#not myself being the blog i reblogged from most

[idrawprettyboys]

Advice for Aspiring Commissions Artists

I recently had someone ask for advice on how to sell art commissions, so I thought it would be nice to compile a list for others aspiring to do so, as well as to remind myself of some important things to keep in mind.

1. Have one tumblr blog strictly for art. People will follow it specifically because they like your art, and it will be easy for them to find your artwork without having to scroll through a jumble of other stuff.

2. Draw and post just about every day! Most people will say to draw every single day, but please let yourself rest. You will end up being miserable if you force yourself to draw when you aren’t feeling well. The more you draw, the more your art will improve, and the more followers you will naturally accumulate over time.

3. Post fan art to bring in fans. You don’t have to strictly draw fan art, of course. But people are more likely to interact if they’re familiar with the character already. A lot of people will follow you for fan art initially, and some of them will grow to love your original art as well.

4. Develop your own unique style. This will occur naturally over time. Learn from artists you love, and over time, your art will evolve into a mix of art styles you like into something uniquely yours!

5. It takes time to find supporters who are willing to spend money on your art. Building an art business is a slow process, and it takes patience and perseverance. Only a small percentage of social media followers will pay for commissions or Patreon support, but those few are precious.

6. Use every platform and website you can to share your art and have links between platforms, so your fans can find you in multiple places. Examples of places to share your art are social media sites like Twitter, Instagram, BlueSky, and Pillowfort, as well as art sites like Cara and Pixiv.

7. Get a Patreon and Ko-Fi account and be sure to provide links to these means of financial support on your art posts (especially the art pieces you’re proud of).

8. Make use of as many means of making money with art as you can. Sell prints on inprnt, sell stickers on Redbubble. Youtube videos can eventually give you ad revenue. If you make comics, Tapas is another option to make a little bit of ad revenue. You can use Etsy to sell originals, prints, or even commissions! Some people may feel more comfortable buying commissions through an official store like Etsy rather than on social media, so it’s good to have that as a back-up in addition to selling through other sites.

9. Use a secure payment method that you’re comfortable with! I recommend using PayPal with invoices, so that you have proof of their purchase in case anything goes wrong. A lot of artists use Ko-Fi as well.

10. Post your commission guidelines on all the sites where you post your art! Don’t be afraid to reblog/repost your commission price list multiple times!

11. Art commissions are not a steady job. You might get nonstop commissions for a couple months and then not get any for a few months. There are some times of year when people are less willing to spend money. I’ve noticed this happening towards the end of the year. At times when you aren’t getting commissions, I recommend doing a limited time sale!

12. Price yourself appropriately for the amount of effort it takes for you to get the work done! Don’t overprice or underprice! Ask your friends for advice on what you should charge. You’ll probably want to start low and slowly increase your prices as your work gets higher demand.

13. Make your commission price list legible! Check out other people’s sheets for guidance!

14. Have patience and perseverance! It may take years after you start posting before you get a commission, but the more you put yourself out there, the more you’ll get noticed!

15. Draw what you enjoy! Maybe cater to your audience once in a while, but your own happiness is important to give yourself the drive to keep on going!

16. Don’t be afraid to reblog your own art at various times of day, for maximum visibility! Not all of your followers will be online at the time that you initially posted it.

@artist-kreating-stuff

[strangerthingsfanworkrecs]

I would love to recommend @tomtomslongdong as a *reader* highlight. It is always such a joy to see what they’re reading but also to read whatever comments and tags they leave behind. Let alone to be a writer and receive their feedback. One of the greatest supporters in the fandom, truly if no one else cares for a fic I wrote but they enjoyed it, it’s like the ultimate stamp of approval.

This week, we're highlighting @tomtomslongdong as a commenter! All recs this week will be from her recs.

Tomtom answered some questions about what she does to find fics and to leave great comments under the cut

Why Stranger Things?

I went from casual watcher in anticipation of season 4 coming out to falling in love with all the characters in the space of a few weeks. Friendship, loyalty and messy family dynamics are such a core part of st, which is something I latch onto when I’m watching anything. And maybe.. there were some characters(Eddie) that I grew even more fond of(definitely Eddie). I even remember seeing edits of Eddie at the picnic table but it wasn’t until I had watched that first episode of season 4 that I truly got it. It’s been 84 years but I’m still in love with that man.

What's your favorite ship (platonic or romantic) to read?

I read x reader the most but I adore platonic stobin and I wanna read about them more. Their dynamic is everything to me. Infact Robin with any of the st girls too. I look up this one fanart of robin and Carol Perkins a lot. A LOT.

How do you typically find fics?

At the start I would brave the tags more and I do still do that but genuinely it’s from blogs I like and follow reblogging them. I’ve curated my own little balance of people reading stuff I know I’ll like and also being introduced to fics I might not have even thought of reading before seeing their reactions.

Are there other forms of fanart you enjoy? How do you find them?

Fanart that’s been inspired by fics or concepts, just witnessing one artist inspire another is so joyful. Also when an artists self inserts themselves into their art! It’s seriously one of the coolest things ever. My favourite thing to do is trawling the tags of an eddie blog as I go on a deep dive. I scrape the barnacles off that boat allllll the way back to the start. I find all sorts of fanart and work that maybe I’ve never seen as I didn’t gravitate back to tumblr till later in summer ‘22.

What's your tip for leaving comments on works?

Just tell them how it made you feel man. Scream it at the writers. I’m no good at articulating myself at all but sometimes you read the exact thing you needed to read and all is right with the world. Let them know they’re very much to blame for your emotional state when they post. And who knows those writers might occasionally grace you with the biggest gift of all (more lore on the world they’ve built directly from their mind via an IV drip known as the DMs)

Is there any fanwork that really stood out to you?

hockey!eddie has an iron tight grip on me and if anyone could find the stats on how many times I’ve viewed dr-aculaaa and hearsegrrl art on him, you’d take my phone away

Is there anything we didn't ask that you'd like to add?

Just that it’s wild, there’s this little community in my phone that’s so smart? So talented? And I’ve formed what I hope I can call genuine friendships from this and yet no one in my day to day real life knows I’m just kicking around in here haha! I get to be my weirdo self with my weirdo friends in peace and I think that’s lovely.

[trees-can-draw]

Hm.

[wolpatinga]

[sunlightfeeling]

gonna maybe be away for a lil bit (I say maybe because it really depends on my brain’s temperment)

currently fighting some darkness atm that won’t fucking stop (I’m okay, though, I swear, but its been all fucking day and I need to sleep and I can’t because thoughts)

leave a message after the beep

[euniexenoblade]

since we're talking about call outs lately, i've been called out many times, most of which are made from lies and sometimes by altering screenshots, but the most effective call out i ever got was like, in early 2015 there was a tumblr user everyone knew was a terf, but she would say "actually i support trans women" this was before crypto terfs were as talked about so the language wasn't really there to say "hey this person is a crypto terf." but yeah some people put posts of this woman on my dash and i made a random post on my blog "why do yall reblog her shes a terf" and of course she searches her own name daily, found my post, and replied to it that me calling her a terf was racist. that was it. no other interaction. but she went on all night talking about me being racist and just making things up as she went "oh i bet she says the n word all the time irl" kind of shit that had, like no basis? But her follower base took it 100% and i literally had thousands of anons telling me to kill myself, trying to goad me into being racist (didnt work), and the most concerning thing was i got hundreds of anons being like "what was the point of doing hrt if you still look like that, you should kill yourself." It was like, violent and overwhelming. and on top of it I'd get random young teenager trans people who followed her and bought into her bioessentialism showing up in my messages being like "you give trans people a bad name" "you're why transphobia exists" etc etc it was fucking crazy.

but i lost like, no followers because everyone around me understood, this woman was a terf. this all set up the real one though.

later in the year a teenage "communist" trans girl made some snarky comment about me being racist on a post of mine blowing up. i ignored her cuz like, who cares it's just some random teenager. but i guess people were looking for a reason to hate me cuz that blew up, lots of people just took that at face value no need to investigate. when someone finally did send the girl an ask being like "hey how is she racist" she replied "I dont remember but I know she is" and even more people just took this as 100%. the thing is, i do remember her being one of those "you make trans people look bad" terf following young trans people, it's not that she didn't remember, it's that she didnt want to admit she followed a terf and she believed a terf just saying shit. I lost like 3/4s of my followers, i had a lot of people i thought were my friends just stop talking to me, and going forward every time i got a call out there would usually be a line of like "also she's racist, everyone already knows this" all cuz this girl needed to make a snarky comment cuz she just loves terfs.

the thing about the "i dont remember" bit is it made some weird game of telephone. "I dont remember" became "oh she's racist, i think she says the n word" which became "she called black bloggers the n word" like people just made shit up about me and connected it to this call out. and when id be like this isnt true id be met with a "this is just known, youre a known racist" and it's like, to this day i will still find people be like "hey good on you for growing as a person and not doing that any more" and its like I NEVER DID IT TO BEGIN WITH

[aromantic-pantyanarchy]

It's me. I'm the cis, heterosexual, aromantic man. I will never marry, I will never be married, I will grow into middle age and elder age and I will die unmarried. I will be forced to support a household of myself on only my wages alone for the rest of my life. I will be asked about women and marriage and children by my family for the rest of my life (or men, the progressive ones might say). I may not ever come out to them. I feel like I burned my coming out on something stupid. I don't want to explain it. I don't want to run them through the definitions and intricacies. I don't want the acceptance without understanding, placating me with ceased questions and poor explanations to other, drunk adults.

I like my hair to be long, I spent a year with it dyed a golden blonde with dark roots because I like the trashy party girl aesthetic. I want to dye it again with pink tips. I like painting my nails, black and blue are my favorite colors. I like wearing chokers. I also like wearing baggy jeans and ratty hoodies. I like having stubble. I like having chest hair. I like having a square jaw and broad shoulders. I wish I had a flatter stomach and a thinner profile frame. I don't know what this makes me, perhaps this is something no more GNC than Machine Gun Kelly. I think about this a lot, how queer my appearance truly is. I should think about it less. I have thought long and hard about if I could be trans or if I could be non-binary or if I could be genderqueer and the conclusion I ultimately came to is that I most enjoy being a man open to whatever self-expression I want.

I don't date, but I've thought about it. I would like to meet people, and I would like to have sex with them. But I don't want to hurt them. I fear if I explain what I am beforehand it'll scare them away. I fear if I explain after they'll feel manipulated or abused. I don't know how many people in the dating scene want what I want. I fear my own lack of experience will make me a bad lay, an embarrassing story to tell to confidants in hindsight. I fear my own virginity, a boundary to those I wish to be like. All of these fears are baseless, as I've not been able to even begin a single relationship in my life. Despite this I still heavily identify with terms like "slut" and "manwhore" and "thot" because my interests lay so deeply within casual sex, sex without great intimacy or emotion. This may be some form of stolen valor. I hope the true sluts are not too mad at me.

I made this blog several years ago because a mutual of mine reblogged memes making fun of aro and ace people, making fun of the concept of aphobia, and in addition well known aphobes. I didn't feel comfortable talking about aro stuff on my main blog, for as little as I talk about it. Living through the ace discourse of the 2016 era has largely caused me to cringe in embarrassment any time I am forced to discuss my orientation with people who aren't aro or ace themselves. I no longer follow this person. I unfollowed many people I was mutuals with from that time, most of them because they posted too often about how much they hated men and I didn't want to see that, some because our interests simply drifted too far apart, only one for explicit aphobia reasons. (Also one because they became a "both sides are bad, any vote is wasted" libertarian, but that's unrelated.)

I guess at this point I don't care deeply about what strangers on the internet think of me. If a trusted friend told me that they don't think I'm truly queer that may hurt. But I am going to continue to use the word for myself. I take up no resources. I go to events that are open to me. If an event was not open to me, I think I'd not want to go anyways. I am not a hypothetical, I am not a strawman, I am a person with lived experiences both within and exterior to the queer community. If you hate me, I will permit you to continue to do so. But ultimately, I am who I am, I cannot change these facts, and I would not choose to do so even if I could.

[freezerbnuuy]

The Simblr Cycle

Paid creator acts up for the 19348th time, site-wide outrage

Everyone pissed off about paid creator

Vague appreciation posts for free CC creators (but they still get fuck-all in terms of reblogs or exposure)

Everyone points out the fact there are places to get this paid CC for free

Paid creator releases new set, gets thousands of reblogs and everyone is putting it on their sims and in their houses and on their Simblrs and basically doing free advertising

Free CC creators go back to getting fuck-all in terms of interaction

The rest is under the cut.

For a site full of people obsessed with the ideal of a person who does no wrong, y’all are sure as shit in love with the people who cannot do anything right whilst the good folk get bugger-all!

When do people stop paying shitty creators and when do these same people stop freely advertising for them as well? 💀 And when it comes to when they fuck up, you know what they say about there being no such thing as bad pubilicity. There’s no way these people will actually be booted from the community because of the price tag making it look more special and desirable, and because people refuse to check out places like Rebels and DHM where you can get all this shit for free.

They can do whatever the fuck they like at this point because the callouts will only summon their white-knights and the rightful reblogged callouts and warnings will only get them more advertising - because most people only care about pretty desirable things and for whatever reason will gladly tolerate shitty business practices from these people.

So many decent folk and passionate folk in this community get nothing except empty vague mass reblogged messages about how much people love their creations whilst the scamming cunts get all the constant attention and advertisement. And all free creators get is pitiful exposure, none of the excited ‘look at this cool CC so and so made!’ and all they get is taken advantage of by paid creators. Don’t be surprised if even more free creators like myself leave the community because they’re tired of it. Scammers in the Simblr or wider CC community and thieves have fucked this up for everybody. Paid content has ruined the TS4 community, but at the same time the whole community almost revolves around it despite it.

Everyone talks about how people making stuff for free or just doing stories and challenges are the backbone of this community and then it entirely becomes about the paid creators. Again. And again and again and again, and it’s never-ending.

EDIT: Please stop following my account since I am a retired creator who doesn’t upload anymore. I appreciate it but I am no longer posting Sims content to my blog. You are welcome and encouraged to reblog my Gaza / Sudan fundraisers reblogs however.

The funny part is, I got more notes on this one rant post in 3 days than I did across most of my actual Sims content for months, with the exception of 1 or 2 semi-popular pose packs, lmao. Like I said, paid creators run the place at this point. This entire community revolves around paid creators and awful business practice and behaviour now, and with TS5 cancelled they’re here to stay for a much longer time than we’d hoped for. Good luck to all of the gameplayers, storytellers and free creators. You’re going to need it.

Since this post is getting so much traction, let's be outraged about something more important for the New Year - the ongoing genocide, war and famine that a lot of people have conveniently forgotten about. Don't turn your back just because it isn't happening in your country / to people like you / to people you know or can relate to / because you're too busy pointing out others not doing enough when you yourself are doing nothing.

Donate to a fundraiser for someone in the middle of war, genocide, or famine.

There is a whole list here to choose from for donations to Gaza.

There is also a gathering of fundraisers for the people of Sudan and Friends of the Congo.

You can also search the relevant Tumblr tags to find other fundraisers.

If you cannot donate, reblog some individual fundraiser posts or posts focusing on a fundraising organisation.

[ramp-it-up]

Anatomy of a Kiss

Summary: You and Logan agree on one thing: you both hate each other. So what happens when you kiss him?

Word count: 4.2 K

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Reader

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. S MUT Not Beta’d. ONE DEADPOOL X WOLVERINE SPOILER AHEAD! Read at your own risk. S MUT! Enemies to lovers; snark to fluff, idiots in love; use of the words stupid, dumb, insipid as insults. Reader's father is either a mobster or a mutant villain, or both; (Reader may or may not be a mutant herself), a couple dark themes and mention of parent death; Reader has Daddy issues; Reader is a thicc girlie; Princess and Old Man as nicknames; there are two slaps; a tipsy kiss; povs switch thorughout the fic. pining; insinuations of masturbation, oral (f receiving), spitting, praise and degredation kink, size kink, creampie, cum play, explicit sex acts, raw p in v (wrap it up) voice kink, this Logan is Dom Logan.

A/N: This was in my soul for a couple of weeks, but I don't feel it's all that great. Here goes. Let me know if you like it by reblogging, liking and commenting please. Thank you. ☺️

I no longer have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! ����

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

-----

The biggest mistake that Logan Howlett ever made in his life was kissing you back.

Because now he was never going to get you out of his system. 

—--

You were celebrating.

Being being voted best small business owner and philanthropist in the city was a big fucking deal. You decided to let your hair down and let go of your famous self-control and discipline for one night.

And now you were tooted on most of a bottle of Moet and Chandon as you walked back to your high rise apartment from the civic center.

It was a perfect night and you stopped and smiled at the moon, feeling sublime. 

Until you heard his voice.

“Keep moving before I throw you over my shoulder and get you inside myself, Princess.”

You rolled your eyes at your body guard, the only thing your father offered you that you didn’t reject.

Because you weren’t stupid. 

Other than sharing his dna, you were not like your father at all, and you divested yourself of everything that had to do with him.

“What about the penthouse? You kept that.”

Your body felt engulfed as if by flames. You were angry, both at the fact that you’d apparently said all that out loud, and at Logan’s audacity.

“Fuck you, Howlett. The apartment is my mother’s. But she died because of my dad and that’s why he wants to “protect” me.”

You wobbled as you did your air quotes, and you could sense Logan ready to spring to catch you if you fell. You recovered quickly, however, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

“But he can't seem to do the one thing that will protect me. Get out of the life. He’s an old man, for heaven’s sake!”

Logan chuckled and shook his head.

“He’s not so old.”

You were in full blown argument mode.

“He’s over 70.”

“Like I said, he’s not so old. And you don’t know so much, little girl. Life is not that simple.”

“I am 32 years old, Mr. Howlett. I am not one of those little girls that fawn all over you. I am a woman.”

You straightened up and you knew that your thick body in the black cocktail dress was banging.

Logan’s eyes reflected your body, although he was staring back into yours. He’d taken it all in earlier.

“You are a teeny, tiny little Princess.”

He was fucking infuriating as he smiled down at you like that. The alcohol made you step to him.

“Someone needs to kiss that insipid smirk off your face, Howlett.”

That stupid eyebrow shot up, and your belly flipped.

Slap. You meant slap, but Logan was quicker than your champagne brain.

“I dare you, Princess.”

—-----

After what happened happened, you hightailed it back to your building, the electricity zapping around the elevator as you stared each other down. As soon as the doors opened, you moved as quickly as your tipsy legs would take through your foyer and living room and down the hallway to your bedroom door.

Logan followed you.

“Princess–”

The door slammed in his face, and he stood there for a good five minutes, restraining himself from knocking it down, before he relented and made his way back to his own room. 

He’d confront you tomorrow (later today), when you were sober.

—-

On the other side of the door, you were thinking of packing your bags and moving to South America. You needed a continent between you and Logan. How in the world had you allowed yourself to give in to a drunken urge that manifested the late night thoughts that you’d had for months? 

You were slipping. Bad.

You absolutely could not face him the next day. You leaned against the door, relieved when you heard him leave, and touched your lips. They still felt as if they were swollen from the kiss. 

You were sobering up now, remembering it. But just a few minutes ago that dare was all you needed to immediately lock your lips onto his. 

You also remembered the way he’d pulled away in shock and stared at your mouth for a beat before he grabbed your hair, pulled you close again, and kissed you so good that your toes curled.

“Fuck! Fuck fuck FUCK! Fuck my life!”

You were losing control. And that was not good. Not good at all.

—

Logan couldn’t get you out of his mind. 

And that pissed him off.

He lay in bed, and thought about how, (if he could die) under penalty of death he would never admit just how often he thought about you.

He’d been glad for the room at your place that came with the job; bunking with Wade and Althea was getting real old, real fast. 

But suddenly this arrangement felt too close for comfort.

You didn’t need to know about the fact that the movie playing behind his closed eyelids during his little shower workouts every night was your sexy smile, or the way your ass filled out your jeans. Especially those black ones.

And when he thought about you wearing those jeans with that wrap around shirt that showcased your tits just right. Well, fuck. He’d have gallons of cum for the shower drain.

Nah, you knowing that would only stroke your ego. Somehow, his mind drifted to the other things of yours that needed stroking.

“Oh, Fuck all!”

He sat up and sat on the edge of his bed, reaching for a cigar, reason number 634 why you hated him. 

But if you hated him so much, then why did you kiss him tonight?

—---

Why did you do it? You didn’t even like Logan. In fact you hated him.

Right?

You loathed the way he called you Princess, an obvious reminder that you were a trust fund baby, although you were far from a child, and to spite the fact that you were trying to make your own way.

You hated him from the top of his ridiculous thick hair, to the soles of his huge shit-kicker boot clad feet. You hated how tall and how ripped he was, the way his arm veins threaded atop the muscles there and led the way to his thick, calloused fingers that felt so nice against your skin.

You hated the chest hair that poked out from the top of the tacky tank tops and flannel shirts he always wore underneath the ever present leather jacket, and the way his blue jeans showcased the muscles in his thighs. 

And you absolutely NEVER accidentally gazed at his crotch and ascertained that he was packing.

That would be asinine.

And his stupid face. That was the kicker. Logan’s face would be handsome if he didn’t wear that ridiculous smirk all the time on that mouth that might look nice if he was normal. 

The mouth that felt nice against yours. 

That might feel nice against your…

You groaned around your toothbrush and rolled your eyes at yourself, fully sober now after a quick cold shower. But somehow your body was still warm and buzzing.

What the fuck had you done?

— 

Logan didn’t even like you.

You were bossy, irritating, loud. 

Fuck, you were loud, always chattering away to your customers, always smiling and making them feel at home. 

He absolutely loathed the way you were trying to make your own living, despite the fact that your father was loaded. Running a food truck with the best tacos in town drew hundreds of people every day and giving away a portion of your food to the unhoused every night was what irritated Logan the most. 

More people to watch.

He was sure you did it to surround him with more people to hate. He just knew that you liked pushing his buttons. 

You just reveled in being the anti-Logan.

The more he glared, the more you glowed. 

On fucking purpose.

The kicker was you cranking up the karaoke machine on Thursday nights and belting it out to Journey or REO Speedwagon. It was so annoying. 

Especially the way you closed your eyes and swayed to the music during the bridge. The happy look on your face wasn’t beautiful at all, it was simple, and he didn’t memorize every curve of your face because it was a dumb one.

He couldn’t get away, because he had three months left on the security contract your father signed with him.

It was unfortunate, because you just wouldn’t shut up.

Except when his tongue was in your mouth.

No. 

Even then, you made noises. 

Those delicious little moans that vibrated down his spine and made his dick harder with every second. Moans that made him see visions of your mouth wrapped around his cock. Moans that gave him a waking dream of you giving him head, and…

Fuck, now Logan had a raging hard on and could not sleep for the life of him. 

He really did not like you.

—--

Kissing Logan had you in a tailspin. 

You punched your pillow as you tossed and turned in bed and conjured positive thoughts.

You could forget this.

Pretend it never happened.

Convince yourself that he didn’t taste like heaven and hell and the best fucking thing in a long time.

You could forget.

It was fine.

Everything was just fucking fine. 

All you had to do was completely forget the way he made you feel when he slid his tongue into your mouth. It was easy. 

Except you were wet as fuck. 

“Listen, bitch. You are not doing me any favors right now,” you mumbled to your cunt. 

She didn't care. 

Your pussy just continued to clench on air as if to say, “He’s right down the hall. Let’s just go finish what we started.”

You groaned and tried to smother yourself with your pillow.

It didn’t work.

—-

Logan just kept thinking of the way you stared at him between kisses. Lips parted on a gasp, plump and soft, right before he'd slipped his hand on your neck and kissed you again. Now your taste haunted him.

Logan huffed and put his head in his hands. Flashes of the kiss played like a movie in his head. Finally, he stood up and went to his door, ready to settle this once and for all.

When he opened it, there you were, in just a black camisole and panties, and god, did he want you.

But there was your mouth again.

“I fucking hate you.”

The problem with that was, he could smell you. You might be saying that you hated him, but your body was calling him right now. And Logan’s knees were weak at the power of his lust.

When you looked him in the eye, you licked your lips, your eyes dilated, your nipples tightened into stiff peaks, and your pussy weeping for him, Logan knew it was the end of the line of his self-restraint.

You smelled delicious, like your mandarin orange body wash and your wet-for-him cunt. 

He stepped toward you and you slapped his face, leaving him with a grin on his face.

Then you slapped him again.

“You got it out of your system now? That anger?”

He cocked that damned eyebrow at you and moved even closer. 

“Or is it frustration?”

——

You were in trouble now.

Not because you were scared Logan was going to hurt you.

Just the opposite.

Logan dipped his head to smell at your pulse point, body so close, but never touching you. Your arms went to grab his impossible shoulders and that's when his huge paws grabbed your hips, dragging you further into his room as he backed toward his bed.

He was full on nuzzling your neck now, and your eyes were rolling as the tension between you two was finally ebbing.

The words came tumbling out.

“I’m so fucking angry that you get me so frustrated, you ass..”

You were turning your head toward his, wanting his lips again, on his lap now, crotch sat on his unbuttoned jeans, and refusing to move to ignite the fire.

Logan grunted at you.

“I see that. You’re trying to stare me down even though you are leaking all over me.”

Your body clenched and got wetter at the naming of that fact. You were terrified of what might happen next.

Yet you wanted it so badly.

��—

Logan couldn’t wait any more.

He removed one hand from gripping the flesh at your hips that he’d fantasized about for months, to trailing up your cheek to your hair to take off your scarf.

His fingers were in your hair again and your eyelids stuttered as you mouth dropped open for air.

That made him so fucking hard. And it made him want to kiss you again.

He had to know.

“What are you here for, Princess?”

——

His sexy whisper would do you in.

For good.

“I don’t know.”

Logan was staring at you like you were the treasure chest at the end of a quest as you tried to remain as still as possible on his lap. It was so hard.

Logan was so hard beneath you.

“Oh? Let’s run it back to earlier when you weren’t letting that big brain of yours get in the way.”

Frustration surged within you and your mouth got reckless.

“Stop yapping and just do it already.”

——-

“There’s my girl,” Logan growled at you as his dick responded to the challenge and his eyes flashed at your tone.

“Always busting my balls, aren’t you? Need to give that smart mouth something else to do.” 

Before you could reply, Logan’s lips covered yours so perfectly that it was like magnetic puzzle pieces. You fit together and locked. 

Logan’s tongue traced your lower lip and he drew it into his mouth, nibbling, gently at first and then nipping more harshly, causing a gasp and enabling entry. His tongue swiped at yours as he dominated you.

You were not going to win this round.

——

You could only whimper and grab his shoulders tighter as he kissed you. For all that was holy, why did his kisses have to be so damn good?

One of your hands ventured into the thick hair you’d dreamt of feeling between your fingertips and pulled as your desire peaked. Then your palms went to his face as he pulled away and you squirmed as you realized what was about to happen. 

“What are you here for, Princess?”

That question again.

That voice. It rumbled straight to your core and Logan wasn’t letting you off the hook. 

Logan wasn’t letting you up off of him. 

The hardness of his metal button and zipper, but mostly him (oh god he was huge) chaffed your thighs as he sealed his lips over yours again and his hand went from your scalp down your neck and back to your hip again, holding you down to feel him.

You finally moved, smearing your wetness all over your panties and his jeans and Jesus, it felt so good.

——

Logan’s eyes took in all of you in your scanty clothing, following your every movement and when his eyes moved down to your damp panties he swallowed audibly. He clenched his jaw with the strain of holding back.

Logan couldn’t deny that he wanted you. His 200 year old heart felt brand new.

“Mmmmph. Here for this feeling Logan.” 

Your voice was the greatest symphony. His stomach clenched when you looked him in the eye.

“I’m here for you.”

You leaned forward and nuzzled his cheek with your nose, then whispered a demand in his ear.

“Touch me, Logan.”

Without thinking, but instinctively careful of you, Logan’s claws extended, shredding the sides of your panties and rendering them in pieces. 

“Fuck!”

You gasped as he stood up with you in his retracted grip and threw you on the bed, the scraps of your underwear abandoning you.

He couldn’t stand it anymore, he was so weak for you. He was on his knees at the foot of the bed as he ran his rough hands up and down your legs.

——-

“I’m touching you, now what?”

He spoke to you, but he was looking at the juncture of your thighs, at the well-manicured hair there, all casual, as if he weren’t teasing the hell out of you.

You had something for him.

“If you don’t know what to do, then I’ll show you.”

You reached up and took off your camisole and Logan’s eyes raked upwards and widened at the sight of what you were holding, which was your breast in one hand, as you pinched and rolled your own nipple. Your other hand trailed down your body as your legs fell open to give yourself access to your clit, which you had the nerve to play with in front of Logan’s face. 

——

Now he was the one who was angry.

Logan snarled, then batted your hand away.

“Careful Princess. Don’t poke the Wolverine.”

His hands tightened on your thighs and pulled you to the edge of the bed where he was.

———

Logan leaned down, his hot breath ghosting your pussy as he looked up at you with those gorgeous brown eyes. 

You couldn’t let the moment get too tender.

“What if the Wolverine wants to poke–”

Logan’s hand covered your mouth, cutting you off at just the moment he licked a long, hot, wet stripe up the center of you and then pursed his lips around your clit to suck at you ruthlessly.

Your smart ass remark was forgotten as a moan bubbled up into your throat. Logan took his hand away once it was clear that you couldn’t talk anymore, or at least that your capacity for sass had diminished. 

You were leaning up on your elbow and watching him feast on you, convulsing with each swipe of his broad tongue and each pull on your clit.

As mesmerized as you were at his skill, you managed to brush his thick dark hair away from his eyes so that he could see properly. You didn’t want anything getting in the way of the best head you’d ever received.

——-

Logan’s hands were now palming the most delicious meal he’d ever eaten; you were practically sitting on his fingers. For him, you tasted even better than you smelled. He couldn’t believe it.

He looked up at you incredulously, watching your breasts moving with each heave of your lungs trying to capture air, and your mouth open to capture it. He met your eyes and frowned at you as he reached down and stroked his pulsing cock.

“What’s wrong?”

“The fucking Cuties you eat all day long. They got you tasting like a fucking orange. ‘S fucking impossible.”

He yanked you closer and buried his face between your legs. You made those cute little noises with every swipe of his tongue, and he licked and sucked until you convulsed in his hands, screaming.

You were still trying to catch your breath before he was on you, licking and suckling your hard and soft breasts.

“Damn,” you murmured as Logan swiped his thick, bulbous head into your entrance and meeting resistance, “You’re so fucking huge Logan.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d heard that phrase, but coming from you it hit different. His chest puffed with pride.

Logn smiled into your neck, inhaling your scent and growling against your skin.

“Don’t be scared, Princess. I’ll make it feel good for you. I should be more worried than you are. I’m gonna split you open, but you are about to shatter me into a thousand pieces.”

He didn't mean to tell you the absolute truth. But he had.

Logan knew there was no coming back from this for him.

——

You shuddered at the words which were breathed over your skin.

Logan trailed the tip of his tongue up the side of your neck the looked you in the eye. It was too much.

You lowered your gaze and he chuckled, making you sigh when he tugged on your lobe with his teeth and started pushing inside you. It was slow, but sensual and somehow still desperate. 

With each increment of himself that he gave you, you felt destroyed, yet you wanted more. You clutched at his chest as you widened your legs for him, as if that would help.

“No one else has ever made me feel this way. Hurts so good, Logan. More. Please?”

The question was, were you just talking about his penis?

——-

You begging him made Logan want to cry as he slipped further inside of you. When he bottomed out, you both shuddered, you at the sensation of such fullness, and him at the way you were so snugly and warmly wrapped around him.

“Fuck! Princess. Should have known you would be hot and tight. But I wasn’t ready.”

Logan wasn’t ready for you at all.

—-

His pupils were completely blown and the look on Logan’s face made you clench down even tighter as he stroked deeper into you. 

“Y-yess, feels so good.” 

You felt like liquid in his arms. Your hands moved over his shoulders as you hitched your thigh around his hips. He ran his hand up your thigh and around to your leg, holding you in place as he began to pound into you harder.

You whispered a confession into his ear.

“I’ve dreamed about this so many times.” 

Logan lifted his head from watching his cock destroy you, his brow arched in surprise. 

“You’ve dreamt about me?” 

You bit your lip and nodded, all of a sudden feeling shy. 

“At night after a tense night between us, I’d go to my room and imagine that you’d follow me to…shut me up.”

Your lashes fanned your face as you smirked.

“Oh yeah?”

Logan swiveled his hips and you gasped. He was lighting you up from the inside.

“Sounds like a cool dream, Princess,” he said, leaning down to your ear.

“But you’re talking far too much in reality.”

And he began snapping his hips at a frenzied pace, causing your back to arch and your mouth to fall open, leaving you moaning until you screamed with your orgasm.

You couldn’t talk; hell you couldn’t even think when he was going like this.

——

At this point, there was no more finesse; Logan was stroking in and out of you, almost completely leaving you and reentering just to feel that sensation again. The way his fat cockhead breached you was like no other feeling in the world.

Your arched back was displaying your breasts to him at a perfect angle. It inspired something within him.

“Look at you Princess. All gorgeous and fucked out and taking this cock for me. All dumb now. Bet you like not having to think so much. Just take it like the good little slut you are for me, yeah?”

His filthy commentary made the coil in your belly snap, and you came like a freight train, squeezing him so much that he had pull out to keep from coming himself.

He kissed you as you could only whimper in protest. Logan felt a warmth blooming in his chest that he hadn’t felt in a long time, if at all, as you lay melted in his arms.

He couldn’t wait to be back inside you.

“Can’t tell you how many times I dreamt about having you under me just… like… this….”

And he slid back home.

“Mmm… those lips down there suck my tip so well, how will these lips do?”

Logan’s thick thumb was in your mouth and you swirled your tongue around it to show him what your mouth could do. He groaned and pried your mouth open with his hand.

“Keep it open and do what I say.”

——-

The band was tightening in your belly again. You knew what was coming and nearly came again when Logan spit into your mouth. The orgasms were blending together now.

“Swallow.”

You did, and Logan thrust into you hard an deep while thrumming your clit. That was all it took for you to cum again and this time, you gushed around him, making a mess on his bed.

He looked down in disbelief and laughed with glee, handling you like a fuck doll to do with as he pleased.

That's when you realized that you loved being used by him.

“Bet ya didn’t dream you’d be such a dirty little slut for me, did ya, Princess?”

——

Logan realized that he was your slut, too. He was lost to your sounds, the sight of your beautiful lust drunk face, and the feeling of your cunt squeezing him with multiple orgasms now.

He started tracing urgent circles on your clit again.

“Look at me.”

That’s when you said the most beautiful words to him.

“So fucking good L-Logan. Cum inside me. Please. ‘M on the pill.”

“Music to… my fucking.. ears….”

——

Logan’s fingers moved to your shoulders, holding you captive as he stroked deeper and harder. His harsh breaths in your ear increased, the most erotic sound in the world.

You clamped down on him and he growled, his cock pulsing as he spilled inside you, the warm wave of fluid combing and causing a lovely, filthy mess.

It was so satisfying.

And you couldn’t let it lie.

——

He pulled out and stared at the ceiling in disbelief, before looking over at you to find you playing in his cum and licking your fingers, leaning over to give him a taste on your lips.

“What? You tired, Old Man?”

He shook his head and laughed as his cock came back to life.

Kissing you back had been the biggest mistake of his life.

He was never going to get you out of his system.

And he wasn't sure he wanted to.

-----

You shivered as Logan loomed over you, with that damned eyebrow cocked and that smirk on his face.

“Oh Princess. You have no idea what you’re in for.”

Then Logan grabbed you and kissed you again.

——

Reblog if you enjoyed it! 🥰

[kikiiswashere]

Four to Tango

As promised, part two of Waltzing for Three!!!

Thank you for helping me reach 200 followers for this little ol' blog of mine 🥰 And welcome to all the newcomers!

The idea for this ficlet was born of watching my bestie @sand-sea-and-fable help out a pregnant friend by lifting her belly off her hips, and it just sort of spiraled from there.

It's also worth noting that I myself am not a mother, nor have I given birth, nor do I wish to be a mom (husband got the ol' snip-snip). So why this fic? Good question 😅

That being said, I did my best to write about the labor process relatively accurately without getting into the super nitty-gritty of it 😂 So, please enjoy this weird little fever-dream of a fic, and please comment and reblog 💗

Tags for the interested parties: @luhmoon, @legendaryflowercheesecake, @thebeserkvernid, @miffysoo

Pairing: Established Silco x AFAB!Reader

Rating: Teen/Mature (brief reference to oral sex)

CW: Non-graphic descriptions of pregnancy and labor

Insistent cramping had woken you up in the wee-hours one morning, swelling and ebbing in a slow rhythm that sent your heart tapping, a loop of nerves coiling around your gut – little room that there was for it.

Silco had been a terribly light sleeper ever since Vander’s betrayal, ever since those early years on an under-tested Shimmer variant that left his brain unable to fully settle. So, the moment you shifted into a sitting position, he shot up as well.

“What’s wrong?”

Words got gummed up on fear and excitement in your mouth. There was a slight tremor in your fingers as they grazed over your belly. You had noticed it sitting even lower on your hips these past several days. While you were very done with being pregnant, you were still nervous and surprised to say –

“I think it’s time.”

With comical amounts of speed, but awe-inspiring grace, Silco flung himself from the bed, divesting himself of his eyepatch and pajamas. After changing into a simple set of trousers and an old button-up shirt, he fetched the stopwatch Jinx had invented to easily time your contractions, and wrote a tube prompting your midwife that she was needed. It had been decided early on that the babe’s delivery – barring any complications – would happen at The Last Drop. You, nor Silco, were willing to venture outside to a clinic when your family would be at its most vulnerable.

Too nervous to lay down, much less fall back asleep, you began pacing the large bedroom in your large sleep shirt. Every time a contraction locked up and spasmed through your lower belly and back, your fingers pressed the stopwatch’s clicker. And you breathed as the midwife had instructed. Silco kept you company, walking with you up and down the length of the bedroom, holding your hand and becoming an anchor to squeeze when contractions rolled through. Together, you both noted and kept track of their intervals. Their spacing  and length suggested that the little one’s arrival was not imminent, but the consistency indicated that this was indeed labor.

The midwife arrived, ushered in by a half-asleep Sevika. You’d bribed her with an absurd bonus and several pre-paid sessions at Babette’s for her to crash in one of the Drop’s private guest rooms during these last days of your pregnancy. She was needed for security, and to stand-in for Silco when his attention and priorities would be elsewhere.

“Good luck,” she’d grumbled, barely glancing at you before shutting the bedroom door, and trudging back down the hall.

The midwife was a petite, wizened Vastaya who’d been selected for her services not only because of her field prowess, but because she was staunch loyalist to you and Silco. Shimmer had helped save more than one of her clients when the birthing process had begun to go sideways, and that was enough for her to hitch her wagon to your agenda.

She was also direct to the point of rudeness – a personality trait that was wholly welcome given the slippery, hidden, self-serving rhetoric you were used to having to deal with.

“Time?” she asked, setting her medical bag down on your dresser with a heavy thunk.

“Forty-five seconds to a minute, about every seven minutes,” you answered. Then gasped and doubled over as another contraction bent you.

The midwife hummed. “How long?”

“About an hour,” Silco said. He squeezed back at your hand as you rode out the current wave rolling through.

Clucking her tongue, the midwife shook her head, long ears slapping lightly against her horns.

“Early.”

Silco frowned. “You are being more than thoroughly compensated to show up whenever we ask.”

“Indeed. To the bed, miss. Let’s have a look.”

Once your legs were freed from the lock of the contraction, you shuffled to the bed. Silco helped you into position, and the midwife closed in. Her fingers were warm, but the tools were cold. The combination, along with your nerves, caused your lungs to shudder.

“Five,” she declared, drawing her head from between your thighs.

“That’s halfway,” you chuckled weakly. Silco brushed his thumb over your knuckles

The midwife hummed in agreement. “True. But as discussed, this process is not linear. And being your first delivery, it is very likely this will take a while. How is the pain?”

“Fine. Manageable.” It came out as a grit, but she didn’t seem to doubt you.

“You should eat and drink while you can. Is there anything else you want or need right now?”

Together, you and Silco walked to the small kitchen in your private quarters. You rested your forearms on the counter as the length of your spine hammocked behind you, hips gently swishing side-to-side. Silco kept the breakfast blissfully simple: toast with a light slather of butter, and a mug of warmed water with lemon.

Eating was slow going. Between the jitters and contractions, your appetite was seriously curbed. When you finally made it to the second piece of toast, Jinx shuffled into the kitchen, bleary-eyed and bed-headed. Her bedraggled demeanor did not last long though, as her whip-quick senses tuned into the energy of the space. Big, blue eyes tracked between Silco – unusually underdressed – and your strange posture. One could nearly hear the cogs in her head clicking and whirring.

“Is it time?!”

In a flash, she clambered onto the stool next to you, bright and tittering. Her exuberance washed over you in a relieving breeze. Reaching over, you ran a hand through her unkempt hair.

“Sure is, kiddo.”

“When will he be here?”

“Could be a while yet, Jinx,” Silco answered. He set a glass of juice in front of her. “What would you like? Toad-in-the-hole? Porridge? Pancakes?”

“Make ‘em have a face!” she crowed.

A hook of a smile pulled at Silco’s mouth as he turned back toward the stove.

Jinx settled onto the stool; legs kicking merrily beneath her as she sipped her juice.

“What does it feel like?”

“Like intense menstrual cramps.”

Her small face squished in a ponder. While you had had that conversation with her, Jinx had yet to broach into that aspect of puberty. Thus, she had no point of reference.

“Kinda like when you roof-run after eating, and your abs cramp up,” you offered. “Kind of.”

A contraction swelled upon you, and you grit your teeth, face pinching, head dropping. Silco stepped away from the stovetop, and placed a grounding hand between your shoulder blades. Jinx watched, eyes wide and worried. Timidly, she shifted toward you, pressing her forehead to your shoulder.

The pain continued, but was temporarily numbed by the overwhelming love and gratitude for the two people on either side of you.

Your family.

It was never part of the plan when it came to your Silco’s ideas to lift Zaun up, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. And in a few hours, three would be four. Your heart beat big, tapping against your throat as the contraction passed. You clicked the stopwatch.

“That seems worse than roof-run cramps,” Jinx said suspiciously.

You chuffed. “Like I said: Kind of.”

Silco rubbed his hand up and down your spine a few times, before kissing your temple and returning to the stove.

“You remember what we talked about?” you asked Jinx.

She fiddled with her hair, nodding. “I can come and go as I please.”

“Right. If you want to be with us, I want you to be there. If you don’t, that’s fine, too. You get to decide, and it doesn’t have to be right now.”

Jinx nodded again, eyes staring into the middle-distance. Reaching over, you brushed your fingers through her hair again. Her eyes snapped back to yours.

“Are you scared?”

You gave her a reassuring smile.

“No. I’m happy.”

It wasn’t a lie. But a few hours later, your happiness was thoroughly overshadowed by the pain of labor. It was staggering how it had intensified. How it was becoming near non-stop as the space between contractions shortened and shortened. Gravity felt impossible to contend with on top of everything else, so you sank onto your bedroom floor with a low, guttural growl.

Silco had been attentive throughout, anticipating your needs before you even voiced them. Ever your anchor, your source for steadiness. Even now, on your hands and knees, his own wide palms settled onto your hips and pressed in. It pulled an appreciative groan from your throat.

“You’re doing so well, my love.”

“It doesn’t feel like it.”

Your eyes flicked to the bathroom door where Jinx was helping the midwife prepare a warm bath. You were proud of your girl. Admittedly, part of you doubted she would choose to stick around once labor became loud and more intense. When you could no longer keep yourself from crying out, hesitancy had flickered in her eyes, and her brows pitched in concern. But instead of dashing away, she’d reached for your hand and held tight.

“Is there anything you can give her?” she’d asked the midwife incredulously.

The female had smirked, impressed and moved by the girl’s protectiveness of you.

“I have mild pain relievers, but nothing that will fully numb – “

“Shimmer?”

The midwife’s black lips thinned. “That is only to be used in emergencies,” she explained. “It is too potent and powerful to be used for anything other than the most extreme circumstances. Which – “her eyes looked up at your haggard form on the bed – “does not seem probable. Her labor is progressing as it should. There is nothing to worry about.”

Jinx frowned, doubtful, and hunkered closer to your side.

“Seems like a dumb design that it hurts so much.”

“Agreed,” you wheezed.

“Come,” the midwife said, “let’s check you.”

She declared you’d progressed to eight centimeters. That had been three hours ago. And the pain just continued to climb and build.

A small sob burst through your teeth. Silco knelt at your side, quietly saying your name.

“I’m scared, Sil,” you admitted in a whisper. You were thankful Jinx wasn’t near to hear you back-pedal. Your breath hitched and words tumbled out: “I don’t know if I can do this.”

He took your warm and tear-streaked face between his hands, and repeated your name.

“Look at me.”

Reluctantly, your tired and wet eyes focused on his face. He looked at you with fierce earnestness, thumbs sweeping across the apples of your flushed cheeks. Suddenly, part of you grieved that the baby would never know Silco without his scars. Or yours. Outside and in.

Silco called your name again.

“Look at me,” he repeated. Your eyes slid back to his. Blue and red pinned you in place. “You can do this. I’ve not met anyone more tenacious, nor strong, nor as spirited as you. Those are but a few of the reasons I fell in love with you so long ago.” His eyes softened now; his adoration made plain. “You’ve absolutely no reason to doubt yourself.”

A small hiccup bubbled from your mouth, and you pressed your face into the warmth of his palm, breathing him in deeply. Not having properly dressed for the day, he hadn’t put any cologne on. The natural terra-sweet scent of his skin filled your nose. You were grateful for his support, respect, and belief in your abilities. A sudden, silly thought flitted across your mind.

“Not my dance moves?”

A single amused breath huffed from his throat. That infinitesimal smirk – one of the reasons you’d fallen in love with him – appeared on his lips. His blue eye flashed; as it often did when an idea struck him. Silco lifted to his feet, and used a strong grip to pull you to yours. He guided your arms to loop around his shoulders and neck, while his went to your low back. A weary chuckle left you as you understood. Your cheek was a relieved, heavy weight against his shoulder. It had to be a strange sight, this dance configuration: with your body slouched against his, massive belly hanging between you two. Slowly, your feet began gently shifting side-to-side.

“Admittedly,” he murmured against your crown, “your dance moves leave something to be desired right now.”

You laughed, even as another contraction swelled within you. Silco’s hands firmed up on your body, holding you upright as it moved through your body.

“I’ll make it up to you,” you hissed as most of the pain subsided. It was such now that there was no longer any real relief.

“A dance and a suck job? Lucky me.”

Your fingers pinched Silco’s upper back, and you felt the tremor of silent laughter in his shoulders.

“Tub’s ready!” Jinx sang as she flounced out of the bathroom.

Managing to smile at her, despite another great, contracting swell that threatened to bring you to your knees, you took her hand. Silco kept a strong arm wrapped around your middle, and you followed Jinx into the humid warmth of the bathroom.

The water helped. Its heat soothed your pained muscles and aching bones. The irony was not lost on you that you found peace in it. After a few minutes of settling into the tub, you gave Silco a look that to anyone else may have seemed like nothing. But he caught the message in your eyes, and tucked himself close to the tub’s edge, taking your hand. Jinx huddled herself into his lap, nervously fingering the buttons on his shirt.

About an hour later, the midwife’s large ears flicked in your direction as the quality of your breath shifted, as the sounds leaving you turned deeper and more animal. Her deft hands slipped into the water and between your legs.

“Something changed,” you gasped, hunching slightly. “It feels like – “

“It’s time,” she said, pulling her hands from the water. Somehow, she’d also stripped your underwear off in the same movement without you noticing. “It’s time to push.”

Push. The word settled into your body with a deep, innate knowing.

Yes. That’s what you were feeling. The near uncontrollable need to bare down. An old, predetermined instinct washed over you. You could do this.

But you did not want to do it alone.

“Sil.”

The grit of his name and the way you shifted yourself forward spurred your partner into understanding. Swiftly, he stood, deposited Jinx onto the stool he’d vacated, and then stepped into the tub, sliding in behind you. Settling against his chest, your hand ferociously intertwined with his. His heart beat firmly against your back.

“You can do this,” he whispered into your ear.

“Give me your other hand, dear,” the midwife said. You did so and she guided it under the water, preparing you to feel and catch. “Push.”

“Push! Push!” Jinx cried, her little fists pumping and bopping in the air madly.

Gritting your teeth, you did just that. A sound you didn’t know you were capable of making burst from your lungs. When the air ran out, you slumped against Silco’s chest.

“Breath in,” the midwife demanded. You did so. “Push!”

You did again, a roar ripping from your chest. A roar that ended in a surprised yip as something into your hand.

“Again,” the midwife demanded.

And you complied, baring down with everything you had. With all the might and tenacity and power your body could exert. Another battle cry echoed off the bathroom tiles, and a solid weight slid into your hand. You ripped your other hand from Silco’s grip, and pulled a wriggling newborn from the water.

“It’s a boy!” Jinx yelled, bouncing up and down in her seat.

Her brother’s face squidged, and his pink mouth opened in an announcing wail. You joined in and pulled the babe to your chest. Silco went very still behind you, scarcely breathing. Then his hands appeared over yours, cradling the baby at your chest. Like on the night you’d taken in Jinx, he pulled his legs up around you both and held tight.

Later, once the placenta had passed (something Jinx was equally horrified and enthralled by) you were helped out of the tub, and cleaned. The midwife tied off the babe’s umbilical cord, and once some time passed, you watched with an incredibly full heart as Silco severed it.

You weren’t sure if you’d ever seen the expression on your partner’s face. A soft, careful, wonderous thing. Then it hit you all at once. You were watching Silco fall in love. The notion took your breath away and fresh tears welled in your eyes. Jinx clung to you, and you to her.

“Thank you for being with me, Jinx. It helped.”

The girl beamed up at you, holding on tighter.

“I think it is your turn for a shower, sir,” the midwife said, twisting off the umbilical nub.

Silco watched her hands like a hawk as she did. He slid in once she finished, and wrapped him in a blanket Jinx had decorated. It was a small thing, but you caught the tremor in his hands. Keeping Jinx tucked against your side, you came to stand next to him.

“He’ll be here when you get out of the shower,” you whispered, voice hoarse.

“Yeah! Go get the baby juice off you!” Jinx ordered.

Silco’s expression of awe turned to one of bemusement as he glanced at your daughter.

“Yes. I suppose I should.”

Your own hands shook a bit as you gathered your son – your son! You wondered if the shock would wear off – and ushered Jinx to follow the midwife out of the bathroom.

With no small amount of effort, your body, beyond sore and exhausted, climbed into bed. The baby cooed and nuzzled and fussed against your chest as you settled into the pillows and duvet. Jinx climbed in on the opposite side, and snuggled close.

“He’s already sleeping!”

“It’s hard work being born. Don’t you remember?” you chuckled.

Jinx laughed, “No!”

A small smile curled the midwife’s mouth as she snapped her bag shut. She turned to you and bowed her head.

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” you said, eyes on your boy. Then you lifted them to hers, and said again, “And thank you.”

She nodded again, horns catching the light in the room.

“It was my honor.”

She gave you and the baby one last cursory check over, and took her leave.

A few moments after she left, there was a knock on the door, and Sevika stuck her head in.

“Ogre!” Jinx cried. “I gotta brother!”

Even Sevika’s presence couldn’t dampen Jinx’s mood.

Silco’s lieutenant grunted, and stepped over to the bed. She stayed at a distance though, craning her neck to peer down at you and the baby.

“Yep. That’s a baby. Congrats.”

“Thank you, Sevika.”

Behind her, Silco emerged from the foggy bathroom in a fresh pair of slacks and an unbuttoned shirt. Sevika tilted her strong chin in his direction and he nodded back.

“I’ll leave you all to it then,” she said.

Her poncho twirled as she spun back to leave. As she and Silco crossed paths, a metal finger tip whipped out from beneath the red fabric, and poked his bare belly. He jolted and shuddered. He sneered at her, but she just snickered and slipped out of the room.

Silco shook his head, damp hair beginning to curl at the ends. He rounded the bed, and climbed in, sandwiching Jinx between your bodies. He leaned over the girl’s head and kissed you.

“What’re we gonna name him?” Jinx pipped.

You and Silco exchanged a look.

“I’m not sure,” you admitted.

“I’m sure we’ll come up with something.” he added.

Immediately, Jinx began rattling off all her suggestions.

Before a name could be decided, you fell asleep. Jinx followed shortly after; her plump cheek pressed against your shoulder. Gingerly, Silco lifted the baby from your arms, and brought him to his bare chest. The boy tensed, and then melted, a small wispy sigh leaving him.

Silco melted, too; a foreign, near indescribable softness filling him up. He brought his hand to the boy’s back, its length and width nearly covering all of him. His son was so small.

His son. His son.

Emotions gripped him so intensely he nearly choked.

Elation, love, fear.

Grief.

There was grief that his child was born technically as a citizen of Piltover. But that anguish was small compared to the other one that had been tucked away in the scar tissue of Silco’s heart ever since you had told him of the pregnancy. A pain that he hated he harbored.

The secret grief was that Vander wasn’t here to see this. The grief that his Brother had ruined any chance of participating in this milestone. The grief of Vander’s death (justified though it was) was scratched open as Silco’s son lay on his heart. The grief that, had things gone differently, Silco would’ve named the boy after his Brother.

“Sil.”

Silco’s head whipped around at the sound of your voice. Your beautiful, exhausted, beautiful face shone up at him. There was a smile on your lips that he wished to taste, so he leaned over Jinx’s head again and pressed his mouth to yours. 

“I told you you could do it,” he whispered leaning back. You smiled and nodded wearily.

The baby grunted and shifted against Silco’s chest, and he pet the back of his head so, so softly. It broke your heart into a million pieces, and then they jumped right back together. Your eyes slid back up to your partner’s profile.

You felt his grief, because it was yours, too.

“I know, Silco,” you whispered. He looked over to you. Jinx snored softly between. “I wish it had been different, too.”

Silco’s eyebrow dropped, and his lips softened. He glanced down at the baby on his chest, and chuckled ruefully.

“I truly don’t know what to name him.”

You shrugged. “We’ll figure it out.”

He nodded. You sat in silence for a while, listening to your children breath. Jinx’s raspy breaths and the baby’s snuffling. It was music to your ears. You would never tire of hearing it.

Just as you were about to doze again, you felt Silco’s energy shift. Eyes sharpening onto him, you watched as he first gently ran his fingers over Jinx’s freckled cheek. Then, so carefully, he lifted the baby from his chest so he could look at his small face.

“You and your sister will have better than we did,” he promised. “Me and your mother will give you a nation.”

Your son’s eyes fluttered open and closed, the bud of his mouth stretching into what looked like a small smile. Your throat tightened horribly, and you tucked your nose into Jinx’s crown.

When you were sure you could speak without choking, you lifted your head and said, “We promise.”

I hope part two scratched the itch <3 If you enjoy my work and would like to support me (firstly, THANK YOU!) check out my Ko-Fi page!

ko-fi.com/kiki13

[crazy-hazy-sims]

I've been seeing alot of people felling discouraged from simblr and feeling like they don't belong

Especially when there is alot of posts going around telling you not to focus on popularity etc

But im here to tell you ITS NOT YOU

You did nothing worng you do infact belong here its not your fault people in this community are not interactive (and yes its just this community im in two other fandom spaces and they work just fine people here are the outlier)

And my proof that its not your fault?

I have 3200 follower (all real people i removed the bots myself)

So you would think i would get alot of notes and feel included right?

WRONG

3k+ followers and this year the most notes i got on any non cc post i made was 15 and on cc posts it was 56

The only post that got alot of notes all year was my simblreen treats post and you would think with 3k people watching it would be 1000 notes or something but no last time i checked it was barely over 100

There are like 3 people that occasionally talk to me sometimes on my posts lol (very thankful i know no one owes me anything)

And i have had this blog for 6+ years

My point is

You belong just fine and i personally am happy you are here

Its not your fault people are being stubborn and refusing to reblog on the reblog website

(imma be real with you if i owened this website im removing the like option this is the reblog website you don't need to only like stuff but i dont own it so 🤷‍♂️)

[soaps-mohawk]

I'm going to be honest

I'm having a genuinely hard time making this post. I've been fighting with it for a couple weeks now, but I think it's time I finally make it.

I'm not having fun on this blog anymore.

It sounds bad, but honestly, it kind of is.

I think a lot of it started from the very beginning with the precedence and expectations I put on myself. I've always tried to respond to every comment I get. Even from the beginning. It's just a polite thing to do since those who leave comments took the time to write out what they think of my fic, even if it's just a keysmash. I've always felt the need to thank those who leave comments or reblog my writing or (now that tumblr has it) replied to my fics. It worked fine before because none of my fics were particularly popular. Even my most popular fic (at that time) didn't get as much attention as CRCB has. I've never had a "big blog" before, nor a fic as popular as CRCB has gotten.

It was fine at first, responding to everyone, engaging with everyone. I was riding that high of omg so many people are reading and enjoying my fic! I've never had anything quite like this before.

Now...it just feels more like a chore. I set this precedence on this blog that I respond to everyone and I know a lot of people have said that they're surprised I responded to them and to everyone, and now I'm getting why a lot of writers don't. I'm exhausted. I feel like I've just been robotically saying the same thing over and over trying to respond to people now. I used to love seeing asks in my inbox and reblogs and replies but now? All I feel is dread because I have to respond to all of those.

Turning anon off was a big help. It lessened the sheer volume of asks I was getting a day. And while I do feel bad for all of my anons who prefer to stay anons, with everything that happened (the multiple incidents) with anon that kind of started to suck the joy out of everything. That paired with the obsessive need to constantly have my inbox cleared and make sure everyone gets a response...I can understand now too why big blogs will have 200+ asks in their inbox. It's hard and it's exhausting and I'm burning out.

First it was the fic that was burning me out. Things have gone on far longer than I planned and I just wasn't prepared for this fic to go on and for a while there it was dragging. I'll admit that. If I could go back, I'd speed up a few things, but it's done, it's posted there's no going back. I kind of hoped I would have the mental capacity to upload more than once a week too, but I just couldn't. I still can't.

I've come to dread posting chapters because I know I'm going to have to reply and respond to everyone. The only thing keeping me posting is the fact that we're in the part of the story I've been excited about since the beginning and also because I keep leaving everyone on cliffhangers and I love torturing y'all with all of them.

So that being said, this is in no way to shame anyone for interacting with me, anyone leaving comments or replies or sending asks. Don't feel bad about doing it please. I appreciate all of you that have engaged with me and it really means so much to me. Honestly, earlier this year, if I didn't have this fic and everyone on this blog, I might not have made it to now. It's been a really rough year and it's still going to be into next year. It's just getting to the point where I need a break.

I've needed a break for a long time. I thought taking days off the blog would help, and it did for a couple of weeks, but now even on the days I'm supposed to be on the blog and engaging, I just find myself queueing stuff up and just being offline most of the day still.

I'm tired. That's the best reason I can give. I'm tired and burned out on life and I'm tired and burned out on this blog.

So...I think I need a break. I need to not keep responding to every single reply and reblog every chapter. I need to not force myself to answer every ask right away, no matter how much I want to. I feel bad, but I know everyone would rather have me here and enjoying the blog than forcing myself to interact to the point where I'm dreading it and just robotically repeating myself over and over with every reply and answer and comment.

I won't be pausing the fic, I won't be not uploading. I'll still be posting chapters, I just might not be interacting as much as I have been. It's just putting such a mental strain on me still, even with anon off, even with days off. And with things getting busier for me, it's going to be too much to try and deal with irl stuff and write and try to be super active on the blog. There's going to come a point where I have to sacrifice the writing or the blog and I'd rather sacrifice the blog to keep myself sane, and also to keep trying to finally get this fic done. I love this fic, don't get me wrong, but I'm just burning out.

I'm already burned out in a lot of ways.

I was planning kinktober this year but honestly I'm considering not doing it because I know interaction is going to be insane and it's going to be a lot to keep up on. Plus trying to write that many fics is hard and I'm not sure I have the ability to do it. I have a few done but now I'm just like...is that something I want to do on top of irl stuff and CRCB.

There's just no joy in it anymore. It's not anyone's fault but mine. I put the pressure on myself, I held myself to that standard for this long despite the fact I knew it was draining me. I've tried to push through when I should have prioritized myself. I feel so guilty not responding to everyone. I feel so guilty being a day or two late responding to everyone.

I want to be here and interacting and responding to things but I just can't bring myself to anymore. It's no one's fault, and this is not a drag on anyone, or an attempt to make anyone feel bad or guilty for interacting or sending asks or anything. I'm just airing out the truth and saying what I need to say because I feel like I've been so robotic and lifeless with my responses these last couple weeks and I feel like I need to explain why. It's nothing anyone has done. It's my fault. It's 100% my fault.

Things have just gotten to be too much and it's my fault for forcing myself to be so active. The social battery has dropped into the negatives. I'm not a social person. I can only handle so much interaction and I've pushed so far beyond that, that things have gotten to this point. I want to be here and I want to have fun and I want to use this as an escape but I just don't feel that way about it anymore. It's a chore for me, a job, something I feel like I have to do and it's my fault that I feel that way. It's my own standards and expectations I set on myself, and my expectations on what I think my followers want and deserve and now I feel like I've gone on too long like this that I can't change things without hurting anyone's feelings. I don't want people to think I'm ignoring them in favor of others because I know there's writers out there that do that. They only respond to a certain group and ignore others that comment and reblog. I don't want to make anyone feel like I'm doing that to them and that's now led me to here.

I'm forcing it and I'm tired.

It's been hard these last few weeks. The life has just been draining and draining continuously. The joy and the love I have for this blog and my followers and the interactions and the fic. The last anon bullshit that happened was just kind of the last nail in the coffin so to speak. The straw that broke the camel's back. Things stopped being fun. It made me feel bad (and not in the guilty way, though that was a part of it) and I'm honestly just over it. I'm over the blog, I'm over interacting, I'm over life at this point. August is a hard month for me and every year it seems to get worse and worse. A lot of it is unrelated to anything online and I was going to make a post about it but honestly I just don't want to. Those that know, know. Those that don't...it doesn't matter.

I'm getting annoyed by the blog, I'm getting annoyed every time I look in my notifications and see an ask or a reply or a comment. I'm getting annoyed by some of my followers and that's not fair to you. Everyone always talks about how nice and kind and patient I am when I'm really not. I'm not the person I present myself to be on this blog, the way I mask myself so I can present myself as being a normal, kind human being. The mask is coming off because I'm so tired I can't keep it up anymore. It's happening here and it's happening in real life. I'm tired and I'm frustrated and I'm angry at a lot of things and the last thing I want is to start taking it out on my followers. You don't deserve that, especially when it's not your fault, it's nothing any of you have done. It's all me.

It's not you, it's me.

So for the sake of not burning this whole thing to the ground, I'm going to take a break. I'm not replying to everyone, I'm not responding to every reblog, I won't reply to every ask I get right away, if at all because sometimes I just don't have anything to say in response and I need to learn that's okay. It's nothing against you. It's not aimed at anyone specifically, I'm just trying to put myself first and stop things from escalating. I need a break and I'm going to do something selfish and I'm going to take it.

Don't apologize because it's not your fault. Don't apologize because you think you might have contributed to this because you didn't. It is no one's fault but my own.

I'm the one that needs to apologize to all of you because I've just not been myself because I've been forcing myself to be someone I'm not. I've been very unfair to a lot of people over the last seven months that this blog has been active and I've held a precedent that is not sustainable in the long run and made everyone believe that I was capable of maintaining that kind of interaction when I'm not.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry I've been putting everyone through this. I'm sorry I've been so detached and robotic and ingenuine. I'm sorry I led everyone to believe I'm someone I'm not. I'm sorry I've dragged this on this long that it's gotten to the point that I have to make this post.

I considered just disappearing but that wouldn't be fair to you either. I don't want to put you through that, so I'm pouring all of my thoughts out and making you read through this fucking novel of a post. If you've made it this far, then congrats I guess. Gold metals to you who bothered reading this far.

Anyway, all of that aside, I'll still be posting chapters. I'll have them scheduled and I'll probably come on and add links places to keep things current. I'll respond and reply and answer asks when I feel like it. You don't have to stop sending them, but just don't expect them to be responded to right away anymore. I'll probably still be here reblogging things I want and doing things when I feel like it.

I just need a few weeks to myself. Time I don't have to care about the blog at all and keeping up with it. Anon will remain off for the sake of keeping asshole trolls away, and also so I don't open tumblr and have 200 asks in my inbox after a week. Sorry to my anons but it's just the way it needs to be right now. Maybe once this break is over and I've dealt with irl stuff, I'll consider putting it back on. I just can't after everything I dealt with recently on anon.

It'll be the same on Ao3, for those that follow here and read there. Comments will probably sit for a while. They won't be answered right away anymore unless I get the energy to burn through them. Even then I won't try to answer them all at once like I did this last weekend.

I'll try to reblog something every day so y'all know I'm alright. I don't want y'all to panic and it's not fair to put you through that, especially those that might not see this or bother reading it. Those that follow simply for the fic and nothing else. I'm here, I'm just not...here.

This week's chapter is in the queue to be posted tomorrow as usual. Chapters will still come out as planned since I'm not stopping writing, just taking a break from the blog itself.

Thank you those of you who stuck through to the end here. I appreciate all of you so much. You have no idea. I'm sorry I let things get to this point and I'm sorry to anyone that I've gotten rude or snappy with because I couldn't be selfish and put myself first. I'm sorry to anyone that got a robotic, repeated response to something they were probably excited to share. I'm sorry I've been so unfair to everyone and I hope you can forgive me.

Take care and I'll talk to everyone when I have the energy to.

[ohnoitstbskyen]

PINNED POST, FAQ, INFORMATION

Hi, I'm TBSkyen. I make videos on YouTube sometimes. This is my main tumblr blog, the "brand" blog as it were, where I maintain my Social Media Presence™ on this site.

I use the ironic ™ to signal my personal discomfort with the work of being a minor media personality even while I still do that work and make a living off it.

I have a sideblog called @tbposting, mostly for shitposts and reblogs, and in my opinion I have pretty darn good taste in reblogs, so you can follow that if you want. It's also where I'll do random personal posting, microblogging, etc.

This main blog is primarily for 1) answering asks, and 2) posting my Original Content™, usually my main channel videos, as well as the occasional longer essay or critique. Sometimes I'll reblog an interesting or useful thing, or boost a friend's work, but I try to keep the spam to a minimum.

---

About Me

I am a thirtysomething content creator whose primary expertise is character design.

I have a bachelor's degree in English, never finished my master's, did most of a bachelor's degree in history, and that's it. These are my academic qualifications, no more and no less.

My professional experience is primarily being a freelancer and self-employed creator. I spent the better part of a decade working as a commission artist, running webcomics, drawing fanart, and the occasional animation work and not safe for work commissions, and I have at this point a decade of experience and self-study in the subjects I cover. I have also done online community management for, god help me, almost twenty years, so that's a part of my skillset I'll never escape.

I do not have any particular professional creative industry experience, although given what I hear from my professional friends, sometimes that seems like a blessing.

Please maintain a critical distance when engaging with my work. I am a critic. My work is very rarely meant to be taken as authoritative or didactic, and when it is, I will make it clear in my writing. Just because I speak with confidence doesn't mean I am trying to assert objective truth.

---

TAGS (to follow, or filter)

#tbanswers is the tag for every single ask I answer on this blog

#tb reblog is the tag for reblogs

#tb essay is for the occasional longer essay or critical writing

#tbvideos is for my videos and Content™

#tb recommends is for the occasional recommendation of a video essay or other creator

Yes, I know the spaces are inconsistent. It's not on purpose, I just typed them in haphazardly when I started using them and it's stuck.

---

FAQ (before you ask)

Q: Will you ever do a video about ____ ? A: The answer to this question is almost universally "maybe someday, if I have time, and if I feel I have anything worthwhile to say." And the more realistic answer is "no, because I already have far too much on my plate and I have burned myself out too many times." In general, please don't ask me this question, I will most likely not answer it because I have given the same answer a thousand times, but I still feel guilty about not answering them.

Q: Will you continue your series of videos about ____ ? A: Yes! I will continue the let's plays I started, I will finish the Boss Designs series, I will do another What's the Deal With, I will do more shorts about the subjects I've got going on. The main obstacle is, again, my tendency to overload myself.

Q: Do you have a PO box? Can I send you something? A: Not yet, but I'm looking into it. It may be a while before I get it set up.

Q: Do you have merchandise? A: A little bit, yes, at tbskyen.redbubble.com.

Q: What's your opinion on [game/movie/comic/book/etc]? A: I struggle to answer very open, broad questions like this. Most things I have opinions about, I have multiple opinions, and different ones depending on the perspective and specific element in question. I'm much more likely to answer specific, bounded questions.

Q: Can I send you fanart? A: PLEASE. Askbox, tag me on bluesky, send it to my email! I love seeing every piece of it!

Q: Why do you never appear on camera? A: A forest witch cursed me to look not quite but ALMOST like Paul Giamatti in all photos and videos ever taken of me, and his laywers sent me a cease-and-desist.

Q: Are you gay/straight/bi/other? A: The decision I've made for myself, at least for this period of my life, is that privacy is precious, and once given up can never be reclaimed on the internet. I am open about being aromantic (not asexual), because it's a sometimes invisible and underdiscussed identity, and I know it would have helped me a lot to see someone speak about it when I was younger.

The rest of it is for me to know, and for you to speculate about, although preferably somewhere I can't see it. I accept that this is a part of being a Personality, but it still feels weird, y'know?

Q: Is it weird if I find your voice kinda hot? A: I've put a lot of work into developing this voice and making it nice to listen to, so that's not weird at all and I find it quite complimentary, thank you.

I generally don't mind people doing flirty/thirsty posting about or at me, just so long as we all understand that 1) you should never give a stranger like me information which could be used to harm you. Nicer-seeming YouTubers than me have turned out to be monsters.

And 2) it will never go beyond playful online flirtiness. I like to fluster my live chat, I'll flirt back in an ask or a post maybe, but I am not flirting with you, or inviting any kind of closer intimacy with you, the person I responded to.

Think of me like a comedian doing crowd-work at a show - you can chat to me in the bar after the show, but when I asked you what you do for work I wasn't looking for a personal connection, I was doing my work as an entertainer. Please no sending me nudes, or propositions, or confession letters in my email inbox. We are strangers, and I am always performing a persona in public.

[impactrueno]

Do you ship beetlebabes?

anon you're one of the three people i woke up to this morning asking if i ship beetlebabes LMAO. so i guess i better address it as thoroughly as i can.

shortest answer i can give you: no. but there's a lot more to it than just that. please read on

as long as it's not kid lydia, i don't care. i'm perfectly at peace with the ship and accept it as an integral part of the fandom (i'll get to that in a second) because this isn't like other ships of its kind. there's a small sector of the shipper side of the fandom that's cuckoo bananas and i don't fuck with that but that's more about those shippers in particular and not the ship itself. and yes, i'm okay with you reblogging my art and tagging it as "beetlebabes" on your blog for your own organization purposes.

i've been lurking the beetlejuice fandom for like 20 years now, so the ship doesn't faze me in the least. especially since i shipped them myself when i was younger, and this isn't a secret or anything i'm ashamed about, because i just never thought that deeply about it back then you know?? i just knew i enjoyed their dynamic in the cartoon a lot. and i'm pretty sure this is the case for most veteran beetlejuice fans because back then 90% of the fan content was beetlebabes. the ship pretty much carried the fandom all throughout the 90s and the 2000s, and the bulk of these shippers was always goth/goth-adjacent women into gothic romances who had crushes on BJ and projected onto lydia. NOT pedophiles or groomers or anything of the sort (and i need to reiterate this every time this stuff comes up because it's really important: do not ever judge whether or not someone is a groomer based only on what they ship because that's only going to put you at risk of being groomed by a "non-problematic" shipper. a groomer can use anything to groom you, even if you're not a minor. please always stay alert no matter what circles you're in. sorry for the PSA i've just seen some stuff and i worry)

the shift in the demographics of the fandom happened when the musical came out in 2019, which brought in a new beetlejuice canon with TONS of new fans who were more attuned to what makes a ship creepy and inappropriate (again, literally no one ever thought about this stuff before the 2010s.) so obviously this new wave of fans were horrified that the ship even existed in the first place. this created a pretty big split in the fandom between shippers and non-shippers. i've been referring to the topic as a hornets nest ever since and it's the reason why i largely keep to myself in my own little corner of the fandom.

as for my feelings about the ship...that shifted a lot through the years. shipped them, then i didn't. then i thought about them again, then i was like nah. eventually i realized that i'm very picky and particular about them and i was never going to feel at home on either side of the fandom so i had to figure out what kind of content i wanted to see, how i see their relationship and if i could create something with that myself since it seemed like no one else was doing it.

so here i am now. the stuff i'm making right now with adult lydia and beej from the cartoon is intended to be "platonic soulmates" since this is what i found to be the closest thing to what i always wanted to see more of, i find it comforting and beautiful and tragically underrated. people are free to interpret it however they wish though, as long as they don't expect me to meet their expectations, because i'll be doing my own thing regardless. i'm not stupid though, i know i managed to put them in a position where they probably could organically develop feelings for each other, and people are inevitably going to be drawn to that potential. so i can't blame the people commenting with "when will they kiss, i hope they get married, etc," i just hope they don't feel to disappointed to learn that i have no plans to explore that far lol (if that's all you were here for then uhhh sorry i guess)

if i ever choose to make something that is actually beetlebabes, i would tag it as such so people know and so people who don't want to see it can block it. maybe i'd even give ample warning beforehand because i wouldn't want to spring that on my followers who are uncomfortable with the ship out of the blue like that.

if you've read my beetleposts you probably already know that i like character studies and analyzing their dynamics, so i don't mind discussing the ship and how or why i think things would be one way or the other. perhaps i'm a bit too lax about it for some people, because i've been asked to tag a couple of analyses that seemingly dipped into beetlebabes territory without me even noticing. that made me realize that what qualifies as beetlebabes varies from person to person, which makes "do you ship beetlebabes" even harder to answer, because people see what they want to see in art. you can ask my non-shipper followers and most will say they don't see anything romantic in my art, but then you ask the shippers and it can be the total opposite. just as everyone does when they watch the source material.

so in conclusion

i don't ship them (any of the canon iterations) romantically but i'm chill with the whole thing as long as people aren't rude to each other in my comments (or to me for that matter) because i'm frankly way too old to give a fuck about these things or all the proship/anti/whatever nonsense

[cybernaght]

The fandom echo chamber: fanon, microanalysis and conspiracy brain 

As someone who has been in fandom spaces, on and off, for 20 years, I find some fascinating trends popping up in the last decade that I thought to be fandom-specific but clearly aren’t. So, I would like to do a little examination of where those things come from, how they are engaged with, and what it says about the way we consume media. This is a think piece, of sorts, with my brain being the main source. As such, we will spend some time down the memory lane of a fandom-focused millennial.

This is largely brought about by Good Omens. But it’s also not really about Good Omens at all.

Part one. Fanon.

The way we see characters in any story is always skewed by our very selves. This is a neutral statement, and it does not have a value judgement. It’s simply unavoidable. We recognise aspects of them, love aspects of them, and choose aspects of them to highlight based entirely on our own vision of the universe. 

Recognition comes into this. There is a reason so many protagonists of romance novels have a “blank slate” problem. Even when they do not, we love characters who are like us or versions of us that we would like to be. And when we say “we”, I also mean, “me”. 

(I remember very clearly this realisation hit me after a whole season of Doctor Who with writing which I hated utterly when I questioned why I still clung so incredibly hard to Clara Oswald as my favourite companion. Then I looked at myself in the mirror. Oh. Well. That would do it, wouldn’t it?)

Then, there is projection, and, again, this is a neutral statement. Projection exists, and it is completely normal and, dare I say it, valid way of engaging with — well, anything. Is the character queer? Trans? Neurodivergent? Are they in love? Do they like chocolate? Are they a cat person? Well, yes, if this is what the text says, but if the text does not say anything… You tell me. Please, do tell me. Because, in that moment of projection, they are yours. 

And then, there is fandom osmosis, and that is the most fascinating one of them all, the one that is not very easy to note while you are inside the echo chamber. It’s the way we collectively, consciously or not, make decisions on who or what the characters are, what their relationships are, and what happens to them.  

(Back when I was writing egregiously long Guardian recaps on this blog I actually asked if Shen Wei’s power being learning actually was stated anywhere in the canon of the show. Because I had no idea. I have read and reread dozen of fanfics where that is the case, and at some point through enough repetition, it became reality.)

We are all kind of making our own reality here, aren’t we? 

Back when things were happening in a much less centralised manner - in closed livejournal groups, and forums of all shapes and sizes - I don’t remember there being quite as much universally agreed upon fanon. Frankly, I don’t remember much of universally agreed upon anything. But now, everything is in one place: we have this, and we have AO3, and it’s wonderful, it really is so much easier to navigate, but it’s also one gigantic reality-shifting echo chamber, with blogs, reblogs, trends, and rituals. 

Accessibility plays its part, too. If you were, say, in Life on Mars (UK) fandom between seasons, and you wanted to post your speculation fic, you had to have had an account, and then find and gain access to one of the bigger groups (lifein1973 was my poison, but ymmv), and then, if you feel brave you may post it, but also, you may want to do so from your alt account if you wanted to keep yours separate, and then you would have to go through the whole process again. And I’m not saying that fan creations then were somehow inherently better for it than fan creations now (although Life on Mars Hiatus Era is perhaps a bad example - because some of the Speculation Fic there was breathtaking), but there is something to say about the ease of access that made the fandoms go through a big bang of sorts.

(I mean, come on, I can just come here and post this - and I am certain people will read it, and this blog is a pandemic cope baby about Chinese television for goodness sake.)

The canon transformations that happen in the fandom echo chamber truly are fascinating to witness as someone who is more or less a fandom butterfly. I get into something, float around for a bit, then get into something else and move on. I might come back eventually when the need arises, but I don’t sustain a hiatus mind-state. This means that when I float away and return, I find some very intriguing stuff.

Let’s actually look at Good Omens here. Season two aired, and I found it spectacular in its cosy and anguished way; deliberately and intelligently fanfic-y in its plot building; simple but subversive, and so very tender. (I will have to circle back to this eventually, because, truly, I love how deliberately it takes the tropes and shatters them - it’s glorious). And, to me - a person who read the book, watched the first season, hung around AO3 for a few weeks and moved on - absolutely on-point in terms of characterisation. 

So imagine my surprise when the fandom disagreed so vehemently that there are actual multi-tiered theories on how characters were not in possession of their senses. Nothing there, in my mind, ever contradicted any of the stated text, as it stood. This remained a strange little mystery until I did what I always do when I flutter close to an ongoing fandom.

I loaded AO3 and sorted the existing fic by popularity. And there it was, all there: the actual earth-shattering mutual devotion of the angel and the demon; willingness to Fall; openness and long heart-aching confession speeches. There was all of the fanon surrounding Aziraphale and Crowley, which, to me, read as out of character, and to one for whom they became the reality over the last four years, read as truth. 

Again, only neutral statements here. This is not a bad thing, and neither this is a good thing, this is just something that happens, after a while, especially when there are years for the fandom-born ideas to bounce around and stew. I can’t help but think that so much of what we see as real in spaces such as this one is a chimaera of the actual source and all the collective fan additions which had time and space to grow, change, develop, and inspire, reverberating over and over again, until the echoes fill the entirety of the space. 

Eventually, this chimaera becomes a reality. 

Part two. Microanalysis 

Here are my two suppositions on the matter:

1. Some writers really love breadcrumb storytelling. 

Russel T Davies, for instance, on his run of Doctor Who (and, if you are reading it much later - I do mean the original one), loved that technique for his seasonal arcs. What is a Bad Wolf? Who is Harold Saxon? Well, you can watch very very carefully, make a theory, and see it proven right or wrong by the end of the season. 

Naturally, mystery box writers are all about breadcrumb storytelling: your Losts and your Westworlds are all about giving you snippets to get your brain firing, almost challenging you to figure things out just ahead of the reveal. 

2. We, as humans, love breadcrumbs.

And why wouldn’t we? Breadcrumbs are delicious. They are, however, a seasoning, or a coating. They are not the meal. 

Too much metaphor?

Let’s unpack it and start from the beginning.

Pattern recognition colours every aspect of our lives, and it colours the way we view art to a great extent. I think we truly underestimate how much it’s influenced by our lived experiences.

If you are, broadly speaking, living somewhere in Western/North-Western Europe in the 14th century, and you see a painting in which there is a very very large figure surrounded by some smaller figures and holding really tiny figures, you may know absolutely nothing about who those figures are, but you know that the big figure is the Important One, and the small ones are Less Important Ones, and the tiny ones are In Their Care. You know where your reverence would lie, looking at this picture. And, I imagine, as someone living in the 14th century, you may be inspired to a sense of awe looking at this composition, because in the world you live in, this is how art works. 

If you, on the other hand, watch a piece of recorded media and see the eyes of two characters meet as the violins swell, you know what you are being told at that moment. You don’t have to have a film degree to feel a sort of way when you see a green-tinged pallet used, when cross-cuts use juxtaposing images, or notice where your focus is pulled in any given shot. This stuff - this recognition of patterns - has been trained into us by the simple fact that we live in this time, on this planet, and we have been doing so long enough to have engaged recorded media for a period of time. 

As humans, we notice things. Our brains flare up when they see something they recognise, and then we seek to find other similar details and form a bigger picture. This often happens unconsciously, but sometimes it does not. Sometimes we do it on purpose: finding breadcrumbs in stories is a little bit like solving a mystery. It allows us to stretch that brain muscle that puts two and two together. It makes us feel clever. 

So yes, we love breadcrumbs, and, frankly, quite a lot of storytelling takes advantage of this. It’s very useful for foreshadowing, creating thematic coherence, or introducing narrative parallels and complexity. It’s useful for nudging the viewer into one or the other emotional direction, or to cue them into what will happen in the next moment, or what exactly is the one important detail they should pay attention to.

Because this is something media does intentionally, and something we pick up both consciously and not, it is very hard to know when to stop. We don't really ever know when all of the breadcrumbs have been collected. It becomes very easy to get carried away. There is a very specific kind of pleasure in digging into content frame by frame, soundbite by soundbite, chasing that pleasure of finding. 

But it is almost never breadcrumbs all the way down. They are techniques to help us focus on the main event: the story. I truly believe those who make media want it to reach the widest possible audience, and that includes all of us who like to watch every single thing ever created with our Media Analysis Goggles on and those who are just here to enjoy the twists and turns of the story at the pace offered to them. And I think, sometimes in our chase to collect and understand every little clue we forget that media is not made to just cater for us.

One can call it missing a forest for the trees. But I would hate to mix my metaphors, so let’s call it missing a schnitzel for the breadcrumbs. 

Part three. The Conspiracy Brain. 

If you are there with me, in the midst of the excited frenzy, chasing after all those delicious breadcrumbs, then patterns can grow, merge together, and become all-encompassing theories. Let’s call them conspiracy theories, even though this is not what they truly are.

So, why do we believe in conspiracy theories?

One, Because We Have Been Lied To. 

All conspiracies start with distrust.

If you are in fandom spaces - especially if you are in fandom spaces which revolve around a queer fictional couple - especially-especially if you have been in such spaces for a period of time, you have most certainly been lied to at one point or another. 

We don’t even have to talk about Sherlock - and let’s not do that - but do you remember Merlin? Because I remember Merlin. Specifically, I remember the publicity surrounding the first season, with its weaponised usage of “bromance” and assertions that this whole thing is a love story of sorts, and then the daunting realisation that this was all a stunt, deliberately orchestrated to gather viewership. 

And, because we were lied to in such a deliberate manner for such an extensive period of time, I genuinely believe that it forever altered our pattern recognition habits, because what was this if not encouragement to read into things? Now we are trained to read between the lines or see little cries for help where they might not be. Because we were told, over and over again, that we should.

(Yes, I think we are all existing in these spaces coloured by the trauma of queer-bating. I am, however, looking forward to a world where I can unlearn all of that.)

Two, Cognitive Dissonance.

The chain reaction works a bit like this: the world is wrong - it can’t possibly be wrong by coincidence - this must be on purpose - someone is responsible for it.

Being Lied To is a preamble, but cognitive dissonance is where it all originates. In so many cross-fandom theories I have noticed a four-step process:

A) this is not good

B) this author could not have made a mistake 

C) this must be done on purpose

D) here is why 

(Funny thing is, I have been on the receiving end of the small conspiracy spiral, and it is a very interesting experience. Not relevant to this conversation is the fact that a lot of my job revolves around storytelling. What is relevant is that my hobbies also revolve around storytelling. And one of them is DnD. Now, imagine my genuine shock when one of the players I am currently writing a campaign for noticed a small detail that did not make a logical sense within the complexity of the world, and latched on to it as something clearly indicating some kind of a secret subplot. Their thinking process also went a bit like this: this detail is not a good piece of writing — this DM knows how to tell stories well — this is obviously there on purpose. It was not there on purpose. I created a clumsy shorthand. I erred, in that pesky manner humans tend to. And, seeing this entire thought process recited to me directly in the moment, I felt somewhere between flattered and mortified.)

This whole line of thinking, I think, exists on a knife’s edge between veneration and brutal criticism, relentlessly dissecting everything “wrong”, with a reverent “but this is deliberate” attached to it like a vice, because it is preferable to a simple conclusion that the author let you down, in one way or another. 

Three, Intentionality 

I believe that there is no right or wrong way of engaging with stories, regardless of their medium, and assuming no one gets hurt in the process. While in a strictly academic way, there is a “correct” way of reading (and reading into) media, we here are largely not academics but consumers; consumption is subjective.

However, this all changes when intentionality is ascribed. 

The one I find particularly fascinating is the intentionality of “making it bad on purpose” because, as open-minded as I intend to always be, this just does not happen.

It certainly does not happen in long-form media. Even in the bread-crumb mystery box-type long-form media. 

When television programs underdeliver, they also underperform, and then they get cancelled.

If all the elements of Westworld Season 4 that did not sit together in a completely satisfactory way were written deliberately as some sort of deconstruction for the final season to explore, then it failed because that final season will now never come.

(There will likely never be a Secret Fourth Episode.)

And look, I am not here to refute your theories. Creativity is fun, and theorising is fantastic. 

But, perhaps, when the line of thought ventures into the “bad on purpose” territory, it could be recognised for what it is: disappointment and optimism, attempting to coexist in a single space. And I relate to that, I do, and I am sorry that there is even a need for this line of thinking. It’s always so incredibly disappointing that a creator you believed to be devoid of flaws makes something that does not hit in the way you hoped it would. It’s pretty heartbreaking. 

Unfortunately, people make mistakes. We are all fallible that way. 

Four, Wildfire.

Then, when the crumbs are found, a theory is crafted, and intentionality is ascribed, all that needs to happen is for it to catch on. And hey, what better place for it than this massive hollow funnel that we exist in, where thoughts, ideas and interpretations reverberate so much they become inextricable from the source material in collective consciousness. 

Conspiracy theories create alternate realities, very much like we all do here. 

So where are we now?

I am not here to tell you what is right and what is wrong; what is true, and what is not. We are all entitled to engage with anything we wish, in whichever way we wish to do it. This is not it, at all. 

All I am saying is… listen.

Do you hear that echo? 

I do. 

[kwanisms]

Kinktober 「10:09」 — k.seungmin

» stray kids menu | seungmin menu | kinktober masterlist «

➮ fallen angel!Seungmin × fem!Reader wc: 4.5k summary: His fall from grace had been due to his hard headedness and Seungmin’s status as a fallen one never really crossed his mind. At least until he met Y/N. He’d been dejected and grown disillusioned with life but upon meeting her, he started to see some meaning to life again. To put it simply -- Y/N made him feel alive. genres/themes/au: angst/fluff/smut; supernatural, horror, thriller; non idol au, monster idol au warnings: adult dialogue, female reader, supernatural and horror themes, mentions of: past bodily harm (seungmin had his wings literally cut off), not-so-high-speed collision of person on a bike with an angel (Y/N runs Seungmin over with a bicycle lol), one baseball reference (cause I couldn't help myself), past crime life/criminal activity (glosses over it but its there); sexual content (18+ mdni), see smut warnings under the cut! taglist has been moved to reblogs join my taglists! kinktober taglist is closed! Strikethrough means I cannot tag you.  MINORS WILL BE BLACKLISTED & BLOCKED. AGELESS BLOGS WILL ALSO BE BLOCKED.

a/n: i thought about revisiting vampire!Seungmin for kinktober but I changed my mind for fallen angel Seungmin. I like the direction I went with this and I tried to keep the wordy bits down so it wouldn't be too long. So far I've written a total of 45k for kinktober not including this piece so, words are wordin'. anyway, next piece is Yunho which I am very excited for so stick around! thank you for reading. if you liked this, pls consider reblogging so more people will see it and as always, this is a work of fiction and all characters are not reflective of their respective irl counterparts. for entertainment purposes only.

smut warnings: teratophilia (aka monsterfucking), impact play (f receiving; spanking, pussy slapping), begging, unprotected sex (use condoms! ):< ), oral (f receiving, m receiving), fingering (f receiving), use of pet names (hers: kitten, baby, angel; his: Minnie, sir), dom!Seungmin, sub!Reader, and that should be everything but if I missed some, let me know! kinks: Impact play + begging dialogue prompt: ❛❛ Oh no. Not until you beg. ❜❜

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Falling from heaven is not as graceful or as ethereal as one might think.

For Seungmin, it was painful, bloody, and nightmarish. The process is one no one could ever fathom. Being cast down from all you’ve known, thrown into a cruel, dark world with nothing and no one. The only thing more painful was having his wings removed. Even now, years since then, he could still feel the burn of the hot steel as it sliced through tendon and flesh.

When he first arrived on Earth, Seungmin had nothing. He had his name and his memories but a drive to survive and so he did, albeit not by the most legitimate of ways and he did fall into the wrong crowd but it was so much easier to climb the social ladder of the underworld than to try things the proper and legal way. After all, he didn’t even have a social security number, a line of credit, or even a last name.

Seungmin realized he was caught in the wrong crowd when the hideout he was in was raided. He barely managed to get away and broke into a convenience store to hide from the cops. He was confronted by the owner and instead of alerting the authorities to his location, the man took him in, giving him a place to live and a job.

It wasn’t much but it was something and it allowed Seungmin to start over. His old crew were all rounded up and seeing as no one knew who Seungmin actually was, they were never able to turn him in. He was safe. For now.

Seungmin ended up taking the last name of the man who took him in, a man who simply went by Mr. Kim, and came to regard him almost as a father figure. Mr. Kim owned a small convenience shop off the beaten path. Seungmin was given a room in the small apartment above the shop where Mr. Kim lived alone. 

His life had gone quiet but a sort of disquiet had settled over him, not knowing where he was going or what he was going to do with his life. He simply was going through the motions of life.

Until he met you.

You had come crashing into his life. Quite literally.

He’d been walking down the sidewalk on a particularly gray and gloomy day, running errands for Mr. Kim, when he heard a high pitched scream. It wasn’t a scream of terror or fear. It was more like a shriek of excitement. It was playful in nature.

Seungmin didn’t have time to even respond when he heard a voice screaming at him to move out of the way. He turned, finding someone on a pink bicycle hurtling towards him. “BRAKES! HIT THE BRAKES!” someone had cried but despite the brakes being squeezed, you still managed to crash into him.

It wasn’t like you were going all that fast, but it was enough to knock the wind out of him as you toppled off the bike onto him, pinning him to the sidewalk as the bike flipped over without your weight on it. You let out a groan, pushing yourself up and glancing towards the mangled heap that was your bike.

Seungmin stared up at you, blinking as he tried to process exactly what just happened.

“Oh my god,” you gasped. “I’m so sorry!” You quickly scrambled up, pulling him into a sitting position. You panicked, inspecting him all over, asking a plethora of questions. 

“What hurts?!” Nothing.

“Are you bleeding?” No.

“Did you hit your head?” Yes.

Your introduction to him was as violent as they come but his life completely turned around after meeting you. He finally had someone else to talk to. Someone he could spend time with outside of the convenience store and upon meeting you, Mr. Kim urged him to spend more time with you.

Your friendship grew, blossoming naturally over a short period of time and after knowing you for nearly a year, Seungmin couldn’t imagine his life without you.

You were vibrant, full of life, eccentric, and ecstatic about everything. You never seemed to have a bad day in the entire time Seungmin knew you and he found your optimism a refreshing new outlook that he started to adopt into his own life.

Of course, while you were very bright, bubbly, and vivacious, you were also extremely bratty. Seungmin often had to argue with you about things he thought he’d never have to argue with anyone about. Making sure you took medicine when you were sick was a chore and Seungmin came to realize you were only a brat because it pushed his buttons.

Especially today.

Mr. Kim had given him the day off and so he was at your place, a cute little studio apartment on the 14th floor of your building. It had an exposed brick exterior wall and floor to ceiling windows that spanned almost the entire wall. Outside the window was a fire escape where you had lots of plants as well as smaller potted plants sitting in the window. Your bed was sectioned off with a large cube storage unit and sheer curtains.

The living area was small and cozy with a flat screen television, a cream colored loveseat with lots of blankets and pillows. A coffee table that doubled as a dining table stood between the couch and the media center where you kept your gaming consoles and collection of games and movies.

The kitchen was also small. White cabinets hung on the walls where you kept your dishes. An island with a sink separated the kitchen from the living area and at the bar of the island stood three bar height chairs. Seungmin had arrived early, bringing food and drinks but they had long run out and you were whining at him to get more.

He sat on your couch, feet resting on the coffee table despite your insistence to remove them. You sat on the other cushion, next to him, wrapped up in your favorite blanket. Seungmin had arrived as you were opening your windows, saying it was a nice day out — it wasn’t, it was freezing — and that you and your plants needed the fresh air.

Despite insisting it was a nice day, you had immediately wrapped yourself in your blanket and curled up next to him on the couch, sapping the warmth from his body, not that he exactly minded. You had exhausted your movie library, picking the things you either hadn’t seen in a long time or at all which wasn’t much. 

Streaming services didn’t provide much of a difference in options so for the last hour, you’d been playing games on your phones, showing each other silly videos while enjoying the other’s presence. You’d finally grown bored of your game and were now pestering Seungmin into leaving to go get more snacks and drinks. 

“Why don’t we get food instead?” he asked as his little avatar died on screen and he shut the game off. “I think we need actual food, Y/N,” he added, locking the screen of his phone and turning his head to look at you. The urge to smile came over him because you looked sort of ridiculous wrapped up in your blanket so only your face was showing.

“But I don’t wanna!” you protested. “That means I have to get up.”

Seungmin rolled his eyes, throwing his head back against the back of the couch. “You’re so impossible,” he sighed before getting up with a groan. “Come on,” he said, holding his hand out. You shook your head, pulling your blanket tighter around you.

“Yah,” Seungmin said, giving you a playful but stern glare. “Get up,” he said, moving to stand in front of you, towering over your seated form. You shook your head wordlessly, staring up at him. He grabbed your blanket, tugging at it in an attempt to get you to listen. “No!” you squealed as he tried to pull the blanket harder. “You’re gonna rip it!”

Seungmin tugged harder. “Then let go so it doesn’t rip,” he countered. You glared at him. “It’s my blanket!” you reminded him. Seungmin tugged harder and you could have sworn you heard the material start to rip and so you let out a panicked whine and let go, allowing Seungmin to pull the blanket away.

“Alright,” he said, wading up the blanket and throwing it onto your bed. “Let’s go!”

You shivered, your once warm skin now exposed to the cool air filtering in from outside. “It’s cold!” you whined, curling in on yourself. Seungmin rolled his eyes and walked over. “Then get up and get changed,” he said, holding out his hand. You hesitated before taking his hand and then quickly tugging him towards you.

Unprepared, he lost his balance and fell onto the couch on top of you as you giggled, immediately hugging onto him like a koala. “So warm,” you murmured. Seungmin groaned trying to pull away from you but unsuccessfully. It wasn’t like you were all that strong, he just liked to indulge in some skinship with you from time to time.

“Okay,” Seungmin said. “You warm?” he asked. You nodded, smiling contentedly at him. “Good,” he said softly. “Now get up.” He tried again to pull away but you whined, holding onto him tighter so when he tried to get up, you moved with him.

“Y/N,” he scolded. “I’m not going to ask again. Get up.”

You looked up at him and he could see it before you even replied. A defiance in your eyes. 

“Make me.”

He didn’t know if it was because of your continuance to press his buttons mixed with the obvious tension between the two of you, but your resistance and disobedience made something in him snap. He quickly pulled your arms from around his neck, pinning you under him on the couch.

Your giggles died immediately as he leaned over you. Your eyes widened as you stared up at him. This was a side of him you hadn’t seen before nor had he planned on sharing but you really, really liked to push his buttons. 

Seungmin hesitated as he looked down at you, assessing whether or not he’d taken things too far but the look in your eyes, while being one of surprise, was also a look of eagerness and he could tell then that you wanted this as much as he did. 

He leaned in closer, testing your reaction, wondering if he should stop and when your eyes dipped down to look at his lips, he closed the distance, pressing his lips to yours for the first time. 

Your stomach fluttered as his lips moved against yours. It was entirely new but it felt completely right. Your lips parted at the same time, his tongue slipping into your mouth. You let out a soft moan, muffled by his mouth, as his thigh pressed against your cloth covered crotch.

Seungmin pulled away, lips ghosting over your ear. “Do that again,” he whispered, pressing his thigh against you again. You muffled your moan, biting into your bottom lip. Seungmin scoffed as he reached up, using his thumb to gently pull your lip from between your teeth. “You’re such a brat.”

You opened your mouth to respond and at that exact moment, he grinded his thigh against you, making you whimper. “It’s so much nicer when you listen to me,” he sighed, nuzzling into your neck. He let go of your wrists, moving his hands down to your sides.

“Are you still going to be a brat and fight me or are you gonna let me make you feel good?”

You whined in response as his hands cupped your chest over your shirt. “I take it that’s a yes?” he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice. You nodded eagerly. Seungmin let out a low chuckle, hands sliding down your stomach until he could curl his fingers under the waistband of your shorts.

“Then these need to come off,” he murmured, pulling them down slowly past your thighs as you lifted your hips. He discarded them on the floor behind the couch, eyes drinking in your naked lower half. “Lace?” he asked, looking up from the crimson material to meet your gaze.

His eyes were dark, pupils blown as he moved his hands up your thighs towards your hips. “Be honest,” he said as he leaned over, pressing a kiss to your stomach. “Did you wear these for me?” You giggled as his tongue traced a line up your skin. “No,” you giggled. Seungmin pulled away with a slight frown.

“You mean you just wear these for no reason other than to wear them?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. You nodded silently, letting out a gasp when Seungmin delivered a sharp smack to the inside of your thigh. “Don’t lie to me,” he snapped.

“You don’t wear anything uncomfortable for long periods of time without a purpose,” he continued. “You told me so yourself.” A small smile spread across your face as you looked up at him, hands still resting by your head where he left them. “You always listen to everything I say?” you asked as his eyes wandered back down to the red material that barely covered anything.

“Yes,” he said simply, moving his hands up your sides, pushing the hem of your shirt up to just under your breast. He met your gaze once more. “Are you wearing a matching set?” he asked, tilting his head like a curious puppy. You giggled, shaking your head. His eyes narrowed. “If you’re lying to me, there will be consequences, you know that, right?” he asked. You nodded. “I know.”

Seungmin held your gaze as he pushed the shirt up over the swell of your breast, exposing the incriminating evidence of your red lace bralette. He made a tsk sound as his eyes fell to your chest, taking in the sight of the red contrasting with your skin, your nipples visible through the sheer material. He looked back up to meet your gaze. “You lied to me, again,” he muttered.

You watched with excited eyes as he sat back on his heels, looking down at you. “I told you there would be consequences,” he added. “I know,” you said softly. Seungmin sighed as he shifted on the couch so he was sitting before holding out a hand for you to take. “Are you going to be good and take your punishment or am I going to have to force you?”

You took his hand, allowing him to pull you up and over his lap so you were lying on your stomach. You felt one of his hands move to your ass, fingers skimming over the lace as he inspected the sight. His other arm held you down. One of his fingers slid under the material of your panties, sliding it over to expose your cheek.

“I want you to count,” he said softly as his hand returned to your bare cheek. “How many?” you asked, glancing over your shoulder. Seungmin looked up from your ass, meeting your eyes with his. He had a dark look in them, something that both excited and sent a chill down your spine.

“Until I say so.”

By the time Seungmin finally did tell you to stop counting, your ass was sore. The skin burned and your body was aching, as was your cunt. You needed release and you were practically dripping. “Seungmin,” you whined. “I need release.”

Seungmin scoffed, moving his hand to pull your panties aside while he traced your folds with two fingers, spreading them slowly. The cool air against your hot cunt felt both foreign but oddly wonderful. “So needy,” Seungmin murmured, sliding the tips of his fingers between your lips, gathering your wetness before slowly pushing them into your hole.

You let out a pornographic moan, the sound resonating around the apartment. Seungmin felt his cock twitch in his pants, straining against the material of his underwear and aching to be freed. ‘Not yet,’ he told himself. ‘Not until Y/N proves she can behave.’ 

You moaned loudly as he pumped his fingers in and out of your sopping cunt, lightly scissoring them and curling them against your walls. “Seungmin. More,” you gasped, making him chuckle. “More?” he asked. “I have two fingers stuffed in you and that’s not enough?”

You shook your head as he sped up. He delivered a sharp smack to your sore ass. “Words, kitten,” he cooed. “N-no!” you stammered. “No you don’t want to use words?” he asked. “No!” you said quickly. “It’s not enough! I need more!” you clarified. Seungmin shook his head. “Such a greedy little baby.”

He obliged, giving you a third finger, opening you up to take his cock easily but he wasn’t about to give it to you that quickly. Your moans grew in pitch and volume as he fucked you with his fingers. He could feel you start to shake, your walls clenching rhythmically around him. “Don’t you fucking cum yet,” he growled, pulling his fingers from your hole, making you whine in protest.

“But Minnie!” you complained. He nudged you, signaling you to sit up. “Do you want me to fuck you here, on your couch, or over there,” he asked, jerking his thumb over his shoulder towards your bed. “Where I’m sure it’s much more comfortable.”

You grumbled softly as he got up, grabbing your hand and all but dragging you over to the bed, stepping up onto the small platform upon which your bed stood.

He turned your back towards the bed, moving his hands to quickly strip you of your shirt and bralette. “Sit,” he instructed but you didn’t listen, instead trying to pull at his clothes. He grabbed your hands, bringing your wrists together to hold with one hand and grabbing your chin with the other.

“If you don’t listen to me, I won’t let you cum at all, understand?” You nodded quickly and as soon as he let go, you sat on the bed, looking up at him. “Good, kitten,” he said, cupping your chin, moving his thumb to brush over your bottom lip. “I need you to do something for me,” he said, moving his hands to undo his buckle. “And then I promise I’ll make you feel really good”

You nodded, keeping your eyes locked on his as he unzipped his pants. “Do me a favor and put that mouth to good use, yeah?” he asked, pushing his jeans down past his hips. Your eyes roamed down his body, taking in the outline of his hard cock behind the dark blue color of his underwear. 

You could see it was straining against the fabric, begging to be freed. Your hands trembled slightly as you reached to pull the front of his boxer briefs down. Seungmin quickly grabbed your hands, stopping you. “Are you okay?” he asked softly, the dominant persona he’d taken on dissipating for a moment as he gave you a look of concern. You nodded, giving him a smile.

“Just nervous,” you whispered. He caressed your cheek gently. “You don’t have to be nervous,” he said softly. “It’s just me.” You nodded, swallowing thickly as you returned your attention to the task before you.

Your fingers snuck under the waistband of his underwear, pulling it down in one swift motion and freeing his cock. You stared at it in awe, saliva starting to pool in your mouth at the sight of it bobbing before you. Wrapping your fingers around the base of the shaft, you looked up at Seungmin for confirmation to keep going. He merely nodded, watching as your lips parted and you gave the tip of his cock a kitten lick. He let out a hiss but was unable to catch his breath as you immediately went back in, tongue swirling around his cockhead.

“Fuck,” he hissed, eyes fluttering shut as your mouth enveloped his cock, taking it as far as you could in one go. “You’ve done this before,” he groaned as you pulled back, cheeks hollowing as you sucked. Seungmin let out a sigh as you took him back into your mouth, the tip of his cock barely brushing the back of your throat.

“Keep going, baby,” he murmured, resting his hand on the back of your head, pulling you closer. You gagged as the head of his cock tried to push into your throat. “Shit,” he gasped as he let go and you pulled back, coughing. “Sorry,” he murmured. “We can stop if you’d — oh fuck!”

His words were cut off when you took his cock back into your mouth, keeping your hand firmly wrapped around the base as you started to bob your head, taking everything up until you hand. Seungmin let out a choked moan, throwing his head back as you continued to suck him off, now moving your hand as you pulled back.

You let his cock fall from your mouth, continuing to stroke him quickly. Too quickly. He had to stop you before he came. He didn’t want to cum on your face or chest or in your mouth. “S-st-stop,” he stammered, moving his hand to try and grab yours but missing. “Y/N,” he said, a little more firmly. “Baby, stop.” You finally looked up at him, hand stalling but his cock still firmly in your grasp.

“Did I do something wrong?” you asked as he pulled your hand off him and slowly knelt down at the edge of your bed. “No,” he murmured, pulling you into a kiss. “You were perfect. I just wasn’t ready to finish,” he added. “Lay back,” he instructed.

As you laid back against the soft material of your comforter, Seungmin took that opportunity to rid himself of his clothes. You started to scoot back towards the middle of the bed but he stopped you. “Here,” he said softly. “I want your ass hanging over the edge of the bed.”

You pouted at him. “But I’ll fall,” you protested. He shook his head as he knelt down. “Just trust me, angel. Do as I say or am I going to have to punish you again?” You shook your head, moving until your hips were hanging off the edge of the bed. You watched as he slipped your panties off before he shrugged your legs over his shoulders, his hands grabbing your hips and holding them in place as he licked his lips.

“Minnie,” you cooed, reaching down to comb your fingers through his dark hair. He looked up at you, his dark gaze meeting yours and making a fresh wave of arousal course through you. “Can’t you just fuck me?” you asked as sweetly as possible. Seungmin chuckled, shaking his head. “No,” he answered. You frowned at him. “Why not? You’ll find I’m more than ready to take it,” you answered.

Seungmin merely chuckled again. “No,” he answered again. “I want a taste first.” 

The words on the tip of your tongue died as you felt him spread your folds and his tongue run from your hole to your clit. The moment his tongue met the nub, he sucked on it, making your thighs involuntarily try to close around his head but he moved his hands, wrapping his arms around your thighs to hold them open and keeping you firmly in place.

You were left to the mercy of his tongue as his mouth ravaged your clit. One of your hands moved to grab the bedding by your head in a tight fist while the other combed through Seungmin’s hair, grabbing a handful of the locks. Each time he flicked his tongue, your body jerked and you cried out. 

“M-Minnie. M’gonna cum!”

Seungmin pulled back and you whined only to receive a slap to your pussy which made you gasp, thighs twitching. “You don’t cum until I say so, understand?” You nodded quickly, your orgasm slowly slipping away. Seungmin’s mouth returned, attacking your clit with quick flicks of his tongue until the sensation started to rise again, tension building in your stomach.

“Minnie, I’m close,” you warned him. “Hold it back,” he retorted. “Don’t make me punish you again.”

You bit your tongue, trying to will away the tension and the building orgasm. “I-I don’t think I can,” you sobbed. Seungmin pulled back, delivering another slap to your sex. “Such an impatient and greedy kitten,” he snapped. “Can’t even wait a minute more.”

“Just fuck me then,” you retorted. Seungmin scoffed, almost mockingly. “Oh no,” he said, landing another slap on your clit. “Not until you beg.” You whimpered. If that was all he needed, you could do that. “You should have just said so,” you gasped. “Please Seungmin. Please give me your cock. I want it. I need it.” 

“You need it, huh?” Seungmin asked, brushing his fingers over your clit languidly. He wasn’t trying to bring you to climax, simply giving you some friction while he listened to you. 

“How bad do you want it?”

“I want it so bad, please,” you sobbed. “I promise I’ll be good. I’ll do everything you say but please Minnie, please fuck me.” You needed him inside you so bad and you weren’t above begging if that’s what he wanted you to do. “One more time,” he cooed. “What do you want?”

“I want your cock, Seungmin. I want you to fuck me!” you snapped. Seungmin moved quickly, letting your legs fall back as he climbed over you. “Middle of the bed, on your hands and knees, now,” he growled. You scrambled to get up, moving into place and presenting yourself to him. He kneeled behind you, hands grabbing your ass and kneading.

“I’m going to fuck you how I want to,” he started as he leaned over your back, the tip of his cock brushing against the inside of your thigh. “If it’s too much for you, say ‘pitcher’s mound,’ understand?” he asked. You nodded. A smack rang out as he landed a slap to your ass over the same side he’d made sore earlier.

“Words, kitten. We use our words,” he snapped. “Yes, sir!” you gasped out, your backside burning. He gently ran his hand over the spot soothingly. “What do you say if you need me to stop?” he asked, leaning over your back and whispering in your ear. “Pitcher’s mound,” you replied softly. You felt him press a tender kiss to your shoulder. “Good,” he cooed.

You felt the tip of his cock press against your entrance and without any resistance, he pushed into you. Once the head was firmly lodged inside you, he snapped his hips, pulling you back to meet his thrust and filling you with one stroke.

You cried out in both pleasure and pain as he buried his cock to the hilt inside you. Seungmin still, thumbs rubbing circular patterns into your skin as he held your hips. He waited for the spasming of your walls to cease before he pulled back, giving you a shallow thrust which made you moan softly.

“Any pain?” he asked quietly. “No,” you replied, shaking your head. “Good,” Seungmin said simply, tightening his hold on your hips. “Remember your safeword,” he reminded you. 

“Cause I’m not stopping until you’re screaming.”

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