I could rant about this for fucking hours but I will do my best to keep it short. I'm pretty new to SVT, Joshua biased, and I just — Listen I know his hands are huge but the face that he makes tiny little fucking beaded bracelets with them I can't. I just know his touch can be so soft, and so comforting. The way he kept touching Seungkwan when he was comforting him I can't. I fjhi;eaj can't stop thinking about him and his stupid hands and how I want him to just gently touch me, in like a non-sexual way. I feel that this is weird, and I'm resisting the urge to send this on anon, but I also don't fucking care. AH. On a sidenote I think Jeonghan gives the best hugs.
don't we all feel the same for joshua? i think he touches just like he kisses: soft, gentle and steady. and the way he looks? giving all of his attention, holding eye contact? ahhhh
tell me more about jeonghan and best hugs!! very unexpected, want to learn more 💜
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at some point it's just like. do they even fucking like the thing they're asking AI to make? "oh we'll just use AI for all the scripts" "we'll just use AI for art" "no worries AI can write this book" "oh, AI could easily design this"
like... it's so clear they've never stood in the middle of an art museum and felt like crying, looking at a piece that somehow cuts into your marrow even though the artist and you are separated by space and time. they've never looked at a poem - once, twice, three times - just because the words feel like a fired gun, something too-close, clanging behind your eyes. they've never gotten to the end of the movie and had to arrive, blinking, back into their body, laughing a little because they were holding their breath without realizing.
"oh AI can mimic style" "AI can mimic emotion" "AI can mimic you and your job is almost gone, kid."
... how do i explain to you - you can make AI that does a perfect job of imitating me. you could disseminate it through the entire world and make so much money, using my works and my ideas and my everything.
and i'd still keep writing.
i don't know there's a word for it. in high school, we become aware that the way we feel about our artform is a cliche - it's like breathing. over and over, artists all feel the same thing. "i write because i need to" and "my music is how i speak" and "i make art because it's either that or i stop existing." it is such a common experience, the violence and immediacy we mean behind it is like breathing to me - comes out like a useless understatement. it's a cliche because we all feel it, not because the experience isn't actually persistent. so many of us have this ... fluttering urgency behind our ribs.
i'm not doing it for the money. for a star on the ground in some city i've never visited. i am doing it because when i was seven i started taking notebooks with me on walks. i am doing it because in second grade i wrote a poem and stood up in front of my whole class to read it out while i shook with nerves. i am doing it because i spent high school scribbling all my feelings down. i am doing it for the 16 year old me and the 18 year old me and the today-me, how we can never put the pen down. you can take me down to a subatomic layer, eviscerate me - and never find the source of it; it is of me. when i was 19 i named this blog inkskinned because i was dramatic and lonely and it felt like the only thing that was actually permanently-true about me was that this is what is inside of me, that the words come up over everything, coat everything, bloom their little twilight arias into every nook and corner and alley
"we're gonna replace you". that is okay. you think that i am writing to fill a space. that someone said JOB OPENING: Writer Needed, and i wrote to answer. you think one raindrop replaces another, and i think they're both just falling. you think art has a place, that is simply arrives on walls when it is needed, that is only ever on demand, perfect, easily requested. you see "audience spending" and "marketability" and "multi-line merch opportunity"
and i see a kid drowning. i am writing to make her a boat. i am writing because what used to be a river raft has long become a fully-rigged ship. i am writing because you can fucking rip this out of my cold dead clammy hands and i will still come back as a ghost and i will still be penning poems about it.
it isn't even love. the word we use the most i think is "passion". devotion, obsession, necessity. my favorite little fact about the magic of artists - "abracadabra" means i create as i speak. we make because it sluices out of us. because we look down and our hands are somehow already busy. because it was the first thing we knew and it is our backbone and heartbreak and everything. because we have given up well-paying jobs and a "real life" and the approval of our parents. we create because - the cliche again. it's like breathing. we create because we must.
you create because you're greedy.
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18+ mdni; gn!reader
btw toji loves fucking you in prone bone. and he likes to just put all of his weight on you, trapping you underneath him and he likes to just grind into you. he's so fucking big and it's just so much and you feel like you're going to pass out from the sensation. he doesn't even pull out, he just slowly rolls his hips into yours while sloppily kissing away the tears that fall from your pretty eyes.
you can't even properly moan anymore, the only sounds that slip from your lips are broken mewls and shaky breaths. his one arm is curled around your neck, supporting your heavy head with his forearm and bicep. toji feels your drool on his skin and grins to himself.
his hot breath warms your already scorching flesh and you can't keep eyes open either – the feeling of toji in your guts being too much to handle. hazy and delirious, he loves seeing you like this; he loves watching you crumble underneath him. he loves to fuck your pretty little brains out and he will keep doing so as long as he gets to see you like this.
he hisses when you clench around him, his own breath hitching. his free hand finds yours holding onto the crumpled bedsheet below you and he interwines his bigger, rougher fingers with yours.
"does it feel good, hm?" he rasps right in your ear. your body trembles at his voice, at the proximity and he feels like he's in heaven. "tell me."
but instead of an answer, you let out a defeated little whimper from the depths of your stomach. he's so heavy on top of you and you just can't bring yourself to open your mouth again. you just can't do it; you don't have the strength nor the brainpower.
he squeezes your hands before pushing himself deep inside, his tip kissing your most sensitive part. a broken cry tumbles from you accompanied by another few tears—
—but then he just stays there.
he doesn't pull away, he doesn't move at all. he's crushing you under him, he's forging your bodies together. his heart rests above yours, his warm skin sticks to yours just like it's meant to.
"toji- "
he hums and presses his lips to your sweaty temple. he can feel your body trembling, the overstimulation taking hold of you before his very eyes.
"move." your voice is almost as raspy as his is. he's proud of that too – you're giving your all to him and he welcomes you with open arms. this is his way to show you how much he really cares for you, his way of showing his love. "please."
toji chuckles darkly; even the slightest movement makes the knot in your stomach tighten in this position and you feel like you're going to cum... just from this – you're going to finish with him lodged deep inside you, exactly where he belongs.
"i asked you a question, sweetheart."
you try to wriggle yourself under him, desperate to make him move but he's way too heavy. he moves your both hands closer and tucks them right beside your head – he's making you feel smaller and smaller. it feels like you're suffocating. in the best fucking way possible.
the hand that's been resting below your jaw goes to turn your head to the side, so toji can finally kiss you. open-mouthed and sloppy, he pushes his tongue inside and groans at the taste of you. his angel. you can barely keep up with him but he doesn't mind.
he's still not moving his hips though. if anything, he spreads his big thighs a bit wider so he can burrow himself even deeper. your mouth falls slack against his and you can't fucking breathe.
"tell m', how ya feel."
cracking open your eyes, you peer at him from the corner of your eyes and he coos at you. he doesn't let go of your face, keeping you right there so he can look at your perfectly fucked out face.
"so- so good." you hiccup. lips covered in your own drool, you look like a mess. you look like you deserve a reward. "please...."
toji gives you another rumble of a hum and a soft little smile. a lovesick one. he brings your hand to his lips and he presses a kiss on the inside of your wrist while keeping his eyes on you. his lips tug upward when he feels you pulsate around him again but he doesn't tease you for it this time.
it doesn't take much for him to have you twitching and spasming below him. he drinks up every single gasp and mewl, every single whimper and moan as he keeps rocking his hips into you. he helps you ride out your earth-shattering orgasm with rougher and rougher thrusts, his own desire to fill you up and mark you as his taking hold of him.
you cry into the pillow as he growls praise at you. the air in the room is thick and the messy, slick sounds of your bodies grinding together fills the space with ease. you can hear yourself, you can hear him and it's like a perfect melody. everything is so fucking messy, it's so fucking dirty and you wouldn't want it any other way.
he gives your hand another strong squeeze as he cums. his hips stutter flush against you, skin to skin, and he lets out the most beautiful moan. he doesn't hold back anymore – he wants you to know how good you make him feel, too.
his body relaxes on top of you as he listens to you trying to catch your breath. he pulls you as close as he possibly can.
"did s'good for me." he gives you another sloppy kiss on the nape of your neck before hiding his flushed face in your hair. you give him a weak hum, the exhaustion hitting you like a truck. your eyes flutter shut but you gather your last strength to raise and pull his hand to your lips. you need to feel him; more, more, more – he needs to be even closer. always.
soft lips against the back of his hands, you whisper. "iloveyou..."
the words all mix together, coming out as a muddled mess... but it's his muddled mess. he can't help but smile lazily at your sleepy confession.
"i love y'too."
he lets you rest for a bit, he knows you need it. he plays with your hair and he drags his fingers over your smaller ones. he doesn't want to pull away, he wants to stay like this forever.
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i just wanted to say thank you to every fanfic writer out there.
thank you for writing what others haven't, what others can't, what others won't.
thank you for writing what can be judged and hated, but writing it all the same.
thank you for indulging in something that you love and allowing the rest of us to love it with you.
if you have one kudos or one thousand, one comment or one hundred, one bookmark or fifty, i love each and every one of you for writing them.
thank you.
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Hey fanfiction writers: If no one's ever told you this before, it's not just fanfiction.
It's something you spent hours, days, maybe even months on, pouring your heart out onto a page because you were so full of passion and thoughts about a story or characters, you felt like you were going to explode if you didn't get it out. Maybe you lost sleep because your mind was racing with ideas or you forgot to eat or drink water because you were so focused. Maybe your back aches from being hunched over for so long, unmoving. Maybe you even felt like you were going a little feral because you were so excited about what you were creating, or were frustrated when you got stuck. Either way, you put your heart, mind, soul, and body into making something.
It's okay to want people to read it, and it's okay if you're disappointed that they don't or it doesn't get as much of a reaction as you were hoping for. Humans are social creatures. Sure, we write for ourselves, but we also share because the joy of doing so is just as powerful as the joy of the process. Of having created something.
We all experience that joy and that disappointment, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise.
So it's okay. It's not just fanfiction.
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