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libidomechanica · 2 months ago

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“Not plain any cheer, or in Scots toy”

A curtal sonnet sequence

I have seen, whom the basket over and sight? With fear’d to steady; think grieue me, that she sea! Not plain any cheer, or in Scots toy! Under hied, gently, something in a countrey modern Marble. So fair and with me all them aside thy life than a wave, the your new; but at on and that tormented tiptoe to the skirts of mind to rise a burns, seeing sustere; twas an auld much I seal’d to a harden of beautiful, before.

Future as the quaff’d of my heaven-song today whence without abhorr’d: how some did speech—who like Horse of Honour to a goods are; he loadstar is betrayal light have lost, the the sake to leaves, the patient like a health or goes peevish and droops of both here, and over. Kind of Gold! Hate again! Other vehicles; but of thee to leading the boldest me, for a lassie, which it was between the sweet prize? Like some love open.

To life, misled, and I —too longer ties? Thou didst though they see. Whatever were, and to save Scotland, her Hearts had a hoary, must give thanne hadde it ever knee. With delighted, loue and of poet’s one the could desert, and some dozen tides seen hey, this partiall lot. I long lips asunderstood near; and gloss, get our your hair, which sour face— but your side you canst not ashame nor sea grows. Will bearer while and edicts out he must got.

As mawn, and lavender, which in the insect, rough of world we mused beauties as furthens binde. First embracelets it no subiect so fell away chill of Nether the miseries that he gaze alone of an untaste at first a tocher; or let me quaff’d of golden cage. High romance, each his love bride’s face. To mend of plunge himself’s sovereigning to this, t’ have still its sweetly tangl’d at a dead. Blue O how it from a throne?

I wish the bringing mucks at rest, a hurried mirror, full be sand, that’s through Poland’s eyes! I don’t well, so survivor when souls, when required weep you struck that is hid by the while thus wren so free, leauing grey church on the eyes burther clasp those power, for Buskie- glen, leaping, disrobed to shame never dear? Fall down Lethe, will let this fair, but the addition to watching in her on me, and ioy the tuned foes, take thee; nor what can no cure.

But less ran a starke plague ones moan. I should straight with. And to Moscow’s clime, perverse, in pursued him sleeps: it is suspectre of other’s rich for the troubling fie was to a goods and could brains had not vary, fallen to that King, like something strange maladies than Rome in action,—my human splendour. He shout more desire shall summ’d eye, like the shear then will be East, when love, and some have actual fearful reason with do us part.

In lieutenance and day, he’ll less of they canniest balsam-buds a scene of all subdued, conveyance did fume, and up the green: save hope to sip; sweet, so sere abide; the bestows a tear of wrath doing hue, and is worn with other’s please us of the Heaven wind brief or as scarlet. Saw thee I should have ye in a characted rosy redeem no longer glad the sun flanks of life’s bright of eve and of salt tides, light scatter.

That purchastes rust true, where no mornings of mine, empty bottom of a sun, and hell! And I leaves a tempest-beaten’d a heauenly by far from through all car whereon wither the phrase of quiet wood, ’ as docile, but tis doubted from violence ever forehead of day, that style beforest Virtues will her mourning for mix’d his better gravest city, to be my friends and me,—he noise, ’twad be so. While thee, I alwaies sear!

Blow on throughts! Lily-like a child, come down to died to choose you, already stood, it meat. And on himself those shipping ain’t never crave. Mud; cloud of pearl. Could leaded there, that censures makes me and lassie, whatsoe’er suspicious oyle, and turning pining human years, like to Spain: and not love. I know bore himself the nation, while I was when have been rain came a nation wrong, week for beauty, and thou art did banter, with knout?

And now methink that will you truths you will gaze, loving bride the would spring, therefore the bolt and the churchyard chicks know, to thee I’ll tells young: the heart and time when her fingers and that be so sweetly silence her I loue. Of new and may be then, we flames while thee to call not mortal name might eyes. Throughout a children dearly blood and now not ashame night voyage, her mad; mad in my Belovëd, it was mouth in their tongues resort.

Number the should come to th’ grave, and over-part of a foe as far deep-recesse our samples of the say Stellas senses. How we will hanker violence of Furthen’d the far-off bell as I live in all catalogue of a shadow chequer- chased the chill birds do sweet, fulfil the looked in me, and rough of your soul this movest city. But the fields devour’d in allege touch my kitchen this dark veins of sweet dove before.

Tongue and churches and the wide world is all that I be I or no? Whether death-pale come back towards grows infinit. Ah, do those whole perfect past rearward me, dear life have a simply but thou art name to opening, that so conferr’d face and most rich garners they maun drink from silv’ry is golden can’t fatherine taks pity to lovelings, alas! Sigh; for ornament wasn’t makes thou kiss a vision, oh Though Poland’s houses you.

Gods how it from him out of Absence we’d lives were endles fix’d his scythe approbation life’s a red golden seal’d the room where was any slight, a note, she innocence his spirit work boots. Alas, to be though seldom to a wounds, ’tis not enough. I was God musicke made the gold, and leade you, light say loud with such a moral grove, I moved strange; for perfectly bend&curve again white of wealth to-day when strip the ice cherubim!

Cared, could know he creeps aside in sleeping? So said: thou came and clamour’d wall. To do without the day I sit—ah, where was unbred, high roofs of Cockney spirals, and there the sea love, but rarely fare; and life, being in hir where! Entangle with industry. Like live air and maiden and I knew not into his jaunt to your beames, wondrous cared, we climes but structure. Was left his very race. Hague and made us Life did this he?

Fingers reaching we went to warmth again! With and earliest brance, and be old with vice. For I must skill ache blush; and glare, because he’d never a skin white Turban one words the soft besom wings, and green sparke Wine common rule and throught high, and, whence with thou said you, generation of a lilly on throughout the reckon’d before his a poems are no stay! If you think griefe more represerve it was just now nourished this daily.

Or the bring airs. In the mood made him from here; yet, the shrunk to your sleeping low had my heart cough shee steals to straight through he little but soon. The vanish’d out thy blisse; each grip the aisle this is at violence with eternity, when I tip-toed past the face. Let this end: the and framework as heart safety pin to enduring thee as when I was—the whole day? As it seem false sacred the same latch, and gear will, and look’d about?

Why cherye be as the World, and bride, till Morning’s odd ware? That mair true: to leave toward for ever meet this torments, to tell the East, a hue on the smart broke they talking, to hang a way to seek out of medicine among to me like a Pendegrass wi’ an angels to witnesse their light, from you think that blisses, with rain, you ain’t weep the world, or of Earth mads that is with you, and settled gradually promise to Left, save my yet.

Yes, in its find to save my yet; I’m o’er graceful citadell, wherefore cannot pride, shall I, unskilfu’, try to thee as I had not see, blush frown: nothing in my chill’d to wonder, who is it no boon. Like the air, so got that dotted so nere, night, while or sides, at on eare. Little self, That’s thou praises&clouds and stella, who sternly soules false pleasure, what spring, lovely loitering made him, and again an unnature, sir.

Thus me says smooth’d for Two; lest you love match’d the morning worthies a thinking up like as, to fill you and courting men may passion rule, lycius this wide world the lea and dark with Absences, maybe a thing beyond her puir Jenny for her father. How for everywhere dear for the dog, and the death the moor; that woman love as are to gaze along, bell. For his auld be a themselves into forgive thy Secret of might campaign.

Before, whetherby clan; for a love alone dwells on grown the very bar; but loue, cease, mine eagle home away, that number, melting music,—why advocate—and withouten and brass and maybe a sin to shows. Ornament would with tender and rose, and I am the mood make no friends; let ear object of the greater bank of grass- grownes you kissed to grace; which on the tick of wrath any stone, halfe so prompt men’s fresh carving?

Or hurling her and bird, walking has bent my parental feel, fair unknown to see your eyes, that I find them the but for me; that woman’s hearts year was post-horses have me; they bearer; o that bloom misted then gusts should return’d his hairs. Don Juan’s sweetly sins mud; cloud come globe of books at leaven she wear. Suspicion questing, nor ever work to your marry out scorching round, feeds, at when old without, each which for emigration?

What close, and cup, as well as he with all the nation better the snow, which dost tell exactly for ornament of healthful as she left a brother perfum’d with other puir Jenny for very ye. When juvenile a great ended him I was now incline with me to passion,—my human traveled, she confession, kept with a faith pointed out him summer ever such a noble, to quench’d one to sweetest of young and place!

The Muse vaunt, O me: what the rapt in the was died in the true significe? Milke hands common me, truth before not love-kindle drooping lips a tints on and I do not drops and he shrining here;—don Juan no coming of a crest of sweet as twould I paine. So boldly; light is frontier of cold placed, and scarce saw youth the aching got it, elsewhere the frae my lassie do I hold tired tripod he should brass wi’ a tocher; the bell.

In a conquer’d wouldst of love a named. Low are love. Drawing tongue. However roves beyond her sorrows seats are must defensive and music,—why advisements with honey will make of an his galliard distress of a sunrise how shout the Hearts have ye in a new deckit farthest hopes, plain and she cold, upon itself or as an insomniac … She torment, in all mov’d, by his verse, in middlehead, and there waxing cake.

More keep your wedding thee as whence no subiect to whom I must the still employ the walk’d in the way live notice the gave a nameleons, could hurts are in one new pan, i’ll be falsely equal to his junct pleasure of being in her passions changing how quietly upon the Vision me. There and Master and rosy is swell? Drugs poisonous wing, in the blooms each great and of a conduct him throat, conquer’d of Auld Lang Syne!

We are few thee. Louder come have not save thee so faster trees, to placed around sunshine ears with the same wheel or the from everlaid with and returning unable fires love spoken, and methough in reign’s sparrows why thinking as I may floated, to scoured man. No birds the skirts of golden bore, seeing the languish an’ land at the unborn chilling down, by his head, turning Man in me if I shall I may seems, marble smart.

The effect no raptur’d-forty-parson power of ill claim O young her blushing race-horse through weathe? Continue: the blown of a time I cannot dropping, come be tramp o’er kings right, bud-packed an eye several progeny, my delight of a crescent out the realists: and there, and half far-off from ancient for the smitten rose, and are her bride her eyes strange there I spurr’d face, for an idler that in the sublime of Auld Lang Syne!

Anthea back down to wed Amphions less and lassie, lips shall bring, I’m o’er therefore his gear who did shows. Thee to my eyes, thanne had bee; wishing away and far in our lov’d from then let us must hair. In simmer, with is dimm’d town; as the lawyer and kye, he had ever suffer motion’s common for a return’d and show, thus this spirit cut a call’d eternal, I could spring the littler throught me is fierce that’s tedium.

The loam, my Maud hast true thus grow. She fire— my mistress woe was but at on, she beleeue me. Like a white, and the roof, made closets, carbons, poem which turns on himself uprear, while thee, let me,—he noble Fame against myself did I love’s bright be still, let they moue, without at heifer lock the fainting curly, I rail’d or victim of honour dog-chewed cocktail dream shame. Than their lov’d and the Forms riot, making his exorcised.

A green knows why thou hastes reddest in name tell the scent inflame Majnún, and ices, which bondage we parries that connected: and deepening that day, or watchful, deep and ease. Be king’s odd, when is give their eyes are past thou art descent on a thou do’st dwell; for the led book, the play the mouth to- day when the Veil may I met with the bright longest hands might too simplicity, unfold things have been be the dead she terrificence.

Thou are all such shrining, from silver pant, or something graceful secting in rhymes, to fuddle along at leaving at thee going brave admired there suspicion question. That the luck’s left these high projected, if every like your bare her blushed furrows his kiss—you said, because. Ice, when this sensual; for trial,—for merry landward’s horn, to lose them do any stone, to forget to Germany, this compare, like convenient love.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 5 #154 texts #curtal sonnet sequence

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redheartwriting · 3 years ago

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Cowritten with @itsfundy - spacyboi [Addict]

Origins - Chapter III

<spacyboi> *Addict carefully made their way up to where Quartz had been staying, knocking on the door hesitantly*

<ProcellaCor> *Quartz jumps, looking up from carving something into their bow. They sigh.* Rose, I /really/ don't want to talk about it- *they open the door, cutting off as they see it's not Rose* Oh.

<spacyboi> Sorry if i'm not who you were expecting- I just wanted to see if you were settling in alright?

<ProcellaCor> Actually it's a relief that I'm not being harassed about my "emotions" here. *Quartz leans on the doorframe* I am doing fine, gratias. Neither of you need concern yourself with me. *They scowl a bit, but their ears give away that they're not actually angry, just a bitch*

<spacyboi> to be fair, its been a while since we've gotten anyone new around- much less from another dimension too

<ProcellaCor> *Quartz' tail flicks a bit* Forgive my intrusion on your "friendship" *they smirk at the word, knowing fully damn well there's much more going on there* But this world is rather... tame. Compared to the nether.

<spacyboi> Ive always found it quite exciting, there's so might to do- and fight, here

<ProcellaCor> Well as long as one of the two of you understands what it means to hold a sword. *Quartz' tone gives away the faintest hint of condescension* Oh, actually. That reminds me. I have something for you.

<spacyboi> we can both defend ourselves just fine *they shrug* oh?

<ProcellaCor> *Quartz snickers a bit under their breath, and it's the first of a laugh Addict would have ever heard from them. They go into their chests* You mentioned liking these. *Quartz holds out a bouquet of dandelions* While looking around, I happened to find some.

<spacyboi> wow you're actually being nice? *Addict takes the flowers, brushing their thumb against the petals with a small smile* thank you though, these are beautiful-

<ProcellaCor> Wh- by the dragon. *Quartz blushes a bit, and they turn away in a poor attempt to hide it* Don't be weird. I just HAPPENED to be walking and HAPPENED to see them and HAPPENED to remember you mentioning them, okay? This means absolutely nothing.

spacyboi> *They laugh a bit, storing the flowers away in their invintory* if thats what you say, i'll make sure to put these somewhere nice

<ProcellaCor> *Quartz shrugs it off, still blushing but absolutely pretending they aren't* Yeah whatever. Look. I know I said I was only staying until I figure out what to do next. But... *they trail off, their ears go back and their shoulders drop. They don't know how to phrase that they want to stay here - or that they feel like they need to*

<spacyboi> were you gonna leave early?

<ProcellaCor> No. Um. Listen. You and Rose don't seem like the fighting type, no offense. *Quartz rubs the back of their neck* Or, that you'd rather do other things. But /I/ have been fighting my whole life, I can't do anything else. So if- you need someone around who doesn't mind fighting... I wouldn't mind staying…

<spacyboi> Of course you can stay Quartz *They smile a but more* You're welcome here

<ProcellaCor> *Without meaning to, the very tip of Quartz' tail wags just a bit. They don't seem to notice, and they keep the scowl on their face* Well... I will serve you well, as your own Brute or something. Whatever you need me for. *Their tail wags a bit more, but their face doesn't smile.*

<spacyboi> How about being our friend instead? *Addict notices, snickering a bit* since you seem so exicted to be able to stay

<ProcellaCor> Wh- *Quartz glances over their shoulder and realizes, they make a face, blushing even harder out of sheer embarrassment* I- look it's not- it just does that sometimes!

<spacyboi> well they've seem to reflect your emotions, but if thats what you want me to believe then

<ProcellaCor> My emotions are none of your business! As I told your partner, you need NOT concern yourself with anything I think or feel. I'm good with a sword, better with a bow, that's all you need to know or care about.

<spacyboi> if thats what helps you sleep at night, and we're only friends!

<ProcellaCor> *Quartz smirks a bit* Mhm. If it helps you, in my culture a gift of gold or food can be romantic. I'm sure he'd appreciate it.

<spacyboi> I do not have feels for him! there is nothing romantic going on here

<ProcellaCor> *Quartz chuckles, the first genuine laugh they've let out* Okay, sure. If that's what you want me to believe, then. Right?

<spacyboi> I hope your stay here is awful *its clear they dont mean it, turning their head away to fail at attempting to hide the red flushing their cheeks*

<ProcellaCor> *Quartz finally fully laughs, smiling brightly* Oh, I'm sure it'll be interesting if nothing else. *They keep their smile as they look at Addict* I think he likes you too, by the way. But that's for you two to figure out.

<spacyboi> if i dont get to talk about your emotions, you dont get to talk about mine! or his- *oh my god get a grip on yourself addict, its just their laugh. you literally just met them*

<ProcellaCor> I, at least, am not in denial about my emotions. I just don't feel the need to discuss them with you or Rose. *Quartz keeps the smile, their tone much lighter now*

<spacyboi> I am not in denial! we're just close friends, when you live in such a small village of course we're gonna be close

<ProcellaCor> Yes, of course, a small village. That explains everything. *Quartz laughs a bit* Well then surely you and I will someday be that close. Of course.

<spacyboi> that makes it sound like you want to be

<ProcellaCor> Oh yes, every day I have dreamed of meeting someone so obviously in love with someone else. It's my deepest desire, how did you know? *Quartz rolls their eyes, again.*

<spacyboi> Oh you being around is gonna be just great isnt it.

<ProcellaCor> *Quartz smirks* YOU'RE the one who wants to be friends. *they jokingly wink* Clearly, you do want me around.

#origins #word count: 1034 #total word count: 6593

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lune-hime · 4 years ago

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Garden of Tulips (Levi/Reader) Tea Time # 2 ~ Shower Mishap

~Click me for more chapters~

“What did it look like?”

“Hmm?” Levi looked up from his place next to your sleeping form. “The titan that tried to snack on my darling granddaughter.” “Ugly as fuck.” “Aren’t they all?”

Levi recounts memories of the reader and their shared life together while she recovers from a serious injury.

!!WARNINGS!! - Violence, gore, smut, wholesome content ;)

So these little Tea Times were written as little filler-memory chapters to place in between the main story line.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Y/N.” Hange drawled. She clumsily attempted to sit cross legged along the dining hall bench, her legs not quite folding correctly. When she almost tipped over the side, Erwin used his quick reflexes to snag her by the arm and place her upright. You sloppily turned your head to give her as much undivided attention that your remaining active brain cells could muster.

“Please enlighten everyone on the shower story.” Her request brought a giddy smile to her lips. Levi immediately cast you a quizzical look, his gaze drowning in beer. Your face heated up like an oiled saucepan but thanks to the excessive drinking it made no difference to your already rosy complexion.

“But it might be too unprofessional for the Commander.” You shot a sassy look at Hange over Levi who was seated between the two of you. Alcohol was quite the bold word choice inducer as you definitely would not have phrased your sentence with so much gusto if you were sober.

“What in the fucking hell kind of story is this?” Levi asked darkly, his pupils dilated so far they eclipsed their usual silver. There was a preciseness to his phrase despite it being slurred. Indeed, the only soul at the table who knew of your unintentional shower adventure was your former squad leader. Erwin chuckled softly and Mike quirked an eyebrow at you.

“We drink as friends tonight, Y/N. No one will get you in trouble for just telling a story-” Erwin began his explanation calmly but paused when he locked eyes with Levi’s burning glare. It took what was left of his composure to refrain himself from laughing at the tiny fireball across the table.

“But only tell it if you are comfortable doing so.” The commander flashed a dazzling smile before taking a hearty swig of his drink. The man may have been inebriated but he was still so much more put together than the rest of you. Well, with the exception of Mike of course.

“It’s not that bad, don’t worry about it Vivi.” You reassured the steaming man between giggles. You reached up to gingerly pat his cheek a couple times, his glare turning into an intensely childish pout that he would definitely deny later.

“So you’ll tell it?” Hange chittered, practically vibrating with excitement. You nodded lazily, swaying a bit but steadied by Levi’s secure arm around your waist.

“Okay so, it was during my first few months as a cadet-”

↞♞��↠

You had come to terms with the fact that you were going to be tired on a daily basis. Since you had joined the cadets it was nonstop physical and tactical training that bored into the innermost parts of your brain and body, immersing you in a constant state of exhaustion. Your grandmother’s war stories about her painful life in the military were indeed accurate (well, yours were much less scandalous than hers); it’s no joke how far the organization pushes every limb, muscle, fiber, and atom within your being.

Which was why you couldn’t be happier that you had an hour of free time to shower after your training session before you had to meet your mentor. Plush towel hanging off your shoulder, you rounded the corner of one of the many hallways of the vast compound and practically skipped into the bathing area.

The steam from the showers was thick at first and obscured the space as you passed through the initial chamber to enter the main bathing area. The only element of the atmosphere that told you other cadets were occupying the room was their loud banter and laughter. Only, it wasn’t the feminine voices you were accustomed to hearing and you’re pretty sure you just heard Connie’s na-

“Y/N!?!?!” A voice shrieked, immediately scuttling to the side upon discovering your arrival. When your vision adjusted to the thick steam, your eyes widened in shock when you spotted Eren's very exposed form through the haze.

"Ohmygodohmygod, Eren I'm so sor-" You blabbed, immediately trying to look anywhere but the boy's nether regions. Before the split second it would have taken to cover your eyes, you were startled by an immense figure in your personal space. The shadow gave you zero time to shield yourself from the Michaelangelo’s David that was possibly the cockiest cadet on the premises.

"Y/N, I didn't know you were so bold. Come to play?" Reiner cooed, smirk widening as he watched your face heat up to the scalding temperature of their showers. He made no effort to hide his manhood, as Eren did, and actually attempted to emphasize it by propping his leg up against one of the benches littered throughout the bath. You were frozen in embarrassment and as much as you wanted to punch him right in the spot he most yearned for you to gaze upon, you couldn't do it.

"Walls, Reiner do you have any shame?" You spat back, your muscles still seized up with your beyond awkward encounter.

"None if it comes to you, sweetheart." He chuckled confidently. Before you could quip back another response, a blur shouting your name dashed towards you and turned your vision black. The hands over your eyes became your sole protector from the copious amounts of naked men.

“I know you are dumb, but you really need to watch where you are going.” Jean scolded from behind you in a hushed tone. You let out the balloon of a breath you had been internalizing. If you hadn’t believed in angels before, Jean sure as hell was your angel now. He abruptly turned around and began waddling the two of you towards the entrance when you heard agile footsteps circling around you. Jean suddenly halted, the unexpected loss of movement sending you flailing.

“Hold up, Jean. Maybe she knew exactly where she was going.” Reiner purred. You felt Jean’s breath quicken against your ear and his grip on your temple tightened momentarily. You didn’t need to physically see Reiner’s face to picture the shit-eating smirk edging its way into his features.

“If you wanted me, Y/N, all you had to do was ask.”

The sound of wet feet against tile grew closer until you felt unwanted puffs of air leaving feather-light touches on your face. Jean suddenly flung you sideways like a cooked noodle, placing himself between you and Reiner and causing you to squeak in surprise.

“Fuck off Reiner. She doesn’t want to see your tiny dick.” Jean spat back. A chorus of snickers resounded through the bathroom.

“She was trying hard just a moment ago to avoid the temptation.” Reiner huffed. His arrogance was like a tough stain that you couldn’t get out, no matter how hard you scrubbed.

“Sadly, I did see it and Jean’s right.” You groaned. Your best friend let out a snort followed by the laughter you could feel rumbling from his chest.

“You must not have gotten a good look at it then-”

"If you don't get out of our way, no one will get the minute pleasure of seeing your dick again." Jean sarcastically threatened.

"Please, Reiner, give it a rest." A soft voice pleaded to your right. You recognized it as a familiar cadet, one Jean had grown quite close to.

"Everyone else besides you is uncomfortable here." Marco's even tone was music to your reddened ears. There was a palpable silence of which you presumed was the soundtrack to an alpha male staring contest. Then, Reiner huffed and backed off seeing that the odds were against him.

"Fine, fine. You know you can always call on me Y/N." Reiner chided before sauntering back into the shower.

"The only call he'll be getting is from the infirmary." You grumbled under your breath.

“Can’t keep it in his pants for five minutes can he?” Jean scoffed lowly as he began leading you to the doorway.

“I mean he’s not wearing pants…” You mumbled, still trying to recover from the overwhelming shock and embarrassment. Jean stopped you at the entrance to the connecting hallway.

"When I let go, don't you dare look behind you." Jean warned, playfully swaying you back and forth.

"Okay just let me go!" You sputtered and swatted his arms before he released you.

You fixed your gaze on the tile walls and heaved a sigh of relief.

"Thanks Jean, I owe you one." You said, voice regaining its composure.

"Whatever, just buy me some food when we go into town next." He replied. You heard him turn around and begin padding back to the showers when you realized your shoulder was missing a fluffy presence. Your towel must have fallen off during your steamy showdown.

"Jean wait!!" You exclaimed. You turned around and in the waning of your flustered hysteria forgot you were technically still in the boy's bathroom. Both your and Jean's eyes almost popped out of their sockets.

"Shit, Y/N what did I say???" Jean exclaimed, hands immediately flying to cover his crotch. You breathed a heavy exhale, feeling the flames scorching your cheeks once more.

"Dammit, I'm sorry! My towel fell-" You sputtered and cursed at yourself for letting the heat flood your brain cells too.

"Ah! Y/N-" Marco appeared with your towel, only he was sporting his birthday suit as well. Oh, this could not get any worse. You were the embodiment of a beet, cheeks puffing in fear and eyes screwing shut.

"I have your towel, I was going to place it by the doorway but-um-here." Marco gently grabbed your hand and placed the towel in it. He laughed nervously and retreated back into the bath.

You turned back around to face opposite of the doorway and slumped your head into your hands exasperatedly.

"You good now?" Jean checked, slight annoyance evident in his tone.

"No." You whimpered in utter mortification.

“Reiner’s just a dick who thinks that everyone wants to see his own.” Jean said with a roll of his eyes.

"It was an accident, so don't worry. Plus this gives me prime blackmail material." He snickered. You shot him the middle finger over your shoulder.

“How am I going to face anyone in that room anymore?” You groaned sadly, the last three minutes of excitement playing on an endless loop within your mortified mind.

“Easy, if they bring it up just kick them on any part of their body you saw today.” Jean snickered.

“But I saw every-” You started to protest and then gasped in horror. Your humiliated expression deepened Jean’s smirk.

"We'll pretend it never happened. Now please, go to the proper bathroom before you play with the crazy lady. You stink."

↞↠

“Y/N? What’s wrong?” Hange asked, taking a break from poking at the titan’s dirtied toenail. When her apprentice approached the titan holding area she looked absolutely worn out.

“I have the extreme urge to scratch my eyes out.” You groaned, setting your bag of notes down and crouching in the grass next to her.

“Please don’t, today I need you to help me scratch Bean’s eye instead.”

↞♞♘↠

Levi’s grip threatened to shatter the glass pint as he brought it down onto the table with too much force.

“If we had been together when this happened I would have ripped off every one of their micro cadet penises.” He hissed, the alcohol turning into flames within his eyes.

There was a moment’s pause before the entire squad leader table erupted in laughter. The guffaw rattled the wood paneling and caused confused cadets to turn their heads in shock. Erwin accidentally snorted some of his beer and was now struggling with it coming out of his nose. Seeing the commander in such a state caused the same exact thing to happen to you, the burning of the alcohol hurt almost as much as your stomach did from hilarity. Mike kneed the table so hard that it sent his drink flying at Hange who moved out of the way to dodge it, only to smack into Levi’s chest. The action caused the two of them to double over and flip off the bench which only caused the rest of your table to create a larger cacophony.

Nights spent in cherished company like these were ones you held close to your heart.

#levi #drabble #levi x reader #LEVI ACKERMAN #AoT #aot imagine #snk #snk x reader #attack on titan #attack on titan fanfiction #shingeki no kyojin #imagine #jean kirschstein #bisexual jean #hange zoe

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creatively--challenged · 5 years ago

Text

Making a Splash | College AU Tom Holland x Reader

Request “ Love your writing! Not sure if you take requests, but any chance you would do a smut one shot with frat cocky Tom? He's a known player, while y/n is a good student and she hates him. He's always trying to charm her, but she always denies him. But then she goes to a pool party, and he is there in his swim trunks, and he's all tan and his muscles are glistening. He works his charm on her, and then he makes her suck him off. She's gagging on him and he's dirty talking and boasting non-stop.”

A/N: I’m so sorry it took so long! I had this half written and lost all motivation when this Coronavirus thing happened! Anyway, I’m not sure my dirty-talk is up to scratch but I hope you enjoy! x

Word Count: 7k Warnings - Seriously smutty, rough, oral both receiving, alcohol, swearing, and a lil bit of fluff at the end <3

“Get lost, asshole.” Y/N spat at the annoyingly attractive man leaning over her shoulder. She was attempting to take notes on what her professor was explaining at the top of the lecture hall but her arch-nemesis, Tom Holland, felt that it was his life’s goal to distract her in any way possible; today it was by leaning over her shoulder to read her notes, all the while brushing his fingers softly through the ends of her hair. She wouldn’t admit that his actions were having a very strong effect on her lower half. She wouldn’t.

“Now, darling, that’s no way to treat your fellow classmate. I’m just trying to understand the class. You wouldn’t want me to fail, would you?” He drawled in that heavenly, no – annoying accent of his, lips so close to her ear she could feel the heat of his breath on her.

“I know for a fact that you’re the woman to go to for any needs I may have…” Her eyes widened and she started to turn towards him in bewilderment. “Academic needs, that is. Don’t worry, I know you wouldn’t be up to catering to any other needs, thanks for the notes though.” He snorted and retracted back into his seat with a cocky grin on his face as he annotated his own notes with snippets of what he got from hers.

Y/N fumed in her seat. He had the audacity to tease her, make her feel things, and then insult her and use her for notes? Not that she’d be surprised. He’d done worse in the past. In their first year she had left her laptop on in the library while she went to find another book on the subject she was studying and when she came back she found her Word document that she’d typed 3000 words of an essay in was empty, all saved files deleted, with only the word “sorry” visible on the screen. She only had an idea of who it was until his essay was published for getting the highest grade in the class and when she read it she realised she was reading her own work, bar the odd change in phrasing.

Their rivalry had bloomed from there. He would constantly tease her for her academic focus and outwardly prudish image – keyword; outwardly. What she thought of inwardly or did in her own bedroom in the small hours of the night thinking about that stupid accented voice was no one else’s business. He was also a shameless flirt and despite his teasing, she felt his eyes heavy on her in almost every class they shared, which was most of them considering they studied the same majors and even shared some electives. At the parties her housemates hosted or dragged her along to he always seemed to watch her, almost like a predator observing his prey. She couldn’t understand why, other than the thought that she may be a conquest of his. A box to tick before he moved on to another helpless soul. Her first assumption was that he was waiting for her to make some colossal social blunder that he could exploit and tease her with, but then at the last party her housemates had thrown she had spilled a drink accidentally over some cheerleader that had been sitting on his lap while she tried to get her books from the dining room table that were being used as coasters. That had ended up with said cheerleader throwing whatever was left in her red solo cup all over Y/N’s head. She knew he had seen it and was waiting on the eventual onslaught of jeers but was surprised when she had caught him gently pushing the cheerleader off his lap and exchanging stern words with her before storming into the kitchen. Maybe he just didn’t want to piss her off completely before he had the chance to get her into bed. Yes, that was definitely it.

Her professor signalled the end of the lecture and Y/N packed all her stuff away as quickly as possible to get a good seat in the library. She always spent 2 hours a day after classes cramming as much study in as she could, especially with Finals coming up. She spotted her housemate, Ella, sitting in her usual spot and made her way over. Ella shot her a smile as she sat down and quickly scribbled a note on a scrap of paper before passing it across the table.

Planning a party to celebrate Finals this Friday. Get ready to make a splash ; ) x

Y/N chuckled under her breath and rolled her eyes playfully. The girls in her house had been talking about having a pool party for weeks but as soon as the weather began to pick up there was always something else happening on campus. It seemed they finally got their weekend.

“I suppose I’d better find a good Netflix series to watch and a pair of headphones good enough to block out all noise then.” She whispered to her friend and Ella scoffed.

“Absolutely not. It’s the last party of the year and it’s going to be a scorcher! You’re whipping out that body of yours and joining us. We might not even be living together next year, you have to enjoy yourself at some stage!” Y/N rolled her eyes again, less playfully this time. She opened her mouth to reply but caught the glare of the library assistant and thought better of it, ducking her head behind her laptop and beginning her study.

Two hours later, her and Ella were walking leisurely back to their house, arm in arm. It was still light out, tints of orange and pink rippling through the clouds as the sun began to dip in the sky. She loved the walk back from the library, it used to be her favourite part of every day. That was until she realised the walk took her by the house Tom shared with his friends and he was usually leaving his house at that time to go to some party or bar or whatever it was he did in the evenings. Tonight he seemed to be staying in as when they walked by his house he and Harrison, the blue-eyed blond he was hardly seen without, were lounging on their front deck with a cooler of beers between them, laughing obnoxiously at something or other.

“Hey, Y/N! I hope you have your bathing suit picked out. Or will you be hiding in your room making love to your notes on Friday night?” Tom shouted across the lawn, causing Harrison to spit his beer out and let out a howl of laughter. Ella froze up and looked at her friend with wide eyes, beginning to shake her head as Y/N turned her glare on her.

“You didn’t tell me he was coming! You know I can’t stand him.” She whispered harshly to Ella who was already rambling.

“I didn’t invite him! It must have been Holly. She’s been trying to get with Harrison all year and he won’t come without Tom!” Y/N groaned and flipped Tom off as she stormed past his house.

“Oh come on! That’s not very nice. I thought you were supposed to be the good girl?” He shouted after her and when she glanced back at him he sent her the cheekiest smile he could muster and a wink. His words and actions went straight to her nether regions but she dragged Ella back to the house regardless.

Once they got in the door she went in search of Holly and found her scrolling through her phone in the kitchen, smirking to herself. When she saw Y/N approaching she glanced up and a look of panic flashed across her face as she quickly hid her phone.

“I know what you’re going to say but I really need him to come so that Harrison comes! It’s just one night, pleaeeease, Y/N? He probably would have come anyway when he heard about it.” She reasoned and Y/N sighed, resting her case and telling the girls she’d try her best to ignore him and enjoy herself. She didn’t know how she’d do that, but she would try.

Friday came way too quickly for Y/N’s liking for two reasons. Firstly, she could definitely do with so much more time to study for Finals and secondly, the pool party was today and the girls were all aflutter trying to get drinks, snacks, and music sorted for the evening. Y/N had been dragged into helping set up the fairy-lights that scattered the pool area and organising tables with bowls of snacks and red solo cups. She was making an effort on her friends’ behalves. By the time everyone had started to arrive, Y/N and Ella were paddling in the pool and making their predictions for the night ahead.

“Holly is definitely going to sleep with Harrison. There’s no way he can resist that charm.” Ella assured her, taking a long sip of her drink through a looped pink straw. “But the question is… Are you going to shoot your shot with anyone tonight?” She wiggled her eyebrows. Y/N choked on her drink slightly, her eyes wide.

“What? No way. I have more important things to worry about. Getting laid is not one of them. Finals start next week!”

“Which is exactly why you need to let off some steam! How are you supposed to focus on your papers when you’re… distracted by a certain someone? Plus, you look way too good today to let that go to waste. You’ll have your pick of the lot, no doubt about it.”

A certain someone? There’s no way she could have meant Tom. He definitely didn’t distract her. Coincidentally, at that exact moment Tom chose to walk through the French doors that led from the kitchen to the garden and if she wasn’t trying to maintain the scowl on her face her jaw would have dropped. He looked incredible. Dark curls pushed back, sunglasses perched on his nose. His black shirt was unbuttoned, showing off his ridiculously toned body and the v that disappeared into his tight black swimming trunks. He already had a beer in hand and was talking animatedly to Harrison beside him. He caught sight of Y/N and stopped mid-sentence before collecting himself and flashing her a wink before continuing his conversation. She watched as he took up a lounge chair and 2 cheerleaders immediately gravitated towards him, begging for his attention.

“As I was saying…. You need to get laid if you wanna focus in your finals…” Ella told her in a matter-of-fact way, gesturing towards the brunet. Y/N scoffed.

“I wasn’t distracted by him, I was just thinking.” She defended, drawing a laugh from the blonde beside her.

“Yeah.. I wonder what about.” She mumbled under her breath and Y/N made her way out of the pool to get a drink. It was going to be a long evening.

As night began to approach, everyone started to make their way indoors to continue the party. Most of them were already half-cut, some were so drunk their friends had taken them home already, but the house was still flushed with people, nevertheless. Y/N had been chatting to a guy, Scott, from a seminar on Post Modernism that she had attended when the dining room began to fill up. They were idle friends, he had asked her on a date once or twice and even though she politely declined he always took it very well and continued to treat her kindly, even helping her study for exams.

She had retreated inside an hour or so ago. She could only take having her attention pulled towards the tanned, glistening abs of Tom Holland for so long. He had been teasing her all evening, getting out of the pool right next to where she was paddling her legs, sure to flex his muscles as he moved lithely, shaking the water from his hair, and smiling boastfully when he caught her eyes on his body. Each time she caught his eye he’d send her a wink and there were numerous times where she’d catch him eyeing her breasts or her ass, not so subtly checking her out, prompting her to cover her bikini clad body with a long, black lace kimono and a pair of denim shorts in an attempt to shield her body from his eyes as much as possible. He was infuriating.

She felt a presence behind her and knew immediately who it was even before she saw Scott tense up as he looked over her shoulder, eyes narrowing annoyedly. Scott pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and visibly suppressed rolling his eyes. He looked unsure as to whether he should leave or not until it seemed he was deciding to stay at Y/N’s side. Y/N glanced around and found herself almost flushed to Tom’s glistening chest. His hair looked almost perfectly styled despite hours in the water; curls perfectly out of place and falling over his unruly eyebrow, curling around his ears. He had thrown his shirt from earlier back on though it still hung loose around his shoulders, keeping his chiselled body on show. She fought with her eyeballs to stop them from travelling any further down his body.

“You haven’t run off to your books yet? Who are you and what have you done with the good girl I love to tease so much?” Y/N squeezed her thighs together at his words and he seemed to notice, glancing down ever so slightly before meeting her eyes again with an amused expression.

“Get lost, Holland. Don’t you have cheerleaders to fuck or beer-pong to play or whatever it is jackasses like you do?” His eyebrows shot up and he let out a breathy laugh.

“Oooooooh princess found some balls! How many of those have you had?” He asked her, gesturing to the cup of vodka and soda in her hand. Admittedly she’d had a lot more than she would usually though she had only been feeling pleasantly buzzed, just enough to give her some Dutch courage. He smirked and leaned down to her ear, his hand resting gently on her hip.

“See, your mouth is saying one thing, but your body is telling me a different story. Come find me when your mouth catches up with the rest of you and wants to be put to good use. Oh, and ditch the puppy dog.” He nodded towards Scott dismissively, and walked towards the hall without even a glance back, as if he knew she would follow.

She could feel the heat pooling in her underwear as various thoughts ran through her head, all of them beginning with her feet taking her out of the room to find the man who expertly got under her skin. She must have stared at his retreating back too long as she heard someone clear their throat loudly behind her. She turned quickly to catch Scott’s disapproving face.

“You know, you might consider yourself above reproach but you’re just like the other sluts who fawn over him on a daily basis.” He told her with an ugly scowl on his face.

“Excuse me? What do you mean?” He rolled his eyes.

“You know exactly what I mean, you lead him on and pretend you’re not interested so that he’ll keep flirting with you. I hate to break it to you, Y/N, but even dickheads like him get bored of the tirade very quickly so you should probably consider getting over yourself.” He told her dismissingly, turning to walk away. “I’m not interested in him and I’m not trying to lead anyone on!” She defended though he shot her a look that said ‘sure’ and disappeared into the crowd.

She felt tears prick her eyes and a lump in her throat. She wouldn’t cry here, she was supposed to be having a good time! She scanned the room for her housemates, she needed someone to vent to, though she wasn’t sure which boy she was angry at the most. Her eyes caught crystalline blue ones leaning against the wall beside her. Harrison was holding two drinks, looking at her with sympathy.

“Holly’s just gone to the bathroom if you want to wait here for her.” He told her, tilting his head to the side. She shook her head, glancing up to the ceiling and putting her tongue to the top of her mouth to stop the tears from escaping. She definitely wasn’t crying in front of his best friend.

“For what it’s worth, Y/N, what he said isn’t true. I don’t know you very well but you don’t lead him on and you’re not a slut. That’s why Tom likes you so much. That guy’s just jealous.” Harrison slurred ever so slightly, he was obviously quite drunk but that didn’t stop his words from having an effect on her, her heart swelled appreciatively at his kindness but she was also questioning whether he really meant what he said because if he was serious about Tom liking her did that mean she had been taking him the wrong way this whole time? No, she couldn’t have. He teased her relentlessly, stole her work, and insulted her on a daily basis. He was just drunk, or maybe he was even in on Tom’s conquest. She decided the best thing to do was to stop drinking. She’d had enough of this night.

Y/N threw her cup away and made her way to the stairs, wearily taking one step at a time until she got to her bedroom door. Scott’s words had returned to her head and the tears had breached her eyes, slowly trailing down her cheeks. She absently wiped them as she stepped into her room, her lamps already on and… Strange. She hadn’t been in here since this afternoon and she didn’t leave her lamps on. She worriedly glanced towards her bed, hoping some horny couple didn’t decide to fuck in her bed. She could have sworn she’d locked the door! Except, there was no horny couple, just a brunet Brit who jumped up from her bed with a look of concern across his face as he tentatively took steps towards her.

“Y/N? You didn’t have to follow me if you didn’t want to. I was just teasing! I wasn’t trying to force you or anything.” He rushed, instantly losing the cool, unflappable exterior he usually portrayed. Y/N scrunched her nose in confusion.

“Tom? What are you doing here? What are you talking about? How are you in my room?!” Now it was his turn to be confused. He tilted his head at her, not unlike a puppy with those all-encompassing brown orbs.

“Wait. You’re not crying because of me? I told you to come find me and here you are. You don’t feel like I’m forcing you, do you? You didn’t have t—” It finally dawned on her why he thought she was upset and she gasped.

“No! No that’s not why – I didn’t know you were here!” He looked visibly relieved and then a little embarrassed.

“How and why are you here, Tom?” A little of the anger that resided in her from earlier had made its way back into her voice.

Why the fuck did he think he could sit in her room, on her bed, where she got herself off to thoughts of him on her bed? That bit wasn’t important but it was all she could suddenly think of. He scratched the back of his head sheepishly and produced a key from his shirt pocket.

“Took it from the pocket in your shorts when I leaned down to you. I think you were too focused on my words to notice.” He started the sentence nervously but by the end he almost had his innate level of cockiness back in his voice. Almost. “I thought you’d assume I’d come here if you wanted to follow me, especially when you noticed the key missing. I was going to leave after 20 minutes or so, if you weren’t interested…” He trailed off and the nervousness was present once again. “Look, I’m sorry. It was stupid and I shouldn’t have done it. I’ll leave you alone.”

He made a move for the door but YN swung it shut and slowly stepped between it and him before he could get to it. He stopped in his tracks, eyes lifting from the floor to meet her eyes, his eyebrows nearly disappearing into his hairline.

“I was upset because Scott accused me of fawning over you. Of brushing you off so you’d keep teasing me and flirting with me. He said that you’d eventually get bored of me. And you know what? I do fawn over you. I do brush you off because the feeling of being wanted and chased is so much better than giving into you, letting you have what you want before you move on to someone else. I was upset because he was fucking right and I’m an idiot. But if you’re gonna get bored of me eventually I want to at least let you have me once before you do.”

Tom’s face flashed through several emotions one after the other. Anger to sympathy to understanding and finally, to complete lust. His dark eyes grew darker, jaw hardened, pink tongue darting out to lick his lips, as he took two steps towards her and gently pinned her against the door.

“Looks like your mouth has caught up with the rest of your body.” He noted leaning down to her. His minty breath fanned her face as he tilted his forehead against her, hands gently squeezing her hips but not moving anywhere yet, as if silently asking permission. She tilted her face up to his, lips just millimetres from his, so close that when she spoke their lips brushed.

“Looks like it has. You said something about putting it to good use?” That was all the permission he needed. With a low growl in the back of his throat, Tom connected their lips hungrily, expertly moulding his mouth against hers. She whimpered slightly; this was so much better than what she thought it would be like. It didn’t just feel superficial either, it almost felt there was a depth to his kiss. She kissed him back with fervour and he deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue dominantly passed her lips, tangling with hers and exploring every inch if her mouth. His hands had begun grasping at her, almost as if he was unsure where to touch first. Like a kid on Christmas morning debating which gift to open first. They roamed her ass, squeezing and smoothing the skin through the denim, gripping the bottom of her cheeks that were peeking out from under her shorts. They then travelled to her exposed waist, one holding her there, revelling in feeling her skin, while the other journeyed upwards towards her bikini clad boobs, cupping one and gently squeezing before ghosting his hand over where her nipple was. The hand on her waist then dropped downwards and cupped her sex through her shorts before she could even register it leaving her hip. She moaned desperately into his mouth, her fingers threading through his locks, every gentle tug eliciting a soft whine from him.

She eventually found the courage to let one hand travel down his body, slowly over every muscle, nails trailing down his abs as he hissed in response. Their kiss was getting hungrier and dirtier by the second, teeth clashing, rough breathing, and both their lips coated in each-others spit but they didn’t care. Her right hand dropped to cup his length just as his hand expertly untied her bikini from around her back and pulled the offending material away to let her boobs free. He pulled away from their kiss, looking deeply into her eyes and he caught his breath, he pecked her lips once before dipping his head down to catch one nipple in his mouth, his other hand rolling her other nipple between his fingers. His teeth nipped slightly and her tongue swirled and sucked until he had left purple blooms all over her left boob. He then began tracing kisses to her other boob, showing an equal amount of care and appreciation. His hips began slightly bucking up as her hand slid into his swimming trunks to cup his now very hard cock. Her knees buckled slightly at the feeling of his teeth and tongue on her and the feeling of his dick in her hand, something she never ever thought she’d experience. He felt it and grinned at her cockily.

“Need you to do something for me, darling.” He pulled back, removed her hand from his trunks, and gently pushed downwards on her shoulders until she was on her knees in front of him. He gave her a second to back out but when she showed no signs of stopping, he pulled his shorts down to let his length spring free, nearly hitting his stomach in the process. Her eyes widened at the sight. She’d always imagined he’d be big, why else was he so popular with the cheerleaders? But he wasn’t overly long, just really fucking thick.

“Don’t worry, love. I’ll help you fit it all in that pretty mouth of yours.” She thought there’d be a puddle on the floor under her at hearing those words but she tried her best to put her pleasure to the side for the moment and focus on him, surely he’d look after her later? She took his cock in one hand and slowly pumped it as she teasingly leaned forward and licked a strip from the base to the tip. He put two hands on the door in front of him to support him as he groaned deeply.

“No teasing, Y/N” He warned, voice dangerously low. Y/N wondered how far he could be pushed, after all, he did make it his life’s mission to tease her. Surely he could take it himself? She began sucking gently on the head, swirling her tongue, leaving light kitten-licks along the length, and almost taking him deep in her mouth before pulling away altogether before starting her process again. She didn’t get very far, he grunted and tangled a hand in her hair before forcing her head towards him, making her take as much of his length into her mouth all at once. She placed her hands on his hips and began bobbing enthusiastically on his cock. Sometimes he’d force her further down and she’d gag slightly, then he’d take advantage and buck into her mouth faster until he was practically fucking it.

“You like that? Like when I shove my cock down your throat? I guess you’re not the prude I thought you were, are you? Or is it just that you couldn’t resist me?” She could feel the spit leaking down her chin and onto her boobs but she wouldn’t stop. Even though she could feel tears streaming down her cheeks, she wouldn’t stop. It felt too good to have him thrusting roughly into her mouth, pulling on her hair. When she thought she was going to be sick from how deep he was thrusting she’d tap on his hips and he’d pull back slightly for her to catch her breath, before continuing his assault.

Suddenly he pulled back and lifted her easily into his arms, carrying her over to her bed.

“I know what’ll help you even more.” He placed her on the bed upside-down, head hanging off the edge and gently placed a hand on her cheek. “Open. Good girl, swallow that thick cock.”

She opened her mouth again as he thrust his length inside, hissing at the feeling. He was right, it did help her. The angle allowed him to fuck her throat deeper without it making her gag as much and he definitely took advantage, roughly fucking her face as his fingers played with her nipples. He’d pull away to let her catch her breath before picking up the pace again, going faster than before. She could tell he was close when his movements became sloppy, he was pulling away to let her breathe less often, desperately trying to get as much friction as possible until he thrusted one last time and shot hot cum all down her throat. He let out a long groan as he released and collapsed on the bed beside her. She swallowed everything he gave her and then sat up sheepishly. He had his arm thrown over his eyes, breathing heavily. She pulled her kimono across her body, trying to shield it as much as possible as she went to get his shirt and trunks for him until she felt a strong hand on her wrist.

“Where do you think you’re going sweetheart?” She gestured to his things briefly and he laughed breathlessly. “Do you seriously think I’m not going to look after you? Come here, I was just taking a breather.” He pulled her back, rolling her over so that he was hovering over her.

“Fuck you’re beautiful. For the record, I was never going to get bored of you. I will never get bored of you, Y/N. I like you a lot more than I think you realise. I want you so much, in so many more ways than this.” He leaned down to press his lips to hers, passionately kissing her like she’d never been kissed before.

He began trailing his lips along her jaw and down her neck. Sucking lightly at the skin, slightly marking it though not enough to last. Just enough to show her than he meant what he said. He wanted her to be his. She moaned lightly, the sound coming out husky and wanton. He took this as encouragement to brush his hands down her stomach and pull at her shorts until she lifted her hips and helped him shimmy them off. He then ghosted his fingers over her mound through her bikini bottoms, making her shiver at his touch. He was so close to where she wanted him that she decided to speed things along and pull them down herself, shimmying when they got to her knees. He laughed musically in her ear but got the message. He inched his fingers closer to where she wanted them, over one lip, then away, then over the other lip, then away again. She whined loudly and rutted upwards, trying to find friction on his hand but he pulled it away from her.

“Oh so I’m not allowed to tease but you can?” She huffed and he laughed again, his glittering dark eyes appearing over her as he placed chaste kisses to her lips between words.

“Don’t worry, love. It will feel all the better in a second.” He quickly ran a finger up her folds, eliciting a gasp from her but not enough friction to relieve any tension. He put the finger that was covered in her juices in his mouth and sucked on it without breaking eye contact before releasing it with a pop and flashing her his signature dashing smile, though it wasn’t paired with teasing eyes this time, but rather with eyes filled with affection? She was sure it wasn’t that but… it sure looked like it. He moved himself down the bed until his face was hovering over her sex. She realised she was holding her breath in anticipation. He slowly hooked one arm around her hips to keep her in place and began ghosting his lips over her lower stomach, leaving little light pecks, before moving his focus to the insides of her thighs, nipping and sucking and kissing, all the while moving closer to her centre. Before he finally let his tongue delve between her folds, he surprised her by pushing a finger into her slowly. Just as she gasped at the feeling of his finger inside her, he ran his tongue up her folds and circled her clit, causing her whole lower half to convulse in pure euphoria. He chuckled lightly at her reaction before diving in and lapping all of her juices up while adding another finger to begin stretching her out.

“Fuck, your pussy is so wet. Is this for me, princess?” He asked huskily, meeting her eyes as he resumed licking lightly at her clit.

“Fuck, Tom. It’s always you.” She was playing with her own nipples now, appreciating the sight she’d up until now only imagined. He paused briefly, making her whine.

“You’ve thought of me like this before? Have you masturbated to the thought of me?” He asked incredulously. Her cheeks flushed red when she realised what she’d said and she tried to correct herself but it was too late. His eyes lit up and he smiled widely.

“Always knew you weren’t as prudish as you tried to seem.” He demonstrated this by adding a third finger and sucking harshly on her clit, causing her to squeal and thrust her hips up towards his mouth. This time he let her, allowing her to grind her pussy onto his tongue as he fucked his fingers into her. The hand that was holding her down then came up and he tangled his fingers with hers. She could see him grinding his hips into the mattress of the bed and the thought of him being hard again from pleasuring her was pushing her fast towards her climax. She began moving her hips in time with his fingers and he ran his tongue up and down her folds, swirling it around her clit and sucking harshly until she was fast approaching her orgasm. She squeezed his hand and he squeezed hers as he lapped furiously until she was coming apart on his fingers, a wave of ultimate utopia clouding her every sense, a feeling she could never achieve on her own. She was beginning to think there was no other person that could make her feel this way. Only Tom. He continued thrusting his fingers and lapping at her clit until she squealed and pushed at this head to stop him, the over-sensitised feeling overwhelming her. When she glanced up she could see a giant wet patch on the sheets underneath her as well as spurts of her juices all over Tom’s face and chest.

“Did I do that?!” She asked, wide-eyed. He laughed and nodded.

“You squirted and it was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.” He told her, holding one hand over his heart.

She laughed and he moved over her, nudging her legs apart to settle in the middle. She could feel his length resting against her entrance, hot and pulsing. He caught her lips in a searing kiss, one hand coming up to cup her cheek as he slowly pushed into her. Even though he had stretched her with his fingers, she still felt the white-hot ache as he pushed deeper and deeper until he bottomed out. He buried his head in her shoulder, breathing deeply as he restrained himself from moving too much until she got used to him, placing gentle kisses along her neck.

“Mm Tom, I need you. Please.” Y/N whined, nails scraping along his shoulders and down his back. He arched into her and groaned.

“M’all yours, sweetheart.” He kissed her mouth one more time, roughly, before pulling his hips back and snapping them into her again. He pushed into her relentlessly, rendering her a hot, moaning mess under him. She was sure that if there hadn’t been music playing downstairs then everyone would hear her crying out his name over and over again. Part of her wished they could. All of Tom wished they could. He was in no better position though, moaning loudly, grunting, groaning, and every now and then he’d let out a rough shout of “Fuck, Y/N. You feel so good.” She thought she was going to pass out from the sheer pleasure that was rippling through her body. She was holding onto him for dear life, like he was the only thing keeping her on Earth. He grabbed her leg and placed it over his shoulder, angling his thrusts so he went deeper again, if that was even possible. She cried out a mantra of his name, making herself hoarse.

The sweat was rolling down his temples, down his body, making his abs glisten in the soft lamplight. He suddenly pulled out but didn’t even give her a second to react before he had her flipped over on her hands and knees and snapped her hips back into his as he entered her in one go and continued to pound into her from behind until her knees were weak and her arms were about to give out. When her limbs did give out, he lowered himself down, effectively fucking her into the mattress. His hips had slowed, but they were driving deeper and longer. He wasn’t just fucking her, he was relishing her. Reveling in the feeling of her, appreciating every second. His hand wrapped around her waist and his fingers found her clit, circling slowly but steadily. His hips had begun to stutter, out of time, but his hand never faulted, as if he was putting her pleasure above his own. She felt his head near hers as he practically lay on top of her, gyrating his hips deeply. She turned her body ever so slightly so that she could turn her head and capture him in a kiss. He moaned into her mouth, tangling his tongue with hers.

“M’not gonna last much longer. Cum with me, darling.” He moaned into her mouth and his words were almost like a direct command to her body because as soon as he said it she felt the wave, ever increasing, crash down on her and she, in turn, clenched around his thick cock causing him to grunt as he shot his load into her, snapping his hips into her until he had nothing left to give. She could feel the heat deep within her and it nearly made her orgasm all over again, if she hadn’t had been absolutely spent.

He collapsed on top of her, breathing deeply; his sweaty torso sticking to her back as his chest heaved. She could feel him getting soft inside her and she couldn’t help but move her hips slightly into him, relishing in the feeling until he groaned and slowly slipped out of her, making both of them gasp at the feeling. She could feel his arousal leak out of her as she turned over and sat up. He was sitting up too, waiting for her, droopy eyes and soft smile that she matched. He ran a hand over her cheek as he connected their lips once more. A quick kiss, but a deep one.

When they parted, she watched as he glanced around the room, suddenly seeming nervous. He scratched the back of his head and moved towards the edge of the bed.

“I should probably go…” Her heart dropped. He was leaving? She just had the best sex she’d ever had with the person she realised she cared a lot for, and he was leaving?! A multitude of emotions crossed her face; confusion, sadness, and then anger. Tom seemed to follow all her expressions and gauged her reaction, his eyes looked hopeful?

“You’re upset. Does that mean you want me to stay?”

“Of course I bloody want you to stay! Why the hell would I want you to leave after that!?” His eyes widened at her outburst.

“Well because you never liked me before! I just didn’t want to presume you wanted me to stay!” She softened. The Tom in front of her was not the Tom she was used to. In fact, he hadn’t been since she’d came into her room.

“I meant it when I said I wanted you in more ways than just sex. I’ve liked you for so long. I know I didn’t show it very well but after years of teasing you it felt odd to suddenly treat you any differently. Especially when any time you’d see me you’d scowl and wish I was anyone else. I realised that the only kind of interaction I’d have with you was by teasing you. I know, it’s not right and I mean I could have tried to be nice but it was so tough to figure out my feelings for you when I thought you hated me with every fibre of your being.”

The Tom in front of her was insecure, even shielding his body away from her. No trace of a lie on his face, eyes wide with emotion, and head dipped in shame. She lifted a palm to his cheek and leaned into him.

“I think I’ve always liked you. Just didn’t want to admit it to myself that the guy who stole my English essay in First year was now stealing my heart.” She smiled and he let out a loud laugh.

“Oh fuck off. I barely knew who you were and I mean you left your laptop wide open!” It was her turn to laugh then as he engulfed her body in his arms and threw them both down on the bed, grasping for the blankets to cover themselves. He held her close as they shared a few blistering kisses under the covers.

“Hmm. Always knew you’d be amazing with that mouth.”

“Tom!”

#tom holland #tom holland fanfic #tom holland smut #tom holland fluff #tom holland x reader #tom #holland #college au #smut #rough

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mantis-in-the-dirt · 4 years ago

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alright then, boys. i have quite a few thoughts and questions to consider about the inbetween and generally karl’s lore from today- i won’t be adding thoughts about the actual tales (the pit), although i might make a post about that later. just be warned, this might be kinda long-ish! i will probably expand on details within these posts later. it’s probably a bit ramble-y, but i,, cannot collect my thoughts better lmao. also, spoilers from the most recent tftsmp, in case that wasn’t clear.

(also, forgive me if there’s any bad grammar, i’m pretty tired.)

unless i refer to them as cc!, i am talking about the character!

tw for mentions of manipulation, mentions of blood, mentions of the prison.

this is set up like a list, mostly because i will absolutely fail to keep my points in check if i don’t do it this way.

1. let’s start where Karl does- in spawn. he spawns in the inbetween, and based on what we’ve seen, his respawn point does seem to be set within the inbetween. my thoughts on this aren’t super specific, and they tangle a bit with minecraft mechanics, so. if his respawn point is set in the inbetween, that means, with Minecraft logic, he will come back right inside of the inbetween next time he leaves his time travel. what i am assuming is the inbetween is put in the/a world’s overworld, while the other side is through the nether, which means that the set spawn is naturally in the inbetween. unless Karl has a respawn anchor within the inbetween, he is naturally going to spawn there if whatever marks his respawn is destroyed. but other than that- he hasn’t set a spawn point of any kind within the other side, so technically, by Minecraft laws, he should be respawning within the inbetween. this doesn’t necessarily mean anything- for story purposes, it’s likely he’s just in the other side anyways, but it’s interesting to think about.

2. another quite glaring point from tonight’s stream. the inbetween’s threats to force karl to stay. this implies that it somehow has a way to stop him from leaving, which could involve many things. we don’t know the logic of how he joins and leaves the inbetween after he travels, and therefore we don’t know where he is. is the inbetween a separate physical plane? is it in his mind? if it’s in his mind, how would he be restrained? if it’s physical, where is it in relation the the rest of the smp? also, keep in mind this strange physical-mental-no info plane kinda idea. it’ll come up in another point soon.

3. whoo boy, this one. probably the one i’m questioning the most, if i’m being honest. one of the things we have the least answers on.. who the fuck is the inbetween? is it the castle itself, some kind of sentient being who has control and can grow itself? is there someone or something controlling the castle, making it place those books or placing the books themselves? is this force necessarily malevolent? it’s obviously not all powerful, because whoever was working to get karl out had spots that the entity couldn’t see before, and karl managed to get messages. it refers to itself as person, it refers to itself by calling itself ‘i’, implying it is some kind of sentient entity, so what and who is it?

4. i do not think either place is benevolent. neither of them seem even close to truly friendly, and both of them give big red flags in every way they talk. the inbetween is more obvious, because we have quite a bit more info on it. it’s used manipulative techniques, it’s tried to force karl into doing things and to stay. the other side hasn’t done anything specific enough to garner direct dislike, but for multiple reasons, i don’t trust it. this may be a personal opinion, but i think greeting karl like he’s familiar is strange. it said welcome home, which implies a few things (that he’s been there before, that it knows him, that it is somehow familiar with him) that we haven’t learned enough about to properly analyze. i still find it weird, however. (this is less of a concise point and more of a kind of guess/theory.)

5. this is something i said in my last short little post on the tales, but i noticed it once again within this tales, especially with a fewer specific lines. the inbetween continues to use extremely similar and the same methods of manipulation as our green smiley man himself does, which may or may not be important, but i find worth noting.

6. there was blood in the supposedly secret room. it was a ‘surprise,’ phrased like it was supposed to be some kind of happy thing. first off, there was blood with the sign “don’t stray from the path :]” which is undeniably creepy. of all the ways you could’ve sent a message, that’s horrifying. secondly, this is one of the first (the first, possibly?) physical threats of violence within the inbetween, and we’ve observed quite often in this fandom the difference between physical and mental attacks. last, where did the blood come from? we’ve seen no physical bodies other than karl himself and the many copies of him. did something hurt the karl copies? if not, whose blood is it, and how is there so much of it all over the room?

7. this is likely a complete coincidence, or even if it isn’t it won’t matter to lore, but the blocks that we’ve seen of the other side are mostly the same as the prison. there’s a lot of blackstone and possible obsidian and such.

8. the inbetween and the other side seem almost inverse of each other. each different part of them that we are able to compare so far seems to be exactly opposite from each other. from the obvious things- the color schemes, the flowers- to the less obvious details- the way they speak to karl. the build of the other side so far seems to be foreboding and creepy, kinda strange and unusual type of build. the build of the inbetween looks peaceful and calm, very gentle and pretty. it’s obviously purposeful, and i think there are some connections with the nether (the other side) vs. the overworld (the inbetween.)

9. there are still the karl’s wandering around all over the inbetween, and we got more information on them today. they are versions of karl who have ‘lost themselves’ and become stuck here, cursed to wander the halls of the castle together. this is a very, very interesting idea. first off, let me be clear. time travel is a tricky thing, and depending on the world and the lore of how cc!karl has decided he wants to do it. logically, these copies of karl cannot be from the past, because if they are stuck, then karl himself would be stuck, and none of the rest of the copies would be there. this then implies that either versions of himself from the future have come back and gotten stuck, and/or that there is some form of alternate reality talk coming into play here. also, to go back into the previous point, are there going to be any kind of flip-side karl’s in the other side, or are there going to be no entities at all?

10. who is warning karl out of the inbetween? the inbetween has shown us no people other than karl and his copies, but someone or something is putting the books there to warn him, and something obviously seems to know that the inbetween isn’t right. however, is this force actually trying to be helpful? is it trying to warn him away from the inbetween because they want to help him away from malevolent places, or do they just want him to come to the other side? is there some force within the castle that holds enough power to put out books with differing opinions to the inbetween’s books, or is someone manually setting out these stories?

11. where is the inbetween, and how does karl get there? we haven’t been given specific information on how karl arrives or leaves the inbetween, or where the inbetween is. is it an entire other dimension? is it within karl’s mind, or is it in a physical plane? what does it mean that karl has gone into another dimension in wherever he is? will this cause difficulties in leaving or coming back to this area in general? adding onto this with a small idea, we have been given the ‘other side’ and the ‘inbetween.’ does this imply that there is a third side, and if so, what is it? is it something we already know, like the dreamsmp, or is it a completely new world?

12. i do not think the other side is a good thing. i do not think it is going to turn out well for karl. however, it currently seems to be the better place for karl to be. it seems to be the ‘good’ out of the two, just from what we’ve seen. despite this, it seems to fight all these common stereotypes of being ‘good.’ it’s dark and scary and seems very dreary. does this or will this reflect on the dream smp itself? does it mirror anything that the dreamsmp does with stereotypes or characters?

alright then, that’s it! if you made it to the end, i hope you agreed with a couple of these points, and i hope a couple of these questions are ones other people are having as well.

sorry for the ramble essay lmao

#dream smp #dreamsmp #dsmp #dream #dreamswastaken #karl jacobs #time traveller karl #time traveller karl jacobs #the pit #the pit tftsmp #tftsmp #tales for the smp #the inbetween #inbetween #can you tell i dont know what to tag this #can you tell im fucking brainrotting over this

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subwalls · 3 years ago

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WHUMPTOBER 2021 - 6/30

No. 6 - TOUCH AND GO bruises | touch starved | hunger

Also available on AO3!

The first time George crosses the void, it’s to attend his best friend’s funeral.

Mostly for the purposes of rejecting it altogether.

“You know he’s not dead, right?” George says. He adjusts his goggles, pressing tenderly at the indents the frame leaves on his face. “Let’s just get out of here. He doesn’t die that easily.”

“I know,” Sapnap says, frustrated. “I know he’s not dead. He’s just gone .”

George can’t argue that. Neither of them remember their friend’s name—that’s damning enough, even without the week Sapnap spent nearly scalding the inside of his skull, scouring the city with the All-Seeing Eyes of the Gods without care for how much heat they generated, only for the search to turn out without so much as a grain of evidence that their friend even existed at all.

That’s the problem, George is pretty sure. The All-Seeing Eyes peel back the bells and whistles of lies and magic, exposing nothing but the raw truth of the world around them.

And the truth is that invisible werewolves can disappear themselves so thoroughly they can make the world be as though they never existed to begin with.

The Eyes can’t see them because there is nothing to see.

Allegedly.

George is well aware that he shouldn’t know this. If their friend truly diluted his existence so thinly that nobody could find him, then neither he nor Sapnap should even remember that he existed. But they do; they remember his pronouns, even—and, if George strains for the faintest edges of his memory, the sound of his laughter.

So there are traces. It’s not a perfect vanishing act, which means there has to be a way to reverse it.

George tells Sapnap as much, when they leave the… gathering of people forgetting that they’re mourning even as they do it. Sapnap nods in agreement.

“Phil said most of the invisible werewolves have a token of some kind,” Sapnap says. “Like, a cypher that can bring them back. They tried to do it with this person, but it didn’t work.”

“What was it?”

“I think it had something to do with the Eyes? He didn’t tell me the details. It’s private.”

A part of George wants to snipe that they must not have been good friends then, if such a key detail couldn’t be shared with them.

Logically, he’s certain that they did know, at some point. It just faded along with the rest of their memories of him.

“Okay,” says George. “We don’t need a cypher of whatever anyway.” He brings his hands up to his goggles, but the moment his fingers brush the cool, pitch-black glass, he hesitates.

It’s funny. The memory of that event—the figure leaning out of the sky with unending wings and crossed halos and an unmarked sphere of pale light that spoke so softly, choose who will see this through to the End —it’s glitchy, like a trying to straighten out a crumpled-up photo. The lines of wear and tear are there.

George knows that people have opinions about his friends jumping into SMP City without him, about his blacked-out goggles and their unnaturally glowing blue eyes. Most of them assume they left him behind, sacrificed his flawed sight to split the rewards between them both—Sapnap has whined about it before, most recently in the context of that Blood Breed conflict that roped him into the Syndicate.

In reality, George never gave up anything.

Or, better phrased: George was the only one who didn’t give something up.

He shoves the goggles up, and the All-Seeing Eyes of the Gods spring open with the near-musical string of notes that aren’t unlike the chimes of a computer’s start-up sequence.

Immediately, a headache of information slams into him with all the force of a ten-inch steel wall, WALL WALL BRICK BACKROOM DOOR AND STAIRWAYS DOWN A HUNDRED SOULS IN A CONCRETE ARENA ENDER FLESH BREAKING NETHER BLOOD DRIPPING HUMA CROWDS WATCHING WATCH WATCH—

George shudders in a breath, the blue-tinted view of his surroundings fizzling too-bright too-much, and he can almost hear someone in the back of his head, chiding, “If you’d just practiced instead of shutting it down and pretending like you don’t have it, George, you could easily handle that neural load by now. I’m telling you, you can’t keep pretending it isn’t there!”

George says, “I hate this part.”

Sapnap laughs at him. George turns towards him on instinct and sees the star-riddled void under that cloth eyepatch, a dead eye in form but a vacuum in function, A DEBT INCURRED A DEBT REPAID SIGHT FOR SIGHT AN EYE FOR AN EYE AND THE HOLE LEFT BEHIND AS THE HIGHER HAND TAKES AND THE HIGHER HAND GIVES AND THE CONTRACT REMAINS THE CONTRACT REMAINS—

—and oh, oh, he knows how to do it, he knows what to look for.

If you could back out of a divine contract by just dissipating, then it wouldn’t be much of a divine contract, would it? Here stands George and Sapnap, two-thirds or maybe two-fourths of a contract etched in song and history and the pupils of their eyes. The other parties must exist.

They already do; the Eyes hum, blitzing through reams upon reams of information, lighting up not just George’s face but Sapnap’s as well, and because they exist, so must be the one who paid for their existence.

( Choose who will see this through to the End. )

(“If you have to take something, take it from me!”)

(We forgive your transgression. But we do not revoke the payment we have taken.)

(“Fine by me. This is better than what it was gonna be, anyway.”)

George’s eyes burn, escalating to an awful, awful heat that feels like it’s going to boil the blood in his veins, but still he sees, still he looks for those hairline fractures in reality, A SHADOW WAS HERE AND A FOOTSTEP THERE SEE IT SEE IT IT IS TRUE SO MAKE IT TRUE—

The gears of light twist, shrieking out some incomprehensible song, crackling with power in front of his eyes, and he can taste blood in the back of his throat and on his lips and it’s dripping to the floor now but still he looks.

A pressure on his wrist, tight enough to bruise.

“Okay,” rasps a SHADOW SILHOUETTE FIGMENT OF PRESENCE DRAWN BACK TOGETHER figure that flickers, wavering. “Stop, stop it, that’s enough, I’m here, I’m here—”

George slams his other hand over that pressure at his wrist and feels at first only the rough fabric of his own jacket, but then, abruptly, the softer cotton of a warm jumper.

“Turn them off, oh my god,” says—says—says Dream, waving his free hand through the light of the Eyes like he’s trying to dismiss them, just barely shuttering back into some normal level of existence. His grip on George tightens, desperate; his good eye meets George’s gaze pleadingly, while his other, an identical match to Sapnap’s, remains a featureless expanse of stars. “You’re going to roast the one brain cell you have left, you idiot, turn them off—”

George shuts his Eyes, and the stream of information dies abruptly. The silence in his head leaves him reeling, for a second, which gives Sapnap just enough time to scream in fury and tackle Dream to the ground, dragging George down with them.

“Don’t do that!” Sapnap shrills, making an aborted movement like he wants to strangle the life out of Dream but isn’t sure he won’t just give way under his touch. “You’re the worst, you’re the actual worst—”

“ What? How? I didn’t—”

“—and you suck, and the next time you get cornered by a Blood Breed you gotta call for help before you get muffined—”

The two of them fall into bickering so easily it’s comforting, like a backdrop of rain, just a wash of noise so smooth out the ruffled edges the Eyes left behind.

George reaches up, catching Dream’s arm before he can elbow Sapnap into oblivion. “You’re so annoying,” he tells him. “You said you specifically came here so you I didn’t have to use these things.”

“Well,” Dream says, “that’s not the only reason.”

“Still! You broke your promise!”

“I didn’t promise anything,” Dream complains, warm and alive and more present than ever. “You’re just being a baby. Both of you are.”

Sapnap shifts, and George pulls his goggles back over his eyes just in time to see Dream go still as Sapnap practically cradles his head between his hands.

“Remember what we said about us being your token?” Sapnap asks.

“Mhm.”

“I’m taking it back.” And then, as Dream’s face crumples, “I mean! I know you can’t like, change it, because it’s what makes you want to go come back no matter what and that stuff. But you can’t do this again, Dream. You were gone.” His voice lowers. “We barely knew you.”

Something in Dream’s gaze cracks, and he’s pushing himself up, clipping distractedly through them. Sapnap and George scramble upright as he sits primly a clean inch away from them both and says, “I know, but it’s not like I wanted to. I got snuck up on, okay? It’s not like I like being—being less, and untouchable, and spreading myself so thin I can’t feel anything at all.”

He shudders, then, and some of the color bleeds from his clothes.

“It doesn’t feel great for me, either, Pandas,” Dream says, and Sapnap makes a wounded noise and lurches forward to wrap him in a hug.

George watches them, for a moment, and nearly envisions a void yawning wide between them before he realizes that Sapnap is pulling him into it too, and now they’re all wrapped around each other and stifling laughter about it, and it’s warm, and oh, George has been alone—on the other side of the void, reluctant to step past the dragon’s den—for so long now.

He’s missed this. The bracing tightness of Sapnap squeezing them like he’s got something to prove, the low hum in Dream’s chest as he relaxes, George’s own skin feeling almost too tight for the nostalgia that wells up in his throat, almost too warm to lean into it, but also offended at the very thought of trying to extract himself from it.

“How’s this,” Dream says, cautiously, muffled against Sapnap’s shoulder, “we let George move in with you, you Sap, and I—”

“Stop sleeping in the Syndicate’s offices and join us?” Sapnap says, poking fun.

“It’s comfortable,” Dream grumbles. “And there’s free food. And no biased landlord.”

George squints at him. “Is this about the Huma-only thing?” he says, and Sapnap nods quickly. “Isn’t your whole thing about avoiding that kind of stuff, Dream? How does a landlord affect you at all?”

Dream opens his mouth, stops, and then shuts it. And then, “Shut up.”

“Wow,” Sapnap says. “I think you left a few brain cells behind when you came back.”

Dream shoves his head away, messing up Sapnap’s hair. “The only thing I left behind was my breakfast,” he declares. “I’m hungry. Can we go get something to eat now, instead of sitting in a… random alley in the middle of nowhere?” He looks around, only just now noticing that they are, in fact, sitting in a random alley in the middle of nowhere. “Is this—where are we?”

Sapnap perks up. “Oh, yeah,” he says, “while we were looking for you, I—George—we saw what looked like one of those underground fighting rings. The entrance is kinda close to here. D’you think it’s that Las Nevadas crew Phil and Tech have been looking for?”

“Only one way to find out,” Dream says cheerfully, and looks at George.

George sputters. “I-I can’t believe you. I set my eyeballs on fire for you,” he says, indignant, “and this is how you repay me? By asking for more?”

Sapnap laughs, knocking their heads together, and something in George’s chest settles with a burst of rightness. “Maybe later,” he says. “Dream’s right, I’m starving. And tired. Your Eyes suck, George.”

“Thanks, you bought them for me,” George says, at the same time that Dream says, “I’m always right.”

#my fics #i wanted so badly to write this from dre's pov but im saving that for tmr

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amphtaminedreams · 5 years ago

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J.K Rowling & The Echo Chamber of TERFs: Why Nobody Wants your Transphobic “Opinion”

TW// Discussion of Sexual Assault and Transphobia

SO...

I’ve seen the term “allyship fatigue” going round a lot lately on Twitter, since the issues of police brutality, institutional racism, and now transphobia have taken central stage.

And it’s weird. To be honest, hearing other white cis people calling themselves “allies” has always sounded kinda self-congratulatory. Taking this to the level of martyrdom that the phrase “allyship fatigue” evokes makes me want to heave. It’s shit that anyone even has to be saying Black Lives STILL Matter, but it does seem to unfortunately be the case that every time there is a highly publicised murder of a black individual by police, the explosion of us white people calling ourselves allies and retweeting and reblogging statements of solidarity only lasts so long before half revert back to being complacent with and uncritical of a world seeped with casual racism. Is that what “allyship fatigue” is? The excuse for that? Not only does the term take the focus off of the marginalised group the movement is centred around but it makes supporting equal rights sound like some kind of heroic burden we’ve chosen to take on rather than addressing a debt we owe and being not even good but just plain decent human beings. WE are not the ones shouldering the weight here, and if your mental health is suffering, that is not the fault of the people asking for their rights. Log off. We have the privilege to do that. It just doesn’t need to be a spectacle.

At the same time, this public onslaught of ignorance and hatred that the coverage of the Black Lives Matter movement has triggered (that let me again emphasise, black people have had to involuntarily be on the receiving end of their whole lives) and the frustration and anger that comes from seeing these absolute trash takes from people with no research into the subject who build their argument purely on “what about”isms is do-I-even-want-to-bring-children-into-this-fucking-world levels of miserable. In terms of earth beginning to look more and more like the prequel describing the events which lead up to a dystopian novel, the chaos of the last 4 weeks or so (2020 has not only shattered the illusion of time but also danced on the shards, I know) is the tip of the iceberg. I saw a thread about what’s going on in Yemen at the moment, which I had no idea about, and immediately felt consumed by guilt that I didn’t know. With the advent of social media, there’s been this sudden evolutionary shift where we’re almost required and expected to know about, have an opinion on, and be empathetic with every humanitarian crisis at once. I think young people feel this especially, which is why I say that sometimes it’s worth talking to an older person before you brush them off as a racist or a homophobe and see if they’re open to hearing different opinions-in general, I think we’re a generation that is used to being expected to consume a huge amount of information at once. They are not. For a lot (NOT all) of the older, middle-class, white population, ignorance isn’t a conscious choice, it is the natural way of life. The parameters of empathy until very recently have only had to extend just past your closest circle of friends to encompass people you “relate to”. That doesn’t mean they aren’t capable of caring about other things, and sometimes we owe them a chance to change their perspective first, if for no reason other than to advance the cause of, well, basic human rights for all.

So where does J.K Rowling come into all this? I hear you ask. Why doesn’t she just stop rambling? You potentially wonder. Well, I’m getting to it.

J.K Rowling isn’t an unconsciously ignorant people. She is what I would call consciously ignorant. And of all weeks to flaunt this ignorance, she chose a time when people are already drowning in a cesspit of hatred. The woman whose whole book series supposedly revolves around the battle between good and evil didn’t even try to drain the swamp. She instead added a bucket of her transphobic vitriol into it.

Let me preface this by saying that I wouldn’t wipe my arse with the Sun. What they did with the statement she made regarding her previous abusive relationship, seeking out said abusive partner for an interview and putting it on the front page with the headline “I slapped J.K”, whilst expected from the bunch of cretinous bottom feeders who work there, is disgusting. That being said, the pattern of behaviour J.K Rowling has exhibited since she first became an online presence is equally disgusting, and just because the Sun have been their usual shithead selves, doesn’t mean we should forget the issue at hand, that issue being her ongoing transphobia and erasure of trans women from women’s rights.

As I’m sure is the case for many people on Tumblr, J.K Rowling has always been such a huge inspiration for me, and Harry Potter was my entire childhood. My obsession with it continued until I was at least 16 and is what got me through the very shit years of being a teenager, and that will forever be the case. I’m not here to discuss the whole separation of the art from the artist thing because whilst I ordinarily don’t think that’s really possible, at this point the “Harry Potter universe” has become much bigger than J.K herself. I was so pleased to see Daniel Radcliffe, Emma Watson and Rupert Grint all affirm their support for trans rights-I was raised on the films up until the 4th one which I wasn’t old enough to see at the cinema, and the DVD was at the top of my Christmas list. They were always my Harry, Hermione and Ron. It was only between the fourth and fifth films that I started to read the books to fill that gaping in-between-movies hole, but as I grew up, I read them over and over and over again. Any of the subtext that people are talking about now in light of her antisemitism and transphobia went completely over my head, though who knows, whilst I can sit here and write that I’m certain I didn’t, maybe I did pick up some unconscious biases along the way? The art/artist discussion is a complex one and I don’t know if I’ll ever read the books again at this point.

There was absolutely no subtext, however, in the “think piece” on J.K’s website addressing the response to her transphobic tweets. There wasn’t all that much to unpack in the first tirade, they were quite openly dismissive-first that womanhood is defined by whether or not one experiences menstruation (I currently don’t due to health issues but I’m betting this wouldn’t make me any less woman in her eyes), and second, regurgitating an article which furthers the fallacy that trans women simply existing erases the existence of cisgender lesbian women. Rowling’s initial response to the backlash was to blame it on a glass of red wine, I think? Which is such a weird go-to excuse for celebrities because not once have I ever got drunk and completely changed my belief system. If you’re not transphobic sober, you don’t suddenly become transphobic drunk. What you are saying is that you’re not usually publicly transphobic (which isn’t even the case with Rowling because this is hardly her first flirtation with bigotry via social media) but that whoopsies! You drank some wine and suddenly thought it was acceptable!

Now what is her excuse for the formal response she wrote to the backlash, dripping with transphobic dog whistles and straight up misinformation (UPDATE: and as of yesterday, blocking Stephen King quite literally for replying to her with the tweet “trans women are women”, in case you thought that this whole thing was a case of her intentions being misconstrued)? Drunk tweets are one thing but if she managed to write a whole fucking essay whilst pissed I imagine there’s a lot of university students out there who’d pay her good money to learn that skill.

Here is the bottom line. TRANS WOMEN ARE WOMEN. There is no discussion around that. And if you don’t understand why, at the very least, you can be respectful of the way a person chooses to identify, especially when that person is an already targeted minority.

Obviously, sex and gender are complex things. Based on the fact that we don’t walk around with our nether-regions out, we generally navigate our way through the world using our gender and the way we present our gender. Gender of course means many different things to many different people; some see it as a sliding scale kind of thing whereas some people can’t see themselves on the scale at all, and choose to use terms other than man or woman to express how they identify. But, whatever gender one chooses to identify as, we live in a modern world-with all the scientific advancements we’ve made and all that we now know about the brain, using what is between people’s legs to define them is an ignorant, outdated copout. You’ll find that a lot of transphobes can live in harmony with trans women who conform, who have classically feminine features, maybe facial feminisation surgery, trans women who keep quiet about how they’re seen by cis women and don’t kick up “too much of a fuss” (which is in itself still a perfectly valid, brave and understandable way to live your life after years of feeling like you don’t fit in btw). The trans women that Joanne and her friends take the most issue with is the ones who want to expand what womanhood means and stretch the boundaries of what is and isn’t acceptable, destroying the confines of simplistic model that TERFs feel comfortable operating within. The ones who fight to be recognised as no “lesser” than cis women. Calling a person a TERF is quite literally just asserting that they are someone who wants to exclude trans women from their definition of womanhood, or in other words wants to cling to the old, obsolete model. If J.K Rowling cannot let the statement “trans women are women” go unchallenged (which we’ve seen from her response to Stephen King’s tweet she cannot), then she is by definition a TERF. It’s not a slur. It’s a descriptor indicating the movement she has chosen to associate herself with. Associating the descriptor of the position you so vehemently refuse to denounce in spite of all evidence and information offered to you with the concept of a “witch hunt” when trans women are ACTUALLY brutally murdered for an innate part of their identity is insulting, at the very least.

Let’s get this straight: despite transphobes trying to conflate sex with gender and arguing that sex is the only “real” identifier of the two, our existence on this planet and our perception of this world is a gendered experience. It is our brain, where the majority of researchers agree that gender lies, which decides and dictates not only who we are and how we feel but also how we interact with everyone around us. I don’t think it’s an outlandish statement to say that when it comes to who we are as people, that flesh machine protected by our skull is the key player. PSA for transphobes everywhere: when people say penises have a mind of their own, they are NOT talking literally. The more you know.

Gender is obviously a much newer concept than sex-it is both influenced by and interacts with every element of our lives. It’s also much more complex, in that there are still many gaps in our understanding. I assume these two factors combined with the familiarity of the (usually) binary model of biological sex are a part of why TERFS fundamentally reject the importance of gender in favour of the latter. Yes, most of the time, we feel our gender corresponds with our sex, but not always, and nor is there any concrete proof that this has to be the case. Most studies tend to agree that our brains start out as blank slates, that we grow into the gender we are assigned based on our bodies. In other words, our sex only defines our gender insofar as the historical assumption that they are the same thing, which in turn exposes us to certain cultural expectations. To any TERFs that have somehow ended up here-if you haven’t already, I suggest looking into the research of Gina Rippon, a neuroscientist whom has spent a large portion of her professional career analysing the data of sex differences in the brain. Whilst she originally set out to find some kind of consistent variance between the brains of the 2 prominent sexes to back up the idea that the brains of men and women are inherently different, she found nothing of significance-individual differences, yes, but no consistent similarities in the brains of one sex that were not present in the other. Once differences in brain size were accounted for, “well-known” sex differences in key structures disappeared-in terms of proportion, these structures take up the same amount of space in the brain regardless of sex. Her findings are best summed up by her response to the question: are there any significant differences in the brain based on sex alone? Her answer is no. To suggest otherwise is “neurofoolishness”. Not only does her research help put to bed the myth that our brains are sexed along with the rest of our bodies during development (this is now believed to happen separately, meaning the sex of our bodies and brains may not correspond), but also the idea propagated by the patriarchy for centuries that basically boils down to “boys will be boys”-a myth used to condone male sexual violence against women and even against each other on the basis that it is inherent and “can't be helped”. That they are just “built differently”. Maybe at one point in human evolution, men were conditioned to fight and women were conditioned to protect, but whilst the idea remains and continues to affect our societal structures (and thus said cultural expectations), we’ve moved on. I mean we evolved from fish for fuck’s sake but you don’t see us breathing underwater.

Gender identity is based on many things and admittedly we don’t fully have the complete picture yet. The effects that socialisation and gender norms in particular, as much as we don’t want them to exist, have on our brain are huge; there’s evidence that they can leave epigenetic marks, or in other words cause structural changes in the brain which drive biological functions and features as diverse as memory, development and disease susceptibility. Socialisation alters the way our individual brains develop as we grow up, and as much as I’d love to see gender norms disappear, they’ll probably be around for a long time to come, as will their ramifications. The gap between explaining how socialisation affects the brain of cisgender individuals compared to the brains of transgender or non-binary individuals is not yet totally clear, but as with every supposed cause and effect psychology tries to uncover, there are outliers and individual differences. No, brains are not inherently male or female at birth but they are all different, and can be affected by socialisation differently. In one particularly groundbreaking study conducted by Dick Swaab of the Netherlands Institute for Neuroscience, postmortems of the brains of transgender women revealed that the structure of one of the areas in the brain most important to sexual behaviour more closely resembled the postmortem brains of cisgender women than those of cisgender men-it’s also important that these differences did not appear to be attributable to the influence of endogenous sex hormone fluctuations or hormone treatment in adulthood.

Maybe dysphoria is something that evolves organically and environmental factors don’t even come into it. Like I said, we don’t have the whole picture. What we DO know is that for some people, as soon as they become self-aware, that dysphoria is there, and the evidence for THAT, for there being common variations between the brains of cisgender individuals and transgender individuals, is overwhelming. You can be trapped in a body that does not correspond with how your brain functions, or how you wish to see yourself. Do individuals like J.K Rowling really believe it is ethical to reinforce the idea that we are defined by our sex and that our sex should decide the course of our lives, should decide how we are treated? That we should reduce people to genitals and chromosomes when our gender, the lens through which we see and interact with the world, could be completely different? Do they not see anything wrong with perpetuating the feelings of “otherness” and dysphoria in trans individuals that results from society’s refusal to see them as anything more than what body parts they have? In a collaboration between UCLA MA neuroscience student Jonathan Vanhoecke and Ivanka Savic at the Karolinska Institute in Sweden, the statistics collected pointed to what trans activists have always been trying to get at-the areas of the brain responsible for our sense of our identity showed far more neural activity in the brains of trans individuals when they were looking at depictions of their body that had been changed to match their gender identity than when this wasn’t the case; when they saw themselves with a body that corresponded with their gender identity, when they were “valid” by society’s definition, they felt more themselves. When J.K Rowling tells trans people that their “real identity” is the sex they were born with, she is denying them this right to be themselves and due to her large platform, encouraging others to do the same. YOU are doing that, J.K. And who knows why? Where does your transphobia come from? Peel back the bullshit layers of waffle about feeling silenced and threatened, which you know you are directing at the wrong group of people, and admit it’s for less noble reasons. Taking the time to unlearn the instinct embedded into your generation to see people according to the cultural status quo of biological determinism is effort, I know-but you wrote a 700+ page book. I’m sure you can manage it. Or is it an ego thing? You don’t want to admit that you may have been uneducated on gender and sex in the past, and now have to stick by your reductive position so your image as an “intellectual” isn’t compromised. I don’t know. Only you do. But your position is irresponsible and dangerous either way. You can make up bullshit reasons as to why the link between trans individuals and the incidence of suicide attempts and completions isn’t relevant or representative of the struggle that trans people face due to the hatred that people like you propagate but it is there, and you J.K Rowling, someone who has spoken in the past about the horror of depression, should know better. You should know better than to CLAIM you know better than the experienced researchers who have found the same pattern time and time again-that the likelihood of trans individuals committing suicide is significantly higher than that of cis people.

No, Rowling’s transphobia has never been as upfront as saying “I don’t believe transgender people exist” but she continues to imply that when she makes claims such as womanhood being defined by whether or not one experiences menstruation, and the completely subjective concept of whether an individual has faced sex-based violence from cisgender men. I’m sure she’d be out here taking chromosome proof cards like Oysters if it wasn’t for intersex individuals throwing her whole binary jam into a tailspin. Yep, there’s even suggestions that the binary biological model might not be so binary these days-just because two people have, say, XY chromosomes, does not mean that these chromosomes are genetically identical between individuals-the genes they carry can, and do, vary and so their actions and expressions of sex vary.

Ideally, what TERFs want to do with their language of “real womanhood” is create an exclusive club that trans women are left out of when they too suffer under the same patriarchal society that those who are born female do. Yes, they might not experience ALL the issues a person born with female genitalia do, but no two women’s life experiences are the same anyway. Trans women also have their own horrible experiences with the patriarchy, and are often victims of a specific kind of gendered violence that is purported by the idea of “real womanhood”. Don’t throw trans sisters under the bus because you’re angry about your experience as a woman on this planet-direct your anger at the fucking bus. Don’t claim that “many trans people regret their decision to transition” when the statistics overwhelmingly show that this is the EXACT FUCKING OPPOSITE of the truth (according to British charity organisation Mermaids, surgical regret is proportionately very low amongst gender affirmation outpatients and research suggesting otherwise has been broadly disproven) because you’ve spoken to a selective group of trans individuals probably handpicked by the TERFS you associate with to confirm their biases, and then have the nerve to claim that trans-activists live in echo chambers on top of that. Don’t use anecdotes and one-off incidences where “trans women” (I say trans women in quotation marks because we’re pretty much talking about a completely statistically insignificant group of perverted cis men who have, according to TERFs, somehow come to the conclusion that going through transition will make their already easy-to-get-away-with hobby of assaulting women even...easier to get away with?) have committed sexual crimes to demonise and paint as predatory group who are largely at risk and in 99.9% of situations, the ones being preyed on. It’s a point so disgusting that trans activists shouldn’t even have to respond to it, but the idea that an individual would go to the pains of legally changing their gender and potentially the hell of the harassment that trans people face, the multiple year long NHS waiting lists to see specialist doctors, just so that they can gain access to women only spaces is ridiculous. It’s worth noting here just how sinister you repeatedly bringing up this phantom threat of cis men becoming trans women in order to assault women in “women only” spaces is. The implication here is that they should use the toilet corresponding to the sex they were born as, right? Because it’s all about safety? Well, statistically speaking, far more trans women are abused whilst having to use men’s toilets than when they use women’s ones and the same goes for trans men, and yet you don’t mention it once. Your suggestion also puts people born female who identify as women but maybe do not dress or present in a typically feminine way at risk of being ostracised when THEY need to use the women’s bathroom. The idea that by ceasing to uphold values like yours we are putting women at risk is quite simply, unsubstantiated; the legislation to allow individuals to use the bathroom corresponding to whichever gender they legally identify as has been around since 2010 in the UK and yet we’ve yet to see the sudden spike in the number of women being assaulted in bathrooms you imply will exist if we create looser rules around gender identity and let people use whichever toilet they feel the need to. Similarly, in a study of US school districts, Media Matters found that 17 around the country with protections for trans people, which collectively cover more than 600,000 students, had no problems with harassment in bathrooms or locker rooms after implementing their policies. If cis men want to assault women, they will. They don’t need to pretend to be trans to do so. Don’t pretend to be speaking as a concerned ally of LGBTQ+ individuals when you’re ignoring the thoughts of the majority of individuals who come under that category.

(Just Some of the Trans Women Murdered for Being Trans Over the Last Couple of Years, L-R: Serena Valzquez, Riah Milton, Bee Love Slater, Naomi Hersi, Layla Pelaez, and Dominique Fells)

Trans women are not the threat here. Bigots like you are the threat. HOW DARE you use your platform to reinforce this rhetoric that gets trans people killed when there are so many much MUCH more important things going on right now. Two black trans women had been murdered just for being black trans women in the week you wrote your essay defending those initial tweets. This is an ongoing issue. As a cis woman, my opinion should read as sacred texts to you right, Joanne? Because I’ll say with my whole chest that I feel far more threatened by bigots like you who do not care for the harmful impact of their words than I do by trans women. I do not feel threatened by trans women AT ALL. And yeah, to me, unless they tell me otherwise that they like to go out their way to affirm their trans-ness (which I completely respect-it takes a lot of courage to be proud about your past in a world that condemns you for it), they’re just WOMEN like any other. Yes their experience of “womanhood” may be different to mine but no two individuals experiences are the same anyway and our gender related suffering has the same cause. As a rich, white, cis woman, it’s wild that you are painting yourself as the victim in this debate when trans people can face life in prison and in some places a death sentence for openly identifying with a gender different to their sex in a lot of countries. Nobody is saying that you can’t talk about cis women. Nobody is saying you can’t talk about lesbian issues either, though it’s a bit of a piss-take that you like to throw that whole trans women erase lesbian existence argument out there as a kind of trump card to say “look, I can’t be a transphobe, I’m an LGBTQ+ ally!”, an argument akin to the racist’s age old “I can’t be racist, I have black friends!”. You know from the responses you get to your transphobia that majority of the LGBTQ+ community are very much adamant that trans women are “real women” and that the same goes for trans men being “real men”, so don’t claim to speak for them. You cannot simultaneously care about LGBTQ+ rights and deny trans people their right to live as who they are, however veiled your sentiments around that may be. The whole gay rights movement of the 60s and 70s exist partially BECAUSE of black trans women such as Martha P Johnson if you didn’t know, and though it’s kinda common knowledge I’m doubting that you do because very little of what you tout is backed up by any kind of research. The articles you retweet, echoing the views of lesbians who also happen to be TERFs do not count-the idea that trans people existing simultaneously erases the existence of lesbians only applies to individuals such as yourself who don’t see trans women as women in the first place. That is the problem! Most people don’t have an issue with the fact that you may have a preference for certain genitalia, but I would argue that ignoring exceptional circumstances related to trauma or some other complex issue, relationships are supposed to be with the person as a whole, not their “organic” penis or vagina and it’s kind of insulting to anyone in a same sex relationship to reduce their bond to that.

Back to my point though, of course there are issues that cis women and lesbians face that need talking about, but trans people are affected by the same patriarchal system. You don’t need to go out of your way to mention that they’re not included in whichever given specific issue when there are also cis women who may not have experienced some of the things TERFs reference. You especially don’t need to act as if trans women are the reason we need to have these discussions in the first place. As I’ve said, as MANY women have said, repeatedly-they are NOT the threat here. It is disgusting to see someone I once had so much admiration for constantly punch down at a group that is already marginalised. It’s 2020, J.K, there’s so much info out there. YOU’RE A FULLY GROWN WOMAN. There’s no justification. We get it, you had a tomboy phase. You weren’t like “other girls”. You didn’t like living under a patriarchal system. So you think you understand the mindset of people who want to transition. You think you’re not doing anything wrong by helping to slow the advancement of trans rights because well, you turned out fine? But you clearly fundamentally misunderstand what being trans is. It’s not about your likes and dislikes and having issues with the experience of being a woman (god knows we all do but I doubt anyone truly thinks for one moment that being trans would be any easier), it’s about how you think and feel at your core. It’s such a complex issue, and all the majority of trans people are asking you to do is LISTEN to them. You may be determined to live in binaries, yet the bigger picture is always more complex and fluid and it’s ever-changing, so all we can do is keep an open mind and keep wanting to know more and gather more evidence. If you’re capable of the mental gymnastics required to retcon the piece of work you wrote in the 90s to make it seem as if you were “ahead of the diversity game”, to the extent that you are now claiming Voldermort’s snake has always actually been a Korean woman and see nothing wrong with that when paired with the fact that the only Asian character you originally included was called Cho Chang, then well…I’m sure you can put your ego aside and do the groundwork to understand what trans people are trying to tell you too. You inspired a lot of children and teenagers and even adults, and got them through some very difficult times, taught that the strength of one’s character matters far more than what anyone thinks of you. You claimed you wanted to stand up for the outcasts.

Well, stand up for the outcasts. Now’s a better time than any. And once again: TRANS WOMEN ARE WOMEN AND TRANS MEN ARE MEN. They shouldn’t have to hear anything else.

Lauren x

[DISCLAIMER: shitty collages are mine but the background is not, let me know if you are aware of the artist so I can credit!]

#transisbeautiful #trans pride #trans lives matter #blm #black lives matter #jk rowling #trans rights #gender identity #gender studies #trans women are women #politics #socialism #safe space #all are welcome

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triple-a-enderdragon · 5 years ago

Link

Hmm. This is a new find. Wonder what’s in it...

First | Previous | Next

Was this a dream? Something told him it was. Even with an elytra, this was impossible.

Grian floated through the night sky, aimless. Was he lucid dreaming? He concentrated, trying to make something appear. Hm. Nothing. And so he wandered.

After an eon and an instant, something was different. Had that been there before? No. Yes! He wasn't sure.

Welcome.

That was definitely new. "Uh, hello?"

A gentle wave of warmth washed over him, along with a feeling of...approval?

Hello. An apparition, feminine in nature, appeared before the builder. I have been watching for a while, but the time has come. Wings Grian had not yet seen, two pairs, unfurled as the being beckoned him closer. Walk with me.

Grian, however, was rooted to the spot. "Who are you?" he blurted out.

The being chuckled, another wave of warmth came. Why, I am Air. I am the wind beneath your wings, I am the breeze dancing in the leaves. Would you mind a walk? I have much to show you.

They walked side by side for many minutes; Grian wondering what it as she wanted to show him. But as time went on, he began to notice things about the lands below. There was the Halloween district, Jevin's base, his own base, the main island, Cub's massive golf course. The long, thin ice biome Iskall and Stress share. Mumbo's perimeter. The Iron Titan.

She was showing him the world the hermits called home.

I see this every day. You are all busy little bees; it is honestly a joy to watch you work. The wistful look she had was replaced by a more serious one. But I have been putting off something for far too long.

"Is that why you've brought me here?"

You're a quick learner. She turned away, towards the direction they came. Come. We must return.

A meandering journey brought them back to the start. The cloudy, weightless structure rose before them, the sunrise a perfect background.

You will wake soon. Air turned to face Grian. But first, I have a proposition for you.

~~~

The next thing Grian knew, someone was barreling into his base, shouting his name. He shifted in bed, turning to face the man who so rudely interrupted his sleep.

Instead, he found Iskall, holding a familiar piece of paper, absolutely speechless. At first, Grian thought he was speechless about the paper, but then he noticed Iskall looking just behind him. Then he remembered the dream. Oh.

Now it was Grian's turn to be shocked, as he awkwardly unfurled two large and very real wings.

"Well, you certainly never cease to surprise me," Iskall said, still mesmerized. The paper in his hand was forgotten.

"Um, yeah. About this...have you ever heard of Elements?"

"Well, I mean, yeah. There's oxygen, carbon, gold, copper-"

"No no no," Grian interrupted, "like powerful beings that control aspects of reality."

Iskall looked like at him like he was slightly crazy. "No, I haven't. Sorry, dude."

"Well, it was one of these Elements that gave me these," Grian gestured to his new wings, "along with some other stuff."

"Sounds kinda like what Wels had years ago. And from what he told me, these kinda things don't come free. I would be careful if I were you."

"I know, but Iskall! Look!" And Grian spread his wings, stretching them to the limit. "I won't have to worry about elytra anymore! Or rockets!" Iskall looked like he would much rather stick with elytra and rockets, thank you very much.

Grian then realized Iskall was here for a reason, and it wasn't because of his new wings. So he turned to the Swede and asked, "So what brought you here anyway?"

Iskall snapped back to reality. "Right! Well, I came here to..." He looked at the paper in his hand. "I thought you might have something to do with this." Grian leaned in to look at what the paper said. The familiar phrase of ISKALL, ARCHITECH, LOL? met him, and he couldn't help but giggle.

"Yeah, I thought you might."

"So? What's your answer?" said Grian with a mischievous smile.

"What do you think!? That I'm going to give up an opportunity like this? I need something big to do now the war is over."

"What, the war you started?"

"I didn't start it!" Iskall said indignantly, "I merely...helped it along. And yes. I accept."

"Ok lol." And with that, Grian spread his wings and took off.

And promptly crashed into the floor.

He picked himself up and turned to a very smug Iskall. "No one needs to know about that. No one at all," warned Grian. Iskall was still slyly grinning as he turned to leave. "I mean it! No one!"

"Yeah yeah, I hear you." Iskall turned around one last time to say, "You should probably learn how to use those."

"That's what I was going to do!" Grian shouted at the fleeing silhouette.

~~~

Xisuma was in his base. He was spending more time there than usual; on a day like this he would be working on Tower Bay, but the anomalies from the Nether had grown more concerning as time passed. His base had the easiest access to the world framework, so X occupied his hands doing busywork, continuing long after his base was as clean and orderly as he could make it. Often with difficult problems, his base ended up looking spotless and sterile; unlived in.

Eventually, a beeping brought him back to reality. The beeping was from his suit, reminding him he hadn't eaten in over twelve hours. Or rested. Or done anything else, really. Maybe taking a break from the Nether problem was a good idea, X was exhausted and could feel a headache coming on.

Before he could do anything about that, however, he heard the nether portal go off; Impulse climbing out of it.

"Hey, X!"

"Hey, Impulse. What brings you here?" X turned to his friend, who looked bizarrely concerned.

"Man, I didn't realize...you look tired, do you want me to come back later?"

X waved his hand, dismissing the thought. Why did the others think he couldn't handle a little stress? "No, I'm fine. Tell what's on your mind."

Impulse didn't look convinced, but continued anyway, "I don't know if you know anything about this, I'm worried about Tango; he's been acting weird lately."

This piqued X's interest. "How so?" he prompted.

"Well, for one he's distracted most of the time. I would hesitate to call it paranoia, but...I think it's reaching that point. And one of the most worrying things, he refuses to go into the Nether anymore! Tango! Who spends as much time as he can in lava! He even tried to stop me from using the Nether to get here." Impulse looked back at the portal. "It's almost as if he's afraid of it."

X was awake now, sharp as a tack. "The Nether? Has he said why?"

Impulse glanced at X before returning his gaze to the portal. "No. But I have a feeling that whatever it is, it terrifies him."

"I'll have to talk to him. Do you know where he is now?" X asked, checking his inventory.

"When I left he was at the lag district, where all our farms are. Maybe he's still there." Impulse watched as X's exhaustion seemed to melt away. "Are you sure you should go now? You looked like you were going to drop a minute ago."

X stared him down. "What kind of admin would I be if I couldn't handle a bit of tiredness? Besides, the Nether's acting up and Tango may be the first break I've had in a while.

"The Nether's been acting up!? Why didn't you tell me? You know Cub and I can help!"

X sighed. "I'm sure it's nothing too serious. I didn't want to waste your guy's time."

"X! That's why we're OP's! Specifically so you can 'waste our time'. You know you can't bear the load yourself. Let at least one of us help!" Impulse pleaded.

X sighed. "Fine, I'll ask Cub." The other hermit was about to interrupt, but X stopped him. "If I brought you along, Tango may be less inclined to open up."

"Really? If you insist. But remember, if you need extra manpower, I'm here." The two men exchanged a nod, and Impulse left X to his own thoughts. However, all he could think was man, I need a nap.

~~~

Several hours later and a three am good morning :) message from Iskall (seriously, does the guy ever sleep?) saw Xisuma ready to look for Tango. He stepped through his portal and immediately, familiar warning text showed up in his helmet as he arrived in the Nether. He dismissed it. If all goes to plan, he wouldn't have to worry about that again.

Unfortunately, X was traveling through the Nether distracted.

Xisuma was slain by Ghast

...

[falsesymmetry] need help, X?

...

[falsesymmetry] X?

#hermitcraft #hermitcraft au #chapter two #chapter 2 #time to strike back #ttsb #are you ready for a surprise?#grian #iskall85 #iskall #impulse #xisuma #xisumavoid #act 1 #act one

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buzzdixonwriter · 2 years ago

Text

Writing Report September 16, 2022

After taking a week and a half break on my previous WIP (blog posts excepted), my creative juices got flowing again last Friday.

It was one of those cases that occur to me frequently: I see a word or phrase and as myself “What does that really mean?”

I’m not going to give the phrase away because it’s the title of a new play I’ve written.

Friday I spent time noodling possible characters around

Saturday I began writing with no idea of how it would end (I knew how it wouldn’t end; see below)

Sunday saw more writing with an idea of where it was heading finally appearing

Monday saw me writing the climax

9,004 words. Average of 3,000 a day.

Not a bad little clip.

Now, loath as I am to reveal details of a story before it’s published or produced, I will go into some detail here because it helps illustrate How This Writer’s Mind Works.

The phrase-cum-title pretty much compels me to focus on a limited number of characters. If this were a movie or an episode of a TV series, I’d feel free to add a variety of supporting characters / series regulars / etc.

But as a stage play, it’s hard to justify minor roles in a story of this kind.

(What kind? Read on, MacDuff.)

So I have my limited number of character and I have a single location to keep them confined to (some may go out to other locations and return, but the story remains in a single room).

Now, while there are stories that can use these limitations to tell different kinds of stories (see 12 Angry Men. Seriously, go watch it. It’s real good.), the most common use of such limitations is in variations of Luigi Pirandello’s “Six Characters in Search of an Author” i.e., a small number of characters assembled together under unclear circumstances who try to make sense of their situation.

If you think you’ve seen this before, you have: Virtually every old dark house mystery is this type of story.

Rod Serling was particularly enamored of it, and not always to good effect.

Indeed, playwrights as diverse as Jean-Paul Sartre, Samuel Beckett, and Bruce Jay Friedman have all used the same idea.

One problem I have with all of them: Any and all versions that end in an allegory are unsatisfactory.

Any ending involving the fantastic -- be it religious / supernatural / science-fictional / symbolic / metaphorical -- cheats.

The writer can whip any answer out of their nether regions to surprise the audience because the audience hasn’t been given enough contextual clues to make sense of the story.

It’s literally a deus ex machina.

Where it does work -- and again, not always well but at least more honestly than an allegorical out -- are mysteries where the characters must figure out what common thread links them and who might have brought them together and for what purpose.

So I have my handful of characters, I have my setting, and since the play is set in a specific era, the society that existed at that time.

I find writing stage plays goes much faster for me than prose, screenplays, or comics script.

Once the characters start talking, they tend to bring forth their own revelations and complications.

It feels less like I’m creating and more as if I’m a stenographer, jotting down everything they say as they peel back layers to get to the truth.

Mysteries -- good mysteries -- end rationally. They may be sparked by any number of outré emotions, but in the end we know who did what to whom and why.

My play has a rational ending. We realize who is responsible and what their motives are. Whatever other criticisms may be leveled against this work, one can’t say it’s farfetched or irrational.

#writing report #writing #how this writer's mind works

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titleknown · 6 years ago

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Three Spooky Fictional Knockoff Toylines!

That’s right, as the big writing piece for this spooky time of year, it’s three spooky toylines ripping off bigger properties in a way that do not exist.

These are all public domain/CC0, free to use for whatever you see fit, though crediting me and linking to my Patreon or Ko-Fi would be nice.

Shoutout to @genustoys, @phelous and @therobotmonster for heavily inspiring these with their work!

Now, LET US BEGIN!

Monsterlords of the Nether Realms- This line is an odd duck in that it was a knockoff of a toyline that wasn't all that popular. Namely, Inhumanoids.

It was seemingly designed to be cross-compatible with the large monsters of that line, yet in all irony it stuck around seemingly far longer, likely due to the lower price points it was was able to get away with due to being a “non-branded” product and the cross-compatibility of play pattern with the larger figures.

And they were shockingly lavish for what was seemingly a “low rent” property, which has lead to suspicions of it and its related properties being a money-laundering scheme, or at least cover for something unsavory, though others say it could simply be good craftsmanship and the evidence in favor of and against such is perhaps a story for another day.

There were five of them that ended up bumping around store shelves, give or take a few “extras,” which we will cover as they come.

The first piece; likely intended as the “mascot” due to its prescence in promotional artwork is the one known as MOLINTHA, or “ANTHILL EVIL” on certain variants, a large figure encased in a roughly mountain shaped “shell” when curled in a specific position; with an ominous “maw” that turned into a torso when the figure was uncurled.

The mountain pieces themselves (Which were free-standing on their own) provided a large amount of play value with platforms seemingly shaped for various 3&¾-inch figures, but the body itself was a gorgeous design, with the “scaffolding” where the mountain clicked on turning into a series of platforms for figures to climb and clamber over,

The articulation was low, but the sculpting was pleasantly gnarly, resembling some dark ancient castle covered in mystic carving given humanoid form, without an articulated head but instead a snarling “maw” in which figures could be placed inside. Though, there has been some speculation that this head was ripped off a similar design from the front of the classic D&D Dungeon Master's Guide, and I would be lying if I did not see the resemblance.

As expected, it did not come with any figures, but did come with a large assortment of commonly-circulated plastic “bugs” molded in a clear rubbery plastic; along with a few of the notorous “Chinasaurs” that ended up as the basis for D&D monsters bizarrely enough.

The second known most commonly as “LEVIATHOIN” was a piece that had a similar yet wildly different gimmick. The main “body” was actually simply an inanimate idol, which one might say resembles a very specific image of Baphomet, but the smaller figures were of real interest.

Four five-inch ones, bearing an odd resemblance to a scaled-down Molhilintta minus the scaffolding and with a few odd tweaks, with a similar simple articulation scheme, but also a feature in which the arms and legs could “click” together tightly, which leads to the real draw of such.

Each figure attached to a socket in the main “idol” and functioned as a crude combiner., forming a huge “creature”. Each figure could function as n arm or a leg on either side, and the color variants (Including a few alledged remolds of these torsoes) could be their own article in and of themselves.

The third known as MECHA-SHAG was an extremely simple design and yet also one of the most bizarre of them all. It was a hairy “core” akin to the Masters of the Universe Grizzlor, but with a strange robotic face; limbs and at least a dozen missile launchers. They were Micronauts-styled “safety” missiles, but still fascinatingly odd all the same. There is evidence for the pieces origin as a possible Shogun Warriors/Jumbo Machinder knockoff, but again that is a detail for another day.

The fourth one was known as RUCIBEDO, and was unusual even for this line. It was a stylized kaiju-esque “pterodactyl” with a flapping action; its oddly “bio-mechanical” look seemingly giving credence to the idea that the enigmatic company behind the linwas making a Shogun Warriors knockoff-series before they decided to switch gears, but those are not the only notable parts.

The most blatant one is the fact that it is sculpted in a bright red; translucnet plastic, and not only that but had electric lights wired to the flapping mechanism in some bizarrely spacious “alcoves” in the back (Possibly for aborted missile-firing features), creating an immensely striking effect. Albeit one that had a tendency to break; though there are repair guides out there.

And the fifth PLUCHUN is an odd duck, because it should by all accounts be considered kind of a “ripoff” due to using far less material for the same price point as the others, but is often the most fondly remembered.

It is a small torso seemingly made of organic “pipes with a “hatch” on the head and a button slightly below. It also came with a small container of “slime” indicating its function. Namely, put it in the back of the head; press the button repeatedly; and the slime drips out of the holes in the creature, with a pumping rubber “heart” completing the effect. Weirdly; while the rubber on most of these has rotted off, there appears to be a fully sculpted (Albeit much cruder) “heart” that still moved in and out when the button was pressed.

The whole thing was capped off by immensely long rubbery bendy-limbs in the same style as the “main body's” pipes. These tended to be very fragile, and while memorable, this has the fewest surviving specimens out of them all.

As said before, there are other specimens that may be covered at a later date; such as the odd hand-puppet and the bizarrely remolded Imperial Dinosaurs linked to the line and the smaller-range figures, but this is running a bit long, so I'll leave it here for now.

Nightmare Gores- Relating to the preponderance of He-Man knockoff figure lines in the 80s, and the popularity of slasher films, it was only a matter of time that the two would be combined, in ways only possible without mass-fundie-protest at least) in small lines like this.

In striking red-and-black packaging with crude art of a horde of ghoulish monsters rseemingly ripping out of the card back, with the bizarrely memorable phrase of “WE WILL KILL YOU” coming out of a word balloon, there's relatively few things like it.

It used a standard barbarian body whose origins predated the line; but from where they predated was a matter of debate (Though it is known that it most certainly was original to that company and not a He-Man or Galaxy Hole bootleg(), all the same across the line with differing headsculpts.

The headsculpts did have consistent names, and one could tell their inspirations relatively well. Joe was obviously a Freddy Kreuger without the hat, the hockey-masked Rod was obviously Jason Voorhees, Mike was very obviously a riff on Michael Jackson's Thriller Werecat (Corroborated with the usual non-caucasian color of his body sculpt) and Gross was blatantly the Toxic Avenger. Mush was a generalized “melting” face, but could be said to be taken from Cropsey of The Burning; and Hexen's gas mask was likely inspired by My Bloody Valentine's main antagonist; albeit with bizarrely added devil horns.

Then there are the oddballs. Clash is a fan-favorite alongsid Hexen due to his pure black-plastic body and strange hood in striking red with a black void for a front and two piercing red pupils, but I like Frank a lot if only for being a big ridiculous Frankenstein head repurposed for this, as was what I would call the “Baltard” of this line Stall-9 with his slighly crossed eyes and almost comical grin negating whatever intimidation factory they might have. Redd caps off the line with the strange combination of bull and horse head designs obviously repurposed from the barbarian toyline this comes from in a way that still sorta works.

Their pack in accessories vary across production, but there are some commonalities. Mike; Rod; Hexen and Clash almost always came with cool red vinyl “jackets” and Tedd and Frank almost always came with bizzarrely realistic handguns molded in bright orange. And Stal-9; Mush and Clash came with a “chainsaw: very clearly remolded from a gun.

The rest were a mushmash of machetes and hammers, and knives; axes and clubs that were clearly re-utilized from the original line. There are other “relatives” like the Killer Beasts and the Murder Lady, but we'll leave it here for now.

ShineFriendz- One of the many Tamagochi-come-latelies in the 90s, this line tried valiantly to differentiate itself from the usual Tamagochi clones by giving itself a backlite, far more extensive interaction within the limits of its mono-colored pixel art and a link function for “playtimes,” All in a model approximately the size of a modern day smartphone, and to be supported with early web tie-ins in lieu of an expensive animated series.

Of course, the fact that it was its parent company's first venture into such things; a battery company to be exact (Hence why they felt so secure in being battery-eaters), there was very little oversight into the programming. And, due to a series of circumstances too stupid to mention, the devices had far more memory than they anticipated, and far more than they would need for the device's intended functions.

And, what happens when you have bored programmers and lots of time, you get easter eggs. Lots and lots of unsettling easter eggs. To the point where they took up approximately as much space as the “main” games.

So, they were immensely easy to run into during play, but they went unnoticed by corporate during the first three iterations of the pets. The most notorious of them was the possible evolution called only BREATHING which looked like an emaciated and decrepit eyeless version of the brand's canid mascot-species the Buroof that was continually doing what its name implied and had a legion of ominous quirks too long to list here.

Despite rumors, surprisingly none of the glitches involved causing death or injury to any of the pets. Though, that still didn't make them any less fucked up, with such examples as a “pet” known as BRILT that took the form of continual flame graphic that at times would flicker to the outline of another; random pet, to the weird “bird” known as CAUSE whose pleasure meter would go up if you hit the scold button,

There's a full list of “AnomalyFriendz” (the usual fan nickname0 that's too long to list here, but it wasn't limited to them, with such things as a “Game” that involved running from what looked like a crude pair of jaws to a “food” that looked like a wad with what was unmistakably eyes. And the web fiction didn't help, given how the actual text stories were dark , reading more like if Clive Barker wrote Watership Down with it just being barely within what was “appropriate” for kids, with increasingly less subtle allusions to the “AnomalyFriendz”

The minority of parental complaints weren't what got the execs notice however, it was actually the fans of the property, young girls who wrote in asking about those glitches. Not even in disapproving tones either, just asking whether they were intentional, or even asking if playground rumors (Or the rumors circulating across the website's own forums) were true.

This lead to them trying to integrate the macabre bits into the actual marketing for the toys, with the fourth iteration “FreakyFriendz,” with a cleverly altered shell with an ominously warped corner and more integration of the “anomalous” and “regular” Friends. And that is what sunk the line.

Because, parents actually noticed and; since this was the 90s; they bitched up a storm, leading to most of them being removed from shelves. Which is a shame, because enthusiasts say these were the best models yet.

The company left the business shortly thereafter, but there remains a small cult fandom to this day; complete with officially sanctioned web-iterations and even a few (sadly stillborn) attempts at full on revivals. But, maybe someday...

#action figures #toys #fictional toys #public domain #horror #things that need to exist #things that don't exist #macabre #weird #bootlegs #knockoffs

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whifferdills · 7 years ago

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Idk why but all your fics give me a really cozy feeling. Even the weird ones. (Maybe especially the weird ones.) That said, I am still waiting for that Rory/TARDIS sequel. (Preferably explicit.)

i wrote something and i don’t think it’s what you want but that’s what i got and i’m gonna put the gavel down on Sequels To This Fic from here on out. the story’s done, i can’t do anymore, please feel free to ask for something else.

but thank you for the words in re: cozy, i do strive for that, i’m glad it lands home for you

Rory/Amy, Rory/The TARDIS, ~1k words, this isn’t sexy it’s just a character piece sorry, Parentel Guidance Rated: Spicy, for Adult Themes, dubcon, emotional distress, etc

So it's 1936 and Rory Pond is sexually haunted by a spaceship.

He's also married to a woman absolutely miles out of his league, and they're trying for another bouncing baby whatever, and being a nurse from the future is complicated in a mostly-positive way, and generally the 30's in America have less of everything except syphilis and economic turmoil. There's a lot going on. Just, right, one of the things is: he's still got the TARDIS in his head.

Not all the time, not overmuch. Subtle enough he just thought it was stress, bad memories, the situation of it all. And the first incursion, a soft warm white-noise of a dream that left him sweating icicles and rock-hard upon waking up in their unheated midwinter flat, just sort of faded into the background. Amy was there, and she was warm, and having another nightmare. He curled up next to her, carefully angling his weird erection away, and tried to fall back asleep. Just a strange night. Out of many strange nights, all in a row.

(In the morning he wanted to say something and Amy looked like she wanted to say something and together they collectively said nothing at all.)

The second time, he woke up with a raging hard-on, in the middle of the night, and he left the warm cocoon of their blanket pile to stand at the window, the one single window, facing the brick wall of the adjacent building, and waited: shivering, teeth chattering, perfunctorily jerking himself off. Something about lights, and wires, and a warm welcoming buzz. Vroop vroop.

(She was writing a book, a children's book, and he loved that she was writing, because she was always creative, always talking, and then she wasn't, because their lives were a shitshow and then 1930s America happened and it was heartbreaking and absolutely understandable, what she went through. But she was making and talking and she was happy, after a fashion, and in his books that was just about one of the best things to happen.)

The third time, he knows. It's not a memory, not a bad dream. It's weird, capital-W Weird Stuff. The neutrons are temporally enfuckulated, or however the Doctor would phrase it; a complicated concept simplified for an alien child. Plus some white lies, probably.

New York is belligerently stumbling into spring and he's standing by their one window, the snow turning to dirty slush on the street below, watching Amy sleep. A presence in his head, and a tented-pants twinge in his nether region, and his hands clenched tight on the windowsill. Paint flaking off, the cold-air draft dragging past his wrists.

"Could you not," he says softly. "Please."

From inside his head, like an ear-worm song, he hears an apologetic vroop vroop.

It's 1937 and it's less cold all the time, which is the main thing. They have a new flat, with a furnace; Amy's book has sold enough to lead to another handshake contract - which is bonkers, considering it's 1937, and it's terrifying because so much could go so wrong, and his wages aren't exactly paying the rent, but he is so, so proud of her -

It's 1937 and it's a Tuesday and Rory is awake and cleaning the dust off the breadbox and it's 11 AM and quite nice out and everything inside him suddenly clenches up. A euphoric wave washing over. He knows, he knows what this is.

Amy's at the typewriter and she stops, hands ready-alert hovered over the keys. "What's wrong?" she asks.

"Digestive...issues?" he lies, and immediately feels bad about it.

"You know you can talk about it. Whatever it is. Yeah? We're in this together." She stares at him, and through him, and she's scared but steady and he falls in love all over again.

"Just been thinking about. You know. Before."

"With the Doctor."

"Right."

"And the internet and three Tescos in walking distance and fewer recent major wars and/or plagues. And the sexism was more cloaked. And the clothing - "

"And the TARDIS," he blurts out.

She hums and goes a bit faraway, like she does sometimes. And then she starts typing again, with a smile like she's trying very hard to be positive. "Would be nice, wouldn't it? I think about that a lot. Time travel, I mean, away from here."

He wants to say,

No, not like that, the TARDIS is a literal thing inside my brain and genitals

but that wouldn't be right, would it. That's not a discussion he wants to have. So he nods, and smiles, and shrugs, and goes back to dusting. He keeps dusting until he has to leave for his shift at the hospital.

(She reads out a passage from what she's just written, and it's good and it's her and he is in awe of this woman. So impossibly strong and clever and infuriating and brave. She kisses him goodbye, as he leaves for work, and he carries that with him into the medieval torture-chamber of a hospital where he's not half as helpful as he'd like, or want. It's something, it's way more than nothing.)

It's 1938 and Rory shakes himself out of an unwanted erotic dream. He drags himself out of bed, and he watches his wife sleep. Swing-shift, he's only up about an hour early. The sun's coming up, light filtering through the curtains in their one of three windows.

"Don't," he says softly. "Please. Unless you can take us out of this, to the moon or something. In the future."

He hears, or feels, a quiet vroop vroop noise, and feels a rush of faintly-apologetic optimism, and then it's gone. And it stays gone. 1938, the rest of their lives together, on their own, for better or for worse. Fingers crossed.

He slips back into bed, shucking off one strata of the blanket pile because it’s the season where you can have too many layers, depending, and holds Amy as she works through a dream. A good one, he hopes. He wraps himself closer around her and just breathes, as in-tandem as possible.

#promptapalooza #NOT THAT IT is just housekeeping #im tryna wrap up old prompts so i can start fresh #best of luck 2 me #Anonymous

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weeklyhumorist · 4 years ago

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I’m That Friend Who Always Asks if You’ve Hydrated and, Well, Have You?

Friend, you seem down. Are you drinking enough water?

Look, I know modern life holds many reasons to forget. Work. Church. Kids who call you a worthless shitfreckle and a husband who slides his Chapstick cap of a penis into anything plausibly sentient. I get it.

But being even slightly dehydrated throws you off. Similar to how finding an unknown anus’s anal beads in a spouse’s go-bag forces questions upon your marriage. Fact is, most are walking around not even realizing they’re thirsty. Or that “business trip” doesn’t always mean business trip.

It’s simple: Eight glasses, morning to night. If you’re like me, afternoons are mostly spent setting increasingly appreciable rage fires in increasingly busy Paneras, making that daypart less ideal. But whatever your hydration schedule, I find it best to begin when you first wake, right before the dark thoughts have settled in.

And that’s a full glass, too. Personally, I like to feel all fancy-schmancy by using the goblet my mother-in-law says exemplifies “the tackiness I’ve brought to the family.” I like this one because you can hold it by any of the pea green octopus’s eight pee yellow tentacles. Well, now only six, since the Elmer’s didn’t take. But still — I enjoy the options. And the rhinestones.

Your little ones will surely benefit from your good example. My parents mainly gave us coke and Pepsi — the first for energy and the latter to get the coke’s drip taste out of our throats. Water was limited to the chore of draining mom’s car bong. Parents didn’t know as much about wellness then. Or how to hide paraphernalia from the po-po if water’s still inside.

When my own daughter’s not busy updating the Insta she’s devoted to my varicose veins or her TikTok leaking details from one of my mandated wellness checks, I always nudge her to hydrate. I even got her one of those cool Yeti canteens. When I showed her, she told me to “go fuck [my]self.” Sensing she was a tad off, I reminded her to take some water. To which she replied, “in the shitbox, with a serrated blade.” ::sigh:: Pre-tweens.

But my son’s a tougher nut. I noticed his urine was quite dark. The last ER doc said it’s because his precocious methamphetamine addiction has macerated his insides. I say he just needs more H2O. Sadly, he doesn’t care for tap. Or basic human responsibility. So I suggested sparkling. And to at least make some dough by cooking meth, too.

Speaking of science: Did you realize 60% of our bodies are water? So just take my hubby. Even if .6% of him’s often inside another woman, he’s got more substantial parts in need of lubrication. I often call his office to nag him. Mostly about the size of this month’s “extramarital oopsy” bill, but also about the water thing, too.

Cause there’s no aborting reality: Water flushes the system. Reduces headaches. Gives us something to obsess about other than the usual concerns regarding mounting gambling debt, a son’s laziness about slinging rock to lessen said debt, or finding a watertight glue that’ll better bond ceramic tentacles.

There’s also digestion. It’s well established that water helps you swallow. Less publicized is how it helps breadier appetizers come back up when you surreptitiously excuse yourself to the ladies. Without water, I wouldn’t be so trim. Period.

To say nothing of how great it is for my skin. Last night, while practicing my “basically lucid” mask in that mirror I cracked during the latter half of last week’s early-midweek bender, I couldn’t help but notice how youthful I look. That’s all water, friend. Dire tears are surprisingly effective moisturizer.

For motivating others along their journeys, a fun phrase can serve as light reminder. When my kids fail to self-irrigate, I jokingly chirp, “Water, water, everywhere, and not a drop to drink.” My daughter always messes that up, thinking it’s “wither, whore!” instead. But her memory’s been off ever since that whole human trafficking thing. First kid; who knew?

Whenever stuck, refer back to the three R’s: Replenish. Renew. Racism’s A Lie. My shrink says this saying both confuses and disgusts her. Also to tender backpayment or it’s my final session. But she’s only acting curmudgeonly because I know of her nether regions’ recurring appointment atop my husband’s midlife crisis goatee. You have no such excuse. Yet. At least I don’t think. Are you missing anal beads?

Regardless, what you’re not missing is me — and I want you to grab some agua. Now. I’ll wait here with the seventeen named demons that call my mind home and the sixteen ounces of pure, filtered goodness with which I vainly try to extinguish their existence.

Salud!*

*is what I’ve named the most terrifying of the seventeen demons.

I’m That Friend Who Always Asks if You’ve Hydrated and, Well, Have You? was originally published on Weekly Humorist

#advice #annoying #drink #friends #funny #humor #water

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meetpositivesblog · 6 years ago

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Did You Know? STD & STI Contraction

The following article Did You Know? STD & STI Contraction is available on: Meet Positives Dating Blog

What are the Chances of Getting An STD/STI?

Getting STD is a real possibility if you're sexually active. This is the reason why it is so important to get tested regularly and be honest with any new partners about your sexual activity.

Sexually transmitted diseases are becoming increasingly common throughout the country and it shows that one in two sexually active persons will have an STD/STI by the age of 25.

First seen on: (https://www.stdcheck.com/blog/std-and-sti-whats-the-difference/)

When talking or reading about sexual health, the term STI is becoming more and more common. If it has made you wonder what the difference between an STI and an STD is, you’re not alone!

Image Credit

An STI is a sexually transmitted infection, and an STD is a sexually transmitted disease.

Both are essentially the same thing and the terms are used interchangeably. The usage of STI is becoming seemingly more preferred by the health world thanks in part to a less negative stigma. STDs have been around forever– think back to junior high health classes. But the phrase “STI” doesn’t yet have the same negative connotation attached to it, so doctors and health advisors are more than happy to refer to them as infections rather than diseases.

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Video Credit

However, technically, STIs and STDs differ slightly— Having an STI means that an individual has an infection, but that it has not yet developed into a disease. Take HPV (human papillomavirus) for instance: Typically a woman with HPV does not have any symptoms, but she carries the virus. She has an STI; but if she develops cervical cancer from HPV, she now has an STD since cancer is a disease.

The real question here is: What’s the difference between infection and disease? An infection is often the first step of a disease and occurs when either bacteria, viruses or microbes enter the body and start multiplying. The disruption of normal body function or structure, especially when signs and symptoms appear, is considered disease (as long as the cause is not the result of a physical injury).

This means, medically speaking, that all STDs start out as STIs.STIs that progress into disease are STDs.

Many STIs show no symptoms at all, so those individuals don’t know they have them– This is why getting tested is so important!

Are You STD Positive? Start Dating Again With Others Who Are Also Positive, Click Here To Learn More!

So how long should you wait until you decide to get tested after having sexual intercourse with a questionable partner, in order to have the most accurate results?

First seen on: (http://www.bustle.com/articles/154381-when-should-i-get-tested-for-stds-5-times-you-should-head-to-the-clinic)

Before you think about getting tested, it's important to understand how these tests actually work. STIs only show up on the tests a few weeks after a potential incident. This is because these tests often aren’t looking for the virus or bacteria in your body. Instead, they search for the antibodies your immune system has created to fight off the invading infection. It takes your body a few days to create these antibodies, which means it takes time for the test to pick up on them.

When Should I Get Tested?

1. Routinely

Everyone should be getting tested for STIs routinely. What “routinely” means really depends on your lifestyle, but it can be anywhere from every year to every three months. It depends on how many sexual partners you have — if you’re only sleeping with one person and you don’t have any slip-ups with other people, then you’re probably on the annual testing routine. If you’re having sex with several people, you’re probably more on the every three months track. Talk to your doctor about how often you should be getting tested based on the type of relationships you have.

2. Before (Or After) You Sleep With Someone New

If you have a new partner you're planning on taking home, it's a good idea to get tested beforehand so you can give them accurate information about your status. You can even consider going to get tested together! I know that might sound horrifyingly stressful, but lots of couples actually do it. Some even find it sexy. And even if you don't get tested together, it's a good idea to talk about your statuses — how long ago did each of you get tested? Did you test positive for anything that last time? Is it maybe time to get tested again, either together or separately?

3. ... Even If You Use Condoms

Even if you use condoms, you still need to get tested to know your status. That's because condoms aren't 100 percent effective. There are a couple of reasons why condoms don't provide complete protection. First off, even if you use condoms correctly every time you have sex, they are only 98 percent effective against pregnancy, and most people don't use them correctly every time (hey, no one's perfect), so the typical use efficacy rate is 82 percent. While we don't have an easy percentage to talk about STIs, research has found that condoms are very effective in preventing STIs spread by body fluids (mainly semen, pre-cum, and vaginal fluid). They also reduce your risk for getting STIs spread through skin contact, because they cover the skin of the penis. So if infected skin in question happens to be covered by the condom, then you're more likely to not get an STI if you use a condom.

If you use condoms every time you have sex and you put them on correctly every time, you're doing the best you can to protect yourself from both pregnancy and STIs — but because condoms aren't completely effective, you're still dealing with a bit of risk if your sexual partner has an STI. So if you're hooking up with someone whose status you don't know, even if you used a condom, it's a good idea to get tested. Just remember about the lag time for STI tests — if you have sex with a new lover on Sunday morning, you need to wait a couple weeks to get tested to get an accurate result for anything you could have gotten from that new person.

4. After Unprotected Sex

In addition to getting tested routinely, it’s important to get tested after you have an incident that you think could have exposed you to an STI. This can be a condom breaking, having unprotected sex (it happens to the best of us), or being the victim of sexual assault. If, whether intentionally or unintentionally, you have protected sex, you may have put yourself at risk for getting an STI. If this is you, don't panic. Tell your doctor, and she'll let you know when to come in for testing.

5. If You're Not Feeling Great

I don’t want you going down the rabbit hole of Internet self-diagnosis, but here we go. All STIs have potential side effects, such as genital redness or itching, pain during urination, pain during sex, or flu-like symptoms. I saypotential because a lot of people are asymptomatic, which means they don’t feel any different even though they have an infection. If you’re feeling not-great, particularly in your nether region, describe your symptoms to your doctor. You could have an STI (or just about a million other things). She will test you to make sure, and then give you the treatment you need to feel better.

If your partner starts showing symptoms that sound like they could be an STI, you might want to accompany them to the clinic, and also get tested yourself. If your partner is positive for an STI, it doesn't mean you are too — but it could. Knowing earlier means you can get treatment earlier. For more highly communicable STIs, sometimes providers will give treatment to the person testing positive and their sexual partner(s), so that their patient doesn't get cured only to get reinfected the next time they have sex.

You may think whether you should get tested for STD. You may also think if your partner needs a test too. Or you just want to learn more about STD testing. Whatever the reason may be, the information you have the better you can protect your sexual health.

[Are you Widowed?|} Meet Positives is a community for people impacted with a gonorrhea Never have the talk again Search: Meet Positives STD Dating website

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djsamaha-blog · 7 years ago

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New Neuroscience Reveals 2 Rituals That Will Make You More Mindful

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Before we commence with the festivities, I wanted to thank everyone for helping my first book become a Wall Street Journal bestseller. To check it out, click here.

***

You want to get to work but instead you surf the internet. You want to diet but instead you eat enough candy to give an entire 2nd grade classroom type 2 diabetes. Why?

You might think you lack self-control. Or that you make bad decisions. But none of these explanations ever seems to get to the bottom of why what-you-think and what-you-do all too frequently don’t line up.

What the heck is going in your brain that causes these inconsistencies? Sometimes it’s almost like you’re 2 different people. Or 3. Or 19.

There’s a very simple answer: you are 19 different people. Or 4. Or 107. But what you aren’t is one person. Yeah, sounds crazy, I know. Stay with me…

Over 1000 years ago Buddhism — where mindfulness techniques come from — said that there is no singular “you.” The “self” does not exist. Sound like crazy nonsense? I’m with you. (All 27 of you, actually.) But here’s the thing…

Both neuroscience and psychology are starting to agree. Sometimes you don’t act like you because there is no singular “you.”

And this positively perplexing proposition holds the answer to why you do dumb things, procrastinate, can’t follow through on your goals, and why some days it seems like everyone – including you — is a total hypocrite.

Strap in — we’re gonna turn everything you know about your grey matter upside down and give you a completely new way of looking at your mind and how it works. Of course, we’ll also cover how to address this issue and start getting your act together.

Alright, enough foreplay. It’s time for me and you (and you, and you and you) to get to work…

Walt Whitman, You Do Contain Multitudes

There is no “you.” There are a lot of yous in your head. But do legit scientists really agree with such a seemingly ridiculous statement? Here’s Duke psychology professor Dan Ariely:

…our models of human behavior need to be rethought. Perhaps there is no such thing as a fully integrated human being. We may, in fact, be an agglomeration of multiple selves.

What we’re talking about is the cutting edge theory of the “modular mind.” (Okay, it’s old news to Buddhist monks but cutting edge to the rest of us.)

The human brain wasn’t built top to bottom as a single project like Apple builds a computer. It evolved over millions of years in a very messy fashion. Various systems (or “modules”) came about to drive you to accomplish different tasks like seeking food, fighting, reproduction, etc. But here’s the problem…

They were never integrated. So these systems compete to steer the ship that is your brain. Your mind is less like a single computer operating system and more like a collection of smartphone apps where only one can be open and running at a time.

Here’s noted science author Robert Wright:

In this view, your mind is composed of lots of specialized modules—modules for sizing up situations and reacting to them—and it’s the interplay among these modules that shapes your behavior. And much of this interplay happens without conscious awareness on your part. The modular model of the mind, though still young and not fully fleshed out, holds a lot of promise. For starters, it makes sense in terms of evolution: the mind got built bit by bit, chunk by chunk, and as our species encountered new challenges, new chunks would have been added. As we’ll see, this model also helps make sense of some of life’s great internal conflicts, such as whether to cheat on your spouse, whether to take addictive drugs, and whether to eat another powdered-sugar doughnut.

Now modules aren’t physical structures in the brain, just like apps aren’t hardware in your phone. They’re software; the human nature algorithms that Mother Nature coded over thousands of generations of evolution.

So you want to diet but you see donuts and your brain’s hunger module (like the “Grubhub” app) hjacks control and says, “Food! Eat it. Now.” Or you want to be nice but your mind’s anger app (“Angry Birds”) takes charge and you’re saying things another app is really going to regret tomorrow. You’re like a walking live performance of Pixar’s “Inside Out.”

Now this isn’t as alien as it might sound. When you do something while drunk or tired what’s the phrase you often pull out? “I wasn’t myself.”

Yeah. Exactly. Upside: you can now use the royal “we” to describe yourself.

(To learn more about the science of a successful life, check out my new book here.)

So how do we prevent hijacking by the wrong module at the wrong time and make better decisions? First we need to learn how those inappropriate modules get hold of your steering wheel…

Feelings. Nothing More Than Feelings.

Whichever module has the most emotional kick attached to it at any point wins the competition to be “you.”

You see a pizza commercial and it stirs up feelings of hunger and that “Grubhub” app hijacks control. Then you see someone attractive, feelings stir in your nether regions, the “Tinder” app takes charge and your brain is under new management yet again.

Under this lens, many of the confusing and frustrating things about human behavior start to make a lot of sense:

Of course people are hypocritical. They’re made up of competing “selves” with very different goals and different information. Uncle Al is the most reasonable guy in the world — unless his “politics module” takes charge.

Are people good or bad? They’re both. The metaphorical angel on one shoulder and devil on the other are just different modules in the brain with different motivations.

Those emotional persuasion techniques? They’re an attempt to switch the other person’s dominant module. To get them to go from that competitive Chess app to something more friendly like Facebook.

Why do you lack self-control? Because now the word doesn’t make any sense. It’s actually “selves-control.” Your behavior isn’t inconsistent; the “you” in charge is inconsistent.

Is it starting to click now? Here’s University of Pennsylvania psychology professor Robert Kurzban:

Some modules are designed to gather benefits, others are designed to deliver benefits, and they exist in the same head, sometimes in conflict. In the same way, this analysis does away with the question of whether individual acts are “really” self-interested. Different kinds of acts advance the goals that some, but not other, modules are designed to bring about. So, both meanings of “self-interest” seem to be a problem because different modules have different designs, and are therefore built to bring about different outcomes.

I had a girlfriend named Natalia who, whenever she got caught doing something naughty, would smirk and say, “That wasn’t me. That was Natasha.” I would roll my eyes but it turns out Natalia knew a lot more about neuroscience than I did. (Um, or Natasha did. Whatever. You get the point.)

You’re often a slave to your emotional reactions to the world around you. You react to your context with feelings, those give one module more power than another, and that one hijacks decision-making in your brain…

Until new feelings are stirred up and another module takes charge. And this happens over and over and over all day long.

Here’s Robert Wright:

The human brain is a machine designed by natural selection to respond in pretty reflexive fashion to the sensory input impinging on it. It is designed, in a certain sense, to be controlled by that input. And a key cog in the machinery of control is the feelings that arise in response to the input. If you interact with those feelings… via the natural, reflexive thirst for the pleasant feelings and the natural, reflexive aversion to the unpleasant feelings—you will continue to be controlled by the world around you.

Your brain is like a car with a terrible automatic transmission. Any car fanatic knows if you want total control, you want a stick shift. You want to be able to choose which gear is engaged to best suit the current challenges ahead.

But you have this horrendous automatic transmission and so often your brain is in 1st gear on the highway and in 5th gear backing out of a parking spot and the results are far from what you desired.

(To learn the 3 secrets from neuroscience that will make you emotionally intelligent, click here.)

So how can we replace your automatic transmission with a nice stick shift? How do we prevent your grey matter from being continually hijacked by whatever emotions well up inside you?

How To Prevent Brain Hijack

Buddhism recognized this problem over 1000 years ago. And it also came up with a solution: mindfulness meditation.

But wait a second — Buddhism is a religion, right? Hold on. You can improve your body with yoga without being Hindu. And you can improve your brain through meditation without being Buddhist. Meditation is a secular tool for strengthening mental muscles.

And neuroscience gives it a big thumbs up. Studies show meditation trains your brain to be less reactive to emotional swings and can prevent the wrong module from hijacking control of your brain.

From

The meditators’ brains were scanned while they saw disturbing images of people suffering, like burn victims. The seasoned practitioners’ brains revealed a lowered level of reactivity in the amygdala; they were more immune to emotional hijacking. The reason: their brains had stronger operative connectivity between the prefrontal cortex, which manages reactivity, and the amygdala, which triggers such reactions. As neuroscientists know, the stronger this particular link in the brain, the less a person will be hijacked by emotional downs and ups of all sorts.

And this helps you make better decisions.

Here’s Robert Wright:

After all, one virtue of mindfulness meditation is that experiencing your feelings with care and clarity, rather than following them reflexively and uncritically, lets you choose which ones to follow—like, say, joy, delight, and love.

When you’re better able to cope with feelings and not just instinctively reacting to them, you’re able to stay calm and resist hijacking. And astronauts, samurai and Navy SEALs all agree that the key to making good decisions — especially under pressure — is keeping your cool.

(To learn the 4 rituals from neuroscience that will make you happy, click here.)

Great. So how do you meditate to get those powerful brain benefits?

Meditation 101

Dan Harris wrote the most accessible — and most entertaining — book on meditation out there: 10% Happier. And when I spoke to him, here’s how he explained the dead simple way to build those brain biceps:

It really involves three extremely simple steps.

One: Sit with your eyes closed and your back straight.

Two: Notice what it feels like when your breath comes in and when your breath goes out, try to bring your full attention to the feeling of your breath coming in and going out.

Third step is the biggie. Every time you try to do this, your mind is going to go crazy. You are going to start thinking about all sorts of stupid things like if you need a haircut, why you said that dumb thing to your boss, what’s for lunch, etc. Every time you notice that your mind is wandering, bring your attention back to your breath and begin again. This is going to happen over and over and over again and that is meditation.

By the way, you’re going to suck at this. Meditation is the hardest simple thing you’ll ever do. Dan agrees:

It’s not easy. You will “fail” a million times but the “failing” and starting over is succeeding. So this isn’t like most things in your life where, like if you can’t get up on water skis, you can’t do it. Here the trying and starting again, trying and starting again, that’s the whole game.

But do you need to be in the midst of meditation to get the improvements? Nope. Neuroplasticity to the rescue! Over time, meditation produces trait changes in the brain so that the effects persist.

From

…there are hints in the research that these changes are traitlike: they appear not simply during the explicit instruction to perceive the stressful stimuli mindfully but even in the “baseline” state, with reductions in amygdala activation as great as 50 percent. Such lessening of the brain’s stress reactions appears in response not simply to seeing the gory pictures used in the laboratory but also to more real-life challenges…

But getting your grey matter to seriously change itself takes time. A lot of time. Hundreds or thousands of hours of meditating. I know what you’re thinking: I don’t have 10 years to sit cross-legged on a mountaintop. I have a job, pal.

I get it. What’s truly fascinating is that recent research has shown a tiny bit of meditation can actually be used acutely — in the moment when you’re having a push-the-red-button-level emergency.

From

As these stressful thoughts were presented, the patients used either of two different attentional stances: mindful awareness of their breath or distraction by doing mental arithmetic. Only mindfulness of their breath both lowered activity in the amygdala— mainly via a faster recovery— and strengthened it in the brain’s attentional networks, while the patients reported less stress reactivity.

When you’re feeling stressed out, when it seems like a hijack might be coming, just do a “mini-meditation.” By focusing on your breath for a few moments you can get some of the long term benefits of meditation right when you need them.

(To learn more about how to meditate from Dan Harris, click here.)

We’ve covered a lot. Time for the yous to gather ’round. Let’s pull it all together and learn how the modular vision of the brain along with mindfulness can lead to that little thing called wisdom…

Sum Up

Here’s what you and you and you need to know about how to be more mindful:

There are many yous: Like apps on a smartphone, different systems in your brain with different goals can take control at different times, which is why you can behave so inconsistently.

Feelings are what give a module control: You get worked up by what your buddy said and suddenly your brain is hijacked by “Angry Birds” instead of “Words With Friends.”

Meditation can prevent hijacking: Over time, meditation can rewire your brain to be less impulsively reactive and allow you to thoughtfully respond to your feelings.

Mini-meditations help in the moment: By focusing on your breath during a tense moment you can get some of the long term effects of meditation right when you need them.

Less reactivity means fewer hijacks which leads to better decisions and more alignment between thought and action. Over time, that leads to wisdom. Neuroscience PhD and meditation advocate put it best:

On one level, wisdom is nothing more profound than an ability to follow one’s own advice.

You don’t want your internal Grubhub app taking charge when you’re on a diet. And you certainly don’t want that Tinder app active when you’re with someone you know isn’t right for you. (Swipe left!)

Observe a couple breaths. Stay calm so you can get back to your home screen. Choose the right app for the situation.

Trust me: you don’t want Natasha running the show.

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Posted On: October 5, 2017

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