or if it was a gradual process

• my thoughts:

i think the anime definitely played up the tension between them (allll the blushes lol), but i’m glad people are enjoying the YuniChika content XD they’re pretty cute!

also, i think they balance each other well and spur each other to become better—Yuni and Chika are both self-centered(?) in very different ways: Yuni lacks drive because he mostly wanted to please people so they’ll like him, while Chika has the opposite problem in that he acts like he doesn’t care what people think of him.

but now Yuni is able to take a stand for his interest in volleyball and for Chika, and while Chika doesn’t really soften and still has a problem with not realizing how harsh he could be, he’s more willing to communicate his thoughts.

• what makes me happy about them:

boys reuniting! relearning how to have a relationship with one another! learning from past mistakes and trying to be better people together! HELL YEAH

• what makes me sad about them:

boys, please use your words to communicate with each other...

also, from Yuni’s perspective, it’s kinda sad when someone you used to know really well comes back into your life, but they’ve changed so much that they are essentially a different person... but of course they have a new opportunity to become closer now 😉 so i’m not that sad about it

• things done in art/fic that annoys me:

... there are fanworks for them?????????

(on a more serious note, erasing their flaws to make them more likable... please don’t make Chika ‘secretly nice’ or whatever, the kid is blunt as hell, and not realizing how his words affect others is his biggest flaw. on the other hand, Yuni can still be a little spineless at times, and sometimes his priorities are. questionable.)

• things I look for in art/fic:

hm, i’d like a future fic about them as professional players! i think their inclination is to stick together (they’re a package deal!) but it’d be super interesting to read something where they’re on rival teams years down the line

EDIT: haha Chika actually transferred to Keisei High School after their first Spring Tournament, so he and Yuni have faced each other as rivals since then (2.43 next 4years). they’re go to the same university and are on the same team now though!

• who I’d be comfortable them ending up with, if not each other:

uh i don’t really have specific people for this, but Chika would probably have to be with someone who understands his love of volleyball (like Oda, but if Oda wasn’t their team captain and thus too much of a dad friend to qualify as a romantic interest), and someone who can inspire Yuni would be good for him

also, i know who i’d NOT be comfy about: the first book (and anime i guess) had this weird tension between Itoko and Yuni, COUSINS who BASICALLY GREW UP TOGETHER. i think(?) their weird whatever was mostly dropped in the 2nd book and wasn’t really made explicit, but like. what the hell. (i have no idea what happens beyond the 2nd book.)

• my happily ever after for them:

the YuniChika in college arc is being serialized rn, so in a way that’s already fulfilled? (i have NO idea what’s going on tho)

in general i just hope they can play volleyball together until one or both decide not to, for whatever reason, and that they stay in each other’s lives and support each other even after they’ve retired from competitive volleyball. i think with Yuni’s personality he could be a good coach after getting more experience, and Chika... he’s really valuable as a strategist, but I think he’d always be a little brusque, so he’s respected but hard to bond with if he does take on coaching?

• what is their favorite non-sexual activity?

bold of you to assume Chika even cares about sex

anyway, they don’t go to movies for a romantic date night, they go watch volleyball matches. sometimes this backfires when Chika gets too frustrated at bad plays tho

and of course i will never pass up an opportunity to talk about Oda/Aoki, the main guys of my heart (my OTP for this series tbh):

• when or if I started shipping it:

they pinged on my radar when they were bickering in Ibara’s chapter, but i wasn’t super duper invested... and then I got to The Dog’s Perspective and the Giraffe’s Perspective (specifically The Kick™) and oh god i’ve never fallen so fast

• my thoughts:

GOD WOW Aoki really loves Oda... even though objectively Oda’s height prevents him from being a super ace, he is the coolest, strongest super ace to Aoki. i think it’s beautiful that someone can see you as your best self even when you’re feeling shitty about yourself. Aoki knows that objectively Oda faces a lot of obstacles, and wants to support him as best as he can—not out of pity (pity would’ve burned out long ago), but because he really respects Oda’s passion and drive.

also, these two have unaddressed issues that they should talk about! Oda, i know you feel inferior but you are so much better than you think you are. please accept that Aoki really does respect you, and that you are worthy of it (or like, you don’t have to be ‘’’worthy’’’’ or ‘’’’’’deserving’’’’’’’’’’ of it, because it is Aoki’s choice to support you and play volleyball with you!!! it’s not something you gotta earn, it’s something freely and happily given to you)

(ahhhhhh i die when i think of them)

• what makes me happy about them:

gosh i love their dynamic SO MUCH! Oda is exactly my type of character (passionate, determined, knowing that he can never be the best at what he’s passionate about due to factors he cannot control, trying to be kind and gracious but struggling with feelings of inferiority and jealousy, thinks of himself as a selfish person, a supporting character...) and Aoki’s devotion is really touching.

again: even when you feel like crap about yourself, there’s someone out there who thinks you’re the best thing that happened to them.

there’s also the fact that Oda thinks the world of Aoki as well (to the point of feeling inferior, which is like... c’mon Oda :/ you are better than you think you are!) he trusts Aoki a lot, despite knowing his willingness to engage in, uh, underhanded methods

• what makes me sad about them:

it’s their last year together, and they’d be approaching a new phase of their lives in different places... although Aoki offered to lower his rankings so they’d go to the same university, realistically they’ll go to different colleges, and most likely end up in different prefectures. (like, not only do i think it’s a Terrible Idea to give up your dream school so that you could stay with someone else, there is no way Oda would accept the offer without being crushed by guilt. something like that would actually ruin their relationship, which i think Aoki knows as well.)

there’s also a lot left unsaid between them at this point and i just want them to lay everything out between them and move forward together

• things done in art/fic that annoys me:

the fact that there’s NONE >:[ what does a gal have to do to get some content for them???????

• things I look for in art/fic:

at this point anything is fine.... it’s a desert out there and i’m dying

more specifically i’m Extremely Down for a get together fic; i personally only see them getting together after high school, at least several months (or even longer) studying in different prefectures and no longer able to see each other every day. (i mean... absence makes the heart grow fonder right?)

i’d also love to see Oda using Aoki’s first name, considering Aoki calls him “Shin” and all. Oda managing to surprise/fluster Aoki would be nice too.

EDIT: they’re both in the Kansai region (2.43 next 4years prologue). Oda’s revealed to be studying in Osaka, and assuming Aoki got into KyoDai, they should be around 2 hours away from each other by train? so visiting each other over short breaks would be cute! also, apparently Oda took a gap year before going to Osaka (2.43 next 4years Ch 1.2), so something set during that time would also be awesome :V

• who I’d be comfortable them ending up with, if not each other:

hm... if i had to imagine people well-suited to them, i’d say Aoki’s type is people who are straightforwardly passionate about their interests (Oda hooked him with his unbridled love of volleyball way back in their first year of high school after all), and I think Oda probably needs someone who is willing to indulge him a little (like Chika he can be pretty dang determined about what he wants, though without the single-minded intensity at the expense of everything else)

... this is just a roundabout way of saying i think they’re ideal for each other, especially if they resolve the problem of hiding things from the other

• my happily ever after for them:

they get careers/hobbies they enjoy, and get a place together as boyfriends/husbands. no i will not hear any criticism of this idea

i can see Aoki working in the private sector (this guy is fine with ‘joking’ about blackmail after all!) after getting his law degree. this is super self-indulgent, but given his penchant of rooting for passionate but objectively disadvantaged entities, i think it’d be pretty awesome if he works for a smaller company that truly believes in their work, instead of working at a big firm pulling in big bucks.

while I’m not sure what Oda is canonically studying, I can see him going into sports education or sports therapy—i think he’d be really good at nurturing the talents of other athletes, and he’s good at rallying the team (Aoki pretty much says he’s the heart of the team in the epilogue of the first book, though Aoki’s kiiinda biased lol). i think it’d be really cute if Oda coaches a grade school team!

neither plays volleyball competitively after high school, but sometimes they watch matches for fun (esp if their ex-teammates are playing). Oda also makes Aoki come to his students’ matches if he doesn’t have work

EDIT: apparently Oda continues competing as a wing spiker in college, playing in Kaisai’s 2nd Collegiate Division (2.43 next 4years Ch 1.2)—Aoki probably watches his matches, even when he’s busy (and Oda probably chides him for neglecting his work, but they both know Aoki can manage his workload).

• what is their favorite non-sexual activity?

hm... idk, i think they’re the kind of couple who are cool with just chilling with each other doing their own work. like, Oda planning strategies for the kids he’s coaching while Aoki reads next to him, occasionally glancing over to make comments, stuff like that

also since Oda says they mostly talked about volleyball during high school, I can kinda see them finding something new they both enjoy after they get together? Maybe shounen manga, for something fun

#2.43 #2.43 anime #2.43 seiin high school boys volleyball team #2.43 seiin koukou danshi volley bu #yunichika #odaoki #replies

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oftenderweapons · 4 years ago

Text

The Conversations - part 1/3

Pairing: Namjoon x OC; Yoongi x OC; Jungkook x OC Wordcount: 2.6k words Genre: slice of life Rating: suggested 18+ (Discussion of NSFW topics)

Hi lovelies! Here comes that new format I mentioned earlier this week. I imagined how the guys would discuss their girlfriends, having “The Chat” about kinks and habits, just talking, asking for advice and giving each other tips.

The first conversation is between Yoongi, Namjoon and Jungkook, talking about their girlfriends, respectively Kitten, Vixen and Candy.

There’s a little bit of everything (angst, fluff, smut), also, there’s a reference to Yoongi’s scenario in Magic Touch, I’ll just move on to disclaimers and trigger warnings.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Mentions of smut, oral (m/f giving/receiving), Jeongguk is whipped AND horny, various levels of filth (quickies, phonesex, boobjobs, bondage, waxplay, cumplay, spankings, daddy kink -- I AM SO FUCKING SORRY, THAT WAS SO SELFISH OF ME -- pornography, sex toys, blindfolds, breathplay and choking, sensation play, impact play, exhibitionism/voyerism), communication issues, mentions of premature ejaculation, past traumas and general traumatic experiences, Yoongi and tongue technology (do I even need to say this?) Namjoon is, quoting Yoongi, “a beast”. Final fondness.

Here you can find my masterlist!

———————————

Jungkook came out of his room with his head hanging low, heading straight for the terrace outside the kitchen. There Namjoon and Yoongi were drinking their morning coffee. It was roughly six am, a smoky dawn calling London awake. The summery hotness and the usual humidity announced another day of sweating and emptying water bottles.

Jeongguk’s hyungs, talking quietly, were in perfectly symmetrical positions, elbows propped on the railing on the edge of the terrace, holding the cups in their hands, looking at the mild sunshine foreshadowing an orange dawn.

“‘Morning.” They both turned.

“Morning Jeonggukie,” said Yoongi, slightly more reactive.

“Morning JK,” greeted Namjoon. “You headed to the gym?” He asked, not noticing the fact that Jeongguk was still in his pjs.

“I just called Candy.” He settled himself beside Joon.

“She all right?” Namjoon asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Sort of. We fought a couple weeks before I left.” He dragged his hands roughly in his hair. “I just miss her a lot.”

“You’ve been dating for two months or something, right?” Yoongi asked.

“Yeah. We were quite new.” He replied.

“What do you miss of her?” Joon asked, sipping some coffee afterwards.

“Hyung, like. It’s a lot to unpack. We, you know...”

Namjoon gave him a side glance, his lips turning into a smirk. “You mean you’ve slept together.”

Yoongi struggled not to smile.

“A couple times.” Jeongguk admitted. He toyed with his fingers. “And then a lot.”

Yoongi couldn’t hold back a snort. “It’s okay.” He put down his cup on the wide edge of the balcony. “At the beginning you can’t ever let go.” He remembered the first weeks after he and his girlfriend had started being more physical. “The first times with Kitten… God.” He brushed his palm down his face. “I was a mess.”

“A good mess or a bed mess?” Namjoon asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I don’t even know.” He laughed. “It was never enough.” He thought about the last time they facetimed. “Any spare moment was with her. Damn, I was down for anything. Quickies at lunch, calling her when I was done with practice to have phonesex, seeing her at three am just to get off the high.”

“Vixen’s a sucker for late night sex.” Joon offered to fill in the silence. “But she’s always game. Her sex drive is seriously impressive.”

“And you love it, don’t you, old sport?” Yoongi teased.

“I love many, many things of her.” Namjoon said before laughing.

The three stayed silent for a while.

“I miss sucking her tits.” Jeongguk murmured out of the blue.

Namjoon and Yoongi also stared into the void, lost in their own thoughts. After a few seconds Namjoon reconnected and looked at the youngest. “What the fuck, man?”

Yoongi licked his lips, then opened his mouth a couple times just to close it again, trying to find words.

“I mean, they’re so soft. And the shape is...” Jeongguk pressed his fingertips to his eyelids.

Yoongi emitted a strange sound.

“Are you okay, hyung?” Namjoon asked.

“Sorta. It’s just. Yeah, tits are great.” He said, half unconsciously, blinking in silence. “I mean, Kitten has a nice pair.”

“Am I the only ass man in this conversation?” Namjoon turned to look at both men, finding no sympathy.

“Vixen does have an incredible bum, sorry hyung if I looked.” Koo admitted.

“It’s okay, I also looked at Candy’s chest, but I swear it was not intentional.” Namjoon confessed.

“Do you think we’ll have some free time after the tour?” Yoongi murmured.

“Are you planning on fucking Kitten for, like, a week straight?”

“Sorta.”

“I just wanna die between Vixen’s thighs.” Namjoon whispered, lost in his train of thought.

“Send her to Hongkong?” Yoongi asked ironically.

“I mean, I hope we’re all in the oral team. Hyung, you for sure.”

“Loud and proud, boy.” Yoongi quipped back.

“JK?” Namjoon asked.

“Yeah.” He replied, still lost in his own imagination. “Hyung, have you ever tied Vixen up?”

“No. Usually we get too caught up.” Namjoon took another sip of his coffee, but unfortunately his cup was empty. “Do you want some?” Joon asked Jeongguk, pointing at his cup.

“No, but could you get me some OJ, please?”

“Got you.” He went back to the kitchen.

“Are you thinking of playing with Candy?” Yoongi asked carefully.

“Don’t know. It would be new. As Namjoon hyung said, we also get too caught up, so I think I’ll need to plan it out, if we ever decide to.”

“Talk about it with her.” Yoongi recommended. “You should ask her what she likes. And tell her about what you like.”

Namjoon was back. “We doing the whole kink talk?”

“Just making sure that the kid knows about communication.”

“Right.” Namjoon nodded, handing Jeongguk his glass of juice.

“Did you and Vixen have the talk?” Yoongi asked, honestly curious. Namjoon’s girlfriend was a bit of a wildcard, looking classy and educated, but also endearingly nerdy, fond of nature and hopelessly in love with her boyfriend. Each time he saw how Namjoon melted everytime she cuddled and reassured him, Yoongi really hoped that the boy would understand how precious she is, how rare it is to be in love like that.

“We did. She was like ‘oh, yeah, by the way, would you mind spanking me every now and then?’”

Yoongi giggled. “I can only imagine your reply.”

“I think it was something like ‘that’s okay but would you put up with my daddy kink?’”

Yoongi positively squealed at that. Jeongguk was similarly amazed.

“But with her it’s like-- It’s so strange to explain. I guess the best way to say it is that half of the sex is mental.” He should have avoided the second cup of coffee. But it was already there. “It’s the talking. Putting her in the right mindset, making her feel loved on the brain.”

“Good thing you're smart, hyung.” Jeongguk said. “I would have zero chances.”

“It’s not being smart.” Namjoon replied, “It’s more of a-- connection.”

“I think that you having this… dominant, but also nourishing role really puts her into a mindset of full trust.” Yoongi commented.

“I think so.” Namjoon concluded. “And then the sex is mindblowing. Like, I get why everyone is so obsessed with it. Our limits are very similar, and in that we don’t feel like we’re limiting or pressing each other into things.”

“That’s good. But exploring can be fun.” Yoongi argued. “Kitten’s sensitive chest made me get into things I never thought I would explore.”

Namjoon again raised an eyebrow.

“Come on, hyung give me some ideas.” Jeongguk teased.

“You tits freak.” Yoongi joked playfully. “Hickeys, but that’s obvious. And a lot of mouth activity in general. Oh, boobjobs.”

“God, does that work?” Namjoon was skeptical.

“Depends. Lots of lube, and the right angle. Kitten puts her mouth on the head, that’s the trick.”

“That sounds incredible.” Jeongguk commented, saving the idea in a corner of his mind.

“Trust me, it is. We’re also dealing with a bit of a choking kink, but we’re approaching it carefully, Kitten tends to panic when she feels like she’s suffocating. And waxplay.”

“That’s a nice one.” Namjoon commented.

“Still getting into it. But she’s liking it a lot. We got the candle a couple weeks before tour. Used it twice. I can’t help but think about it.” He smiled, thinking about how Kitten had enjoyed experimenting that night, how loud she had been when she’d come apart, how she had curled up in a ball at his side, happy and sated, his own body spooning her. He missed his woman, missed the calm she carried around with her, missed her little voice, but also her whispering sweet nothings to him, petting his hair while he was falling asleep. In general, sleeping was way harder without her, his body waking up exhausted, his mind frail because he did sleep but he did not rest. He felt constantly restless.

“I really wanna try that too. But what about toys? Like I was thinking nipple clamps?” Jeongguk asked, his ears blushing a little.

“That kind of stuff must be tried together. The first few times Vixen and I experimented, we usually shopped together, so that we could understand what kind of sensation she could handle, what she would like, and what wasn’t her thing.”

“Like what?”

“Well, for example, if Candy is very sensitive, you should avoid clamps and go for tweezers, where you can pick the amount of pressure you want to put there. And that’s in term of pinching. Considering what you said about sucking, probably she could enjoy pumps. These days there’s pretty much anything, if you’re willing to look for it.”

“Toys, uh?” Yoongi questioned.

Namjoon lifted his shoulders. “You recommended experimenting. I like watching her. I’m really visual, so I like watching stuff.”

“Like movies?” Jeongguk asked. “Like watching them together? Adult movies?”

“Yeah, sometimes that too. Vixen’s very visual too. And we like finding inspiration every now and then.”

“By the way thanks for the advice, Kitten loved it.” Yoongi smiled like the cat that got the cream.

“You’re welcome.” Namjoon winked at him.

“I think I could try that, with Candy. It’s just that I get so shy about it. That’s why we fought.”

“You fought because you’re shy?” Yoongi asked.

“It actually started because I couldn’t look at her while she, uhm- While I was in her mouth?” Jeongguk shrinked into his shoulders. “Then it got bad because she said I never really look at her and she feels like I don’t like her, like I wished I were doing that with someone else. Which is absolute bullshit.” He looked upset.

Namjoon placed a hand between Koo’s shoulder blades. “You’ll work that out. If you really love her then the two of you will find a way around it.”

“Blindfolds?” Yoongi suggested.

“How?” Namjoon questioned, interested.

“I don’t know, maybe he’ll find confidence if he’s not feeling watched.”

“Hyung, I think that’s not it.” Jeongguk claimed, almost frustrated. “She wants to be watched by me.”

“Then why don’t you watch?”

“I’m afraid I’ll like it too much,” he said, brows knitted together. “That I’ll just last too little. I’m afraid she’ll judge me for what I like, for how I react.”

“The first time Vixen put her mouth on me I lasted literally two minutes.”

“Anytime Kitten puts her mouth on me I last literally two minutes.”

Both men laughed and high-fived each other.

Jeongguk smiled at the exchange. Seeing them like this made him really feel like anything could be fixed. They had found the right balance with their girlfriends, being in love and happy. He could have that too. Talking with Candy couldn’t be that bad if that's how he would feel afterwards. And probably Candy really wanted to have that conversation too, since she often asked him if he liked what she was doing, if he could show her how to do things right. He might get off in two minutes but if it were for him, he would probably feel proud if Candy couldn’t last two minutes below him. Candy would probably feel happy that he enjoyed it that much.

“Listen, no matter what they say, having too much stamina is not always that good. Vixen’s got a dollmouth. It’s so tiny it’s almost ridiculous. Lovely. Sometimes I feel like crying about it." His expression was getting dreamy." "But I’m going off at a tangent here. What I mean is that it’s physically tiring for her. Actually for most people. Jaw hurts, throat burns, gag reflex sucks, tongue cramps, anything.”

Yoongi nodded.

“And I’m sure your stamina is impressive, which means, maybe you’ll last two minutes in her mouth but hey, there’s second round.” He opened his arms in front of him, almost spilling the coffee.

“And third.” Said Yoongi. “If need be. Kitten needs minimum two.”

Namjoon groaned. “Vixen’s like… either a very good, powerful one, or a whole session. That’s when the toys come into help. With her it’s not a matter of how many but of how often. It goes from three or four times a week to everyday.”

“Good thing you’re a beast.” Yoongi commented.

“I do my best.” Namjoon replied honestly. “And again, it’s not like only fucking. Sometimes foreplay is just enough, you know.”

Yoongi nodded. “I could eat Kitten out just for the sake of it. Sometimes I don’t even need to fuck her, the pleasure is all in watching her.”

"I like watching Candy, when she cums. It's that whole look." He circled his open hand in front of his face. "And she said she likes watching me too. That's why she wanted me to… look at her."

"She probably feels empowered by it. Kitten likes feeling powerful when she gets me going. Same reason why I love eye contact when I eat her." Yoongi's voice was absolutely neutral, as if it were a mere clinical statement.

Jeongguk’s voice was tiny. “I’ve never eaten Candy out.” But God, if he wanted to...

Namjoon turned, alarmed but trying to keep it cool, sensing his discomfort.

“It’s always felt like she didn’t want it. Anytime I tried going there with my mouth, she’d drag me up towards her face. I seriously don’t get it.”

“You must talk it out, Ggugie.” Yoongi confirmed. “People have traumas, bad experiences, shitty exes -- and it might be her case. Kitten had never been eaten out before me. Said her ex didn’t like the taste. It took us a while, a blindfold and a lot of safewording to get through it.”

“Thanks, hyung.” Jeongguk replied.

“It’s okay, man.” By now the sun was rising. In a couple minutes the whole house would be awake, Jimin’s feet would pad softly on the plush carpet, his eyes still half closed from sleep. Jin would start moving kitchenware around, making a lot of noise to cook breakfast. Hobi would appear shirtless to grab his food and eat it on the sofa, chatting with his family or friends on the phone. Lastly Taehyung’s yawn would finally signal the beginning of their day.

“It’s beautiful.” Namjoon murmured, watching the sun rise.

“I really hope Candy comes back to me.” He thought about her tender smile, the one she had on her face after their first time. He thought about how she talks so soft in the morning, how she always texts him before going to bed. The mug in the kitchen that he had bought for her, the spare toothbrush in his bathroom at home. The smell of her shampoo, just perfectly sweet. Her legs tangled in his sheet. Her underwear smelling like his fabric softener. The way her mouth moves when she says his name. He missed it all.

“She’ll come back.” Namjoon enveloped an arm around his friend. “She loves you.”

“I hope I find someone that loves me like Vixen loves you.” He confessed.

“She’s special.” Joon’s eyes watered a little.

“Indeed she is,” Yoongi confirmed.

“Just like Kitten to you, hyung.” Joon looked at Yoongi. He looked truly emotional.

“Kitten’s a masterpiece.” He sniffled and put his hand on Namjoon’s shoulder, lightly leaning in.

“A few days and we’ll be back to the girls. And it will be okay again.” Namjoon encouraged them, his dimpled smile hopeful at the rise of dawn.

#bangtan sonyeondan #bts imagine #bts headcanons #bts scenario #jungkook imagine #jungkook scenario #namjoon imagine #namjoon scenario #yoongi imagine #yoongi scenario #bts conversation

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tailorvizsla · 5 years ago

Text

A Proper Mandalorian Courtship - Chapter 1

Title: The Armorer and an Introduction Word Count: ~2350 Pairing: Paz x Reader Rating: PG-13 Warnings: Cursing, canon-typical violence, crack humor that’s also serious Summary:

Mandalorian courtship is very simple: declare your interest in someone, spend time together if they reciprocate, and get married after a year or so. Getting married is even easier – simply swap the vows and announce it a few days later to the Tribe so you can all celebrate the happy news. Then spend the next few months fending off the nosy Elders (who all want to know when they can expect to hear more little feet on the ground). At the end of it all, Mandalorians court the same way the rest of the galaxy does.

Except for Paz Vizla. Despite his Traditionalist background, he goes about this courtship and marriage business in a very nontraditional way...a very, very, very nontraditional way. This can also be found at AO3. Chapters: 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

📚 My Master List 📚 Author’s Notes:

This is my first attempt at a multi-chapter story in a very long time.

I’ve been working on this since February. It’s been finished for a few weeks now, but I’ve been procrastinating in posting because I have had such a hard time justifying why Paz behaves the way he does even though we only see him for like 3 seconds in the series. I’m not sure if anyone else does this, but I like having a reason to write a story, even if it’s just to get the fluff out. For this, I wanted to flesh out Paz’s character for future works, but I have had such a hard time figuring out the words for it that I just...didn’t post. It felt wrong to continue forward without being able to explain to myself why he does what he does. Something that @plexflexico said in one of their responses to a review I left resonated with me and finally inspired me to post this publicly.

“Paz might have had less than a minute of screen time, but that time was VERY enlightening because both scenes were at moments of great tension and high emotion. I felt that any man who could succinctly put his people’s plight into words, and was so angry over this betrayal by someone who should have known better that there was no way this was simply a brute. This is a man who thinks and feels, deeply.”

This. This is exactly what I couldn’t find the words for. This, to me, is Paz Vizla. I have seen stories/HCs that portray him as a brute in an attempt to show him as a strong, confident, and masculine character. I am not fond of that portrayal because it lacks depth. I don't see that from a man whose culture embraces competency and skill before gender or sex. For those of you who have not read Asterism, go do it now, I promise you will love every single word. @plexflexico perfectly captures every emotion and thought of each scene just perfectly. This is Grade Amazing Super Plus Rank writing and Plex deserves an award for their work. And also for the inspiration because her Paz is the man everyone who wants a man deserves to have in their life.

The Foundry is the most sacred place for any Tribe blessed enough to have one of its own. It is the physical manifestation of the Resol'nare: education and armor, self-defense, the tribe, the language, and the leader. Here, children and new recruits receive their first set of beskar'gam and swear their oaths to follow the path, making the Foundry the spiritual birthplace of every member of the Tribe.

At night, when the work is finished, and the flames are dimmed, the young and old gather within so they may learn from and educate one another. Most importantly, this is where most individuals begin their first lessons in Mando'a, under the guidance of the Elders. The foundry is where the armaments are made and dispensed for the protection of each person and the Tribe as a whole. When a hunter returns with their offerings, they return to the Foundry, and disperse it to those who depend upon them for sustenance and care. Finally, the Foundry serves as a place for the leadership to gather.

Armorer has had the distinct honor and privilege of being both armorer and leader to her people for many years, though she is now only the armorer for the tribe. Upon joining with tribe Marell, she relinquished her role as the Alor. However, the respect and authority she commands is not diminished in any capacity. Should Alor Dezha not be available to decide on a course of action, the Tribe will come to her, and her decision will be both supported and respected. Dezha respects her a great deal, and he will often seek her opinion if his path is unclear. Despite the differences in their interpretations of the Oath, they have come to live in harmony with one another. They strengthen what is weak in each other, and that is how it should be in a flourishing Tribe.

Tonight, she once more has the honor of being part of a marriage ceremony. Lifting her heavy hammer, Armorer brings it down onto the glowing ingot of metal, watching as it flattens and spreads under her blow. She continues to strike the metal with slow, methodical precision until it reaches the proper thickness. Then the Armorer takes it back to the flame, where she allows it to glow blazing white. It only takes a few moments, and she returns it to the anvil. The steady clang clang of her hammer is punctuated only by the occasional trip to the flames.

The union of two Mandalorians in marriage is – and always has been – a joyous occasion, for that union brings forth stability for the children and the Tribe. Traditionally, the parents take turns hunting, or if the Tribe has the numbers, both parents will hunt together, and leave their children in the care of the rest of the family. Having that one trusted person, the one who knows their every strength and weakness by their side, leads to success, both in the field and at home.

She pauses once more to check the ingot. When she sees it is properly folded, she divides it in half, and begins to form each blade precisely with her smaller hammer. Two Mandalorians, forged into one soul and body by marriage, whether they are together, or they are apart. Two blades, made from a single piece of steel, to symbolize that union. When they are formed to her satisfaction, she takes the blades to the oil vat and quenches them, a satisfying hiss escaping the bubbling liquid.

Then she returns to the forge, narrowing one of the flames to begin the differential tempering process. Here, the tang and the edges of the blades will be hardened to resist shattering, yet the spines will remain flexible, so that they may flex as needed. Once joined, the couple hardens themselves to outsiders; instead, they will turn their affection and respect inward, so they may grow together. Where one is brittle, the other is flexible, and together, they become stronger than they would be individually. She withdraws the first blade from the flame just as the pale amber color creeps to the edges of the blade and plunges it directly into the water bath to cool.

It takes hours to sharpen the ceremonial blades on the grinding belts, but she works steadily and carefully, honing the edges with precision. The hilts are left bare; they will be wrapped by the parties entering the marriage. When they speak their vows, they will exchange blades, so they may carry a piece of the other with them when they are physically parted. She nestles the blades into separate boxes lined with soft fabric. When she delivers the blades tonight, the newlyweds will handle the rest on their own. Armorer lowers the heat of the flame before she returns to her quarters. There she draws the curtain across her living space. Exhaling, she takes a seat at her low table with a pot of hot tea to await being summoned by the Elders to acknowledge the vows. Her shoulders are tense and tight. It is a good sign of hard work.

It has been many years since she has witnessed a proper Mandalorian courtship unfold and blossom into marriage. The Armorer has known from the start that Paz would be the one to fully embrace the traditional ways. Now, he has chosen to make himself an example to the younger Mandalorians and enter the bonds of matrimony. Her heart swells with pride as she imagines the future progeny they will gift to the Tribe, whether they are born or found. However, she takes the time to close her eyes and pray to the spirits. The newlyweds will need guidance.

Hopefully, the wedding night will not result in nearly as much structural damage as the courtship had.

The first time Paz ever laid eyes upon you was shortly after the Armorer had finished negotiations to join with yours. It took nearly three weeks of negotiations, but your Tribe had ultimately yielded. No sane alor would turn away a dozen Hunters and their children, anyway. Paz admits that he did not find you all that impressive at first. You were – and still are - pretty average. Your armor at the time consisted of a bes’kar helmet and a steel chestplate that looked like the Armorer’s. Everything else was made of leather.

Tradesperson, he thought to himself, and he put you out of his mind.

As time went on, Paz came to like you, and even enjoy spending a few minutes with you here and there as his duties allowed. Even though you openly admitted that were an average warrior (at best), you did your job freakishly well. You had made your desire for a large family vocal, and that, combined with your skills, had caught the attention of several Hunters visiting to deliver the latest news. According to the Elders, the offers of marriage had come flooding in the instant you completed your first hunt, even though you hadn’t completed it until your twenty-third birthday.

When the average Mandalorian completed their first hunt by their nineteenth.

And Paz completed his on his seventeenth.

It didn’t take long for him to understand how you earned the loving-yet-frighteningly-accurate nickname shu’shika from the Tribe – you truly are a tiny disaster. You are dearly loved by your Tribe, but there is a tendency for things to break while you are around.

You are stubborn to a fault. That Paz can deal with. Over the past thirty or so years, he has had plenty of practice to out-stubborn his subordinates, and he always wins. The same holds true with his bounties. With you? There have been a few situations where he has come dangerously close to cracking and losing his temper. It is only your terrible self-defense skills and his affection for you that keep him from simply putting you in a headlock until you submit.

Paz sometimes wonders if you provoke him on purpose because you know he will not throw fists with someone who lacks proper training. He takes no pleasure in winning a fight if it was never a true fight to begin with.

Far too often, you get mouthy with him, to the point where he sometimes wants to grab you around the waist and launch you straight into the lake for being such a brat. You are never truly disrespectful, but you have no problem telling him what you think. Even when he does not ask for your opinion. He does, however, appreciate your honesty with him, since others are usually too intimidated by him to be as direct as you.

You’re kriffing fearless, to the point of recklessness. His threats to launch you into the lake have gone from true threats to playful teasing, and it always earns a laugh from you.

Your forgetfulness…it is truly obnoxious. At this point, he has stopped reminding you to pick up your shit. He has grown used to simply picking up your things off the floor (or the couch, or the tables, or the showers), stuffing them in a bag, and dumping it all on your table in the workshop. Just like everyone else in the Tribe does for you. Or, if he wants to see you, he will pocket your datapad until you come wandering into the common areas, and hand it over without a word. It never ceases to amaze you that Paz somehow seems to know exactly what you are looking for.

Paz has no doubts that if you ever set your bucket down, you will lose it. He kind of finds it endearing. But only from you. He has no problems holding armor, weapons, or personal property for ransom if some idiot leaves it unattended.

If there is even a single power cable in a wide-open room, you will invariably find it and trip over it. Stairs have to be clearly marked with vibrant tape to remind you of their existence even though they’ve been there for ten kriffing years. Your navigational skills are nonexistent. It is all Paz can do to refrain from simply attaching a tracker to your backside to keep you from getting lost whenever someone takes you to the market.

The first time he had taken you to the market, he lost you within forty-eight seconds. He panicked the entire time he looked for you. Fortunately, he found you trying to dig enough money out of your bag to buy some ice cream, with no regards as to how you were going to eat the kriffing ice cream with a damn bucket on your head.

Sometimes, Paz feels like his relationship with you is going to give him a full head of grey hair before his fiftieth birthday. But he thinks you are the most beautiful disaster he has ever seen in his life.

You get his dumb jokes and laugh at his silly puns. You let him steal the end pieces of the bread when you bake. You try so damn hard to improve your hand-to-hand combat skills, even when Doctor Shen threatens to tie you to a bed to keep you from hurting yourself. You turn to him first when you want to learn a new technique. You play hunters-and-prey with the children for hours, like you don’t care that the others are grumbling about you spoiling the kids. You listen to him ramble about whatever random topic he has picked up that week, and while you may not know anything about it, you ask questions and take the time to learn more about what makes him happy. You even offer to share your tiingilar with him, even when you only have a quarter ration of it.

He has spent most of his forty-four years alone in life. His eight-year relationship had ended exactly ten years ago when his partner chose to commit adultery. He was on the verge of proposing marriage when he caught them in his bed. Neither had been wearing their helmet. It was a privilege his partner had never granted him, even after nearly a decade together. After that gut-wrenching betrayal, something had shattered in him. Paz invested himself in his work fervently, his bitterness turning him away from the possibility of a long-term relationship. Now that he is older and wiser, he feels a sort of emptiness to his days. Like his successes mean nothing without having someone to share them with. He wants someone there to encourage and support him in his hunts. Someone who is not as cynical and burnt out from the constant threat of death and war. Someone who still has that shereshoya – that Mandalorian lust for each new day and every experience that it brings. That brightness in your soul draws him to you like a moth to the flame. It is your hidden gentility that has him so happily trapped in your orbit.

He wants to make you strong where you are weak.

He wants you to make him strong where he is weak.

Seeing you waiting for him at the shooting range brings a spring to his step. Hearing your laughter at one of his awful jokes makes him glad he wears a helmet so no one can see the ridiculous grin on his face. Smelling the sweet, flowery soap that you use makes his knees go all wobbly, though he’s not sure if it’s from affection or just from age. Just feeling your hand brush up against his makes him turn into a sweaty, flushed mess.

Paz Vizla feels like he’s strapped to the wing of a TIE fighter spinning out of control as it plummets to the ground below, or something like a fully-grown rath’tar has wrapped itself around his heart to squeeze. His belly is jam-packed with spice-crazed minochs and his heart is pounding wildly. When he thinks about kissing you one day, maybe just gently pressing his helmet against yours, his heart gets so full he can barely breathe.

You make him Feel Things he has never felt before.

Paz Vizla turns into a hot kriffing mess under his armor when he is around you, and he wants off this malfunctioning jetpack.

Feel free to leave comments, concerns, or critiques. I love all sorts of feedback <3

#star wars #the mandalorian #paz vizla #paz vizla x reader #paz vizsla x reader #romance #humor #the armorer #din djarin #original characters #tailor's world #tv: the mandalorian #paz vizsla x f!reader #paz vizla x f!reader #tailor writes #series: a proper mandalorian courtship

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everythingthemoontouches · 3 years ago

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Hiii Jahn!🌙 I’m just a new follower. I discovered you while searching for D9 asks. I was amazed by your in-depth explanation on each placements. 🤍 I’d like to send in my D1 & D9 charts also for future spouse reading to understand more about it.Thank you so much!!🤍 Please take your time. I’ll patiently wait. 💕 Hoping you’ll have a lovely day/night! 🌹

Hello there

This, my love has been a longtime coming. First off I'm gonna introduce you to an intuitive read and then present it in a more formal, bulleted manner. You seem to ha e chosen quite a challenging path in this lifetime. Props to you for bravery. And a hug + some tea to help you brave it 💕 your life could be a beautiful movie on love, healing, growth, spirituality and personal power.

Future BAE seems to be stable, practical reliable with service being his love language. He is down to grow together, and help you walk in your power.

Taurus rising.

Scorpio 7th house. + Pluto + moon.

Wow. Lots of shadow work involved when it comes to close personal relationships. You need to turn that critical eye inwards.

Untill you work at managing or integrating your inner child issues, any partners you end up with will continue to trigger you. At its best, this is someone who helps you work through your feelings. Breakdown. Confront reality. Breakdown and rebuild yourself stringer than ever. A hades and persephone kind of love. Lots of sexual allure. Strength, protectiveness, passion, push and pull, makeup sex? Specially since the ruler of the 7th house (Mars) is in the 5th house. You're not the kinda person who'd be happy to marry just for stability. Passion and mutual attraction, love is a must.

Mars and rahu. Service. Over exerting for those you love. Days spent in bed. Service kink. Lady in the streets, freak in the sheets.

You're definitely attracted to people who help you better your place in the world. They have to have a little bit of ' I wanna do good / change the world in them'. A friendly leader kinda figure. Disciplined.

Your darakarka Mars is retrograde. Controlling. Dominant. Future BAE is definitely gonna overthink themselves into a worry when it comes to dating and wooing. Or they could think that only their way is the right / best way to do soemthing. Poor lil baby( I say baby, but as a Virgo Mars they're probably the person who takes charge, plans, overanalyzes things has a set way of doing things.) this could be someone who is an advocate for universal free education, teaches children for free or some such. Could second guess themselves when it comes to taking action.

Mars Rahu conjunction: sub kink. They'd want a lot of adulation. Could be from a different culture from you or have studied in a very different environment.

I think your fs gets better at dealing with overthinking after you guys tie the knot. They learn to be more at peace with themself, letting their intuition guide them instead of focusing too hard on trying to do the logical thing. Okay with being messy. May like to act and arrange things behind the scenes. Imagine coming home tired to find that they've already called the restaurant, arranged for your favorite food to be dropped off, warmed, alid out on the table. Gives me the vibes of a puppeteer(katputli - a rajasthani folk dance)pulling the strings. You can't see them, but the show goes on.

From being ficusssed on accumulating wealth your focus goes towards doing things that boost your sense of Self confidence. You could also grow more tactful as you learnt to seek out harmony. You probably become more direct and assertive as a result the peopep you attract are more easy going / Libra like.

I'm seeing a house for a wedding present? Or moving into your spouse's ancestral home. They could also come from a matrilineal lineage.

Your household could be supported by one or both of you working in tax, insurance, financial industries. There could also be soemthing related to life insurance.

Pluto and Saturn in the 7th is a tad concerning. There's a very heavy sense of some kind of karmic duty. Saturn is exalted in Libra.

Way too controlling. Narcissism. Moon Mars mother. Karmic ties. Moon 8th house.

U must learn to stand up for yourself.

If you're meant to have any babies in this lifetime, they'd probably visit you in a dream or a psychic trance before they come down to earth. Call it mothers intuition. This is just a gut feeling wrt your moon in 8th house in Scorpio in the D9. I say this because the moon rules the 4th house of home, and children are an important part of the house if you're a mom. The 4th house is also the home/ heartland what you'd protect.

You suppress your emotions. Emerges as a volcano. But a cold one. U turn to ice and grow aloof.

Out of body experiences

You need to learn to be more dominant and combative. I'd suggest watching the teal Swans video on creating a zero sum game in relationships. Strengthened by Aries ascendant in d 9. This life u gotta learn to fight for yourself, and not sit quietly because people attacked u or kept u under their thumb when u were younger by a strict dad.

OK, now let's look at the placements and aspects

D1 lagna (ascendant) VS D9 lagna

You go from comfort stability minded to taking more risks and initiative. Self Confidence increases. Assert your needs better.

Vargottama Moon

The moon is quite dominant as it does not change signs between d1 and D9. You're super cooperative and hate to disappoint people. I'd suggest reading up more on Anuradha Nakshatra.

Moon - Pluto - 7th house

Could indicate karmic ties or past life connections to FS. You work through a lot of your own inner insecurities, self doubt, lack mindset related issues in close romantic relationships. There could be some mother wound related issues. You can only love as deeply as you allow yourself to love yourself. In order to attract people who inspire positive growth in you, you must first sit with your shadow, examine why people trigger you, and make peace with yourself or, perhaps your mom?

Mars Rahu - sextile moon

Mars and Rahu are both impulsive action oriented Planets. Them sextile your Pluto and moon could lead you to feel quite triggered and attacked by the slightest hint of advice or suggestion from someone else. Sex with the wrong people can really mess with you. In a better manifestation good sex has you feeling liek you can change the world and also that you're super safe and secure.

Venus combust - 10th house

You need to feel appreciated for your uniqueness. Ego battles could arise and get in the way of finding, expressing love.

Saturn- Ketu Pisces

The ruler of your 7th Nakshatra this is someone who loses themself to community service, could do too much for the wrong cause. Money could come in from fish farming. Seduments or other aquatic culture.

Anuradha 7th house

This is a Nakshatra that focuses on achieving success by working with a group. Your fs is collaborative and good at managing people. Someone who shares success. And is hence likely to go far ahead in life. Major success may come later in life.

Mars 7th house

Expect healthy amount of frank, direct communication. Some arguments with FS. But there's also protectiveness, concern, and the will to do the best by someone. Mars and moon aspects indicate a healthy sex life. They're probably enamored by you. You in turn would find them super sexy.

7th Nakshatra lord and Ketu

Your fs and relation with FS is a highly spiritual one. You could both be looking for a soulful connection. There is love, there us duty there is a need to help each other value time, focus on the future. They could have been a strict disciplinarian figure Ina past life. You both probably have a knack to look down at your phone just in time tos ee an email / message alert from them? Perhaps you two run or help/volunteer at an institution for the mentally challenged.

7th house relation to pieces

OK, so this is where we have a lot going on. Mars opposes saturn. And is placed with Rahu. Mars here feels restrained. Your fs could feel blocked in their creative gifts. In the sense that all they want to do is focus on it, create, post, gain fame but saturn and Ketu try to restrict their creative time. They could be perfectionists. Having to redo things. Since Rahu is also in virgo there's a focus on creating things with the hands and fine tuning every single detail. Directed towards you, this is someone who is always encouraging you while trying to micromanage a lot of details because they think they're being helpful. This is sosmrhtinf you two could have in common so

Mars Darakarka: they teach u to fight for you. Opinionated. Honest. Perfectionist. Service before self. Hardworking. Have integrity. Very active mind.

Mars conjunct Rahu-venus D9 creativity

The 5th house rules creativity and with your venus in the 9th house in D9 your fs is someone who encourages u to be more creative and follow or take up a course to be better at your hobbies. It's like full creative freedom to be you and do you.

D9 Exalted Saturn

Justice. Duty. Not very affectionate but they make sure you have everything you need. Balanced approach. Someone thoughtful. They're fair in a fight.

Libra, venus ruled 7th house

Beauty, peace and harmony in thr relationship. You're not gonna feel like you're being taken for grated. They will treat you to nice things and probably have a schedule for dates and other such romantic leisure activities.

Jupiter rules 9th, in 2nd house

Philosophy. Art. Culture. Museums. Travel coudk be a key focus in your married life. This is something you two bond over. Could also strike God fortune when u do travel or go on pilgrimages. Luck and money via foreign sources.

Rahu in aquarius

Social media influence or you get better at making friends just make sure that they're not provoking you into taking uncalcukated risks or actions that are wya too bizarre. Could denote some kind of breakthrough with technology, a love for a high end gadget driven spaces. An interest in Photography. Any couples pictures posts would be well received. Like you're the couple that looks exotic in their photos. Radiant. Aloof, intellectual, stimulating and even more appealing together.

Jupiter Taurus in 2nd house of D9

Debilitated Jupiter 9th house- religious issues - venus 9th house - conversion?

You may have struggled with religious ideologies being forced on you, or the one you were born into didn't quite feel right. Your fs may follow a different religion or show you that being religious does not mean you feel bad about some of your lifestyle choices.

Pisces Mars d9: he is either tactful and charming or a bit manipulative. You may feel like you prefer to act behind the scenes. It may be a little hard to be recognized for the things you do untill you get really really angry.

D9 Cancer 4th house: the home is a serious source of pride. Beautiful interiors and you'd be quite guarded about who you invite over. The best meals. Soothing interiors.

Pilgrimage within the 1st year of becoming a mom ( Jupiter's aspect on the 9th house)

Venus in Sagittarius D9: future BAE is gonna love his freedom. He could be a workaholic.

Alrighty, that's all I've got today. I hope this helps. I wish you the best on your healing and integration journey

#Shadow work #Mars saturn Pluto 7th house #Future spouse astrology #Future spouse reading #D1 and D9 analysis #Navamsa analysis

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beca-mitchell · 4 years ago

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nothing has changed me quite like you (1/1)

Summary: Chloe Beale and her shetland sheepdog, Juniper, make quite the pair. Set after PP3. Written for @bechloe-week day 2 - he bit me!

Notes: Fic title from "Nothing Is U" by Bleachers. Written for Bechloe Week Day 2 - He bit me! Wrote this after a burst of inspiration tonight. Unbeta'd, sorry.

Read on AO3 or read below.

* * * * *

Chloe adopts Juniper from her uncle when she moves up to Ithaca to begin her veterinary school education. Juniper is a happy dog, incredibly enthusiastic about walks, and happy to lie on top of Chloe’s chest to wake her up in the morning.

Chloe had always wanted a dog again since her childhood dog had long passed away. However, living at Barden hadn’t really allowed for it in her first year there. Then living in a house constantly filled with loud, singing women...that hadn’t been the time either.

She had thought maybe—maybe when she moved into an apartment with Beca, her longtime crush and (even more) longtime friend, would have been the time. But no. Amy happened. And their tiny apartment happened. Their tiny apartment which meant that Chloe spent cold, sleepless nights trying not to cuddle too close to Beca, lest she startle her and send her running away for good. Those cold, lonely, sleepless nights spent wondering if Beca would ever reciprocate her feelings.

The nights spent after Beca and Jesse’s Breakup™. The nights spent falling asleep together after another bad Netflix movie.

The nights spent together after nights out. Sleeping only, of course.

All the nights.

It almost made Chloe forget about wanting a dog—about wanting a companion. Almost. It would have just been difficult to have a dog in such a small face while nobody was really home to take care of a dog.

(But it had made Chloe smile—widely too—when she had mentioned it offhandedly to Beca. The whole ‘having a dog’ thing. A rather domestic suggestion, if Chloe thought about it for too long. She had almost been afraid about bringing it up even hypothetically to Beca. It felt like a step she hadn’t been sure about taking even though they weren’t even anything. But still. Beca liked dogs and would have liked a dog of her own—their own?—if it weren’t for their roommate and their living conditions.

That was a win to Chloe.

Beca liked dogs. Nobody was taking that away from her.)

Finally, Chloe moved upstate. Upstate where it was easier to get a spacier apartment; where there was that much more greenery. Many more accessible parks to run.

It was finally time to get a dog.

Finally, then came Juniper—a force of energy rolled into one fluffy Shetland Sheepdog.

* * * * *

Juniper is a happy dog.

So happy to the extent that Chloe is surprised the first time she attempts to bring somebody back to her apartment. She brings back a nice woman from the Pharmacy School after a surprisingly refreshing date. They barely make it into the apartment when Juniper immediately begins leaping at their legs, surprisingly excited and over-eager for the rather late hour.

“Shh,” Chloe hushes, smiling apologetically at her date. “Sorry, she’s not usually like this. Um...here, let me grab your jacket. I can make us some tea or something.” She tries not to sound too desperate. “If you want to stay for a little.”

Valerie smiles—a pretty smile entirely too reminiscent of another brunette with blue eyes—and nods. “I’d love to.”

“Great!” Chloe exclaims, a bit too high-pitched for her liking. She turns so Valerie can’t see her wince. Valerie doesn’t necessarily need to know exactly how long it’s been since she was...super intimate in any sense of the word. Herself not included. “I’ll be back,” she calls over her shoulder, clutching her date’s jacket in her hand.

Juniper obediently follows her to the kitchen, little nails tapping against the hardwood. “You can do this,” Chloe murmurs to herself, opening cabinets as she searches for a good mug to use. “You can do this, right Junie?” she asks, bending down to coo at her dog. Juniper yelps, tail wagging happily as she flits around Chloe’s leg, clear herding instincts coming out. “She’s not Beca. I mean. Who is. But she’s pretty. And nice.” She glances at Juniper as if her dog is listening to her attentively. “She’s pretty nice,” she chirps, smiling at Juniper.

Juniper offers no feedback, other than a brush of her nose against Chloe’s leg.

Chloe sighs, bringing the mugs back out to her living room.

* * * * *

“Ow!”

Chloe draws back quickly, immediately pushing herself up on the couch and peering down at her date nervously. A small yelp of pain isn’t necessarily the reaction she’s used to unless discussed beforehand with her bedmates.

“Sorry,” Chloe whispers, hushed. “Did I bite you?”

Valerie sits up at well, cheeks still flushed attractively, lips still swollen from their make-out session. Chloe’s eyes don’t even wander to her half-unbuttoned shirt. “No, I think—your dog did?”

“My wha—” Chloe twists on the couch, peering around in the low light. She sees Juniper sitting up, alert yet somehow still innocent, in her dog bed in the corner of the living space. “She’s…”

“I didn’t imagine it. She definitely bit me.”

“No, I believe you, she’s just not normally—she likes other people.”

Valerie laughs, sitting up all the way and beginning to button up her shirt. Juniper perks up at that and scurries over, as if she is excited to watch Chloe very much not have sex.

“You don’t have to go,” Chloe urges, though she isn’t sure why she even wants to protest. “I’m—I mean we can—”

“Look, you’re very nice, but I guess...I just want to be friends.”

“Oh. I’m...that’s okay. I don’t…” Chloe finds she isn’t extremely disappointed, just a little stunned that her evening is ending so quickly. Though she has no extreme connection to Valerie—no lingering passion—she is still relatively disappointed by the lack of sex in her life. She sighs, deflating. “I’ll get your jacket.”

* * * * *

Chloe doesn’t think much of it. It’s just a pattern of behaviour that she assumes Juniper has developed. She doesn’t really bite people—she just nips. Regardless, Chloe knows it isn’t behaviour that she should encourage by any means. She just assumes Juniper is a little protective of her. A little territorial.

It isn’t until weeks later that another major incident occurs. Chloe has since learned not to really go back to her own apartment with dates, with this one being an exception.

Mark is a PhD student at the engineering school. She meets him through a veterinary school friend and they had agreed to go on a date together. One thing had led to another and they had ended up tucked away in Chloe’s room after their date (Juniper had been locked out of her room on purpose) and well—

It’s fun. That much Chloe can say. It isn’t until later, with Mark’s heavy snoring next to her that she realizes that she hadn’t felt any real connection to him. But maybe, she muses, it’s too early to tell. It had been one date. And she had felt enough of a connection to sleep with him, even though it isn’t something she does regularly. Putting out on the first date at least.

It is the next morning that everything becomes apparent.

Chloe wakes up alone, eyes blinking against the harsh sunlight of her room. She hears a strange sound, something that sounds like muffled yelling. Or whisper-yelling. She senses the distinct emptiness next to her and sighs, wondering if she even has time to be disappointed. Or if she had prepared herself adequately for this inadvertently.

She hears a bark. Followed by a hushing sound.

Chloe rolls her eyes. Sneaking past her dog. Typical.

Without more thought, Chloe pulls a robe around her and yanks open her bedroom door, wondering what she’ll see. She blinks at the scene in front of her and takes in the way Mark appears to be in a stand-off with Juniper.

She sighs, realizing he has probably encountered one of her behavioural issues. Her earlier annoyance aside, she tries to offer sympathy and clears her voice, making her presence known. “Oh, I’m so sorry, she’s—”

“Aren’t you a vet or something?” he asks, holding up one of his ruined shoes. The other, Juniper still holds in her mouth, her tail wagging enthusiastically. Like this is some game. “Can’t you train your dog better?”

“She’s not usually like this!” Chloe exclaims. “Junie, come here, baby. Stop that.”

“Do you know how expensive these shoes are?”

Chloe almost laughs at the expression on his face, but she remembers, fleetingly, how much Beca had valued her precious headphones. She supposes everybody has their hobbies.

“Give that back, you little—”

“Don’t be mean to her!” Chloe cries, attempting to intervene. “She’s just playing. Junie, come here,” she demands.

Mark scowls, continuing to tug at his remaining shoe. The one that isn’t covered in dog pee. Juniper refuses to let up, even growling a little as he tugs harder. She stands her ground with surprising force. Chloe wonders if she had imagined Mark’s arm muscles. Clearly nothing compared to a shetland sheepdog with something to prove.

She sighs, choosing instead to lean back against the wall. She pulls her robe tighter around herself, tucking the fabric to protect herself against the chill. At least she gets morning entertainment in the place of a one-night stand trying to run out on her.

“Hey—Hey!” Mark cries out, pulling his hand away, both shoes dropping to the ground. “She bit me!”

Chloe pushes off the wall, concerned.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m f—”

“I was talking to Juniper,” Chloe says shortly. “You were antagonizing her on purpose. Rule one of interacting with dogs.”

He has enough sense to look appropriately chastised, but still displeased with the entire situation.

She rises, holding out her hand to inspect his hand. “Let me see,” she murmurs.

“No, it’s okay. I’ll just go.”

Chloe watches the door slam behind him, Juniper by her side.

“Another one, huh, Junie.”

* * * * *

The next semester comes quickly enough, January creeping into February, then the early stages of March.

“Beca?” Chloe blinks, stunned. “What are you doing here? In the—in—?” Chloe peers out the door as if expecting a camera crew to surprise them in the middle of the hallway. This is some Punk’d energy Chloe feels. She hadn’t expected to see Beca for at least another few months, even if she has spent the last few months alone missing Beca terribly. “This isn’t L.A.,” she says slowly, wonder creeping into her voice. “You’re not in L.A.”

“I—surprise!” Beca spreads her arms, hesitant smile on her lips. Chloe gapes at her, noting how different Beca looks...yet completely the same. Maybe a little more...expensive, if Chloe had a word for it. Her jacket is sleek-looking, her hair is slightly curled and—

“Did you dye your hair?” Chloe asks, reaching out to touch the ends of Beca’s hair. “It’s so pretty…”

“Thank you,” Beca says, blushing. “You look...wow.”

Chloe touches her hair self-consciously. It’s tied up in a messy ponytail to match her oversized sweater and leggings. She hadn’t planned on seeing anybody today, intent on having a quiet study day. “Really?” she asks softly before she can help herself.

“Yeah, I—oh.” Beca pauses, looking down at Juniper who creeps between Chloe’s legs to peer up at Beca with interest. Chloe feels Juniper’s tail wagging against her legs. “Who’s this! Is this the cutie you always post about on Instagram?”

Hearing the high-pitched tone of Beca’s voice as she continues to talk to and about Juniper makes all kinds of affection shoot through Chloe’s body. That and something else. She smiles at Beca, realizing just how much she had missed the other woman over this time. While Beca had been off in L.A. making a name for herself, Chloe had missed her all the while, attempting to fill the voids that Beca had left behind.

“Yeah,” Chloe murmurs, watching as Beca holds out her hand for Juniper to sniff. “She’s just a little...temperamental with new people, I—” Chloe freezes, stunned when Juniper licks Beca’s hand and immediately pushes her body into Beca’s knees, clearly intent on receiving more cuddles.

“She’s adorable, Chlo.”

Chloe thinks she might cry. “She really is.” She clears her throat, battling the emotion away. “Do you want to...come in, or—?”

“I...okay. Yeah. I mean. I did come to visit you, but I’m telling you, she might take some attention away from you.”

Chloe scoffs. “As if that would ever happen,” she teases.

Beca hums, something non-committal, but not quite the immediate disagreement Chloe expects from her.

“Chloe?” Beca asks quietly as the front door shuts behind her. “Can I do something?”

Chloe turns, confused. She takes in the sight of Beca standing there in front of her with her expensive jacket and her expensive duffel bag (she hadn’t seen that before—did Beca intend on staying with her? In her one-bedroom, one-bed apartment?), with Juniper sitting obediently right next to her.

It is very much a picture of a girl with a mission, too weighed down by all her insecurities.

Chloe’s heart races. “Sure,” she whispers.

“I...wanted to do it the moment you opened the door. But I guess…” Beca smiles down at Juniper. “Needed the seal of approval first, huh.” She takes a step closer, dropping her bag gently at her feet. “I’m...Can I kiss you?”

That simple statement, said with such clarity and sincerity, snatches all the air from Chloe’s chest. She stumbles, eyes widening as she notes that Beca is standing right in front of her with nowhere else to go. Her favourite blue eyes, taking up her entire field of view.

“Chloe.”

“I—um. Yes. God, yes, please kiss me,” Chloe replies, wondering very much if this is still a dream.

"I just. Wasn't sure after Europe," Beca says stiltedly. Breathless, almost. She reaches up with shaking hands to put her hands around the back of Chloe's neck.

"Kiss me," Chloe whimpers.

So Beca does.

* * * * *

When Chloe wakes the next morning, she wakes up alone. Her heart pounds, wondering if Beca had left in the middle of the night. She lies, somewhere between dream and nightmare, too afraid to wake up and face the Pandora’s Box of her reality.

The previous night had been nothing short of amazing. Chloe struggles to find words to encapsulate the spectrum of emotions that had crashed through her the moment she and Beca finally got to know each other intimately. Wandering hands, heavy kisses, breathless pants, and the annoyingly rhythmic sound of Chloe’s bed creaking under the weight of two bodies finding their perfect match in each other.

It had been perfect.

Chloe wonders if anything will ever top their first time, now that she knows what it feels like to be wanted by Beca Mitchell. Beca, who flew across the country to pull Chloe into her arms and kiss her. Not quite an “I love you” but also not quite a “Let’s be friends” either.

Chloe sighs, sitting up and letting the sheets fall around her. She is too afraid to check, but she has more faith in Beca than that. Her longtime friend. Her longtime crush. Her maybe-not-one-time lover.

“Hey,” Beca calls quietly as she pushes open the door. She is wearing one of Chloe’s old oversized shirts and a shy smile on her face. Her hair is delightfully rumpled, catching all the rays of sun that sneak into Chloe’s bedroom. In her arms, she holds a squirming Juniper who looks like she is very much attempting to lick Beca’s face or jump onto the bed. Or both.

Chloe almost gasps, but she only manages a shy smile of her own, stunned into silence for once.

“You’re here,” Chloe murmurs when she finds her voice.

Beca sits on the bed, gently letting Juniper squirm free from her arms. Juniper curls up at the foot of her bed, ears twitching excitedly. “I hope you don’t mind, I just gave her some food. She was waiting for us when I woke up.”

Us, Chloe thinks happily. She smiles, reaching out to grab the front of Beca’s shirt to draw her in for a kiss. Beca responds immediately, hands coming up to frame Chloe’s cheeks gently, tilting her head, like she is responding to Chloe’s unspoken word. Us, she seems to echo in her kiss. Look at us.

Scratch perfection, Chloe thinks. This is all she needs.

fin.

#bechloe #mine #my fanfic #bechloe week #bechloe week 2020 #bechloeweek #pitch perfect #bechloe fic

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bellatrixobsessed1 · 3 years ago

Text

The Dragon Egg (Parts 4-6)

Long post because I neglected uploading for a few days. For @secrettunnelatla

It is all about fibs and careful twists. Change a few names and situations and suddenly Ozai is just a nameless man. A vague set of lyrics and verses on a page. A collection of words that shape the story of an abuser and his victim.

It is all the easier, picturing Zuko as the victim. Surely it can’t be her. Father treats her well; he has given her this recording studio. He has rewarded her for her three new singles with a newer car. He has given her nothing but praise for surprising him with so many new songs all at once.

Father buys her so many new stage outfits and lets her pierce her tongue and decorate it with genuine ruby. She has everything. He loves her. He is proud of her. It is only a hiccup, a lapse in judgment when he shows anything but affection. It is the alcohol that makes him smash the windows on her car. She doesn’t remember what he did it for but she knows that it was the alcohol because he has a brand new car waiting for her the next day.

And she drives it to Seicho’s house to deliver her birthday present. She will open the box and find a skateboard and tickets to see her show. Seicho is a delight and a somber presence all at once. In many ways, she reminds Azula of TyLee and that stings.

Sometimes she misses TyLee. Misses that sweet smile. Misses playing make believe in her backyard. Once upon a time, TyLee was going to be her drummer and they were going to tour from nation to nation in a bus with diamond studded tire caps. Once upon a time, she, Mai, and TyLee were going to be the rock trio that the world wouldn’t be able to forget.

And once upon a time, Mai decided that she liked Zuko more and TyLee decided that she liked Mai more. Zuko always had been the more lovable of the two. But Azula is the more successful. She has made a promise to herself that they would regret abandoning her for him when her faces is everywhere and Zuko is a sellout.

Seicho invites her inside, her friends are already there, a girl named Song, a girl named Jin, and a younger boy named Hide.

“Have a slice of cake or a whack at the pinata.” Seicho offers. She holds out a bat, wrapped with skull patterned duct tape and studded with nails. “You can have the first swing.”

Azula is sure that it would only take one good swing for the nails to shred the pinata. “I’ll have a slice of cake. I can’t stay for too long. I have a show.” There is a part of her, a very large part of her that wants more than a taste of this world. A simpler world where goals and aspirations aren’t make or break. “But I had to drop this off for you.” The skateboard in the box is expensive, it is more than enough to make up for not being able to stick around for the party.

Seicho’s face falls and Azula tells herself that it is only because she hasn’t unwrapped the gift yet. She knows that the smile is forced when she replies, “thanks, Azula. Maybe you can join us next year.”

Regret doesn’t hit her in full until she has already stepped back into her car. By now it would only be rude to change her mind and ring the doorbell again. Maybe this is why it was so easy for TyLee to choose Mai and for Mai to choose Zuko; she tends to choose her career over companionship.

She promises herself that after Audio of Agni, she will make more time for social obligations.

.oOo.

The stage doesn’t quite have its thrill tonight. The energy itself is excitedly frantic, vibrant with enthusiasm but it doesn’t quite reach Azula. It doesn’t matter, she is good at pretending. She knows what she is supposed to feel like--she has felt it before when the band was brand new, when Mai and TyLee were her backup vocalists.

So she emulates the vibe she is supposed to give off. She pretends like the crowds cheers and shouts and claps mean everything. She pretends like their liveliness gives her life too. Pretends like she can feel the music in her body and soul the same way everyone else does. But she only feels empty.

Empty and alone. A disorienting feeling when she is looking upon more faces than she can count.

All the while she sings lyrics that make her stomach squirm and her heart ache. If her father knew that he is the inspiration behind them, she’d have another song to write.

She doesn’t understand why singing these songs hurts so much. She is singing about Zuko and her father, not about she and her father. Or maybe she isn’t singing about her father at all, but a nameless father and his nameless child. Hell, it can be a mother too. Just a vague musical rendition of a dreadful parent who is merely neglectful on a good day.

It dawns upon her that she is the victim that she sings of when she finds herself getting teary on that stage. They think that it is part of the act. They think that she is a stellar actress on top of a damn good lyricist.

She doesn’t correct them. The only thing that sells more than sex is sorrow.

Things change after that. There is more attention, more interviews, more magazine photoshoots, and more simmering resentment from From Ashes To Phoenix. She basks in the limelight and relishes in Zuko’s envy. And with the spotlight shining so brightly, she can no longer see the darkness that had helped put it on her.

****

Seeing her on TV is hell. Even when she isn’t right in front of him, flaunting her riches, talents, and everything he could have had, she is still able to mock him.

These days, he can’t escape her. She is everywhere; on the radio, on the magazines, on the TV, and on posters. He even sees her in the hallways of Caldera Capital High. He sees her there, though she has been pulled out months ago for a private education tailored to her personal schedule. It is just one more thing for him to envy. He has to manage his band and school, of course his progress is slower. Sometimes stunted altogether.

And for his troubles he averages C’s and D’s--B’s if he is lucky--and music that is half done and not nearly what he had imagined in his mind. He knows that he is going to have to make a choice and he thinks that he has begun to make that choice a few months back. He has lost track of how many times he has stayed after class to discuss his grades. He wonders how uncle will take to him dropping out. Should he turn in the forms that are tucked away in his backpack and seal the deal there won’t be any turning back. He will have to make it big. It will be his only chance.

A gaggle of fangirls fawning over the brooding lonewolf with the choker and black nailpolish can only take him so far. It doesn’t leave the hallways. But he does, he evades the teachers and hall monitors and climbs his way onto the roof. Mai is already there, he can see the smoke trail.

“Want one?” She offers.

“I’ll take a drag from yours.”

Mai passes the cigarette. “Have you told your uncle yet?”

He takes his drag and passes it back. “No.”

Mai gives a little hum. “Make a decision and commit, Zuko. Either you tell your uncle that you’re dropping out or start hustling to fix your grades. You have to succeed somewhere.”

He flinches. She sounds all too similar to Azula. She sighs. “Sorry. I just worry about you, Zuko. Indecisiveness is going to ruin you if you let it.”

There are a lot of things that are going to ruin him if he lets them. To some degree he thinks that he is already ruined. That he should just fester in the failure. “I could use another drag.”

“Sure.” Mai replies.

He takes his drag and watches the smoke curl up to the mid-afternoon sky. Mai leans back with her hands behind her head.

“What are you doing up here, Mai?” He asks. “You can actually pass your classes, why are you letting me drag you down?”

“Zuko, I’ve never felt more...up. Sometimes I just need to get out of there.” She spares a glance to the door. “It’s suffocating and smells like cheap perfume and testosterone. I smoke at least a cigarette a day, gym class is pointless anyways.”

He chuckles. He feels right when he is on the roof with her. When he is with her in general. Pessimistic as she nihilistic as she is, he feels the most hopeful when he is with her. Even if it is just for a moment, Azula’s shadow doesn’t envelop and shroud him. Even if it is just for a moment, he can forget about she and her antics and everything her overachieving has helped steal from him. Even if it is just for a moment he can see, truly envision and believe in a reality where he strums his guitar before an arena full of adoring, audio hungry fans.

He makes a decision, he is going tell uncle that high school isn’t for him. That he is meant for...that he deserves better things. As the sun reaches its zenith, he decides that he will truly work for his dream.

****

The darkness floods right back in when she is away from the stage. When the lyrics that echo through the venue become a reality. She doesn’t know exactly what she has done. Maybe she has done nothing at all. He very well may just be in a bad mood. She is texting Seicho when he enters. “Hello father.” She greets with a smile.

He returns it with a blank face and folded arms. “What is this?” He slaps a piece of paper onto the table. He nods for her to read it over.

“It’s a…” she knits her brows, “a printout of our ticket sales.” She looks up from the paper. “What’s wrong with it?”

“How many tickets were sold for the first show?”

“It was sold out.”

“What about all of last week’s shows and the week before that?”

“Sold out.” She says again.

He nods. “Yes, sold out. What about last night’s show?”

Azula swallows, “1,684.”

He drums his fingers on the table. “Would you like to tell me what happened?”

She thinks that it could be a lot of things; that night had also been the night of the high school homecoming baseball game, people might have been short on cash, the time slot had been a tad earlier than usual. All of these answers seem like excuses--she should have a performance more compelling than baseball, she should have had a performance with spending money on, she should have pushed for a more favorable time slot. “It was a smaller venue.” She says at last much.

Wrong answer.

“I was selling out all of my shows.” He slaps the page and she flinches. “These aren’t metal legend numbers, they aren’t even Audio of Agni numbers.”

She wants to point out that he probably hadn’t been selling out all of his shows when his band had been as young as hers is. Instead she very quietly promises, “I’ll do better, father.” She must and she will because he is right. Only 1,684 tickets sold in a venue that could hold 2,000 people? That is embarrassing.

“Maybe if you weren’t fooling around with that tattoo artist… you won’t be seeing her anymore”

“Wh-what?” She sputters. “No, that’s not it! Seicho isn’t a distraction!” She realizes too late that she has gotten too loud.

She closes her eyes and tenses for the strike that is sure to come. When it doesn’t she cracks an eyelid. He hasn’t even closed the distance between them. She allows herself to relax. It is only then that his hand snakes out and finds her cheek.

Reflexively her own hand comes to rub it. She bites the sides of her cheeks and swallows down the cry that is waiting to come up. More than anything she hates knowing that she has failed him. That she has disappointed him. These moments are few and far between, she makes sure of that. But they are still there and she has just given herself one more ill mark. Has put herself one step closer to ending up like Zuko. “I’ll do better.” She says again when she finds the words.

It was never like this before. She glares at the empty bottles. It was never like this--he used to love her. She used to be is gleaming little star. He would yell at her, sometimes until his face went red, but he has never hit her before. She looks at the bottles, but it might be that she has finally made enough mistakes for him to see her as a splendid failure instead of his rising rockstar.

She takes out her phone and taps the screen a few times before holding it up, “see no more distractions. I deleted her number.” She forces a smile. “I needed to focus on memorizing my new material anyways.”

At last he returns the smile. The tightness in her chest slackens, giving way to an optimistic and relieved fluttering in her tummy. He ruffles her hair, “that’s my girl.” He gives her a small hug. “I should know better than to doubt you.” He smells so strongly of booze.

But she has satisfied him. She is still is gleaming little star.

#Avatar The Last Airbender #Azula #Zuko #Mai #TyLee #Azula/Background Character #Azula/Cupholder girl #Maiko #Fanfiction #2021atlasummerevent

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cristalknife · 4 years ago

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On Comments, feedback anxiety on both the writer and the reader’s side

If one could look into my WIP draw, or take a glance at the fics I’ve actually posted, it becomes clear misunderstandings based on miscommunication is something I seem have a thing for. In all honesty is more of a lifelong study and recurring theme I keep stumbling on or consciously walking into. Preface: I am only human and mistakes can happen, but usually I try to handle the detailed label (also referred as Read the Tin or as written on the tin) of major warning with my writings that is usually missing in any other aspect of life, sort of a lovely user manual/preview so one could know to walk away before getting invested or worse triggered.

Or at least know exactly what they signed up for.

Is it perfect? No but at least it’s there, as a writer I did all I could to avoid unpleasantness, the rest it’s up to the reader’s discretion. Which leads me to the heart of this post: comments, feedbacks, criticism, politically correctness, manners and the anxiety they produce in both the writer and the reader.

The picture is big so I’ll divide in sides, but remember that people are made of multiple sides, and sometimes those sides are at odds or outwardly warring against each other. That’s pretty average for any irrational human being with emotions.

From the POV of an overthinking anxious writer:

1) Ao3′s Kudos are sort of like a watered down thumbs up, after about 4-5 fic posted (or ~15K words of stories out there to be consumed), they became the kind of anxiety triggers feeding thoughts of why so many people/guests left a kudo but the story wasn’t good enough to warrant the time of a comment/review 2) Comments are lovely reminder someone found something in your words that made them react so strongly they felt like sharing that reaction with you was worth their time.

2.1) Comments are also the cause of anxiety about their content before you have the courage to read what they says...

3) Criticisms and feedbacks can be a wonderful tool to improve your writing for the next story. But not if they are laced with insult, personal attacks in that case they are the kind of black hole that pushes people to stop writing all together, or at least stop sharing what they write.

4) single emoji (♥), 2 char long (<3) comments takes years of effort and a lot of conditioning to remember to slip in reader mode and appreciate the effort it took to stop and do even that, instead of allowing doubts to gnaw at the back of your head with waaaiiiiit that’s all? was it good? was it bad? arrrghhh what does it even mean???

5) Statistics and numbers, those are the evilest of the most buggering things and the most vile tempters that will push you to compare your stories against others (a futile exercise in frustration and pointless reason to shred one’s own self confidence to the tiniest of pieces for literally nothing)

5.1) Especially when you have two writing mind frames:

writing the stories you want to read (and usually it is either a niche where you’ve already consumed all you could find so you write it because duh, more content might ignite back the fire please, or you haven’t found yet someone to say it how you want to read it) vs what I simply call

exorcism writing (the kind of free therapy exercise when something is bugging the heck out you and not leaving your mind so you put it down to words and then let them fly free, instead of trapping them on a diary you’d just return to read and start the vicious cycle all over again)

5.1.1) and your exorcism stories become more popular than the stories you want to read, because at the end of your raw ranting exorcism you managed to write something that would end up falling within mainstream tropes. Which just makes you sad because those were not the result of love and planning and endless hours of writing and editing that you put in your other stories.

6) I’m not writing fan fiction to be an educator, it is possible that my day job is being an educator, but unless I’m there writing textbooks, as a writer it is not my responsibility to teach the reader something that has to be authentic, realistic and a good practice. I’m just here to tell a story. Or are you really telling me that you watch superheros movies and series and expect them to appear outside your window? If you just laughed then why are you looking at fanfic smut with the expectation of finding a more interesting and alternative way to have a sex ed lesson? If you subscribe to the school that a story has has to make sense... Let me ask have you ever read some of the greatest literature works like Frankenstain, Moby Dick, The Hobbit, Journey to the center of the Earth, Alice through the looking glass, Aeneas, if you did and subscribe to “fiction as to make sense” then please please enlighten me I’m rady to sit back and hear all the points you can make how any of those are realistic representations of how things go. If you says that those are just stories told oh so long ago... Lets pick more recent ones, the Harry Potters books, Goosebumps, Twilight, The Shadowhunters Chronicles, 50 shades of , all those are listed as fiction which yes sadly too many used as a portrait of theme touched in there as realistic because the story was not set in a fantastical world and made the mistake of treating a work of fiction as a documentary... Sorry people I’m a writer, choosing the right words matters, words meanings and definitions matter please learn to think critically, and learn your words, there is a difference between fiction and documentary 6.1) At the same time it might be that I am the kind of writer who loves to add factually authentic things in my writings, someone who actually had spent hours and hours on research to make sure that what they have been writing is not utter and complete made up rubbish, and that’s ok too. I do not expect readers to assume it is correct or that it is purely made up, and if someone is curious they could use the comment to ask a question, I’ve never turned out a curious question, even when it was difficult to answer it

7) Just because I am writing about something, it doesn’t mean I support it... Again those are stories, not a scientific report on a lab experiment, I can write about abusive relationships, doesn’t mean I support them, I could write about self harm or depression, doesn’t mean I am encouraging those behaviors, in fact those usually come with a Trigger Warning, why? because a reader should have the option to walk away from what should be just a moment of pleasure and relax, not finding themselves triggered because I didn’t want to spoil the surprise of what was going to come in a story posted on the internet... 8) This far I’ve personally chosen to not push for comment, no beg necessary, I decided years ago to be the kind of self centered bad ass who writes for themselves, who’s not going to dangle the promises of more chapters in exchange for comments, I dislike the practice, and I find too exhausting shouting left and right hey hey I’ve written this read it read it... So I do get why my stories do not have such a large audience, it doesn’t help I’ve actually posted way less than what I’ve written over the years. I do welcome comments, though I have no clue on how to respond to short ones, or a single emoji/<3 to all chapters to those I end up answering only to the most recent one of that person and thank for their support. Longer comments are easier to answer because it gives me something to say back or comment/thanks for, though it becomes weird for me when someone speculate on future developments in what they wish to see, and since I’ve recently adopted the policy of posting only completed stories (even for the chaptered ones that will not be posted at the same time, the number of total chapter is not an estimation it is exactly the number of files I’ve divided the story into for reasons) because I do know whether something of that sort will happen or not, and I don’t want to put someone out of my story if they are too invested in see what they imagined happen... Though as I do write stories I’d like to read I’m quick to encourage aspiring writers to feel free to take that what if and work with it, just to please mention that my story inspired theirs and that I’d love to see what they come up with. Constructive criticisms, I do not have a beta for most of my works, I do not work too well depending on other people’s time, I confess even in the past I received criticisms that were not constructive if we push the boundaries and call those criticisms rather than just plain old complains, which is sort of the reason why I stopped explicitly encouraging communication. Because I do expect respect, you don’t know anything about me or what I believe in, you might make some guesses from my profile because I haven’t been shy and pretty open on them, but I won’t accept being personally attacked or talked to in a disrespectful manner just because you didn’t like what I wrote. I have no problem accepting criticisms, as long as they are criticisms and not just whining. You cannot come to me with “I hate your story” and leave it at that, you already took the time to express your opinion instead of simply walking away, the least you can do is explaining why... Otherwise I seriously don’t get why you wasted both of yours and more importantly my time and energies... From the POV of a spoonie reader who barely has the energy to read: 1) Ao3′s Kudos are a life saver that allows you to show your appreciation (even if you are allowed only one as registered user) with only a click (and some times even that click takes so much out of you) instead of relegating you to invisible reader, barely visible number (*coughs*ff.net*coughs*) or forcing you to make a story a favorite/followed

2) Comments are the source of anxiety, because you might want to show support but would they get that or would it sound strange? will the author understand that a a ghsafdgsakdjfh (read: key smash) happened with excitement and love and you’ve no other words to express it? 2.1) also trying to put your support in words when you are in your pj cozily being a blanket burrito and reading from your phone in bed because there’re no more spoon left for the day it’s hard

3) The author asked for R&R, or welcomes comments and constructive criticism. You loved the story enough to spend energies to

point out things that were plain plot hole or downright inconsistency or lose ends, pointing out botched translations from your own mother tongue and offering correction that were not google translated, in ao3 case pointing out lack of some appropriate tags, which would have 1 improved your story’s visibility and 2 allowed the reader to choose whether they wanted to read it or not both points that would have benefit you as author...

Only for the author to react:

- badly with a why are you such a nitpick hadn’t anyone told you that you should just stay silent if you have nothing nice to tell me? - Excuse me you’re the one asking for my opinion not my adoration, I gave you exactly what you asked for, if you cannot handle your work being nitpicked or the holes in your plot being publicly poked then there’re fabulous people called Beta reader who will give you the needed dose of though love in private get one..

- badly with a don’t like don’t read - legit reader’s counter point is I wouldn’t have read it if you had given me a way to know then what I discovered now [personal addendum, on a not that well low energy day it takes me less about 3 mins and half to read 1.5K words don’t came at me on your 1k long story and tell me I could have stopped reading when I noticed it wasn’t that good for me...I was done with it before I could get any warning]

- dismissively because a meet cute clearly is an AU - Bless your heart if you need me to point out to you that there is a difference between an Alternative Universe (AU) and a Canon Divergence and the fact that meet cute is a trope which in fandoms usually implies different circumstances within the fandom’s canon world of the first meeting between the characters in the main relationship but doesn’t automatically include different premises for the character example:

in canon: characters from a magical supernatural fandom one a wizard with magic, one a fighter with superhuman speed and holy weapons, in their first meeting the fighter saved the wizard’s life.

in a meet cute: a wizard and a fighter with superhuman speed and holy weapons meet in the middle of the forest where the fighter was hunting for food failing miserably and the wizard took pity on the fighter and offered to share their dinner, if the fighter dared to step inside the wizard’s home

in a No Power/Human AU meet cute: where there is no magic, one of the two is a barista who uses flirty coffee jokes lines to call the other’s person order, and finally discover they are an accountant so instead they start using math puns to get the accountant’s attention.

Those are all valid stories but as an author don’t came at me believing that just because you mention a trope that is enough to distinguish between the 2° and 3° examples, or that having mentioned the trope gives you the standing to look down at me if I do have my own reasons that you do not know about for wanting to read only stories like the second pitch and get upset but still tell you in a polite way that there are missing tags in your story, especially when you’ve falsely advertise your 3° like pitch as if it was a 2° one and I get upset and let you know about it and do so with the curtesy of signing it with my name rather than leave an guest/anonymous comment

- shrugging off issues with the tags with a Oh but I’m bad at tagging -

then I have 3 things to say to you buddy one) that’s not an excuse if you haven’t learnt how to do it yourself get a beta, get a friend, read more and compare what your story tells with a similar one and how that one is tagged, there’re ways Ignorance is not an excuse;

two) you can’t claim you’re bad at tagging but then refuse to listen when someone is pointing out to you more tags for your story, dud learn how search engines work, searching by tag is basically having a filtered search, the more tags your fit your story the more venues your story can appear in reader’s search for something to read... which means visibility for your work, are you really telling me that you dislike to have that and would prefer less people reading what you post? then sorry but I think you’re doing it wrong and should get a diary instead, not post them on the internet.

addendum: still claiming to be bad at it after having posted over 40 stories and all posted in recent times in the span of a couple of months, just suggest you lack the intelligence to learn how to do things. Which only encourages me to never ever get close to your works, certainly to never promote or share them if not actively discouraging my friends from spending their time on them.

three) and guess what? there is a frikking I'm Bad At Taggingtag for that too!!!

As a reader I might be ranting in this post, but the long effect of those is a growing apathy and increased unwillingness to spend my energies for commenting unless I’d really really really really liked or loved a story, or I have something more than a one liner to share, which while I intellectually know it might be unfair to let the whole pay for the disrespect of few, my own survival instinct is glad I’m not spreading myself even thinner...

truthful disclaimer: in all fairness it has been my experience, that those reactions usually come from authors with already quite few stories or a decent word count out there.

New authors are still very much enthusiastic and happy about even the smallest crumbs of recognition or encouragement, which in return is lovely because it recognise that my own time and energy as reader are worthy, that it does take effort to share an opinion or encouragement or suggestion.

4) The author might never know how that day I posted that single emoji, or two character <3, it was one of those bad days when even opening a small water bottle to swallow down the painkillers was too much, when using a finger to scroll down the page to reach the end of the story had wiped out more energies than I could really afford and yet I still pushed myself to leave a sign that I was there and appreciated their story

5) readers should be allowed to have the “if you thought writing was hard, try commenting other people words” tag... because sometimes especially on older platforms (yes ff.net I’m looking at you) as a reader I can’t find the energies to wipe up something to say so I become a silent invisible reader. And sometimes it’s really that I am able to stand only stories with certain characteristics, personally for example I do not have the emotional fortitude to read more a certain amount of Work In Progress at the same time across multiple fandoms because my brain can’t recall all the details and I might not feel to rereading the story from the beginning every single time there is a new chapter... 6) Maybe it’s because I’m way out of my teens, maybe it’s because even in my teens and before stories were my safe place, my escape, I do not expect things to be factually correct in stories, but I am a logic driven person, I will see those plot holes and I might even poke through 'em if I find your story good enough that I feel it would be a pity not pointing those things out. You cannot tell a classic vampire story (not the twilight kind of sun sparkling vampires but the sun burn me to ashes kind) and have your group of vampires prancing about at noon of a clear summer day without some sort of reason for that to work. I promise you, I’m not picky, I will accept ridiculous reasons like they were standing under and umbrella covered from head to toes and none of their skin was exposed to the sunlight, but do put the effort to give me a reason why I should believe it was intentional, or do not cry and complain if I do decide to point out dude you’ve normal vampires that are sunbathing and did not become piles of ashes that’s not plausible... 7) Stories are just that, something to listen to, they don’t have to have a moral for them to be worthy of being shared, they don’t have to be a mirror of your thoughts, or they could be a mirror of your beliefs, and if I am commenting on them I’m commenting on the story itself not your connection to it. And I do need you to advertise in advance if there’re things that might be triggerish, because what might be just a mental exercise of stepping outside your shoes, if not done might result in me walking into a panic attack while maybe I was just recuperating for one and trying to find comfort or a distraction. While I as a reader cannot know you author and where you come from, unless you want to make an ass of u and me do not assume you know where I am or what path I’m walking in my life as a reader. 8) I despise people telling me what to do, especially if I didn’t ask for an opinion... If someone (who doesn’t have an economical or authorative position over me) demands me to do something the chances I’ll be do it, especially if I was going to do it before, become nil instantaneously. I’ve been running and lurking in writing circles and fanfictions for closer to three decades at the time this is being written, and from the very beginning I found disgusting and deplorable the practice some authors adopted of bargaining reaching certain numbers of comments/kudos in exchange for the next chapter. I can respect an author saying I don’t want to get this or that, but the final result is that most likely I would walk away without commenting even if it would have been a story I would have otherwise supported. There’re few authors I do know personally, at least superficially through other channels, that have this kind of disclaimers and I still comment. But that’s because I have an appreciation and will to support the person themselves who also happened to be authors.

#long post #LLF inspired #LLF Comment Project related #comments and feedbacks #personal rant #listing differences #between what I write and what I believe #between what is fic and what is reality #between writer and reader mentality #between writing the stories you want to read and exorcism writing #talked about with a pinch of humour #ok maybe dark humour #have I spent hours and probably more spoon on this than it was healthy?#probably so #but it was worth it #or so i hope

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