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petrova121 · 2 months

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leave all your worries at door…please and thank you!

"Don't trust a lion"

-lately I have been obsessed with moulin rouge and cabaret so here you guys go.

-Part 1 -Part 2

°:. *₊ ° . ° .•

Song- I put a spell on you by Nina Simone

warnings- threats, death, blood, fighting, fluff, smut (it will be in later chapters)

enemies to lovers

≈☆≈

Klaus needs help getting a witch on his side for Wolfsbane, which is running low. The best idea coming to mind is bringing along Elijah as ... a form of reinforcement. but things always take their turns

★・・・・・・★

New Orleans is known for its wide variety of performances and shows and for its interesting people, to say the least. On the small side of town, one building lit up, the lights blinding if you stared too long. The two men walked strides with purpose until they reached the entrance. Posters were all over the walls of all the shows that had been performed and it was messy, maybe a bit unclassic for Elijah's taste. The unpleasant look on his face spoke volumes looking at each poster.

“Are you sure you will..find what you need from here?” Elijah said coolly looking at the sign above “Le solitaire” What a fitting name. “Oh trust me we will and we’ll get a show while we're at it,” Klaus said smirking opening the door to what was a dimly lit room. The walls were painted dark red and blue. The smell was in between a disgusting odor of cigarettes, alcohol, and sweat. Then a smell of a sweet almost vanilla-like perfume clouded the air. It was packed, to say the least, and a lot of what seemed to be a mix of humans and vampires. Tables were full but one in the front all the way in the corner.

“It still hasn’t changed, just how I like it,” Klaus said walking over to a table and waving the waiter over as Elijah sat down. The seats creaked a little as they settled down.

“What can I get you two gentlemen?” The waiter said, taking out his notepad which was wrinkled. “Two glasses of whisky,” Klaus said with a smirk plastered on his face.

“Your finest whiskey,” Elijah said a bit sharper than he was intending to say. if he was here at least let the drinks be good. “Alright that's all?” the waiter asked, both brothers could tell he didn't know what was going on.

After what seemed like a long wait, the lights dimmed down to it just being a black room. There were mummers and chatters and the spotlight was targeted towards an empty stage. Then the sound of heels tapping the wood was heard and the audience could see a solute of a lady as she appeared from the shadows with a bright smile, clearly practiced. Her lips were a shade of dark maroon color. The Jazz band started softly playing in the background as she spoke. “Ladies and…gentlemen,” She said slowly, smiling. She walked to the center of the stage where she was more visible. Elijah's eyes slowly widened taking in the lady before his eyes. She most certainly had everyone's attention, especially his. She was wearing a striking navy blue dress that was laced up by a corset. On her head a sort of hat, a top hat if you had made it miniature. “And that's our leading lady for all our problems” Klaus whispered to Elijah. His eyes lit up with a mischievous glint in his eye. “That's the lady we came here for?” Elijah said back quietly.

“Yes, what did you think I brought you here to watch some old hag?” “The way you were speaking about her made me think she was a century old,” Elijah said, the sarcasm in his voice evident. It brought Klaus to a low chuckle, shaking his head as he took a sip of his whiskey. Elijah glanced and caught eye contact with the women and he didn't intend to break it.

She kept a smile while talking or singing but always her gaze would land on Elijah to her he was the mysterious man in a nice suit. She knew that there was something off with him and the man next to him. Once she finished her performance it was time for the next lady to come up. She quickly gave a bow and a wink to the coward and disappeared off.

Y/n walked back to the hallway where some of the dancers were. She could hear groaning coming from the main dressing room which made her roll her eyes annoyed. Y/n walked over to the mirror on one of the walls to check her appearance. Rory, a redhead, blue-eyed bitch in y/n’s mind. “Oh come on, no going down to the guests tonight? Have you gone soft?” Rory teased y/n because it was used to her being a total flirt with the crowd, gaining an extra couple of bucks if she could. Unfortunately, tonight wasn't the night for her especially after that strange man gave the worst but best feeling in her gut “No….. wasn’t feeling up to it… and anyways I’ll leave some for the rest of you” She answered fixing her hair in the back hallway. “Heard there are two money machines down there, blonde and the guy in the suit,” Rory said, lighting up a cigarette leaning on the wall opposite from y/n. Then she got that bad feeling in her gut again. “Yeah I saw, the guy in the suit has a big staring problem,” She said reapplying her lipstick. She sounded annoyed, Rory could tell, and handed her a cig, which she took and waved her hand over the end and lit it up. The dancers close to the stage gave them both dirty stares as the smoke clouded the little hallway but they both could be less bothered.

“Well if you're not going to make a move I will,” Rory said smirking “Tell me how that works out for you” Y/n scoffed knowing Rory wasn't the brightest in the bunch there and she was most certainly not going to be able to pull a stunt like that. “Stop acting like you're better, any of us here can do exactly what you can,” Rory said.

Her eyes narrowed. “I'm not better, I just have comprehension, I know when to back off a member of the audience you DON’T,” Y/n said bitterly. “Self-centered bitch” Rory mumbled. Rory was on her third strike with the owner one more and she would be out. Y/n prayed for the day that would happen

»--•--«

After an hour or maybe even two. The crowd was getting rowdy and so was the music. Losing its taste. That's how you would know the show was soon to be over.

The show was over to Y/n’s relief and she rushed to her dressing room waiting for Smith to come unlock it. Smith was the owner and had a very strange rule 15 minutes before show time every performer needed to be out of their dressing room or else they would be locked in there. No performance and no money for the night. “Smith will you hurry” She called from her door as he was taking his sweet time turning the corner. Then he came and opened the door. “Be patient will ya?” Smith said annoyed with a toothpick in his mouth. He was an old guy, wearing a worn-out leather jacket, and a worn-out hat. Everything about him was worn out. Y/n went into her dressing room and shut the door sinking into her couch. She let out a sigh of relief for

a brief moment until her senses were going ballistic on her. All she could hear was

Run, run and run!

Don’t trust the lion

She absolutely hated the ancestors and their horrid timing when warning her, she didn't know what. scratch that she knew exactly why. Her mind went back to the two men in the front corner. “Shit” she mumbled to herself, undressing and putting on a silky one-piece that went to her thighs and a long sheer robe. Her heart was quickly pounding as the voices kept repeating. She took off her jewelry and her palms were sweating. She almost dropped her necklace and caught it just in time to hear a knock on her door. Her head snapped to look at the door. Two more knocks followed. She felt a lump beginning to form in her throat.

“Who is?” she called out as normal as she could proceeding to stand straight. “Open up love. We’re not here to cause any harm…..” Klaus said smirking, she could hear a threatening undertone to his call. Elijah was by his side as they waited for the door to open up. The door slowly opened and enough for them to see the young lady with a neutral look on her face.

“What do I owe the pleasure of you two gentlemen?” She said with a tight smile, the voices finally stopped as if they had left it up to fate if she were to die or live.

“Mind if we come inside? Looks like a lovely room you have in there” Klaus said, his voice dripping with false innocence that any smart being could tell it was all an act. “I’m not supposed to let people, especially strangers,” she said, narrowing her eyes at him.

Klaus realized it would be a little harder to get her to let them in. “I’m Klaus, Klaus Mikaelson,” Klaus said. A smirk quickly grew on his face as he saw the color slightly drain from her face.

“And here is my dear brother Elijah,” Klaus said, taking a step at her door and his hand gesturing to Elijah. “Hello,” Elijah said, finally speaking. Stepping along with his brother.

“What do you people want from me?” she asked. She had now come into contact with the originals themselves, and two of the worst. “Let us in and we’ll have a quaint little chat,” Eijah said leaning on the door frame causing her to open the door more they got a peak of the dressing room. Even though she didn’t want to, she knew the other girls would be out soon and it wouldn’t be a good look for her if there were two attractive and wealthy men at the doorstep of dressing rooms. She could hear the rumors already. “Come in” Y/n mumbled stepping aside as both of them stepped inside. Her room was a bit messy, there were bottles of bourbon, wine, and whiskey on the coffee table, some opened, some closed. Few dirty shot cups, and one singular cup of wine. A long wide couch on either side of the room.The one on the left-hand had dresses thrown on it and lingerie.

The right had books piled on top of it, along with a basket of herbs and other assortments. Both brothers looked at each other, both thinking the same. She was a very messy witch. She could see the judgment through both of them. “Forgive me, if I knew I had… visitors I would have cleaned up better,” She said acting sorry, but she wasn’t. She’d be damned if it was her dressing room, she could do whatever the hell she wanted. Elijah could sense her false remorse and if he was being honest as stunning as she was he wasn’t totally in the mood. “You don’t have to put on your theatrics with us here tonight, trust me the last thing we need from you is lies. We know you're a witch so we will be getting to the point I think I've spent just enough time in this god-awful place ” Elijah said, the distaste in his mouth clear. She got annoyed crossing her arms and leaning on her vanity letting out a deep breath. This man and his audacity” she thought to herself. Klaus was already sitting on the couch to the right, making himself comfortable moving things around as if this was his own room. “Well you know I'm a witch, what a great thing to come in and say I really am glad my dark little secret is out to the world Mr.Mikaelson,” She said sarcastically as she lit up a cigarette. “Well, I'll be quite forward with you, I know you have access to Wolfsbane,” Klaus said, looking her up and down.

“And I'm looking to get it,” he said, picking up a jar of herbs. Her heart sped up, great another thing she hated, was wolfsbane. Known for its ability to be lethal to the werewolf kind, she knew exactly why he needed it. She had heard rumors of the hybrid coming back to New Orleans and taking down Marcel, giving a lot of the witches the power to practice magic freely but knew about the loophole he created by getting a werewolf pregnant.

“Because you want to control the werewolves, why? There already out of New Orleans Marcel drove them out years ago” she said quietly trying to play dumb for now. “Well let me inform you now, I'm back and I'm here to stay, and let's just say the werewolves have made their comebacks. Especially with the mother of my child…. I need to take necessary precautions to keep them in line in case” Klaus said explaining and Y/n kept her eyes to the ground every now and then staring at Elijah's very nice shoes. Her eyes slowly drifted up looking at him from his feet to his eyes. He was already staring which caused shivers to go down her spine

“And if I refuse?” she asked her eyes drifting to Elijah and Klaus knowing the answer.

“You die,” Klaus said, shrugging. He said it as if it was nothing. To him, her life was nothing, he could always find another witch anytime he wanted and she wished he did.

“Help me and you are promised safety. A newfound place in my little kingdom” Klaus said, lacing his deal with false promises, sweet words.

“Don't trust the lion,” she remembered in her head. Klaus was clearly the lion, with blonde hair, devilish eyes, and stalking his prey as such. her eyes darted to Elijah. If she couldn’t trust the lion then could she really trust his brother? But she, as any other, heard the tales of the nobleman. The most common story is the nobleman and his word. He didn’t break it, never broke it. Elijah prided himself on that.

“I want your word,” she blurted out. Klaus raised his eyebrows in surprise. Elijah had a smirk, small but noticeable, filled a small portion of his face. “For what exactly?” He asked taking a singular step closer. “That I won't die or get fucking double-crossed,” She said, trying to not sound nervous. “You two fuckers can’t walk into my dressing room threaten me to take my life and then give me false promises!” She said finally getting a little angry more than scared. Klaus had an amused look and got up and walked up to his brother. “Deal with it,” Klaus said simply and left. The door clicked shut. Now it was just her and Elijah.

“Are you sure you want to negotiate with me? It is really unheard of” Elijah said, straightening the cuffs of his suit. “Here I thought you were better than that tyrant” she muttered. Elijah just got more amused, “I am, or I’m not it depends on who you ask. But why was my word? My brothers not enough for you?” Elijah asked. She took a deep breath.

“First your brother is widely known for double-crossing and well his heinous acts of murder,” she said uncrossing her arms. “You on the other hand while I know you two aren’t too different you have more honor than him, you keep your word you try not to harm people,” she said plainly walking one step closer.

“ Ancestors do talk, don’t they? I will say I am flattered that good things are said” Elijah said smiling. His accent was thick, she couldn’t help but like that. “Don’t be cocky too soon I’ve heard just as bad about you” she said distasteful. Her eyes look at the posters around the walls of past shows. It didn’t wipe the smile off Elijah’s face just yet. “Well, how about this? Do you actually have wolfsbane?” Elijah asked, there was a part of him that was a bit suspicious of her. Witches weren’t always reliable. He learned that through the thousand years, he was alive. Either you had to compel them to make sure they stepped out or simply just had to kill them. But he could smell Verveine coming off y/n and her blood. So no use trying to compel her. She went to a little drawer pulled out a little glass bottle filled with a little sample and threw it over to him. He caught it quite sharply. He popped the lid off and he could already smell it.

“I suppose you, are not a fraud,” Elijah said, putting the small vile in his suit pocket

“Well?” She said still waiting for his word

What?” He said. His smile turned into a smirk. If he was being honest, he was getting a little kick out of this. Playing dumb was a bit fun he did have to admit it himself

“Don’t play dumb” she spat out annoyed. Her belt to her robe fell down and her robe was open. Elijah looked, and looked away. “Have some shame” he told himself in his head to stay in control.

“You have my word, Miss…?” Elijah said bit of a questioning tone trying to figure out her last name.He raised an eyebrow waiting for her to speak

“Y/L/n” she said quietly. She was relieved she had his word.

“Miss Y/L/n that no harm will come to you ... .as long as you keep your end of the bargain supply us with what we need for the amount of time we need it” Elijah said standing now right in front of her.

“I suppose we have a deal,” she said, lifting her head to meet his gaze. He was immortal and quite perfect. His face was sculpted amazingly and his eyes looked like they could suck anyone in. Y/n never understood vampirism and never wanted to. She knew enough to make her dislike them. She took a long deep breath of her cigarette and let out a very long puff. The smoke went all over both their faces. Even then she could see him stare and the stupid smirking on his face she could only wish to wipe off.

might be a slow burn;)

-part 1-

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the-writer-nerd-ro · 10 months

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I referenced this movie in "Hunter Finally Plans The Perfect Date" so you should have known this fic was coming! Spoilers for the 2005 movie Elizabethtown but not enough that you shouldn't watch it apparently it's on Max now but I personally just bought it on Vudu bc I plan on rewatching it A LOT. I also own it on DVD. This is my favorite movie ever please watch it please.

Also there are a bunch of headcanons in this fic I'm having a blast with the world building.

28% Critics, 66% Audience

“Movie night!” Sara said, plopping down on the comfy couch and patting the seat next to her.

“So what’s this movie about?” All Hunter knew was it contained a date scene set in a cemetery, which was a Hunter Richardson specialty.

“It’s about love. And loss. It’s kind of beautiful in its own weird way.”

“Like you,” Hunter said.

“Like me. Come watch!”

Hunter settled in, having no idea what she was in for. But if it made Sara happy, then she just felt lucky to be included.

From the first few seconds Orlando Bloom was on the screen the movie was a sequence of terrible things knocking Drew to the ground and kicking him when he was down.

Immediately, without even trying, Hunter connected to Drew. She remembered the out-of-nowhere system shock when her parents had died. The holes in her life they had left and how quickly regret had crept in to fill those holes.

She glanced over at Sara, who was mouthing along with the lines.

Sara glanced over too, and grinned.

“Here she comes,” Sara said, clearly excited. Sara was watching a different movie than Hunter, one that didn’t truly begin until Kirsten Dunst stepped on screen.

“Celebrity crush,” Hunter thought. She would find out that that was an oversimplification.

Hunter saw Sara in Claire Colburn pretty quickly. Like Sara, Claire had so much passion and love that it was offputting for some, but the people who stuck around got a whole garden in bloom. Hunter could see how Drew would fall for her by the end of the movie.

But the movie was about so much more than an ex-shoe designer and a flight attendant falling in love. Hunter teared up three times before Claire appeared on the screen again. Hunter felt personally targeted as Drew reflected on the life his dad had lived and the heartwarming, overwhelming outreach of his father’s family as they held him and waited for him to grieve.

Hunter remembered feeling like a bug under a microscope, mourning but in all the wrong ways. Wanting to reach out to the people who were hurting too, but having no idea how to relate to any of her relatives.

“That could have been me,” She whispered without meaning to as Drew flipped through family photos with an aunt he clearly didn’t remember (played by Paula Deen, of all people). Sara didn’t say anything, just wrapped Hunter up in a hug, reminding her that she wasn’t under a microscope anymore. Sara saw her as she was without expecting anything more.

They were silent, enthralled, for a few more minutes, and then Sara turned to Hunter and beamed.

“The phone scene is my favorite.”

It was actually a collection of scenes, but Hunter understood why Sara liked it. After struggling through awkward conversations with his ex and his sister, Drew stumbled into an easy conversation with Claire. There was something deeply intimate about the act of staying up all night talking with someone, even if it was a stranger. Hunter hadn’t lived with Sara very long but they’d already had many late-night/early morning conversations. Hunter snuggled closer into Sara’s arms.

Hunter recognized what happened next, too, when the sun rose and they went their separate ways, both sure they’d never see each other again. When Hunter had first met Sara, she’d thought it was a stroke of dumb luck, a fluke that would never be repeated.

Instead of saying any of that, Hunter asked, “Have you ever watched the movie Fluke?”

“Huh? No,” Sara was distracted by Susan Sarandon.

“I’ll tell you about it later,” Hunter decided, not wanting to miss a moment of Sara’s favorite film.

Especially not the over-hyped cemetery scene, which Hunter didn’t find as romantic as Sara clearly did. It seemed more like two sleep-deprived people blowing off some steam. Hunter didn’t think the romance really started until they were walking back in the dark, the third late-night conversation Claire and Drew had gotten to have.

When they were talking, they felt like more than characters on a screen. They felt so vivid, so real. Claire was a person who had always gotten second place in the lives of the people who claimed they loved her, never the first choice, never the priority. Drew was only first when he was successful, and when he failed he might as well be as good as dead. Who hadn’t felt like that before, like a substitute person who could easily be recast?

Again Hunter didn’t say any of that, just leaned over and whispered, “They should make a lesbian version of this movie.”

Sara nodded earnestly. “They should cast us.”

Hunter laughed, “Yeah, they should.”

“Are you loving it?” Sara asked.

“I love you,” Hunter said, which was so much easier than saying how this silly, sappy movie was ripping her heart to shreds.

And when the stupid, silly straight couple ended the evening almost-but-not-quite kissing, Hunter couldn’t admit just how invested she was in the pairing.

It felt like she was holding her breath until Claire showed up again, just waiting for the two repressed dorks to take another baby step in their relationship. She exhaled in relief when Claire admitted, very directly, that she liked Drew. She let out an audible whoop a few minutes later when Drew finally kissed her.

Unfortunately, there was still a sizeable chunk of runtime left, which didn’t bode well for the substitute people. Fortunately, Kirsten Dunst could act her little ass off, really selling the heartbreak she felt when she realized Drew was still too hung up on his failures to love her the way she deserved to be loved.

“How are they going to come back from this one?” Hunter whispered.

“Haven’t you ever seen a romcom before?”

“A few.”

“Then trust the formula.”

Hunter had gotten so caught up in the love story that she had almost forgotten it was a movie about loss. Then the memorial hit her again with that dissociative feeling of grieving with people who all had their own version of the deceased. It was the kind of thing you never completely forgot.

Hunter squeezed her eyes shut and shuddered.

For the first time in over an hour, Sara paused the movie.

“Hun? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just remembering.”

Sara nodded, knowing exactly what Hunter was talking about.

“When did it happen? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Seven years ago. But sometimes it feels like yesterday.”

“I’m sure they were wonderful.”

“The best,” Hunter agreed. Maybe she should reach out to her family, it had been about that long since she’d seen some of them. Her dad’s brother and his family lived in the city but everyone else was scattered. Her parents had been the ones to bring them together.

“I’m sure they would be happy to know that you’re loved,” Sara said, which seemed much nicer than the usual “They’d be proud of you.”

Maybe Hunter hadn’t done anything worth their pride but she was loved, and that’s all they’d ever wanted for her.

“Go ahead and start the movie again.”

Sara did, and they watched Susan Sarandon tap dancing, and the air in the room seemed a little lighter than it was before.

Hunter was surprised to find the movie wasn’t done surprising her. The grief of the memorial turned into celebration and celebration slipped into chaos as Drew’s eccentric cousin (played, Hunter was pretty sure, by that one guy from Parks and Rec) brought down the house with a live performance of Freebird that really emphasized the Baylor family motto.

“If it wasn’t this it would be something else,” Hunter whispered.

“Exactly!” Sara said, thrilled that the movie was resonating with Hunter.

Neither of them spoke after that, until the credits rolled twentyish minutes later. It was hard to talk, when so much was happening on screen. Hunter didn’t even realize she was crying again until Sara reached over and gently brushed the tears away.

“Thank you for watching this with me, I’m sorry if it was a lot,” Sara said.

Hunter laughed a little, rubbing her eyes. “Everything about us is a lot.”

“Good point.”

“You seemed to really like Claire, is she your type?” Hunter asked, not jealous just curious.

Sara burst out laughing. “Oh no. Oh no no no no. Hun, you’re my type. But I was,” Sara thought back, “thirteen when this came out, and it changed how I saw the world.”

“Your gay awakening,” Hunter guessed.

“Sort of. I’d fallen in love with a lot of tv girls before, but I didn’t feel that way about Claire. I didn’t want to be with her, I wanted to be her. I’d never had words for those feelings before. It had never been so concrete.”

“Oh!” Hunter had known Sara was trans but she had never considered that came with an origin story. She felt kind of foolish that she’d never asked Sara about it before.

She studied Sara, a smile growing on her face. “Huh. I can see that, actually.”

Sara beamed. “Really?”

“Really. You’re a lot like her. Better, in my mind. Cuter, too.”

Sara Pena looked like she was going to swoon.

“You have no idea how much that means to me.”

“Thank you for sharing this part of you with me. I like learning about what made you who you are. Because I love who you are.”

“Next time you can pick the movie. I want to learn more about you, too.”

It was only the start of their journey, but Hunter really, really liked where they were heading.

#sara pena #hunter richardson #sara x hunter #hunter x sara #drawfee #drawfee fanfiction #elizabethtown #trust me when i say I'm even more annoying than sara to watch this movie with bc i come equipped with fun facts #i really didn't spoil much of this movie i think you would still be shocked to learn all the crazy shit that happens #absolutely bonkers insane movie and there's still so much heart #fun fact this is the movie that spawned the phrase manic pixie dream girl #elizabethtown 2005 is the moment and no one is talking about her #she's old enough to vote and smoke and now she's everyone on my blog's problem

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nowgrow1 · 1 year

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6 ChatGPT Prompts To Validate A Business Idea

6 ChatGPT Prompts To Validate A Business Idea Many entrepreneurs have many ideas according to their business and they keep thinking of new ideas from time to time. Types of insight can never stop thinking about smart solutions, inventions, and new products or services for their existing business. Train ChatGPT to sense-check each idea, so you can sort those incredible must-do ideas from the ones that should be left well alone. Use these 5 prompts to help you do that. Table of Contents⤵️

1. Use ChatGPT to validate your business idea

1.1 Figure out your unfair advantage

1.2 Understand your perfect customer

1.3 Assess demand for your idea

1.4 Collect feedback

1.5 Make your testing plan

2. Best ChatGPT Prompts for Busines

2.1 ChatGPT Prompts for Finding Business Ideas

3. Validate your business idea with ChatGPT prompts

Use ChatGPT to validate your business idea

Figure out your unfair advantage

If you’re going to start a new business, there should be a clear reason why. Why are you specifically best placed to begin this particular venture? Ideally, you hit upon a concept that is multiplied by your unique intersection of skills, networks, and interests. Once you get that, no one can compete with you. If there isn’t a clear reason for you to start a business, maybe it’s not the idea for you.

Ask ChatGPT for an assessment of synergy with this prompt. Copy and paste straight in and complete the gaps: “I’m thinking of starting a business that [describe what this business does] and I want to understand my unique strengths in making it a success. I have experience in [describe your experience] and expertise in [describe your expertise]. I have access to people who [describe your network]. Can you give me the reasons why this will and won’t be a success based on my specific situation?”

Understand your perfect customer

Trying to sell to everyone won’t get you anywhere good. Selling to one very specific person, however, resonating with their world and turning them into a raving fan, will bring you more of the same. But first, you need to define them, make sure your idea actually solves their problems, and find out what action they are already taking. Get crystal clear on your perfect customer to unlock validation of your idea and see a clear plan to reach them. Now that ChatGPT knows about your business, prompt it for customer insights.

Here’s the prompt: “Now you know what business I want to start, can you suggest who might be the ideal customer for this business? Can you describe their demographics and explain what problems they might have, that my business might solve. Please rank these problems in order, starting with the most important thing to them. Next, tell me what products or services they are currently using to solve these problems.”

Assess demand for your idea

So you have your idea and a feeling you could make it a success. Your customer profile is nailed on and you feel confident that they have problems that your idea solves better than what already exists. Next, you need to check that your ideal customer exists and frame your idea in a way that resonates. Make sure there are compelling reasons why that person would want to buy that product. Make sure there’s enough demand in the entire market, make sure you’re not joining a declining industry after the big gains have already been made.

Here’s the prompt to further the conversation. “Can you give me 3 main reasons why someone would want to buy my product? Next, estimate how many people in [location, if applicable] could be in my target audience, and tell me the size of this market and its likely growth over the next five years. Please also include any adjacent markets I could explore.”

Collect feedback

Everything so far has been theory, now is where you get some practice. Take these value propositions to your ideal customer and see if they like them. Hear their concerns, understand what excites them, and refine your offering from there. Use the intel to decide if this is a mountain you want to climb, and how profitable this route might be. Go beyond friends and family to find those who match your ideal customer profile and will give their honest opinion.

Prompt ChatGPT to set you on this path. “Create a survey for my potential audience. Start by giving a description of my business and who it’s for, to set the scene. For the first question, create three compelling value propositions that address how my business solves a problem for them, and ask which value proposition most resonates. Next, ask how likely they would be to buy, and then ask what this new concept would need to do to win their business. Finally, give me options on how I collect this feedback from my target audience.”

Make your testing plan

Survey responses will give you an idea of what people might want and how likely they would be to buy, but having something they can actually test out is the next step to validating your business idea. Ideally, you do this without incurring huge costs or hassle. Get ChatGPT’s opinion on what this could be, based on what it knows so far.

“How do I create a minimum viable product (MVP) or prototype, to test my business idea with real users and gather their insights? Include information such as how much this might cost and the steps to take to make it happen. Include what metrics I should look out for to know if my idea is worth pursuing.”

Best ChatGPT Prompts for Business

Below is a list of advanced and helpful ChatGPT prompts for business owners and aspiring entrepreneurs. These prompts cover various aspects of business, including generating ideas, invoicing, communication, planning, and much more.

ChatGPT Prompts for Finding Business Ideas

“Generate a list of 10 innovative business ideas in the [industry] sector.”

“Suggest three niche markets within the [industry] that have growth potential.”

“Identify five current trends in the [industry] and how a new business could capitalize on them.”

“Analyze the top three competitors in the [industry] and suggest unique selling points for a new business.”

“Propose five business ideas that focus on sustainability and social impact.”

“Create a list of 10 low-cost business ideas that can be started with minimal investment.”

“Suggest three business ideas that cater to the remote work and freelancing market.”

“Identify five business opportunities arising from recent technological advancements.”

“Provide three business ideas that can help solve common problems faced by small business owners.”

“List five business ideas that can leverage the growing popularity of online shopping.”

Validate your business idea with ChatGPT prompts

Figure out your unique advantage, understand your perfect customer, and assess the demand for your idea, then collect feedback and make your plan for further testing. Repeat for every great idea until you find the one that will change the world.

Also Read -: 5 ChatGPT Prompts To Increase Your Business IQ

#Chatgpt #chatgpt prompts #chatgpt research process #ai technology #generative ai #business news #Chatgpt business #prompts for writing

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glitteryfiremiracle · 2 years

Text

How did this book deal all come about?

“Open! Open mouth, lady. Sake. Open lady. Sake sake.” I know it sounds corny, but I love this Hibachi restaurant. I am currently sitting with my family, plus my main spirit guide, Kariss and secondary guide Rodger Liberman. Yep. You’ve read that correctly. I officially channel acclaimed actor, screenwriter, animal rights activist, humanitarian, he’s looking at me that way again, Rodger Liberman. Although no one really knows its him. I like to keep things under wraps because if the world found out, they’d never believe me. And I also keep it to myself out of respect for his wife and family. You wouldn’t believe the things his stands write about on Bmbler these days. And dudes old enough to be their dad! Anyway, I am listening in on a conversation between Kariss and Rodger and I’ll admit its pretty difficult to focus, what, with all of the merriment going on in the background. The next table over is celebrating two birthdays! Cousins and their entire family. That investment banker looks bored.

“Sake! Sake, sake lady!!!”

“No more, thanks” I say while motioning to the chef, with my hands around my throat. “But I would love more tea please. Thank you”

I hold my cup up and our waitress pours piping hot liquid. She’s leaning through Rodger who stops speaking momentarily, long enough to wait for my tea refill. That's how it is for me. In fact many of the people here tonight aren’t really visible to most at all! Investment banker included. I find myself staring at the large tree in the middle of the room yet again when Rodger leans in and says,

“You should really consider writing a book.”

“ About what?” I wonder.

“About your ghost adventures.” he says. “You see them all around, all of the time.”

I don’t reply because I don’t want to look like I am just talking to myself in public, so I solemnly put on my jacket and get ready to leave.

“Everyone got everything?” I ask my husband and daughter.

“Yep.” she chirps in affirmative.

“Great” I respond and we make our way to the door.

“Sake sake, lady. Man. Sake sake, ooooh! Good. Man!”

I really do love this place, I think to myself once again. Their kitsch never gets old.

*******************************************************************************************

“Now before you deglaze your skillet, add you some chopped onion and cook em til they get all soft like…”

“Do you ever shut that phone off?” Rodger wonders half to me and half in disgust. I am lying in bed watching one of my favorite influencers Pepperfire Tex, fix his old grand daddy’s pot roast. I press the side phone button and shut the video off.

“What did you want to talk about?” I ask.

He looks at me before responding, “I really think you should give it some serious thought and finish that book we started writing a couple of years ago. Listen, you've tried the ViewYou thing and it didn’t pan out. I am just saying, maybe chronicling your adventures is a better way to reach your target audience?”

“Since when are you a marketing mastermind?” I quip.

“I’m not.” He says. “I am just saying that if you write a book, maybe it will gain more traction. Maybe Flickflax will pick it up and make it into a series. And, besides you have the connections. All of the people you connect with….from the great beyond. Look, alls I’m saying is with me on your side, divinely guiding you, how can you go wrong?”

Actually Rodger does have connections. And a lot of them. Most don’t like to discuss it, they have their reasons and others, well, the others just don’t believe in it, the afterlife and all. I know that his closest confidants would absolutely laugh me out of any attempt I’d make.

“..And just how do you know that?” He asks, interrupting my train of thought. Rodger is always doing things like that. Interpreting. “Suggesting”, he calls it. “I’m just suggesting.”

“I am all ears, dear.” I say, hoping he’ll point me to where I should start.

So, how does one begin to tell the story of how I became a medium? Do I start at the beginning? Like that one time when I was four?

“...No. Just tell them about your dream.” He says interrupting my train of thought again.

“My dream?”

“Yes. Tell them about that one dream you were having, during lock down. Or safer at home, or whatever it was called….” He’s looking at me that way again.

Before I begin, I think its fair to say that this will involve many flashbacks to how this all came about. And the trick is to outline everything so it flows and there is little confusion but still retains interest. I don’t know if I should just keep recounting my adventures or just focus on how we met and came to be in contact with one another? Or?

“The dream, honey.”

Oh yes. The Italy dream.

https://youtu.be/RYr96YYEaZY

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cdroofingma222 · 1 month

Text

Chancellor Institute

You should really think about applying to the CHANCELLOR INSTITUTE because of its stellar reputation. If you persist, you will achieve your goals. This is my last resort, and I beg you, please consider it.

Whether or whether you wish to pursue a career in nursing after graduation is totally up to you Nursing We will reach this position quickly. Please take advantage of this chance if enhancing your knowledge is a priority for you. When deciding on a leveling method, they are under no obligation to take your preferences into account. In case you were wondering, these are the requirements for the program. If we go ahead and finish, we won't waste time. Verify that everything is in its proper place before proceeding. If we do just one task, we will have met all the requirements.

Is it more appropriate to hold this conversation in a group chat? For once, could you please tell me the truth? My anxiety levels would skyrocket in that kind of scenario. In response to your request for clarification, I will compile all of your options and send them to you via email. Where do you think we stand, in your view? I would much value your feedback.

Because of how perplexing it is, I have considered every conceivable avenue of inquiry. Our staff is here to assist you with any inquiries or problems you may have about our company. If we really want something bad enough, we can achieve it. Someone in management can handle that.

An email tailored to your specific needs will be sent to you after you submit the form. Dataset contents include, among other things, school start dates, enrollment status, and availability of financial aid. In order to help you make a well-informed decision, we are here to answer any questions you may have about the major. You can be confident that we will respond quickly to your call. With all this data at your fingertips, picking the right option is a breeze. With all the pertinent information at your fingertips, selecting the best option is a snap. This is primarily due to the abundance of supplemental materials that are available to you.

This could serve as a baseline against which you could measure your progress:

Everything you may possibly need is available in the Career Development office. Among the many services offered by this program are practice interviews and guidance with creating a CV and cover letter. Unfortunately, we must tell you that our resources are restricted. When faced with multiple choices, it's natural to feel overwhelmed. My earlier remarks were insufficient, to state the obvious. A multitude of opportunities are available to every individual. Their collective goal is to help people find satisfying careers that make effective use of their unique set of experiences, education, and interests. With the department's confirmation of this finding, this objective takes on paramount importance lpn This goal will carry more weight in the end product since it has been acknowledged by all departments. Notifying the appropriate authorities allowed us to verify the data's accuracy. These service providers should prioritize client retention and the recruitment of HR experts if they wish to enhance their financial status. The effective provision of services relies on it. Marketing these services to your target audience will be a breeze if you stick to this plan. It is vital if we are to achieve our objectives. Following this process will make delivering this type of assistance very easy.

Your present skills and experience meet their requirements in what ways? That is the information that is sought after. If you want to back up your plan with an example, give one that worked. We value your thoughtful deliberation on this matter. Chancellor Institute has an enormous amount of value in its partnerships, certificates, licenses, and grants. Before you can take part, you might have to join the group. The following are only a few of the many qualifications held by this establishment. This ranks high among the many things for which the institute is renowned. The Chancellor Institute probably already has all of those certifications. More opportunities are available to everyone. The confidentiality of the information is my utmost concern at the moment. In case you're interested, I'm writing to inform you that the institute has just started giving these qualifications. Remember this at all times; it is critical. I take their expertise and experience into account when I make a calculated choice. The Accrediting Bureau of Health Education has recognized Chancellor Institute as an accredited school for the current academic year. The head of the US Department of Education is deserving of recognition. It is clear that the Chancellor Institute accomplished its goal because it received this distinguished prize. A common trait among all successful people is the capacity to persevere in the face of adversity. We would have been satisfied if we had accomplished our ultimate goal. The Commission for Independent Education (CIE) is the go-to place for any nurse in Florida with concerns regarding the legitimacy of their practice. Without their consent, we cannot move forward. Everyone who took part benefited in some way. Additional licenses are not required for the Chancellor Institute to conduct its educational programs. Every facet of the business as usual is covered in this exhaustive review.

#Nursing

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romanarose · 4 months

Note

Hello there ✨️ love your work 💕 I'm a long time fan 🫶🏼. I've been on tumblr a few years now, but I'd never found the courage to post anything of my own til now. I've been feeling a little optimistic these days, and genuinely excited about posting some of my writing and sharing it with the people out here. Do you have any advice on how to start posting and interacting from scratch? Cause I'm low-key nervous abt it and it seems like my target audience has already formed a solid community I don't know how to get into 🥺

Wow, this might be the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me wowie!!!!!!

okay let me tell my advice

The numbers don't equal quality. Certain things appeal to people more, like shorter stories, straight up smut, Joel Miller gets way more than when I write Marc. I think one of my best works was my Marc X Jewish!Reader series, Seattle, but it idnt get anywhere really even at the height of moon knight popularity bc people dont read OC's esp ethnic oc's. Put your heart into it and those who enjoy it will enjoy it. I had a William Miller series that averaged like 8-20 notes per chapter but I had a handful of readers I knew adored it and thats what mattered

This site is so much better with interaction. PLEASE DON"T ONLY INTERACT FOR THE SAKE OF GETTING FRIENDS WHO"LL REBLOG!! However, if you dont already, make sure you are reblogging stories and leaving nice words! Me personally, if someone reblogs regularly and leave nice words, espcially things that show they really paid attention, I usually just follow back bc I love friends. Im happy to get to know you!

Yes, it's hard sometimes to break it. It took a few months for me to get into the Oscar Issac writer circles, and then when I started writing Pedro it took a while too but I always reblogged and tried to communicate and I made friends. Isn't it crazy we can just.... become friends with our fav writers? Obvs Im not friends with all my favs but MOST of my favs became my friends <3

It's kinda annoying to me bc Im bad at it but aesthetics help. Title, a picture to catch eyes, summary, warnings, note. Try to make it look nice. Im really had at this LMFAOOOOOO. My lovely friends have made my best looking banners. If you have graphic design skills, use them! i wish i didn't have to but it does help catch readers when you have an interesting headers and everything looks pretty.

Few technicals. Use the readmore option. No one wants to reblog a LOOOOOONG story and clog up the feeds. Use as many correct tags as you can. Tag any triggering content. And I'm the worst at this but proof read. Im bad at proof reading, everyone who reads my work knows spelling, grammar, wrong words are a common issue I have bc Im bad at typing. When I still had word on my laptop I started typing in word and using text to speach to help me catch stuff!

Keep at it! IDK where you know my work, weather moon knight, triple frontier or tlou or whatever but all those fandoms right now are like.... a little less active. So don't be dissapointed if it takes a while. With TLOU, theres SOOOOOOO many amazing writers. With Moon Knight theres just less buzz rn. If you write for lesser known characters like Llewyn Davis or Will Miller, you probs won't reach the notes of established writers in Joel Miller. Just the reality. the point is keep going, find what you like and what gets people excited and go from there

This is the most important. Write what you want. I mean it. I love writing Will Miller because he's my special man <3 even though it's a small fanbase. My series Rooms On Fire, a lot have lost interest bc its a long series. That's okay! I love the series and it makes me happy to write it. I wrote a few Miguel O'Hara stories because, I'm being honest here, I wanted to capitalize on the hype. Guess what? They weren't good. I'm not proud of them. Since then, I write what Im inspired to.

THIS SHOULD BE FUN AND IF AT ANY POINT, IT"S NOT FUN STOP AND FIGURE OUT WHY

feel free to say hi off anon! I'm always happy to get to know new people. If you like Triple Frontier, I have a discord server that is pretty much open to everyone! I'm trying to revive it and you can share your works and meet knew people!

Anon or not, let me know if you have any questions!

#writing advice #fanfiction advice #fanfiction writing

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molluskzone · 8 months

Text

i wish the people making whiny posts demanding reblogs from people just admitted to themselves that no, its not about "reach," its about Big Number Feels Good. because if you allowed yourself to confront the fact that you ARE a number chaser then youd have a much better chance at fixing it. and you HAVE to fix it if you want your art output to remain sustainable. numbers will NOT make you satisfied never ever especially not on modern social media. and no its not "just big accounts who dont get it" who know this: the MOST followers ive had on ANY art account of mine since 2014 is 600. and i got maybe 40 likes per post and a handful of comments. thats the best i did in 10 years online and i reached that point in like 2016. haven't gotten near that level of "popularity" since that year because the game changed and i was unwilling to change what *I* wanted to do to please an algorithm.

i understand WANTING people to care about your art. i think itd be weird if someone DIDNT want people to care (at least, out of the people posting their art publicly). but lashing out at the audience not only will NOT get you what you want but it also reflects REALLY badly on you and just makes you sound annoying, mean, and bitter. i honestly hate this and this is the main reason i block people, i have unfollowed people for even just reblogging particularly nasty posts because it rubs me the wrong way SO bad

"people dont reblog because theyre all new users who are too stupid to use the site! you NEED to reblog its just how the site works if you dont like it dont come here" its not up to you to decide what people do on their OWN blogs. people have been complaining about this since at least 2015, and honestly likely before that too (thats just the first time i remember seeing it firsthand). its NOT the "fault" of new users. if people arent reblogging your work... ITS BECAUSE THEY DO NOT WANT IT ON THEIR BLOG. this is not a crime. some people just dont reblog everything they see: and if people DID truly reblog every post they saw (which by these posters logic they SHOULD be doing if they Really care about creators), their accounts would be so cluttered the "reach" wouldn't matter anyways. if they have a blog centered around their OWN work, their followers might bail if all they do is reblog random peoples work they didn't agree to see. THIS IS A VALID AND NORMAL WAY TO USE THIS SITE. i've also seen people suggest making a "reblog dumping blog" so you can give number-crazed artists their precious internet points without reblogging something to your main that you don't want to. this is a genuinely stupid suggestion. again, if the point of reblogs is "for reach," then WHAT purpose would a dumping blog have. nobody is going to follow the dumping blog of the average tumblr user. it wouldn't "reach" ANYbody but the op. not only is this pointless but its also STILL trying to control the actions of random internet users who are causing no harm and just trying to use the website as they please: this is ridiculous and entitled behavior.

"its an INSULT to like a post and not reblog it. youre basically telling the artist their work is shit to their face!" / "likes are useless!" honestly i do not have any sympathy for people who say shit like this because it's just so fucking number-greedy i dont even know what to say. like i said before, there are many reasons a person might not reblog something. its entitled as HELL to demand people do with their blogs what YOU want them to. but to say that likes are useless, or worse than useless? absolutely ridiculous. god forbid people want to express appreciation of a piece even if they dont want to reblog it. i would personally MUCH rather get 20 likes and 0 reblogs on a piece than 0 likes and 0 reblogs. again, targeting and being rude to people trying to express appreciation for your work in simple ways because YOU have a problem with being focused on numbers and because YOU are *choosing* to take it personally is inexcusable

"if you like but dont reblog i will block you! you dont care about artists" perhaps the reason you dont get "enough" attention on your posts is because you are alienating any potential audience by trying to control their use of SITE-WIDE functions. the like button is part of tumblr, it is so weird to me to block people who use it. if you want to block people that is your business but i genuinely dont understand why youre blocking potential followers and people who enjoy your art enough to WANT to click the like button if your goal is to grow your account. you don't have a right to complain about lack of attention if you do this is all i'm saying

"im leaving the site because YOU didnt reblog my work enough! im QUITTING ART FOREVER because nobody reblogged it so if youre reading this its YOUR fault! if artists leave the site its YOUR fault. if you dont reblog work THINK about what youve done. artists are quitting and its ALL YOUR FAULT" this is immature guilt tripping and it boggles my mind that grown adults will make posts like these. i have seen many! if you quit art because you didnt get enough reblogs, that's your own problem. it's probably for the best because focusing on numbers so much that your entire motivation for creating is based around numbers is unhealthy and unsustainable anyways. ill give you a fun fact: the numbers will NEVER be enough if that's all youre focusing on. and even if you get to your "goal", it will NOT be forever. the internet isn't even forever and your social media site could be shut down at any time. you need to find other motivations. and again, this is ANOTHER example of alienating your potential audience: if you care about growth, stop trying to manipulate your audience! stop blaming your audience for your personal problems! if you want to quit, just quit. it's not your audience's fault.

basically: no it's not "reach" or "mutual artist support" you just want numbers. numbers feel good so you want them! admit this. there is no other reason you would feel THIS agitated and aggressive over reblogs. and i have seen some REALLY nasty posts before. it's an unhealthy mindset that it would do you good to unlearn. and honestly: im going to call you a hypocrite if you make ANY posts like this. because there is NO WAY that you as an artist are reblogging every piece of art you see. there is just no way. youre reblogging art that you like enough to share with others. and that is simply not every art piece you see. if you understand this for yourself, then you NEED to accept that this is the case for others: people are not reblogging your work because they do not want to. we all know what the reblog button does. we can all figure out that clicking reblog shares the post with all of your followers and gives the post more chances to be seen and reblogged again and again. WE KNOW. if people arent reblogging your work then they just don't want to. accept it! you need to deal with the fact that not everybody likes your art! work on yourself instead of demanding that others cater to your ego.

there is no problem with asking for reblogs. there is no problem with wanting to grow your account. there is no problem in letting people know why reblogs help artists. there is no problem in encouraging people to comment on or like your work. there IS a problem with being rude and entitled about it though

and for artists whos jobs rely on internet attention: you still don't have a pass to behave this way sorryyy... i understand being numbers-focused if you rely on commission work or ad work. but lashing out at others is STILL never okay even if your income relies on it. if you cannot game the algorithm, that is NOT your audience's fault. you have to learn to play the system if you want to make posting online your job, and if you CANT do this (like so many cant), it is not fair to blame it on the people supporting you for "not doing enough". it is nobody's obligation to make your living for you! if you cant convince people to reblog your work and spread your work based off of the content of your posts, that's a YOU problem. people share what they want to see: if your income relies on shares. make what people want to see. and even then it might not work because of how social media algorithms work. this is the risk you take being an online artists and its NEVER your followers fault for not doing enough.

anyways if u like my work i <3 you if you reblog my work i <3 you i never expect notes on my art so any attention i get is much appreciated and i treasure every compliment i get SO much that i screenshot them all and put them in a google folder so i can look at them forever and ever <3

#long post #my post

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mydogtypedthis · 2 years

Text

i know this probably wont reach any sort of audience but i need to type it out anyway.

I have a situation with a friend that ive had for about 11 years now. we have loose contact and different friend groups, but hang out occasionally in group settings like parties or camps. im calling her boople for the purpose of this xoxo

the thing is her friendship group sucks balls and ass. they are a gaggle of cunts, completely wretched morons who act like 5-year-olds and do not truly care a shit for her. ive never made my thoughts on that clear to her because she's a big girl and can pick her own friends. i have no place to put those comments but my own thoughts and maybe venting to the internet ok 🤫. its just that shes such a lovely person and im worried a bit of a pushover for such assholes. shes a perfect target, especially because they see her as 'childish'.

she makes a big thing of her birthday every year, as, growing up, her mother was known for throwing these amazing parties that were so extra and megaslay (i remember an alice in wonderland one where they got their neighbours in as actors for characters in little storylines from the book. there was so much amazing food. croquet. i came home with the party playlist on a cd and an alice in wonderland necklace). boople loves her birthday and i think its wonderful, she does throw great parties. the last couple years, ive had the pleasure of hearing some of these friend's thoughts over her planning. theyve mostly been about how childish it is to have games at a party or a theme, and how she needs to grow up and do something fun for once. i have my own thoughts and plans about them for that 🤪🔨🔨🔨🔨🔨🔨

anyway.

this year, shes just taking some of her closest friends to have this really sweet fairy picnic in the local gardens. think raspberry lemonade in tea cups, sponge cake, big poofy dresses etc etc. shes been planning it and talking to her friends about it for months, who all agreed to go. let me tell you boople was ECSTATIC about this, she even got her mum to help her make these dresses (shes really clever with sewing and all). ive seen pictures of the dresses and they look amazing. pinterest board bullshit. off to the royal ball. boople was so happy with them, and she and her mother put so much into them. her birthday, and the party, are in a couple of weeks, everything is planned, coming together and looking gorgeous. except today, to-fucking-day, suddenly, her friends decide they are far too good for it. today.

after MONTHS of planning and discussion about it, they suddenly decide that they cant possibly fulfill this silly little dream for their 'best friend'. i understand if its not the sort of thing you would want to attend, but i dont understand cancelling after agreeing to it for months. i dont understand not doing this simple little thing to make your friend so happy and feel so special and loved. its so special to her? she was so excited about it? there was also no formal or kind declination, just a condescending "... so hey bestie... mm no" type of attitude. 🔪 🔪🔪🔪

so basically im sick and tired and i dont know what to do. ive watched these people berate and hurt her for years and today i watched them make her cry and come home early. shes been forced to cancel the party, as even if she could convince them to come, they would be fuckheads about it the whole time. seriously im really angry. she cared about it so much, put so much love into it, and she has to go through this. she has had to deal with being friends with them. i cant think of a time shes ever wronged anyone in the 11 years ive known her.

i guess if anyone actually reads this and has a better understanding or idea of what to do than me (i have none) please help. x

- why does she keep coming back to them and treat them so kindly. all they use her for is microwave runs. they hurt her over and over again and i hate watching her go back.

- do you think this could be the last straw for her? is she finally done?

- what can i do about it from a distance? is it immoral to punch one of those pricks in the face? or should i leave it to cold glares? i really want to punch them each in the face. is there a solution that allows her to have this party when she has no friends deserving of her or of attending?

- please let me punch one of them.

-thoughts?

- and have a great day

- :)

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supernovafeather · 2 years

Text

A Dream

Leto Atreides x F!Reader

Content : harem, concubine!reader, mutual pining, nudity, fluff.

Please comment and reblog if you liked ! 😊

Thanks to weeks of training your danse is synchronized perfectly with the softest music filling the air. The chords move in harmony between the thin and skilled musicians' fingers, as well as your limbs turning in the air with precision.

The group of ten concubines you are a part of has mastered this choreography a long time ago, but this time the Duke himself and an audience restricted to his most loyal men and women witness your hard work. Here on Caladan you are a model of elegance when it comes to traditional music, the symbol of feminine and distinguished delicacy the Duke only can get a taste of. More than a harem of favorites depending on a single pan you had become an important part of the traditions conservation.

Black flat shoes, a long white and beige dress you can make float all around you in swift and mastered twirls without undoing the complex bun crowning your head. Where many uncultured eyes would see a group of women parading for the Duke, you see the tales narrated in all the nuances of your gestures : the wind hitting the cliffs during thunderstorms, conquest, the birds songs, the rise of the House Atreides. These stories fill your heart with pride and melancholy as after a few steps back you stand in the fourth line, kneeling in front of another concubine doing the same, your hands linked as you look at each other tenderly as the music slows down.

An approving series of claps erupts all around you as the privileged audience goes back to its previous interactions, buzzing with compliments for the Caladanian culture and good taste in art.

To your surprise you see a blond maid coming to you with a slight bow, her soft voice being another treat for the guests.

"Duke Leto requires your presence."

Barely a few seconds later you walk up to the Lord's sides, staying at a reasonable distance out of respect. You are a concubine among others, and despite some temporary surge to sit on his lap or to hold his hand you know better. Affection display in public must come from him.

"Here you are." Leto purrs with a grin. "Come here."

"Yes my Lord."

He stands up from his chair, his gentle eyes slightly watering due to exhaustion and alcohol remaining somehow as charming as ever as they examine your face.

The soft kiss on your cheek surprises you by how sensual it feels. Nothing too explicit but the sheer gentleness of his gesture and the pressure resting there for more or less five seconds as he holds your hands firmly doesn't feel acceptable in front of an audience. They may be all talking to each other but in these kinds of events one's eyes are always everywhere.

"You were magnificent." He tells you tenderly at your ear so that you are the only one hearing his words. "It's always a pleasure to see you loving this."

"If you loved it then I consider my mission completed my Lord." You reply with a flattered smile. "I hope they all appreciated it."

His thumbs apply some pressure on your palms as he rubs them and it feels pretty good, especially under this playful gaze so close to your face.

"Please join me tonight."

"I will." You say with a kiss on his bearded cheek.

Dancing is a good source of pleasure but you have to admit that making Leto fall harder for you every day is an indecent one you cherish more than anything else.

You joined the harem out of selfishness, it's true but after all you needed to make sure that you could get a much better situation. You used to target some important man in the court before catching the Duke's eye and to your disbelief you could only watch yourself getting absorbed by his numerous qualities.

After your bodies reach their climax his embrace tends to be more protective than possessive, his fingers tracing some patterns on your skin as you listen to his heart beating, your eyes closed with a content smile. You had never done such a thing with anyone else. Why would you care about a heartbeat when all you wanted to do was either leave the bed or fall asleep ? But with Leto it's different. It connects you to him.

"Your skin is softer than usual." The Duke mumbles sleepily. "I love it."

His hand rubs your back up and down with slow gestures before reaching your shoulder blade, then nape.

"I chose a new soap. I knew you'd like it."

"Oh, so this was all planned ?"

"Everything went well according to my diabolical plan. You just can't resist."

He snorts before kissing the top of your head.

"I can't. You're right."

A long and almost silent yawn later you feel him shifting a bit underneath you. This signal is enough to make you roll onto your side as the Duke leaves the comfort of his bed, your eyes admiring his simple naked beauty. Sometimes you wonder whether famous sculptors would be able to copy his body properly. After all they don't have the chance to touch and see him the way you do so often. Would they be able to reproduce the firmness of his muscles, this subtle softness in his features once relaxed, the length of his eyelids that adds a more feminine aspect, his curls, this belly that feels so welcoming for your head the days he gained weight ? They would never dare to show anything negative about their leader. You, you can see him fully.

"Do you want to take a shower with me ?"

Leto turns to you, and your only answer is a shrug as you keep watching him with an adoration you don't care about hiding from him. He's handsome, what can you do against it ?

"What about a bath ? It would feel better to take our time after the festivities."

"My eyes are up there." He scolds you with a fake serious tone. "And I know that if I let you take a bath you are going to fall asleep again."

"But there's nothing better than sleeping in hot water with my Duke and his stories."

He chuckles loudly and walks away, shaking his head before entering the bathroom.

You love how casual your interactions can be when you have time. This got never discussed between you but you hope that one day he is going to make you his Duchess out of all his other girls, one looked at with genuine affection. Maybe it's an unreachable dream but you doubt it. And if it is that unreachable, then you are going to allow yourself to keep dreaming with innocence. This world is full of injustice and dark elements, why would you stop believing in what brings you light ?

- - - - -

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I was invited to give a talk on GamerGate over Zoom in early 2021. I've long been frustrated that there isn't a good timeline of GG and its origins on YouTube. When people ask "what the hell was GG anyway?" they often get referred to my or Dan Olson's videos on the subject, but both of them were made while GG was ongoing, and presumed a degree of familiarity on the part of the audience. There was just too much to say about what was already happening to spend time getting the audience up to speed, and it was safe to assume our audiences had enough context to follow along. But time moves fast on the internet, and many people who now care about such things weren't there while it was happening, and are lacking the necessary context to follow the better videos. For a long time, I've only been able to direct them to RationalWiki's timeline, which is excellent but so exhaustively comprehensive that it's likely to scare off first-timers.

I realize an hourlong lecture isn't necessarily helping matters, but the first 20-or-so minutes of this video are my attempt at streamlining the timeline such that people can be up to speed on the most important stuff fairly quickly. The rest is talking about what it all meant, how it prefigured the Alt-Right, and using it to better understand digital radicalization.

This video was made with the help of Magdalen Rose, who edited the slides to the audio while I was laid up with a back injury. Go sub to her channel! And please back me on Patreon.

Transcript below the cut.

FUCKING VIDEO GAMES? FUCKING VIDEO GAMES. THEY MADE DOZENS OF PEOPLE MISERABLE FOR YEARS OVER VIDEO GAMES! NOT EVEN FUCKING VIDEO GAMES, FUCKING ARTICLES ABOUT FUCKING VIDEO GAMES. THIS IS WHAT PASSES FOR LEGITIMATE GRIEVANCE. ARE YOU KIDDING ME WITH THIS SHIT??

Hi! My name is Ian Danskin. I’m a video essayist and media artist. I run the YouTube channel Innuendo Studios, please like share and subscribe.

I’m here to talk to you about GamerGate, and I needed to get all that out of the way. I’m going to talk about what GamerGate was and how it prefigured The Alt-Right, and there are gonna be moments where you’re nodding along with me, going, “yeah, yeah I get it,” and then the sun’s gonna break through a crack in the wall and you’ll suddenly remember that all this is happening because some folks - mostly ladies - said some stuff - provably true stuff, I might add - about video games and a bunch of guys didn’t like it, and you’re gonna want to rip your hair out. By the end of this, you will have a better understanding of what happened, but it will never not be bullshit.

Also, oh my god, content warning. Racism, sexism, antisemitism, homophobia, transphobia, rape threats, threats of violence, domestic abuse - I’m not going to depict or describe at length any of the worst stuff, but it’s all in the mix. So if at any point you need to switch me off or mute me, you have my blessing.

Brace yourselves.

Some quick prehistory:

In 2012, feminist media critic Anita Sarkeesian ran a Kickstarter campaign for a YouTube series on sexist tropes in video games. And, partway through the campaign, 4chan found it and said “let’s ruin her life.” And a lot of the male general gaming public joined in. And by “ruin her life” I’m not talking 150 angry tweets including dozens of rape and death threats per week, though that was a thing. I’m talking bomb threats. I’m talking canceled speaking engagements because someone threatened to shoot up a school. I’m talking FBI investigation. The harassers faced no meaningful repercussions.

And in 2013, Zoe Quinn released Depression Quest, a free text game about living with depression. They received harassment off and on for the next year, most pointedly from an incel forum called Wizardchan that doxxed their phone number and made harassing phone calls telling them to kill themself. The harassers faced no meaningful repercussions.

(Also, quick note: Zoe Quinn is nonbinary and has come out since the events in question. When I call Zoe’s harassment misogynist, understand I am not calling Zoe a woman, but they were attacked by people who hate women because that’s how they were perceived. Had they been out at the time things probably would’ve gone down similarly, but on top of misogyny I’d be talking about nonbinary erasure and transphobia.)

Okay. Our story begins in August 2014. The August that never ended.

Depression Quest, after a prolonged period on Greenlight, finally releases on Steam as a free download with the option to pay what you want. In the days that follow, Zoe’s ex-boyfriend, Eron Gjoni, writes a nearly 10,000-word blog called The Zoe Post, in which he claims Quinn had been a shitty and unfaithful partner. (For reference, 10,000 words is long enough that the Hugos would consider it a novelette.) This is posted to forums on Penny Arcade and Something Awful, both of which immediately take it down, finding it, at best, a lot of toxic hearsay and, at worse, an invitation to harassment. So Gjoni workshops the post, adds a bunch of edgelord humor (and I am using the word “humor” very generously), and reposts it to three different subforums on 4chan.

We’re not going to litigate whether Zoe Quinn was a good partner. I don’t know or care. I don’t think anyone on this call is trying to date them so I’m not sure that’s our business. What is known is that the relationship lasted five months, and, after it ended, Gjoni began stalking Quinn. Gjoni has, in fact, laid out how he stalked Quinn in meticulous detail to interviewers and why he feels it was justified. It’s also been corroborated by a friend that Quinn briefly considered taking him back at a games conference in San Francisco, but he became violent during sex and Quinn left the apartment in the middle of the night with visible bruises.

Off of the abusive ex-boyfriend’s post, 4chan decides it’s going to make Zoe Quinn one of their next targets, and starts a private IRC channel to plan the campaign. The channel is called #BurgersAndFries, a reference to Gjoni claiming Quinn had cheated on him with five guys. A couple sentences in The Zoe Post - which Gjoni would later claim were a typo - imply that one of the five guys was games journalist Nathan Grayson and that Quinn had slept with him in exchange for a good review of Depression Quest. Given the anger that they’d seen drummed up against women in games with the previous Anita Sarkeesian hate mob, #BurgersAndFries decides to focus on this breach of “ethics in games journalism” as a cover story, many of them howling with laughter at the thought that male gamers would probably buy it. This way, destroying Quinn’s life and career and turning their community against them would appear an unfortunate byproduct of a legitimate consumer revolt; criticism of the harassment could even be framed as a distraction from the bigger issue. Gjoni himself is in the IRC channel telling them that this was the best hand to play.

The stated aim of many on #BurgersAndFries was to convince Quinn to commit suicide.

Two regulars in the IRC, YouTubers MundaneMatt and Internet Aristocrat, make videos about The Zoe Post. Incidentally, both these men had already made a lot of money off videos about Anita Sarkeesian. Matt’s is swiftly taken down with a DMCA claim, and he says that Quinn filed the claim themself. (For the record, in those days, YouTube didn’t tell you who filed DMCA claims against you.) Members of the IRC also reach out to YouTuber TotalBiscuit, who had been critical of Sarkeesian and dismissive of her harassment, and he tweets the story to his 350,000 followers, saying a game developer trading sex for a good review might not prove true, but was certainly plausible.

This is where GamerGate begins to get public traction.

Zoe Quinn is very swiftly doxxed, with their phone number, home address, nudes, and names and numbers of their family collected. Gjoni himself leaks their birth name. The Zoe Post, and the movement against Quinn - now dubbed “The Quinnspiracy” - make it to The Escapist and Reddit, which mods will have little luck removing. The Quinnspiracy declares war on any site that does take their threads down, most vehemently NeoGAF. People who defend Zoe against the harassment start getting doxxed themselves - Fez developer Phil Fish is doxxed so thoroughly, hackers get access to the root folder of his website.

In what I’m going to call This Should Have Been The End, Part 1, Stephen Totilo, Editor-in-Chief at Kotaku where Nathan Grayson worked, in response to pressure not just from The Quinnspiracy but an increasing number of angry gamers buying The Quinnspiracy’s narrative, publishes a story. In it he verifies that Quinn and Grayson did date for several months, and that not only is there no review of Depression Quest anywhere on Kotaku, not by Grayson nor anyone else, but that Grayson did not write a single word about Quinn the entire time they were dating.

In response, The Quinnspiracy declares war on Kotaku. r/KotakuinAction is formed, which will become the primary site of organization outside of chanboards. The fact that their entire “movement” is based on a review that does not exist changes next to nothing.

Some people start to see The Quinnspiracy as potentially profitable. The Fine Young Capitalists get involved, a group ostensibly working to get women into video games but who have a Byzantine plan to do so wherein they crowdfund the budget and the woman who wins a competition gets to storyboard a game, but another company will make and she will get 8% of the profits, the rest going to a charity chosen by the top donor. 4chan becomes the top donor. They like TFYC because the head of the company has a vendetta against Zoe Quinn, who had previously called them out for their transphobic submission policy, and he falsely accused Quinn of having once doxxed him. 4chan feels backing an ostensibly feminist effort will be good PR, but can’t resist selecting a colon cancer charity because, they say, feminism is cancer and they want to be the cure to butthurt. They also get to design a character for the game, and so they create Vivian James, who will become the GamerGate mascot.

Manosphere YouTubers Jordan Owen and Davis Aurini launch a Patreon campaign for their antifeminist documentary The Sarkeesian Effect and come to The Quinnspiracy looking for $15,000 a month for an indefinite period to make it, which they get.

In what will prove genuinely awful timing, Anita Sarkeesian releases the second episode of Tropes vs. Women in Video Games, and, despite not being a games journalist and having nothing to do with Quinn or Grayson, she is immediately roped into the narrative about how feminists are ruining games culture and becomes the second major target of harassment. Both she and Quinn soon have to leave their houses after having receiving dozens and dozens of death threats that include their home addresses.

After being courted by members of the IRC channel, Firefly star Adam Baldwin tweets a link to one of the Quinnspiracy videos and coins the hashtag #GamerGate. This is swiftly adopted by all involved.

In response to all this, Leigh Alexander writes a piece for Gamasutra arguing that the identity that these men are flocking to the “ethics in games journalism” narrative to defend no longer matters as a marketing demographic. Gaming and games culture is so large and so varied, and the “core gamer” audience of 18-34 white bros growing smaller and septic, that there was no reason, neither morally nor financially, to treat them as the primary audience anymore. Love of gaming is eternal, but, she declared, “gamers,” as an identity, “are over.” Eight more articles contextualizing GamerGate alongside misogyny and the gatekeeping of games culture come out across several websites in the following days. GamerGate frames these as a clear sign of [deep sigh] collusion to oppress gamers, proving that ethics in games journalism is, indeed, broken, and Leigh Alexander becomes the third major target of harassment. These become known as the “gamers are dead” articles - a phrase not one of them uses - and they make “get Leigh Alexander fired from Gamasutra” one of their primary goals.

Something I need you to understand is that it has, at this point, been two weeks.

Highlights from the next little bit: Alex Macris, a higher up at The Escapist’s parent company, expresses support for GamerGate; he will go on to write the first positive coverage at a major publication and cement The Escapist as GamerGate-friendly. Mike Cernovich, aka “Based Lawyer,” gets GamerGate’s attention by mocking Anita Sarkeesian; he will go on to hire a private investigator to stalk Zoe Quinn. GamerGate launches Operation Disrespectful Nod, an email campaign pressuring companies to pull advertising from websites that have criticized them. They leverage their POC members, getting them, any time someone points out the rampant racism and antisemitism among GamerGaters, to say “I am a person of color and I am #NotYourShield”; most of these “POC members” are fake accounts left over from a previous, racist disinformation campaign. Milo Yiannapoulos gets involved, writing positive coverage of GG despite having mocked gamers for precisely this behavior in the past, and gets so much traffic it pulls Breitbart News out of obscurity and makes it a significant player in modern conservative news media.

[Hey! Ian from the future here. This talk mostly addresses how GamerGate prefigured the Alt-Right strategically and philosophically, but if you want a more explicit, material connection: Breitbart News took its newfound notoriety to become, as its Executive Chair phrased it in 2016, "a platform for the Alt-Right." That Executive Chair was Steve Bannon, who threw the website's weight behind The Future President Who Shall Not Be Named, and, upon getting his attention, would then go on to become his campaign strategist and work in his Administration. So, if you're wondering how one of the central figures of the Alt-Right ended up in the White House, the answer is literally "GamerGate." Back to you, Ian from the past!]

In what I’m calling This Should Have Been The End, Part 2, Zoe Quinn announces that they have been lurking the #BurgersAndFries IRC channel since the beginning and releases dozens of screenshots showing harassment being planned and the selection of “ethics in games journalism” as a cover. #BurgersAndFries has a meltdown, everyone turns on each other, and the channel is abandoned. And they then start another IRC and things proceed.

It goes on like this. I’m not gonna cover everything. This is just the first month. It should be clear by now that this thing is kind of unkillable. And I worry I haven’t made it obvious that this is not just a chanboard and an IRC. Thousands of regular, every day gamers were buying the story and joining in. They were angry, and no amount of evidence that their anger was unfounded was going to change that. You could not mention or even allude to GamerGate and not get flooded with dozens, even hundreds of furious replies. These replies always included the hashtag so everyone monitoring it could join in, so all attempts at real conversation devolved into a hundred forking threads where some people expected you to talk to them while others hurled insults and slurs. And always the possibility that, if any one of them didn’t like what you said, you’d be the next target.

To combat this, some progressives offered up the hashtag #GameEthics to the people getting swept up in GamerGate, saying, “look, we get that you’re angry, and if you want to talk about ethics in games journalism, we can totally do that, but using your hashtag is literally putting us in danger; they calling the police on people saying there’s a hostage situation at their home addresses so they get sent armed SWAT teams, and if you’ll just use this other hashtag we can have the conversation you say you want to have in safety.” And I will ever stop being salty about what happened.

They refused. They wouldn’t cede any ground to what they saw as their opposition. It was so important to have the conversation on their terms that not only did they refuse to use #GameEthics, they spammed it with furry porn so no one could use it.

A few major events on the timeline before we move on: Christina Hoff Sommers, the Republican Party’s resident “feminist,” comes out criticizing Anita Sarkeesian and becomes a major GG figurehead, earning the title Based Mom. Zoe Quinn gets a restraining order against Eron Gjoni, which he repeatedly violates, to no consequence; GG will later crowdfund his legal fees. There’s this listserv called GameJournoPros where game journalists would talk about their jobs, and many are discussing their concerns over GamerGate, so Milo Yiannopoulos leaks it and this is framed as further “proof of collusion.” 4chan finally starts enforcing its “no dox” rules and shuts GamerGate threads down, so they migrate to 8chan, a site famous for hosting like a lot of child porn. Indie game developer Brianna Wu makes a passing joke about GamerGate on Twitter and they decide, seemingly on a whim, to make her one of the biggest targets in the entire movement; she soon has to leave her home as well. GamerGate gets endorsements from WikiLeaks, Infowars, white nationalist sites Stormfront and The Daily Stormer, and professional rapist RooshV. And hundreds of people get doxxed; an 8chan subforum called Baphomet is created primarily to host dox of GamerGate’s critics.

But by November, GamerGate popularity was cresting, as more and more mainstream media covered it negatively. Their last, big spike in popularity came when Anita Sarkeesian went on The Colbert Report and Stephen made fun of the movement. Their numbers never recovered after that.

Which is not to say GamerGate ended. It slowed down. The period of confusion where the mainstream world couldn’t tell whether it was a legitimate movement or not passed. But, again, most harassers faced no meaningful repercussions. Gamers who bought the lie about “ethics in games journalism” stayed mad that no one had ever taken them seriously, and harassers continued to grief their targets for years. The full timeline of GamerGate is an constant cycle of lies, harassment, operations, grift, and doxxing. Dead-enders are to this day still using the hashtag. And remember how Anita had nothing to do with ethics in games journalism or Zoe Quinn, and they just roped her in because they’d enjoyed harassing her before so why not? Every one of GamerGate’s targets knows that they may get dragged into some future harassment campaign just because. It’s already happened to several of them. They’re marked.

(sigh) Let’s take a breath.

Now that we know what GamerGate was, let’s talk about why it worked.

In the thick of GamerGate, I started compiling a list of tactics I saw them using. I wanted to make a video essay that was one part discussion of antifeminist backlash, and one part list of techniques these people use so we can better recognize and anticipate their behavior. That first part became six parts and the second part went on a back burner. It would eventually become my series, The Alt-Right Playbook. GamerGate is illustrative because most of what would become The Alt-Right Playbook was in use.

Two foundational principles of The Alt-Right Playbook are Control the Conversation and Never Play Defense. Make sure people are talking about what you want them to talk about, and take an aggressive posture so you look dominant even when you’re not making sense. For instance: once Zoe leaked the IRC chatlogs, a reasonable person could tell the average gater, “the originators of GamerGate were planning harassment from the very beginning.” But the gater would say, “you’re cherry-picking; not everyone was a harasser.”

Now, this is a bad argument - that’s not how you use “cherry-picking” - and it’s being framed as an accusation - you’re not just wrong, you’re dishonest - which makes you wanna defend yourself. But, if you do - if you tell them why that argument is crap - you’ve let the conversation move from “did the IRC plan harassment?” - a question of fact - to “are the harassers representative of the movement?” - a question of ethics. Like, yes, they are, but only within a certain moral framework. An ethics question has no provable answer, especially if people are willing to make a lot of terrible arguments. It is their goal to move any question with a definitive answer to a question of philosophy, to turn an argument they can’t win into an argument nobody can win.

The trick is to treat the question you asked like it’s already been answered and bait you into addressing the next question. By arguing about whether you’re cherry-picking, you’re accepting the premise that whether you’re cherry-picking is even relevant. Any time this happens, it’s good to pause and ask, “what did we just skip over?” Because that will tell you a lot.

What you skipped over is their admission that, yes, the IRC did plan harassment, but that’s only on them if most of the movement was in on it. Which is a load of crap - the rest of the IRC saw it happening, let it happen, it’s not like anybody warned Zoe, and shit, I’m having the cherry-picking argument! They got me! You see how tempting it is? But presumably the reason you brought the harassment up is because you want them to do something about it. At the very least, leave the movement, but ideally try and stop it. They don’t, strictly speaking, need to feel personally responsible to do that. And you might be thinking, well, maybe if I can get them take responsibility then they’ll do something, but you’d be falling for a different technique I call I Hate Mondays.

This is where people will acknowledge a terrible thing is happening, maybe even agree it’s bad, but they don’t believe anything can be done about it. They also don’t believe you believe anything can be done about it. Mondays suck, but they come around every week. This is never stated outright, but it’s why you’re arguing past each other. To them, the only reason to talk about the bad thing is to assign blame. Whose turn is it to get shit on for the unsolvable problem? Their argument about cherry-picking amounts to “1-2-3 not it.” And they are furious with you for trying to make them responsible for harassment they didn’t participate in.

The unspoken argument is that harassment is part of being on the internet. Every public figure deals with it. This ignores any concept of scale - why does one person get harassed more than another? - but you can’t argue with someone who views it as a binary: harassment either happens or it doesn’t, and, if it does, it’s a fact of life, and, if it happens to everyone, it’s not gendered. And this is not a strongly-held belief they’ve come to after years of soul-searching - this is what they’ve just decided they believe. They want to participate in GamerGate despite knowing its purpose, and this is what would need to be true for that to be ok.

Or maybe they’re just fucking with you! Maybe you can’t tell. Maybe they can’t tell, either. I call this one The Card Says Moops, where people say whatever they feel will score points in an argument and are so irony-poisoned they have no idea whether they actually believe it. A very useful trick if the thing you appear to believe is unconscionable. You can’t take what people like that say at face value; you can only intuit their beliefs from their actions. They say they believe this one minute and that another, but their behavior is always in accordance with that, not this.

In the negative space, their belief is, “The harassment of these women is okay. My anger about video games is more important. I may not be harassing them myself, but they do kind of deserve it.” They will never say this out loud in a serious conversation, though many will say it in an anonymous or irreverent space where they can later deny they meant it. But, whatever they say they believe, this is the worldview they are operating under.

Obscuring this means flipping through a lot of contradictory arguments. The harassment is being faked, or it’s not being faked but it’s being exaggerated, or it’s not being exaggerated but the target is provoking it to get attention, which means GamerGate harassers simultaneously don’t exist, exist in small numbers, and exist in such large numbers someone can build a career out of relying on them! It can be kind of fun to take all these arguments made in isolation and try to string together an actual position. Like, GamerGate would argue that Nathan Grayson having previously mentioned Zoe Quinn in an article about a canceled reality show counts as positive coverage, and since Grayson reached out to Quinn for comment it’s reasonable to assume they started dating before the article was published (which is earlier than they claim), and positive coverage did lead to greater popularity for Depression Quest. But if you untangle that, it’s like… okay, you’re saying Zoe Quinn slept with a journalist in exchange for four nonconsecutive sentences that said no more than “Zoe Quinn exists and made a game,” and the price of those four sentences was to date the journalist for months, all to get rich off a game that didn’t cost any money. That’s your movement?

And some, if cornered, would say, “yes, we believe women are just that shitty, that one would fuck a guy for months if it made them the tiniest bit more famous.” But they won’t lead with that. Because they know it won’t convince the normies, even the ones who want to be convinced. So they use a process I call The Ship of Theseus to, piece by piece, turn that sentence into “slept with a journalist in exchange for a good review” and argue that each part of the sentence is technically accurate. It’s trying to lie without lying. And, provided all the pieces of this sentence are discussed separately, and only in the context of how they justify this sentence, you can trick yourself into believing this sentence is mostly true.

So, like, why? This is clearly motivated reasoning; what’s the motivation? What was this going to accomplish?

The answer is nothing. Nothing, by design. GamerGate’s “official” channels - the subreddit and the handful of forums that didn’t shut them down - were rigidly opposed to any action more organized than an email campaign. They had a tiny handful of tangible demands - they wanted gaming websites to post public ethics policies and had a list of people they wanted fired - but their larger aim was the sea change in how games journalism operated, which nothing they were asking for could possibly give them. The kind of anger that convinces you this is a true statement is not going to be addressed by a few paragraphs about ethics and Leigh Alexander getting a new job. They wanted gaming sites to stop catering to women and “SJWs” - who were a sizable and growing source of traffic - and to get out of the pockets of companies that advertised on their websites - which was their primary source of income. So all Kotaku had to do to make them happy was solve capitalism!

Meanwhile, the unofficial channels, like 8chan and Baphomet, were planning op after op to get private information, spread lies with fake accounts, get disinformation trending, make people quit jobs, cancel gigs, and flee their homes. Concrete goals with clear results. All you had to do to feel productive was go rogue. In my video,

How to Radicalize a Normie, I describe how the Alt-Right encourages lone wolf behavior by whipping people up into a rage and then refusing to give them anything to do, while surrounding them with examples of people taking matters into their own hands. The same mechanism is in play here: the public-facing channels don’t condone harassment but also refuse to fight it, the private channels commit it under cover of anonymity, and there is a free flow of traffic between them for when the official channels’ impotence becomes unbearable.

What I hope I’m illustrating is how these techniques play off of each other, how they create a closed ecosystem that rational thought cannot enter. There’s a phrase we use on the internet that got thrown around a lot at the time:

you can’t logic someone out of a position they didn’t logic themselves into.

Now, there are a few other big topics I think are relevant here, so I want to go through them one by one.

MEMEIFICATION

So a lot of interactions with GamerGate would involve a very insular knowledge base.

Like, you’d say something benign but progressive on Twitter.

A gater would show up in your mentions and say something aggressive and false.

You’d correct them. But then they’d come back and hit you with -

ah shit, sorry, this is a Loss meme.

If I were in front of a classroom I’d ask, show of hands, how many of you got that? I had to ask Twitter recently, does Gen Z know about Loss?!

If you don’t know what Loss is I’m not sure I can explain it to you. It’s this old, bad webcomic that was parodied so, so, so many times

that it was reduced to its barest essentials, to the point where any four panels with shapes in this arrangement is a Loss meme. For those of you in the know, you will recognize this anywhere, but have you ever tried to explain to someone who wasn’t in the know why this is really fuckin’ funny?

So, now… by the same process that this is a comics joke,

this is a rape joke.

I’m not gonna show the original image, but, once upon a time, someone made an animated GIF of the character Piccolo from Dragon Ball Z graphically raping Vegeta. 4chan loved it so much that it got posted daily, became known as the “daily dose,” until mods started deleting every incident of it. So they uploaded slightly edited version of it. Then they started uploading other images that had been edited with Piccolo’s color scheme. It got so abstracted that eventually any collection of purple and green pixels would be recognized as Piccolo Dick.

Apropos of nothing, GamerGate is a movement that insists it is not sexist in nature and it does not condone threats of rape against the women they don’t like. And this is their logo. This is their mascot.

If you’re familiar with the Daily Dose, the idea that GamerGate would never support Eron Gjoni if they believed he was a sexual abuser is so blatantly insincere it’s insulting… but imagine trying to explain to someone who’s not on 4chan how this sweater is a rape joke. Imagine having to explain it to a journalist. Imagine having to explain it to the judge enforcing your abuser’s restraining order.

Reactionaries use meme culture not just because they’re terminally online but also because it makes their behavior seem either benign or just confusing to outsiders. They find it hilarious that they can be really explicit and still fly under the radar. The Alt-Right did this with Pepe the Frog, the OK sign, even the milk glass emoji for a hot minute. The more inexplicable the meme, the better. You get the point where Stephen Miller is flashing Nazi signs from the White House and the Presidential re-eletion campaign is releasing 88 ads of exactly 14 words and there’s still a debate about whether the administration is racist. Because journalists aren’t going to get their heads around that. You tell them “1488 is a Nazi number,” it’s gonna seem a lot more plausible that you’re making shit up.

MOVE FAST AND BREAK THINGS

Online movements like GamerGate move at a speed and mutation rate too high for the mainstream world to keep up. And not just that they don’t understand the memes - they don’t understand the infrastructure.

In an attempt to cover GamerGate evenhandedly, George Wiedman of Super Bunnyhop interviewed a lawyer who specializes in journalistic ethics. He meant well; I really wish he hadn’t. You can see him trying to fit something like GamerGate into terms this silver-haired man who works in copyright law can understand. At one point he asks if it’s okay to fund the creative project of a potential journalistic source, to which the guy understandably says “no.”

What he’s alluding to here is the harassment of Jenn Frank. A few weeks into GamerGate, Jenn Frank writes a piece in The Guardian about sexism in tech that mentions Anita Sarkeesian and Zoe Quinn. In another case of “here’s a strongly-held belief I just decided I have,” GamerGate says this is a breach of journalistic ethics because Frank backs Quinn on Patreon. They harass her so intensely she not only has to quit her job at The Guardian, for several months she quits journalism entirely.

Off the bat, calling a public figure central to a major event in the field a “journalistic source” is flatly wrong-headed. Quinn was not interviewed or even contacted for the article, they were in no way a “source”; they were a subject. But I want to talk about this phrase, “fund a creative project.” Patreon is functionally a subscription; it’s a way of buying things. It’s technically accurate that Frank is funding Quinn’s creative project, but only in the sense that you are funding Bob Dylan’s creative project if you listen to his music. And saying Frank therefore can’t write about Quinn is like saying a music journalist can’t cover a Bob Dylan concert if they’ve ever bought his albums.

And we could talk about the ways that Patreon, as compared with other funding models, can create a greater sense of intimacy, and we also could comment that, well, that’s how an increasing number of people consume media now, so that perspective should be present in journalism. But maybe it means we should cover that perspective differently? I don’t know. It’s an interesting subject. But none of that’s going on in this conversation because this guy doesn’t know what Patreon is. It was only a year old at this point. Patreon’s been a primary source of my income for 5 years and my parents still don’t know what it is. (I think they think I’m a freelancer?) This guy hears “funding a creative project” and he’s thinking an investor, someone who makes a profit off the source’s success.

The language of straight society hasn’t caught up with what’s happening, and that works in GamerGate’s favor.

In the years since GamerGate we have dozens of stories of people trying to explain Twitter harassment to a legal system that’s never heard of Twitter. People trying to explain death threats to cops whose only relationship to the internet is checking email, confusedly asking, “Why don’t you just not go online?” Like, yeah, release your text game about depression at GameStop for the PS3 and get it reviewed in the Boston Globe, problem solved.

You see this in the slowness of mainstream journalists to condemn the harassment - hell, even games journalists at first. Because what if it is a legitimate movement? What if the harassers are just a fringe element? What if there was misconduct? The people in a position to stop GamerGate don’t have to be convinced of their legitimacy, they just have to hesitate. They just have to be unsure. Remember how much happened in just the first two weeks, how it took only a month to become unkillable.

It’s the same hesitance that makes mainstream media, online platforms, and law enforcement underestimate The Alt-Right. They’re terrified of condemning a group as white nationalist terrorists because they’re confused, and what if they’re wrong? Or, in most cases, not even afraid they’re wrong, but afraid of the PR disaster if too much of the world thinks they’re wrong.

ACCOUNTABILITY AND CONTROL

A thing I’ve talked about in The Alt-Right Playbook is how these decentralized, ostensibly leaderless movements insulate themselves from responsibility. Harassment is never the movement’s fault because they never told anyone to harass and you can’t prove the harassers are legitimate members of the movement. The Alt-Right does this too - one of their catchphrases is “I disavow.” Since there are no formalized rules for membership, they can redraw boundaries on the fly; they can take credit for any successes and deny responsibility for any wrongdoing. Public membership is granted or revoked based on a person’s moment-to-moment utility.

It’s almost like… they’re cherry-picking.

The flipside of this is a lack of control. Since they never officially tell anyone to do anything but write emails, they have no means of stopping anyone from behaving counterproductively. The harassment of Jenn Frank was the first time GamerGate’s originators thought, “maybe we should ease off just to avoid bad publicity,” and they found they couldn’t. GamerGate had gotten too big, and too many people were clearly there for precisely this reason.

They also couldn’t control the infighting. When your goal is to harass women and you have all these contradictory justifications for why, you end up with a lot of competing beliefs. And, you know what? Angry white men who like harassing people don’t form healthy relationships! Several prominent members of GamerGate - including Internet Aristocrat - got driven out by factionalism; they were doxxed by their own people! Jordan Owen and Davis Aurini parted ways hating each other, with Aurini releasing chatlogs of him gaslighting Owen about accepting an endorsement from Roosh, and they released two competing edits of The Sarkeesian Effect.

I say this because it’s useful to know that these are alliances of convenience. If you know where the sore spots are, you can apply pressure to them.

LEADERS WITHOUT LEADERSHIP

One way movements like GamerGate deflect responsibility is by declaring, “We are a leaderless movement! We have no means to stop harassment.”

Which… any anarchist will tell you collective action is entirely possible without leaders. But they’ll also tell you, absent a system of distributing power equitably, you’re gonna have leaders, just not ones you elected.

A few months into GamerGate, Randi Lee Harper created the ggautoblocker. Here’s what it did: it took five prominent GamerGate figures - Adam Baldwin, Mike Cernovich, Christina Hoff Sommers, Milo Yiannopoulos, and Nick Monroe, formerly known as [sigh] PressFartToContinue - and generated a block list of everyone who followed at least two of them on Twitter. Now, this became something of an arms race; once GamerGate found out about it they made secondary accounts that followed different people, and more and more prominent figures appeared and had to get added to the list. But, when it first launched, the list generated from just these five people comprised an estimated 90-95% of GamerGate.

Hate to break it to you, guys, but if 90+ percent of your movement is following at least two of the same five people, those are your leaders. The attention economy has produced them. Power pools when left on its own.

This is another case where you have to ignore what people claim and look at what they do. The Alt-Right loves to say “we disavow Richard Spencer” and “Andrew Anglin doesn’t speak for us.”

But no matter what they say, pay attention to whom they’re taking cues from.

AD CAMPAIGN

George Lakoff has observed that one way the Left fails in opposition to the Right is that most liberal politicians and campaigners have degrees in things like law and political science, where conservative campaigners more often have degrees in advertising and communications. Liberals and leftists may have a better product to sell, but conservatives know how to sell products.

GamerGate less resembles a boots-on-the-ground political movement than an ad campaign. First they decide what their messaging strategy is going to be. Then the media arm starts publicizing it. They seek out celebrity endorsements. They get their own hashtag and mascot. They donate to charity and literally call it “public relations.” You can even see the move from The Quinnspiracy to GamerGate as a rebranding effort - when one name got too closely associated with harassment, they started insisting GamerGate was an entirely separate movement from The Quinnspiracy. I learned that trick from Stringer Bell’s economics class.

Now, we could stand to learn a thing or two from this. But I also wouldn’t want us to adopt this strategy whole hog; you should view moves like these as red flags. If you’re hesitating to condemn a movement because what if it’s legitimate, take a look at whether they’re selling ideology like it’s Pepsi.

PERCEPTION IS EVERYTHING

One reason to insist you’re a consumer revolt rather than a harassment campaign is most people who want to harass need someone to give them permission, and need someone to tell them it’s normal.

Bob Altemeyer has this survey he uses to study authoritarianism. He divides respondents into people with low, average, and high authoritarian sentiments, and then tells them what the survey has measured and asks, “what score do you think is best to have: low, average, or high?”

People with low authoritarian sentiments say it’s best to be low. People with average authoritarian sentiments also say it’s best to be low. But people with high authoritarian sentiments? They say it’s best to be average. Altemeyer finds, across all his research, that reactionaries want to aggress, but only if it is socially acceptable. They want to know they are the in-group and be told who the out-group is. They don’t particularly care who the out-group is, Altemeyer finds they’ll aggress against any group an authority figure points to, even, if they don’t notice it, a group that contains them. They just have to believe the in-group is the norm.

This is why they have to believe games journalism is corrupt because of a handful of feminist media critics with outsized influence. Legitimate failures of journalism cannot be systemic problems rooted in how digital media is funded and consumed; there cannot be a legitimate market for social justice-y media. It has to be manipulation by the few. Because, if these things are common, then, even if you don’t like them, they’re normal. They’re part of the in-group. Reactionary politics is rebellion against things they dislike getting normalized, because they know, if they are normalized, they will have to accept them. Because the thing they care about most is being normal.

This is why the echo chamber, this is why Fox News, this is why the Far Right insists they are the “silent majority.” This is why they artificially inflate their numbers. This is why they insist facts are “biased.” They have to maintain the image that what are, in material terms, fringe beliefs are, in fact, held by the majority. This is why getting mocked by Stephen Colbert was such a blow to GamerGate. It makes it harder to believe the world at large agrees with them.

This is why, if you’re trying to change the world for the better, it’s pointless to ask their permission. Because, if you change the world around them, they will adapt even faster than you will.

THE ARGUMENT ISN’T SUPPOSED TO END

Casey Explosion has this really great Twitter thread comparing the Alt-Right to Scary Terry from Rick and Morty. His catchphrase is “you can run but you can’t hide, bitch.” And Rick and Morty finally escape him by hiding. And Morty’s all, “but he said we can’t hide,” and Rick is like, “why are we taking his word on this? if we could hide, he certainly wouldn’t tell us.”

The reason to argue with a GamerGater is on the implied agreement that, if you can convince them they’re part of a hate mob, they will leave. But look at the incentives here: they want to be in GamerGate, and you want them not to be. But they’re already in GamerGate. They’re not waiting on the outcome of this argument to participate. They’ve already got what they want; they don’t need to convince you GamerGate isn’t a hate mob.

This is why all their logic and rationalizations are shit, because they don’t need to be good. They’re not trying to win an argument. They’re trying to keep the argument going.

This has been a precept of conservative political strategy for decades. “You haven’t convinced us climate change is real and man-made, you need to do more studies.” They’re not pausing the use of fossil fuels until the results come in. “You haven’t convinced us there are no WMDs in Iraq, you need to collect more evidence.” They’re not suspending the war until you get back to them. “You haven’t convinced us that Reaganomic tax policy causes recessions, let’s just do it for another forty years and see what happens.” And when the proof comes in, they send us out for more, and we keep going.

The biggest indicator you can’t win a debate with a reactionary is they keep telling you you can. The biggest indicator protest and deplatforming works is they keep telling you in plays into their hands. The biggest indicator that you shouldn’t compromise with Republicans is they keep saying doing otherwise is stooping to their level. They’re not going to walk into the room and say, “Hi, my one weakness is reasoned argument, let’s pick a time and place to hash this out.”

And we fall for it because we’re trying to be decent people. Because we want to believe the truth always wins. We want to bargain in good faith, and they are weaponizing our good faith against us. Always dangling the carrot that the reason they’re like this is no one’s given them the right argument not to be. It’s all just a misunderstanding, and, really, it’s on us for not trying hard enough.

But they have no motivation to agree with us. Most of the people asking for debates have staked their careers on disagreeing with us. Conceding any point to the Left could cost them their livelihood.

WHY GAMES?

Let’s close with the big question: why games? And, honestly, the short answer is:

why not games?

Games culture has always presented itself as a hobby for young, white, middle class boys. It’s always been bigger and more diverse than that, but that’s how it was marketed, and that’s who most felt they belonged. As gaming grows bigger, there is suddenly room for those marginal voices that have always been there to make themselves heard. And, as gaming becomes more mainstream, it’s having its first brushes with serious critical analysis.

This makes the people who have long felt gaming was theirs and theirs alone anxious and a little angry. They’ve invested a lot of their identity in it and they don’t want it to change.

And what the Far Right sees in a sizable collection of aggrieved young men is an untapped market. This is why sites like Stormfront and Breitbart flocked to them. These are not liberals they have to convert, these people are, up til now, not politically engaged. The Right can be their first entry to politics.

The world was changing. Nerd properties were exploding into popular culture in tandem with media representation diversifying. And we were living with the first Black President. Any time an out-group looks like it might join the in-group, there is a self-protective backlash from the existing in-group. This had been brewing for a while, and, honestly, if it hadn’t boiled over in games, it would have boiled over somewhere else.

And, in the years since GamerGate, it has. The Far Right has tapped the comics, Star Wars, and sci-fi fandoms; they tried to get in with the furry community but failed spectacularly. They’re all over YouTube and, frankly, the atheist community was already in their pocket. Basically, if you’re in community with a bunch of young white guys who think they own the place, you might wanna have some talks with them sooner than later.

Anyway, if you want to know more about any of this stuff, RationalWiki’s timeline on GamerGate is pretty thorough. You can also watch my or Dan Olson’s videos on the subject. I’ll be putting the audio of this talk on YouTube and will put as many resources as I can in the show notes. The channel, again, is Innuendo Studios.

Sorry this was such a bummer.

Thank you for your time.

#video essay #alt-right playbook #Youtube

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deluluass · 4 years

Text

Red, like blood. Blue, like love.

Content warnings: rape/noncon; nsfw; bullying; soulmates au

Prompt: 88 & 183

There’s someone for everyone, you’d learned growing up.

"Remember, blue means happy," your mother would say. "The happiest you'll ever be.”

She liked reminding you about this fact— for it is an indisputable truth, every so often when she could still carry you. You’d be hugged from the back, as she recounted stories of first meetings, serendipitous and life changing in their nature; belonging to those who’ve lived long before you, sometimes even those who’ve only lived in tales.

Mostly, your mother loved telling those involving the people she knew. And if you’ve behaved properly, she would tell you about hers.

Tracing your palm, starting from the forked lines to the dashed ones on your fingers, she’d say, “These would start to glow like stars.”

“That’s weird!” you’d burst out, shrieking a laughter as she tickled you.

“Listen carefully,” she chastised. “Blue is for your soulmate, okay?”

And you’d repeat: Blue is for my soulmate.

“Then, mama,” you tugged at her sleeves, “What if it’s really, really bright red! Like! Bloody glow sticks! Say, mama, you see, everyone at the park was talking about the man who died because he touched someone and his hand became bright re— ”

You never brought that up again. What your mother said about it had been enough to never make you forget.

“Tell me if you get red,” she said firmly, clutching your arms as if she feared someone would snatch you away from her. “Red is bad, my heart. Red means run.”

It hadn’t nearly been as gruesome as your mother made it out to be.

Case in point, when you turned twelve the couple three houses down your street found out, shortly after their honeymoon, that their palms gleamed a fierce red once they clasped each other’s hands in front of the neighborhood aunties.

Their marriage ended with a swift and ordinary divorce, a year or so later.

Red: Not just an ominous warning for homicide, then. That was a relief, you’d thought.

Contrary to how your mother framed it, you were thankful, actually. It helped some of your friends escape from potentially hellish relationships. How lucky is it that you lived in a reality where the universe seemed exceedingly benevolent. Though, you sometimes have to question if that generosity extended to everyone.

Fat lot of good it did for you.

Because, from where you’re standing, it doesn’t have to take some arbitrary and unsolvable scientific mystery to heed that Oikawa Tooru must be avoided like the plague.

Any person in your shoes would be conditioned to do exactly that.

You’d first met in Elementary. You thought he was the prettiest kid you’d ever seen, with chestnut curls and doe eyes and lashes that swept past his cheeks, and when you’d asked for a hand shake he’d called you “the ugliest girl I’ve ever seen” and “fart face.”

Recess and lunch were when he’s most fearsome. Spiky burdocks slapped on the collar of your dress; dead lizards in your food; the boy was determined. The worst part was that it always happened when no one was looking. And if someone were, it was his best friend. So when you finally told on him to your mom, both your teacher and the principal simply judged Oikawa as the victim of an attention deprived child.

“Please discipline your daughter,” they told her. “We are all aware of your situation at home, but do ensure that she’s not getting out of control.”

You couldn’t even muster up the strength to defend yourself. In that moment all you could do was swear that you’d never allow anyone to talk to your mother in that way again.

You moved out of that school.

You didn’t wait for your palms to flash a warning signal because, somehow, you knew that boys who discover early that they could get away with anything cannot get any better.

There’d been no way to be sure of that until Aoba Johsai— after a peaceful interim of no Oikawa; no red palm lines (and no blue ones, either).

The proof hit you in the face. Literally.

“Oi, Shittykawa!”

Heat permeated from your nostrils as you patted your cheek, detached and staring back at the large gymnasium.

“You hit someone!”

How unlucky did a person have to be to bleed right on the first day of classes?

You tried to lean forward. “It’s okay,” you slurred nasally, pinching your nose and averting your embarrassed gaze from the boy kneeling next to you.

“Trashykawa! You better hurry and apologize!”

“Don’t be mad, Iwa-chan,” that disgustingly saccharine voice came from behind you, making you flinch, as if the years you’d spent apart had done nothing to purge it out of your system.

In all honesty, you hadn’t really cared for whoever was responsible for the ball that careened all the way to where you were standing, so sure that it had to be an accident. No one in their right mind would want to injure someone they barely knew, especially if said someone is a couple of feet away from you.

Morally and athletically, it should’ve been improbable. But then you saw who did it and everything made perfect sense.

Iwa-chan. The boy beside you. Iwaizumi Hajime.

If he’s here, then—

“You,” he whispered.

“Eh?! Gosh, I’m so sorry!” Oikawa Tooru gasped. “You’re bleeding.”

Time is cruel. It wears down on you, tears you and molds you into something you can’t even recognize, if it decides to. (Fate, more so). You didn’t know if you wanted to cry or laugh, looking at him. If the universe were so benevolent, then perhaps Oikawa Tooru had received all of its favor.

He was beautiful. You’d known this before, but with all the baby fat replaced with sharp yet slender angles, figure lean and imposing even when he’d lowered himself to meet your eyes, Oikawa didn’t seem real.

“I did hit someone, didn’t I?” he pouted, wiping the dried blood atop your lip. “And such a pretty girl, too.”

That volleyball existed should’ve made life better for you. It didn’t. If anything, it seemed that out of the court, when he’s not taking names and being praised like a god, you were his little pastime. Something fun to take his mind off whatever it is he thinks about it.

The mocking comments, you could handle; every time you’d recite and he’ll interject with something playful and then the entire class would laugh (because he’s Oikawa) and your professor would reprimand him but you could always tell that they, too, are holding in a giggle.

Those were easy to bear, because although his insults hit way too close to home, it’s just— it’s just so petty.

Really, it’s the aftermath that does the damage.

“They’re like Christmas lights under your skin!”

This topic pops up every month or so. Most people your age can be lucky enough to meet their soulmate this early.

“And it’s the most awesome feeling in the world,” your classmate sighed. “When we touched hands? Man. We just- we glowed.”

Then, the others would poke fun, faking a gagged expression, but they’d always ask afterwards, “What happened next?” And everytime, you’d watch from the sidelines. Like an uninvited audience.

You tried being a part of it once, wanting to share about the time your close friend met her soulmate. But all you’d gotten were side eyes and titters, as if they were laughing about a joke only you didn’t know about.

“They’re so mean to you.”

You groaned.

Oikawa was seated behind you, resting his head against his elbow. Everyone was too busy talking about blue lights and destined souls to notice what’s happening at the back of the room.

He continued, “Not including you in conversations, treating you like an outsider.”

You didn’t bite, focusing on the opened book in front of you.

“Must be lonely, having no one.”

“Oikawa,” you muttered under your breath. “I don’t have the energy for this.”

The silence that came after that was unexpected. You were sure it would be short lived; he’s just gearing up for more. He usually went at it until you’d have no choice but to physically remove yourself from his presence. You’d thought once that that may be why he does this so much. Maybe he still thought you were the “ugliest girl” he’s ever met and he wants you out of his sight. Because Oikawa’s infantile like that.

But the silence stayed, accompanied by the background noise of eager conversations; lingering some more as white, fluffy clouds passed by the glass windows.

When he broke it, all Oikawa said was, “Soulmates, huh.”

You felt a finger touch your back, drawing the barest of lines over your uniform. He removed them just before you could stand up and leave.

You disliked those moments with him.

You disliked him especially when he played.

Oikawa’s a monster, be it in volleyball or with you. There are times, though, that you’d notice some things that you think you’re not meant to see. Like after a serve— its impact booming throughout the court, he’d have this puzzling expression on his face.

It looked like....anger.

He scored a point, right? Everyone’s cheering for him, aren’t they? Wait, didn’t they win?

You thought maybe it’s the adrenaline making him nastier than usual, but sometimes you’d pass by the gym when he happens to be alone. And that anger is still there, punctuated by the sound of the ball exploding against the floor. Jump. Hit. Spike. Jump. Hit. Spike. He’d do it, again and again and again.

As if he’s trying to grasp something even he cannot reach.

Those instances should’ve taught you that the best thing to do is look away.

That’s what you should’ve done. Look away.

They lost the Interhigh tournament.

You knew this not because you’d watched, but because for one day, Oikawa Tooru wasn’t your bully.

The derision was replaced by sulking. He didn’t speak for the entire period. The funniest thing about it was that everyone kept staring at you. Like somehow you’d been the cause of this, when all of them were lamenting the loss just as much as the team itself.

What was supposed to be a reason for celebration suddenly became a crime that you had to explain for.

“Great,” you grumbled to yourself. “One time I don’t have a target on my back, now I’m the bad guy.”

Trash bag in hand, the scraps inside rattled against each other as you stomped to the recycling bin, both sleeves of your P.E jacket folded up to the elbows. You affected a tone, choosing to mock the grating way some of classmates talked:

“Oh, hey, if it’s not too much,” you began. “Can you please be his punching bag again? If you will, can you relieve our superstar’s burdens? By, I don’t know, alluring him into walking all over you? Like the good old days! Please, oh please? We rely on you, oh Great Punching Bag! We Beseech thee, oh Esteemed Doormat! We compel— dude, what the fuck?!”

Crumpled papers and steel and tin cans rolled to the ground. You didn’t pick them up, like you should’ve; you left it there, trash bag lying open, and grabbed the ball that whisked mere inches from your face.

This time you’re not making the same mistake. The asshole is more than capable of suspending what little morals he has, just to hurt someone he barely knew. As well as athletically adept (an understatement, that) at hitting a walking target; or not hitting it, in this case.

You stormed the almost empty gym. Oikawa is a ray of sunshine, greeting you with that smile. It makes you want to punch him.

“What is wrong with you?” you spat.

He chuckled. “Whoops. Sorry!”

“I’m not having this-” you shoved the ball to his stomach. He didn’t even blink. “This isn’t gonna slide anymore, Oikawa.”

Wide grin still in place, he took it from your hands with his much larger ones and said, “Wow, you’re actually mad this time. ”

Then, he added, “I didn’t mean it! Honest!”

Must be nice, you thought with a scowl, to be him. Anyone can be sincere if they look anything like Oikawa.

“Sure. Fine. No, actually,” you glowered. “You know what?”

“Hm?” He tilted his head. Oikawa tilted his pretty little head.

You seethed. “I get it. You lost. That doesn’t mean you get to take it out on me. I mean, what did I ever do to you, Oikawa? I have-” you exhaled, surprised by the break in your voice.

“I haven’t done anything to you. We stopped being kids a long time ago. That shit you pull should’ve ended by now. We’ve grown.” You jabbed his chest. “But I see that maybe not all of us have.”

His pleased expression hadn’t dropped. “Ouch,” Oikawa grimaced, glancing amusedly at the place you’d touched. “How mean.”

This isn’t going anywhere.

You don’t know why it took you this long to realize this, as you shifted your gaze away from him, noticing the gashes on the floor that tear the surface like scars that never healed. That must’ve been because of him, with the amount of practice he does.

“It won’t be enough, won’t it, Oikawa?” you whispered. “Not for you.”

The smile that’s been there since you arrived tensed, straining at the corners of his lips.

“Yeah, I’ve been told,” he beamed.

He was bathing in his own sweat, seeping through his shirt and matting his hair to his face, and he looks— Oikawa looked tired. His eyes were sunken in, too. Did he even sleep?

You’re so used to seeing him not a hair out of place, with a sweet scent that you amusedly thought lures his gaggle of admirers into following him everywhere. It takes you aback, honestly. Particularly the wobble in his step as he bent and squeezed his knee with shaky fingers.

You don’t think he’s aware he’s doing it in front of you.

Then, just like that, everything seemed to have added up.

“You’ll never be happy,” you said.

You should’ve stopped there. You should’ve left. Instead, you looked him in those brown eyes, the warm hue becoming a lot colder as he moved closer.

Oikawa sneered. “And what do you know, huh?”

(Go. Leave.)

“Nothing,” you told him. “I don’t- I don’t know. Because, I don’t get it.”

(Shut up. Shut up.)

“Why you try any harder, I don’t know. Win or lose, it’s all the same. You’re still the same. You’re still awful and annoying and- and still you.” You laughed, unsure why you’re running your mouth like this.

“Win or lose. Oikawa is still Oikawa,” you breathed in. “Nothing more, nothing less.”

His teammates must’ve gone somewhere. For lunch, maybe, you thought as you eyed the abandoned bottles and used towels scattered around the court. “Besides,” you huffed, not without a twinge of envy. “They’ll all still love you, either way.”

Everything went still for a while, and you’d just realized what you’d just said.

“What about you?”

You looked back at him.

“What?”

He tipped his chin. You stepped backwards.

He brushed your wrist.

“Don’t touch me,” you hissed, but he only smiled and wrapped his entire hand around it.

Oikawa had been your first bully. Before you could even comprehend what that meant, Oikawa had been the source of your mother’s worries whenever she parted with you at the school gates. It is funny, thinking about it, for letting this boy affect you despite making an effort to stay away the first time.

But it is only now— now that he has a firm hold on you, gentle yet smothering— that you truly feared Oikawa Tooru.

It rattled your breath, squeezing your heart and refusing air to pass through your lungs, as you felt a shock zap through you. And apparently through him as well.

You broke away from each out with a cry.

Your hand was burning. That’s the only explanation for it. Your hand was burning and any moment now smoke will diffuse from the pores.

You waited. Any moment now. But the more you stared at it the more tiny spots of flames sparked under your skin, bursting along the palm lines— first, the forked ones; then, the dashed lines— glaring back at you, glowing brighter, blotting and spreading until they mapped your palms then your entire hands like constellations.

“Red is bad, my heart,” your mother said. “Red means run.”

“I knew it,” you scoffed, shaking your head.

Well, it’s not as if this is news to you.

“What about that, Oikawa?” You put both your radiating hands in the air. “The universe is telling us, you and I? We just don’t—”

Why are you crying?

Why is Oikawa crying?

“I knew it,” he croaked.

Your mother made the red light sound so horrifying for a reason.

There has to be a reason, too, why the universe is warning you so late into your life. You’d actually ran before. And when you thought it a waste of money, you chose to stay and not fight back; thinking that his punches have become less severe, degraded into verbal taunts that induce social exclusion at most; that, certainly, red doesn’t forbode something as bad as murder, right?

Well, what now? You were wrong, after all. This time you have a feeling that you actually need to hide.

Because Oikawa’s looking at you like you’re the last two people left in this Earth.

Just you and him. Without any need for anybody else.

You didn’t breathe, attempting to bolt despite the overwhelming need to throw up right where you're standing. He stepped closer, faster than you’d liked, and touched your face, caressing your cheek up to your aching temple.

“You should really stop trying to run away,” he said, voice low as if he’s sharing a secret. “I’ll always find you, you know?”

You didn’t have to look to know. Even if you closed your eyes, as well, you know it’s still going to be there; glowing in the darkness behind your eyelids.

“Me and you—” Oikawa sighed.

Listen carefully, your mother said.

“ —we have a connection that no one else will ever understand,” he said.

The light emitting from his hand was so harsh it hurt you, pricking your sight until it drew fat tears, reflecting against your damp face and tinting the fallen streaks with bright—

Blue means happy, she told you. The happiest you’ll ever be.

And you’d repeat: Blue. Blue is for—

“My soulmate," Oikawa said, before locking you in a deep, searing kiss.

The lights didn't die even as he dragged you into the storage room.

"Hey, where'd senpai go?"

The rest of the volleyball team came in droves, occupying the hollow court with their squeaking shoes and questions about Oikawa's whereabouts.

"Must've gone somewhere," you heard a deep voice say.

You could answer that question. All you had to do was scream. They weren't so far from the room that they wouldn't pick it up over the noise of their volleyball practice. Really, if you needed to, you could even outshout their guttural yells of "Nice kill!"

Though, you'd have to remove the underwear lodged in your mouth first.

Yours, in fact; soaked now by your own saliva, drool dripping to your chin as your wrists chafed against the rope that's keeping them tied at your back.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" You felt every sickening movement of Oikawa's lips against your throat. "Feels good when you- ah, fuck- when you give in."

With the cloth muting your shrill bawling, you tried your best to recall how you ended up here: seated on his lap as he sluggishly humped himself against you, his still glowing hands cupping your ass.

The only thing left on your body was your bra, and even that he's already lowered to let your tits spill over the top. Your pants and t-shirt and jacket are lying around somewhere. You couldn't determine where in particular; the only sources of light were behind you.

He was leaving imprints of blue all over your skin; around your waist as he slithered his hands to reach your breasts, scantily brushing over the hardened nipples and making you keel over.

"So sensitive," he tutted, smooching your neck so gently that even the underwear couldn't muffle your loud yelp when he suddenly bit into the flesh. Hard.

You wanted to claw his eyes out and call for help and you wanted badly to scream don't do that Oikawa someone please save me he's gonna kill me he's gonna kill me-

But the gag remained intact and the boys outside continued their game, ignorant that their precious captain is taking everything away from you.

Sharp canines bruised your skin, provoking a fresh batch of tears as he sucked and licked every after cruel bite.

Then, when you thought the worst had passed, he removed his mouth from your neck to spit onto your bare cunt, allowing it to slide from the hair on your mound to the nub sticking out in the middle.

(It is not enough that he is killing you. Oikawa must defile you, too.)

His fingers gripped the insides of your thighs open when you tried to shut them together. "Don't be a brat," he clicked his tongue.

"Be a nice little kitten for me," Oikawa drawled, smearing the slick that's soaking your folds against the spittle coating your clit.

You didn't notice when he'd taken his cock out, you only realize that he's about to enter you when he teased your entrance with it, pushing the tip to nudge the drenched hole, only to pull it back again.

And you didn't dare look. The feel of it almost stretching you out with just the head is already driving you to insipid begging.

"What'd you say, kitten?" he pouted.

Oikawa you've already taken too much is it never going to be enough Oikawa let me go.

"I can't understand you," he chuckled. "Here—"

He pulled the underwear out of your mouth as he thrust all the way inside, your back arching, driving him deeper, as his cock throbbed against your pussy walls.

"Now, what were you saying?"

You swallowed your cries and heaved and swore you were gonna tear his heart out after this.

"Say," he whispered, sniffing your wet panties without breaking his gaze. "If everyone saw us right now, how'd you think they'd react?"

It was so reverent, the way he did it, blue light revealing that he closed his eyes as he took a whiff, as if he hung onto your scent like a lifeline.

But you thought that'd been a calculated move, because as you dumbly stared at him, he immediately gyrated his hips under you, rocking back and forth ever so slowly, and you remembered that you had to keep quiet.

His cock was so big inside you, making you bite your lip as it filled you up, the curved tip hitting a spot that has you squirming in his embrace.

"At this point they'll know how much of a whore you are," he said, tangling his muscled arms around yours and anchoring you to his body. "Made just for me."

"Oika-Oikawa…"

You don't know this person.

"Help..me.."

You don't know who's speaking out and whimpering for Oikawa, on her knees and bouncing up and down on his lap with weak, quivering thighs.

It couldn't be you.

"Help you?" You felt him nuzzle your neck. "I thought you wanted me to stay away, though?"

Someone mewled out a pathetic, "N-no."

"No? Then what d'you want, kitten?"

(Oh. Oh, he feels so fucking good.)

Your belly has never felt this hot before and it's driving you crazy that you're chasing for something you cannot see and it feels so near but there's something, something that's keeping you from it that all you can do is grind your sopping cunt closer to him.

"Wanna- I wanna cum."

Oikawa kissed you on the forehead, and then he said, "Go ahead, then."

He released your arms.

Then, he's scooping cum off your pussy, making sure to drag his fingers under the lips, before circling your large, swelling clit. Then, he's sucking your tits and swirling his tongue around a nipple and you're so so close.

"That's it," Oikawa sighed. "Ride my cock, baby."

His rough palm slapped both your ass cheeks and the cry that erupted from you only made him laugh.

"Make yourself cum on my cock," he grunted, licking his smiling lips as he leaned back against the wall, hand idly rubbing your dripping clit. "You're making a mess, darling. Leaking like that."

You're quivering all over; your cunt is spasming and your legs are complaining beneath you, but you don't stop. You lift your hips and then sink your pussy down, down until you feel his balls touching your sore ass, the sloshing sound growing louder as you move faster.

You don't think about what this'll all mean later, what you're doing giving in to him, when you scream out his name. But as soon as you did, Oikawa's growl had been your only warning.

He grabbed the back of your head and kissed you, plunging his tongue into your throat, his strong arms pressing you so close to him you can no longer tell his skin from yours, his battering heartbeat from yours.

You didn't move—weren't allowed to, when he hammered his cock into you, pounding your cunt and fucking you raw until you're breathless and nothing but a shuddering wreck, splitting at the seams in his hands as you feel thick spurts of hot cum slide out of you.

"My pretty girl," came his hoarse whisper. "My pretty, pretty girl."

The lights have dimmed, when he cradled your shaking form and moved out of you, faint traces left on just the palm lines and fingertips.

They were flooded by the sudden brightness that enveloped the storage room.

"Holy shit."

You pressed your eyes close, your entire body prickling at Oikawa’s touch.

It shouldn't be surprising, at this point, that Oikawa, as quick as he'd stripped you off of everything, has already covered you back in your jacket. The smell of it striking you ruthlessly, that old cologne that you always use to school reminding you of who you were, before all this.

Had it only been a few hours? It felt like a lifetime ago.

"Ah," Oikawa murmured. "They caught us."

"Oikawa,” someone roared. Oikawa held you, hiding your face against his chest. “Why you son of a-"

"C-coach..! Stop- Oi, someone help me hold him- no, coach! "

You heard him chuckle. “Sorry about this, everyone.” He held up his hand and you had to keep yourself from sobbing. “But, look.”

There were several gasps.

(Everybody knows now.)

“You..and her?”

The boy who said that sounded so astonished, clearly overjoyed for some reason, that it revolted you.

“Mhm,” he nodded, a smile in his voice. “Now, can you guys please give us some privacy?”

Feet shuffled out of the room, along with stuttered apologies. They all left.

Except for one.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa pouted.

“What did you do, Oikawa?”

A beat. Then, he repeated, “Iwa-chan.”

Please.

Iwaizumi didn’t say anything.

Please help me.

“Sure,” he grunted.

He was gone, too, after that.

You were back in the darkness, with nothing but the faltering red and blue on your hands and his, while he untied your wrists and kneaded the abrasion away, cooing sweet nothings to your ear.

“I hate you,” you rasped.

“Don’t say that.”

“I fucking hate you-”

“Please stop yelling-”

“I won’t ever forgive you, Oikawa!”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he cried, shaking his head as he brushed your tear-stained cheeks with both thumbs. You clutched them, wanting him off you, but he only latched himself firmly into you. “We’re meant to be.”

“You’re the only one for me.”

Oikawa brought your numb hand to his face, pressing a kiss to your palm, the red light basking him in its soft glow.

“And I’m the only one for you,” he said, intertwining your fingers together.

The lights flickered in and out, at first, as you stared vacantly into it, the red and blue swallowing each other. Until they finally disappeared, leaving just you and him, curled against each other in the shadows.

#tw noncon #tw non con haikyuu #yandere oikawa #oikawa toru x reader #oikawa x female reader #dark content haikyuu #prompt

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kikisfuneralservice · 3 years

Text

SHINEE MEMBERS’ REACTION TO BEING IN A CLUB

hello hello!! this is my first official post that i hope reaches its target audience! all of what i plan to write will be ot5, AS WELL AS IT IS A WORK OF FICTION. like i said, this blog is ot5, so i will write for all five members!!

this is for shits and giggles only!!! just goofin’ around, so nothing serious! :)

enjoy and maybe leave a like if you did! :)

**THIS IS PURELY A WORK OF FICTION AND NONASSOCIATIVE TO ANYTHING SHINEE OR SM ENTERTAINMENT: THIS IS PURELY FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES ONLY**

ONEW (JINKI)

is not a party animal

actually just doesn’t go to parties at all

he just prefers staying inside with a nice book and a cat on his lap ok!!!!!!

is the friend who follows you around bc he doesn’t know where to go or put his hands so they swing awkwardly by his sides

“it’s so loud in here! how can you hear anything??”

it’s ok babe :(

is not really having fun until his Song comes on

like HIS Song

that song is gimme more

sry i headcanon jinki as a britney fan

absolutely in his own WORLD busting a fucking move without a care in the world

GONE after one shot

after this, he only trusted water

JONGHYUN

immediately heads to the bar

nothing wrong with that

mans just likes a good drink

he doesn’t pre game he just drinks steadily the whole time until he’s woozy and he’s suddenly dancing to the sound of drunk girls screaming

WILL NOT PARTY SOBER

a party is not a party unless at least everyone is slightly tipsy

requests old fall out boy songs bc why the fuck not

is disappointed when it doesn’t play and instead they play despacito

“look i don’t have a PROBLEM with it, but i just think we need a change of pace”

always has a pep in his step

so SO talkative

which actually makes you wonder if he was sober in the first place

suddenly he’s best friends with everyone

promises to every person he meets to hang out later

(he doesn’t; he forgets and wakes up with a hangover)

KEY (KIBUM)

most DEFINITELY pre games

he pre games for everything basically

life is a party, bitch.

“this is a 5 year old’s bday-“ who tf cares will there be beer?

is the one who sneaks in a flask bc shit is way too expensive in there

“WHY IS THE MUSIC TRASH IN HERE?”

has no filter once he’s drunk

well he’s already drunk before he comes in

will be dancing the whole time even when there’s no music playing

at this point his brain is made of static

the definition of i’m not as think as you drunk i am

a heavyweight but also a poor decision maker as well

living his best like tbh

go, kibum, go!!!!!

MINHO

does not care for clubs that much but will go when asked

“i’ll just be your eye candy”

ends up being the life of the party instead

things never really go as planned with him

is a master at beer pong when given the opportunity

also busts a fat move on the dance floor

will break it down to cardi b like his life depends on it

thinks he has megan thee stallion style knees but ends up twisting his ankle instead

will challenge you to see who can drink the most shots

(he wins)

(and he’ll remind you about it for the rest of the night)

(or week)

a bit of a lightweight but doesn’t act like it

TAEMIN

also a bit of a lightweight and it’s VERY obvious

a bit nervous at first

just the jitters that’s all

hand him a drink when he walks in and he’ll ease in more

once he eases up, he is active for the rest of the night

will dance to ANYTHING

the personal favorites are always shakira

i’m not gonna make the hips don’t lie joke but alas, it is implied

very impressionable

IS the mood maker he sets the tone of the room

is very friendly and open to meeting new people

LOVES to chat

talks extremely fast when drunk so no one can tell what the fuck he’s trying to say half the time, but it’s the enthusiasm that counts

—

thank you so so much for sticking around!!!!!! it means the world to me!

i feel very excited to get back into writing, so please suggest some content if you would like!

#shinee #shinee headcanons #shinee scenarios #shinee imagines #kpop headcanons #kpop imagines #kpop scenarios #taemin #lee taemin #lee jinki #onew #kim kibum #kim jonghyun #choi minho #minho #shinee x reader

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existslikepristin · 3 years

Text

Please, No Virginity Puns

The most recent thing I posted before tumblr. It was on Choerry's birthday, and I am proud of that.

Tags: TheLounge, Loona, Choerry, male reader insert, it's her birthday!, 100% butt stuff, I ate a thesaurus

~~~~~

It didn’t matter what you had to say anymore. Choerry was already on top of you, nude and keeping you muted with her tongue. How did you get there?

Well, moments prior, you were sitting next to Choerry at your small dinner table. She’s always insisted on sitting as close to you as possible in order to enable near-constant snuggling. It’s gotten a little annoying here and there, but you can’t help but concede to her innocent demands whenever she smiles.

Of course, and not that you’ve ever complained about this, that’s not to say that her demands aren’t always entirely innocent. Most of the time they are, but not always.

That day, for example, you woke her up with breakfast in bed. It wasn’t tradition, but you were just getting her back for the last time she did it for you. And what better day to present her, prone, with a pancake, pulverized potato, and porridge parfait platter… with toppings… than her birthday?!

It can be hard to tell if Choerry is acting or not at times, but you’d like to think that her cartoonish level of enthusiasm for the treat was entirely real. She carried that sunshine throughout the rest of your day, skipping through the park, greeting everybody on the way to, inside, and on the way out of The Lounge, at the surprise party that you helped all of her members get her with, and when she dragged you to her room.

Not a drop of alcohol had touched her lips that night, so it was all the more surprising when she shoved you onto her bed and stated matter-of-factly-but-also-vaguely that she wanted you to put a thing in her butt. Her words came out of her mouth like shimmery soap bubbles.

You had to pause for a moment to process her words. You were certainly up for some sexy times with Choerry. You had anticipated it was going to happen when she put your hand down her pants near the end of the birthday party with no attempt at subtlety. But her exact word choices had you rubbing your temples out of exasperation, even as she stripped herself down to her ridiculously cherry red lingerie.

Your chance to admire that rare view was lost to history, however. She removed the lingerie from her body while she claimed your lips. Your disappointment at not getting the opportunity to remove it yourself quickly faded when she popped back up though.

Her breasts were as perky as her attitude, and also your dick. She was quick to notice the latter and made quick work of your clothes too. She sighed satisfactorily at the sight of your sword and stooped to supply it with a suck and some slickening slobber, so you suspected the sex was starting summarily; more swiftly than standard, it seemed.

Concerned for her well being, you made sure to ask if she had lube available. Again, you weren’t going to complain about her gusto, but she lacked the anal experience that some of your mutual friends had, at least you assumed. Sure enough, there was a bottle mere feet from her reach in her drawer. She grabbed it and jumped back on top of you, pouring it generously over her ass crack and your cock with surprising accuracy for someone so engaged with a hot and heavy kiss.

You were sure you had something to say on the matter. Perhaps some additional words of caution, maybe some other words of encouragement. It didn’t matter what you had to say anymore. Choerry was already on top of you, nude and keeping you muted with her tongue. How did you-- come back around to the exact same thought that the story began with?

“It’s okay, right?”

You attempted to blink away your stupefaction. “O-okay?”

“Mhm! For me to… you know!” She leaned in and whispered directly into your ear, “Put your penis in my butt.”

Ah, yes. The demand that you had nearly forgotten in her flurry of kisses, now slightly reworded to include your dick in the equation. “Yeah, why wouldn’t it be?”

“Just checking!”

“We’ve… done this before.”

“I know!” Choerry swooped back in to continue kissing you, implying that she had no intention of expounding further. Her fingers wrapped around your cock, massaging the whole length to ensure that the lube had maximum coverage.

Your breath caught as you felt her readjusting you, tapping you around between her legs as she tried to match you up with her intended target purely via exploration. Your cock was ground between her ass cheeks, the tip slid over her clit, and dipped briefly into her pussy. A groan was the only complaint you could give to only being given a half second of her fantastic heat.

You didn’t have to wait long to get it back. Her ass opened up to the pressure she applied against it with your dick, but exceptionally slowly. Choerry released a series of little exclamations into your mouth as she pushed. She tossed the lube bottle to the side and snatched your hand, curling her fingers into your palm.

Finally, the last pop came, and was followed by a short slide. With no more manual guidance necessary, she grabbed your other hand as well, which promptly slipped out of her grip considering the amount of lube present.

Choerry released you from your kissy bliss to look at her slippery hand, a mixture of anger and amusement on her face. She tried a couple more times to hold your hand with it, but you liked this look. You easily slithered your hand out from under hers every time she slapped down. It was like watching a cat trying to catch a laser pointer.

It was just another reminder that no matter how deep inside Choerry you may physically be, she’ll never stop bringing a goofy-ass smile to your face.

Finally, you relented and entwined your fingers with hers, locking your knuckles together so you wouldn’t fall apart. She glared down into your eyes, but a grin still crept through. “Thank you,” she said, lips tight and nose scrunched up.

With you fully in her grasp, Choerry straightened herself up, allowing you the opportunity to look up and down her sublime figure. Though her movement caused her to cause you to penetrate her a bit further which caused her to flinch slightly, she kept herself aloft on her knees to not go too far all at once. She closed her eyes and took a series of deep breaths there, as calmly as if she was meditating.

As much as you wanted to go ham on her ham, you didn’t want to hurt her, so you contented yourself with watching her chest rise and fall. “Happy birthday…” you whispered.

“You’ve already told me that today,” Choerry intoned, eyes still closed like she was drifting off into her own little world.

You laughed. “I was saying it to myself! Have you seen you?”

She smiled again, and said three words in a voice that made it seem like she was speaking to an audience on the edge of their seats, “Okay, I’m ready.”

Her fingers constricted around yours, so you questioned if she was, in fact, ready. But you wouldn’t be the one to stop her.

Choerry’s tight tush trucked its way toward the top of your tower twice to tighten her take on the task at the time, before torturously trending testicle-ward. She temporized without taking your entire tool.

So hypnotized were you with her graceful movement that you didn’t even notice the frustrated moan coming up your throat until it was too late.

Her eyes popped open. “I’m sorry!” She sounded like she meant it, too. “This is… tough.”

“Take your time,” you said, straining your voice for comic effect.

“Could have used that four paragraphs ago,” she said, continuing her extremely slow descent down your shaft.

The odd statement distracted you just long enough for Choerry to finish her drop. No longer did space separate your pelvises. You grew concerned again when she winced and bit her lip from the inside.

“Choerry, we really can do something else. Don’t hurt yourself please.”

She gave you an exaggerated, indignant gander. “Rhetorical question: Who gets to choose the cake on her birthday?”

You held in your “cake” joke.

“It’s me,” Choerry’s voice was far too chipper to make this talking-to sound as stern as you were sure she wanted it to come across as. “As birthday lady, I get to pick the cake, and I get to feed it to you if I want to.”

You held in your “cake feeding” joke.

“And tonight, the cake I pick is my bum.”

You opened your mouth to comment on her most excellent selection of the word “bum” in the midst of a scenario where your cock is fully inside of said bum, but you instead gasped a sharp breath.

Choerry ground forward, pulling your dick with her and anointing the lowermost part of your stomach with the juices being lightly sprinkled from her clit.

“Besiiides,” she continued, re-angling her hands to she could tickle the backs of yours, “We have all the lube! Even some that’s got a certain special flavor to it!”

“Just some?”

“Yeah, ooh,” she crooned, apparently quite enjoying the grind back down your pelvis, “I didn’t get it all at once. Now guess the flavor!”

You waited for her grinding to pause again to be able to think straight, “Does it start with a ‘C?’”

Her smile grew. “Yes!”

“Is it a fruit?”

“Yes!”

“Is it… cherry?”

“Failure!”

“Wha--”

“It’s coconut!”

If you weren’t so established in your hand holding with Choerry, you’d have palmed your face. Thankfully, thoughts of how she could have possibly expected you to guess that were pushed to the back of your mind as she resumed her removal of your breath with a series of fanciful body rolls.

Finally fucking her fanny felt fictional. For while not the first foray there, far-fetched was the philosophy that it was fielded often, the front being the favored fornication fissure for the foreseeable future. Unless, of course, you could make this an especially special session.

But woe was unto you. Choerry had the upper hand(s) figuratively as well as literally. But, perhaps, you thought, this was exactly what she wanted and you could wait your damn turn to take control.

And you liked letting her anally probe herself this way, so, you know, what were you to do but enjoy the ride?

Over the course of her self-imposed ravaging, Choerry’s meditative breaths became ragged. Her eyelids fluttered at regular intervals. Through it all, she held her phantasmagorical demeanor. A couple of times she reached for the lube bottle and shotgunned it somewhat inaccurately between her legs, but it did the job. You were happy to see that she was still considering her own comfort.

In fact, to your surprise, her mouth opened wide in a silent shout. Her core trembled anticipatorily. Her hands held yours with a colossally increased lewdness. And those two mystical words trickled from her tongue with a high-pitched susurration, “I’m… cumming…”

Choerry’s grinding came to a grinding halt. Her body jerked and she fell onto you. Your cock sprang free of her ass in, and as a result of, the same motion.

You untangled one of your hands to stroke her back in the most adoring fashion you could muster. After chewing on a thesaurus for the prior hour, you were sure neither of you really needed any more words.

She stayed there for a spell, and you were happy to let her. It was so late it was nearly no longer her birthday, but her birthday it still was. She deserved the rest, along with the rest of your undivided attention.

Her whole movement consisted of her back going up and down as her lungs attempted to revive her fighting spirit, and her thumb lovingly shifting over the divinatory lines on your palm. You wished she would do something about her hair plastered on your chin, but ninety-nine percent of paradise is paradise enough.

You were disappointed when Choerry rose once more, slimily straddling your stomach. She detached her hands from yours to give the hair on either side of her face a good backward flick over her shoulders, and she sighed with contentment.

It was a shock to hear her speak again after such a prolonged reticence, but her unerringly cheerful voice was entirely welcome nonetheless.

“More please.”

You couldn’t then, and you still can’t help but concede to her innocent demands. Her smile just touched the corner of her lips. Sure, some of her demands aren’t so innocent, but… How did you get here again?

#loona smut #kpop smut #choerry #male reader insert

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athena-is-a-chaotic-lil-shit · 4 years

Text

Let the Stars Witness

Okay okay holy— omg I did it! My first request and from an admired writer of mine no less!

From @kim-monsterlings : Hi and welcome!! Really looking forward to seeing your work! ~ If you would, could I request some form of friends to lovers with an orc? (Prompts maybe like, "you deserve better.") Thank you! <3

Since it wasn't specified on what their genders are, I hope your okay with what I went with! And I kinda trailed off from the prompt (or rather it's different but similar)

Anyways you'll know when you read!

•

Pairing: Male Orc (Duruk) x Human Fem!Reader

Word count: 2.2k

Warnings: None.

•

"You know, I never thought I would be friends with anyone here, especially with someone other than my, well, species," you tell your companion, your eyes not leaving the cloudless night sky as you lied on your back on the roof of his house. The stars were out tonight.

If you told your younger self that you'd be having great escapades (if running away and getting into a series of trouble fall under that) with an orc, you would most definitely cry your eyes out because you thought were being teased, taking it as a hurtful comment. You were sensitive like that. Part of the reason why no one would even go near you, afraid they might hurt you with a pat on the shoulder or with one word alone. You became the prime target of bullies, finding twisted amusement at your pathetic reactions. A crybaby, they called you. But it wasn't your fault you didn't have much control over your emotions. You were weird, asocial, timid, maybe even depressed. Having a neglectful family didn't help either, it just worsened.

•

The morning you met Duruk was after the orientation. And it was not so good for a first impression.

Long story short, you cried.

But since you're perhaps curious as to what happened exactly, let's elaborate.

You had your headphones on, the melodic sound of gentle rain played in a 3-hour loop and blocked out other noises, your eyes glued to the path you were on. You took long and hurried steps, wishing you could teleport to your classroom and hide in the back, disappear or become invisible.

You were distracted, or should we say, focused on the ground and expecting everyone to step aside and let you through.

Well, except for the one who had his back on you.

You crashed—not an exaggeration— into something- someone massive. You stumbled back and landed on your bum, wincing from the impact. Luckily, your headphones were safe (ah yes, priorities), detaching from your ears and landing on your shoulders. When you looked up to see who it was, you thought your eyes were gonna fall off, grow little legs, and scamper away.

Before you stood an orc, halfway turned to glance at whoever it was that tried to push him, his sharp tusks jutting out from his maw. His brows were furrowed as he looked down on you. Sure, he wasn't as tall as the orcs you've seen around the city and campus but still was over 6 feet, with muscles thicker than your thighs, easily hulking you.

You tried to get out an apology and run as far as you could go, but you just sat there, frozen as you strained your neck to meet his gaze, you couldn't look away. Your heart was trying to claw its way out into the surface.

Then you felt the tears swell up.

They cascaded down your face before you even could stop them.

The orc's eyes widened at your reaction and crouched down to your level in an instant that he almost fell over. His hands hovered, not sure what to do.

"Hey, hey, please don't cry. Please don't—"

"I-I-I'm re..really s-sorry p-please don't hurt m-me..." You managed to choke out pathetically, hiccuping in every word.

"Shhh now hey, it's okay. It was an accident— what? No! Why would I do that?" he replied. The orc peeked over his shoulder and to the sides. "Let's get you to somewhere, uh, less crowded," he added. You turned your head and saw that you had an audience, whispers went around as they sent pitiful and disgusted glances in your direction, only making you cry even more.

He proceeded to unceremoniously lift you into his arms, bridal style, and dashed away. You gripped the front of his shirt and shut your eyes. You were trembling now, scared of what he might do to you. How could you even fight back with your small stature?

It wasn't long until you felt him slow down and placed you carefully on a bench. The orc knelt in front of you, brows scrunched up as he studied your face.

"You okay? I didn't hurt you, did I?"

You didn't reply, only staring at him through your glassy eyes as you heaved.

You flinched when his hand started rubbing your back, his other hand placed on the side of the bench to balance himself.

He continued to caress your back and murmured soothing words in hopes of calming you down.

Your tears didn't stop falling until moments later when you came down from your initial fear, the warmth of his palm leaving your back once you did. All the while the orc remained where he was, at a loss of what to do next.

You rubbed your sticky face with the collar of your pale and blotchy crimson sweater, sniffing and taking slow, deep breaths before you spoke.

"I... I'm sorry for causing you trouble. E-Even going as far as to take me somewhere quiet. I...appreciate that." You thought you'd pass out with the way people gathered around you, it was suffocating. "Thank you..."

"I panicked," he started, "Sorry—I mean, it's okay, you didn't do anything wrong. I get that a lot of people run away from the sight of me, but you didn't, and just froze there on the ground so..." he shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck.

You shook your head. He was such an imposing figure to many, their first thought was most likely to get away or scream at him.

"You looked angry... When I bumped into you." You slammed into him actually, but he didn't budge an inch. Guess it was one-sided.

"Oh, that? Well, my brother scolds me a lot for having such a grumpy face, scaring humans away. Like he was the one to talk when he's taller and bigger than me! People would faint on the spot when they see him, I bet!"

The image your mind conjured up tore a laugh out of your body, two orcs arguing about how not to terrify people at sight was damn hilarious. When was the last time someone made you laugh like this?

The orc grinned, your reaction a contrast to that of earlier.

You opened your mouth to say something but the ringing of the great bell resounded, cutting you off. The two of you stood up as you realized you were late for your first class of the school year.

"So, uh, what now?" you asked.

"How about we go to our class, then maybe meet up later? Oh, fu— my mother will gut me— I haven't introduced myself!" He blurted out, his voice making you yelp with the sudden outburst.

Clearing his throat, he reached out, "I'm Duruk."

In turn, you gave him your name, taking his hand and smiled. "Hello, Duruk."

•

True to his word, you met again later when lunch came. The cafeteria was packed so you settled on getting the convenience food they offered and eat somewhere quiet.

Your conversation that day spiraled when you found out the two of you had a lot in common. From your favorite rock band to your favorite flavor of ice cream.

You both strongly agreed that vanilla ice cream was superior.

You agreed to meet up during breaks, always having something to chat about.

Eventually, you became inseparable.

He even changed and transferred to your class just so the two of you could be together at the start of the day rather than walk half of the campus to see each other every time.

You became best friends, sharing each moment in school, may it be helping the other stay awake in a boring class, or copying homework when one of you forgot to do it. Soon enough, Duruk started inviting you to his house to hang out. He did mention he had four other siblings, but he lived alone. You came by almost every night and on whole weekends to escape from home, only a few miles in between. No one would notice you gone anyways, but you returned around midnight, not wanting to impose on Duruk no matter what he says, so he walks you back instead.

You basked in each other's company. The odd and scrutinizing glares didn't go unnoticed when you two were together, but you shrugged them all off.

It didn't take long before you started having feelings for the orc, a little wishful thinking that you could be more than friends. You noted lately that his touches would linger seconds longer than usual, hugs and even a hand on your shoulder and back seem to be warmer and —you dare say— affectionate. It weighed heavily on your heart, your simple crush turned into something else, and it only grew with each passing day, and every laugh you shared.

But of course, you swatted those away, buried them deep inside every damn time they climb back up. Who could even love you? Yes, you have Duruk, he likes you, you think. But that's the end of it. Just close buddies. You can't take the risk of ruining your friendship with him and make things awkward with the only one you had! What if he stops talking to you, weirded out by your confession? You don't want to go back to being alone again, your heart can't take the rejection that came with it.

So you endured.

•

A little over five months ever since the embarrassing accident, here you are now, stargazing with your best friend.

"Well, good thing you didn't watch where you were going that time then," he says, chuckling beside you. His hands cushioned his head against the hard surface. "I wouldn't have..." he trails off.

"Hm, what?" you ask. Duruk went silent and didn't answer you for a time. You were about to let it slide but then he breathes in audibly.

"I wouldn't have met an angel if you did. Should've caught you in my arms, but sadly I didn't move fast enough." He replies, his voice deep and mellow.

You straighten up and turn to face him, your brows shot up, incredulous to what he just implied.

"W-Wait. What?" you squeak, your heart thumping hard in your chest, your skin warming up even in the chilled night air.

Is he—

"You're so cute, y'know that? Fuck it, it's all or nothing," he whispers under his breath as he sits up to face you. His expression was unreadable, but you see in his mahogany eyes a familiar glint of determination. "I'm not good with long-ass speeches so I'll make this short," he breathes in before he continues, "I feel something for you, for a while now, more than a best friend does, like...in a romantic sense. I want to cherish you and hold you in my arms every time I see you, I- ah fuck- damn it I just—" he growls, "I love you, so much and if you don't love me back then please re—"

You shut him off with your lips against his, Duruk's tusks pressing against your cheeks as you held his face in your hands. He was stunned for two solid seconds before returning the kiss, his arms snaking around your waist and pulling you close and into his lap.

You feel something wet roll down your hand and you immediately jerked back to see his face. The orc was crying.

Did you do it wrong? Were you so terrible at it—

"I don't deserve you... A monster like me doesn't deserve an angel like you."

Where was this coming from??

"Say that again, I dare you."

"I don't de—"

This idiot!

You pecked his lips to cut him off.

"You big dummy," you begin, "I love you too, idiot. You may be a monster but not what everyone else defines you as. I love you as you are. You're my best friend, and dare I say my l-lover now. Is that right...?"

Duruk gives you a small, gentle smile, "If you'll have me, then yes, for as long as you want me to be." He says, sniffling a sob as a couple more tears tumbled down his rugged face.

You never thought you'd see him like this. He was the one who kept making you laugh with his stories and terrible jokes. Before you, in your hands was someone vulnerable, his eyes soft and fond as he gazed into yours.

It made your heart pound and it hurt.

You leaned in and he met you halfway, kissing once again, deeper and more intimate this time. Real. You brought your arms around his neck, your tears spilling out and he tightened his grip around you. It felt like a dream, too good to be true, but the way he hugged you like you were the only thing that anchored him in this world made you believe it wasn't. All of this was real and you couldn't be anymore happier.

From above, the glittering stars, the light gentle as they shone, bear witness to two freed hearts, bottled up feelings gushing out like a broken dam as you embraced one another and lost yourselves in the moment of bliss, cheeks stained and clothes lightly damp from the tiny rivulets of liquid that dropped down.

It's a lovely night, isn't it?

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