#and like- blood isn’t inherently sexy but on that stomach?

[3d-wifey]

NSFW Alphabet: JD Edition

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Pillow talk galore. And he's surprisingly cuddly afterward.

B = Body Part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partners)

He's pretty proud of his brain. Not to toot his own horn, but he's a pretty clever guy. He's a quick thinker and he managed to plan and execute three murders while making them look like suicides.

He's awfully fond of your hips. How nicely they fit your jeans, how his hands look on them, the noises you make when he squeezes them a little too tightly.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum, basically)

I can't see him ever remembering to wear a condom and having a kid is not in his cards (yet), so he's definitely pulling out. He likes to finish on your face or your stomach. It's almost like he's marking you. But, if you're fucking in public, he'll cum in your panties and he expects you to walk around in them.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Not inherently sexual, but he's been looking for ways to tie you to him since he met you. He always thought marriage was a shame, too easily broken. So getting you pregnant after high school seems like the perfect plan. Of course, he's not getting your opinion on it beforehand. That's why it's a secret.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

None, considering he was a virgin before you. Surprising since he's so good-looking, but he's not the type to be attracted to people he can barely stand. You're the only person he actually liked being around in, well, ever. So, anything he does sexually is based purely on instinct and what you tell him you like.

F = Favorite Position (This goes without saying)

Any position where he can have a good look at your face. He's pretty partial to you being on top of him though.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment? Are they humorous? etc.)

Jason's a pretty intense guy with a dry sense of humor, so I can't see him making any jokes during it.

H = Hair (How well-groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Hates being clean-shaven. Something about being bald down there doesn't sit right with him, and it's way too much work. He doesn't grow a lot of hair in the first place, but he'll trim it down if it bothers you so much. But not without some bitching on his part.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment? The romantic aspect.)

Jason isn't a romantic person by nature, at least not in the traditional sense. However, he's very attentive in his own way. If it's anything other than a quickie, you'll find he's pretty focused on your pleasure, your reactions. Some might even say obsessed.

J = Jack off (Masturbation Headcanon)

He doesn't really have a reason to when he could just pull you into an empty classroom or something. However, he'll do it if you're nowhere around and he can't, for some reason, sneak over to your place. But considering he's around you almost 24/7, it happens less and less.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Blood. Not your own, but he likes seeing other people's blood on you. I could totally see him fucking you in front of a dead body if it didn't get incriminating fluids all over the crime scene.

Choking. Going both ways. Not to the point where you might pass out, but he's aiming to leave bruises. He definitely wants you to wrap your hand around his throat until he goes lightheaded.

Hickeys. I know what you're thinking and I want you to stop thinking it because you're wrong. He wants you to mark him up. He's a very pale boy and he bruises easily, so you can apply the slightest pressure and he'll look like a leopard. He likes to show them off and the dull pain that comes when he presses on them shoots straight to his dick.

L = Location (Favorite places to do the do)

Anywhere, anytime. He doesn't much care about getting caught. And it's not like he can't take care of anyone who saw something they shouldn't have.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

You, wholly and completely. He's a teenage boy in love, you could wear a nun outfit and he'd still find it sexy.

N = No (Something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)

He's a part of the anti-mommy/daddy kink club. His mommy and daddy issues are both too strong for him to view those words in a sexual light. Just the thought of them is boner repellent.

He's also not doing anything that could seriously wound you, on purpose or by accident. So, knives are out of the picture.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Likes giving and receiving pretty equally. However, there's something about being in between your legs and knowing that he's the one pulling those sounds and reactions from you.

It's borderline euphoric.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

He doesn't really have a set pace. It usually depends on his mood, which is ever-changing.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Like I said in the Stamina part, he has a stupid high sex drive, so quickies are his best friends. In your car during lunch, in storage closets in between classes, etc. Name a place and he's doing you there.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment? Do they take risks? etc.)

He'd do just about anything you asked of him. He's a murderer, there's no bigger risk than that.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?)

I'd say 2 rounds (3 max if you're riding him). And how long each round lasts depends on the pace he's going. All in all, definitely nothing to spit at.

T = Toys (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

He definitely doesn't own any toys of his own, his hand gets the job done just fine, thank you very much. But I can see him using toys on you if you ask. He's really only doing it to humor you.

U = Unfair (How much they like to tease)

He can't dish it or take it. He thinks he's a totally tease, and he does so good at first, but he always gets too horny to actually go through with the plan. He gives in too easily.

Teasing doesn't work on him either, because as soon as you make the smallest hint that you're in the mood, he's ready to go. Whenever, wherever.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He doesn't moan often, more into groaning and grunting. But the man is a talker.

W = Wild Card (A random headcanon for the character)

Something about you acting aggressive or violent really gets him going. Murder's his foreplay, babe.

X = X-ray (Let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Above-average at about 7-7.5 inches with a slight curve to the left. He's longer than he is thick and he has a cute beauty mark at the base of his shaft. Like I said earlier, he's not clean-shaven but he'll reluctantly trim for you if you want him to.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

He's a healthy, teenage boy. And like most teenage boys, he has an overactive libido. So, he's ready anyplace, anytime.

Z = Zzz (How quickly they fall asleep afterward)

He actually isn't that tired after, assuming you've only gone one round. But if you're both pushing into oversensitivity, he's cuddling up to you and passing out right after.

#jd x reader #jd heathers #heathers #jason dean x reader #jason dean #smut

[sukumen]

sorry if this is a loaded question, ofc you don’t need to answer! what’s your take on the argument that dark content is harmful to reality, and that it romanticises traumas? personally i like reading some dc, but when i see posts about how it’s harmful to both survivors and readers (smth to do with psychologically normalising it) it kinda makes me feel guilty, like i’m doing something wrong? when i know i can distinguish between fiction and reality?

hey! so i’m going to keep this under a read more to avoid upsetting anyone - also because this is literally - and i mean, literally - an essay LMAO. i had a lot to say!

any anon hate will be deleted and blocked, but you’re free to engage me off anon (and kindly on anon) if you want to! anon, you’re also free to come chat with me in dms if you want to speak more freely about this :) 

warning for rape mentions, murder / mass murder mentions, dub / noncon mentions.

so, i want to preface this by saying that i don’t think that anyone is obligated to like or be comfortable with dark content. it truly is your prerogative not to be interested in it and you are valid if it makes you feel uncomfortable. so nothing i’m saying here is to convince people that anyone should like it or is wrong for not liking it.

but i don’t agree with the argument that people should be shamed for liking or writing it, that it romanticizes trauma, etc. i understand why people feel that way 100%, but i don’t agree.

sometimes, it feels arbitrary. “dark content” has become a pseudonym for dub/non-con fic, but is the the only type of dark content there is? dark stories can include murder, horror, gore, etc. yet, despite us knowing that murder (for example) is a crime and morally wrong, most people don’t bat an eye when a chara in a fic does it and is still protrayed as attractive or is the reader’s lover. we go crazy for mafia aus where characters kill and show power --- we love those characters, those scenes where they kill and go take their lover all covered in blood. i mean, even in the jjk fandom, one of the most popular characters is a cursed spirit whose first words in the series are about massacring women and children. and we love him. more than that, we love the gory, arguably dark world he comes from - we hypothesize about these characters, we sympathize with them, and we lust over them.

so it’s hard to reconcile that with telling fans who write dub/noncon that they are impacting people’s sense of reality. we’re all experiencing this series together - if written fan fiction is what desensitizes morality, what about the images from the anime and manga? would we make the same argument for banning it? would we say that the people who like sukuna are romanticizing mass violence or that gege is normalizing it for us psychologically by making the character who does it hot and engaging or showing/referencing it so much in the manga?

i just don’t think we would. i think we all understand that those things are wrong and like him knowing that, and can readily say he’s a villain or that the things we’re seeing is wrong. so, i don’t think there’s a black-and-white argument that seeing x in media will make you think y is a-okay or make you more comfortable with it in real life.

i do get that there’s a difference here: a big part of this argument is the sexual aspect of non/dubcon - it’s hard to feel like it’s not normalizing rape when people find a scenario like that hot (whereas no one is like...lewding a mass murder scene, haha). but i think that, at the end of the day, brains do what brains do and people just have dark fantasies. like it’s really as simple as that. rape fantasies in particular are common and talked about by psychologists all the time and i have never been able to find a common thread of them condemning people having them or even writing about them. what they DO talk about is the fact that consent is actually key to the fantasy - that the person fantasizing is the person controlling the situation, that the fantasy, despite being “dub/noncon”, is inherently exactly what they want because THEY are creating the situation, and that, in the end, it’s the absence of actual danger that makes it. ultimately: there is a difference between real life rape and an imagined fantasy or roleplay. so much so that it might not even be fair to call them “rape” fantasies at all.

“It’s crucial to recognize that real-life rape is anything but erotic for a woman. Being at the mercy of someone who’s so outrageously violating your will, holding you down, threatening you with bodily harm (or even death), and physically forcing himself upon you induces arousal all right. But not that of sexuality, but of utterly petrifying anxiety and panic. Contrast this to most imagined rape scenes, which are so electrifying precisely because they’re expressly designed by their female creator to stimulate the illusion of danger—which can, in fact, be positively arousing.”

>  from this article.

to me, this is ultimately what dub/noncon fic is. people writing out those fantasies for people who share those fantasies to process those fantasies.

you can make the argument that that it’s harmful to survivors, but that has its own issues when doctors have reported that some survivors have rape fantasies or find comfort in acting out those rape fantasies (and writing, in my opinion, is a form of acting that out). like are they not valid victims because they are contextualizing their trauma into something that they can control and can process on their own terms? i think the issue there is that the argument uses survivors as a monolith to make an argument on their behalf; but every individual survivor is valid in what they think about this because no two survivors process what happened to them in the same way.

i myself am a survivor and have no real issue with dark content (obviously). i don’t read it often and only write it now because of sukuna; but when i do read it, i draw the line at certain things because i personally cannot stomach it. but would i demand that person delete it from existence because of that? no, i wouldn’t. because again, at the end of the day, that’s the entire basis of the fantasy. i control what i’m fantasizing about, and if something that i do not want to happen to “me” as the reader occurs, i do not read it. i don’t consent to that experience or that fantasy, so i stay away. but at the same time, that other person’s fantasy isn’t mine to control or infringe on and it doesn’t make me a better person than them for not sharing the fantasy.

SO ALL OF THIS TO SAAAY: i don’t think you should feel bad for enjoying dark content. i don’t think the argument about whether or not you’ll know how wrong it is in real life anymore really applies because you could make the claim that any type of fiction runs the risk of distorting people’s perception of reality and making them desensitized to something. and i don’t think that’s what people’s struggle with this is. 

what it boils down to, to me, is that people can’t understand why anyone would find dub/noncon arousing, and think that they condone rape because of it. which, again, is understandable. rape is a horrible fucking thing to experience - it isn’t sexy, it isn’t hot, it isn’t arousing and it’s hard to see any nuance when you see “noncon” and “wow this was so hot” in one post. but based on the way psychologists talk about “rape” fantasies, i think the two things (the fantasy and the real life act of violence) can typically be distinct for people, even survivors, and it just comes down to whether or not it’s a fantasy you share. if you don’t, completely your right! block the tags, block the writers, do whatever you have to do to protect your peace and your limits! but the discourse about it always seems to go into the realm of shame or arguments about someone’s moral compass, which i think is unfair. 

hopefully this helps and wasn't an annoying thing to read! like i said, don’t mind talking about it more if need be!

#asks. #tw rape mention #tw dubcon / noncon mention #tw rape #tw murder mention

[i-did]

hi mlm here. so i want to write andreil smut but im a virgin so i have no idea what exactly sex is like. but i do not want to write it for the.... straight women gaze. what are some things that are accurate to write about. this is prolly super nsfw but i dont know who to ask.

Okay so this response took me literally months, and I'm sorry about that. I honestly was so excited when I got this question. I don't know why I put off responding?? But here I go: 

CW for discussion of NSFW, STD’s, and a lil homophobia

I bet a lot of people who write smut are virgins tbh, that's not to insult anyone or anything, but like writing is a non physical way to explore sex and fantasies by yourself, so you’re definitely not alone lol.

So you're MLM and want to write smut, (and others who want to get my opinions on writing non-fetishistic smut).

Porn is porn and can have unrealistic circumstances to fulfill said fantasy, such as anything from people messing around in locker rooms to tentacles.

To get a general sense of what is common in MLM sexuality, (rather than the typical feminine gaze that is seen in smut) looking at gay porn and gay porn categories is good insight. 

Bear culture, muscle culture, leather culture, etc. 

These are obviously still porn and unrealistic, however being attracted to sweat, jockstraps, and muscles is very common outside of porn. 

Bear culture is a body-positive movement that started because of the gay community's fat-phobia, age-phobia, and overall shittyness about body hair. 

Leather culture is also really big, it started because of the belief that gay men couldn’t be dominant or “masculine”, even in bed. So in America, leather culture was a way a lot of MLM embraced themselves. 

Going to pride, you will see many men wearing those leather harnesses, it doesn't indicate a preference of topping or bottoming necessarily, they're just something mlm wear and has grown quite popular in the culture, I've known some men to say it feels like a security blanket for them. 

And I think it’s very important to understand these cultures or at least be aware of them on a base level if you’re going to write gay porn. 

Also looking at erotic MLM art made by men, there is Tom of Finland, who was very historically significant, and is the most famous erotic gay artist. There is gay literature, one that openly talks about sex quite frankly is the book “We Both Laughed In Pleasure: The Selected Diaries of Lou Sullivan” which is a series of diary excerpts from a real gay trans man where you follow his life up until he died during the aids epidemic. He talks about sex with partners and discovering himself as well as what being a gay man means to him. He has a real love for sex in a way that is very unashamed and interesting to read about. We know that he wrote the latter half of his diaries with the plan of compiling them and publishing them but he passed away and people in his life carried out this wish for him. He is considered a significant part of gay and transgender history because of this, and his diaries are in LGBT museums. 

Reading gay poetry, looking at gay art, erotic, romantic, grungy, whatever, and you will find and see how they portray things differently than when it’s not portrayed by gay men usually. I mean there is a clear difference between yaoi and bara and that's the audience and authors. Some yaoi are made by MLM, (well technically their called gei comi, or gay comics in Japanese)

“Also known as ‘gei comi’ or ‘men's love,’ bara comics are by men, for men. There is a yaoi equivalent to this, and it is called ‘gachi muchi’-- it is written by women, for women.” – myanimelist.net (lol)

 but more than 90% aren't. I haven't ever heard of a non-MLM bara artist, but I'm sure there's at least one. 

Of course, I've seen things depicting MLM just together pretty realistically that didn't feel like it was written by someone who definitely wasn't MLM, but these scenes tend to be more writing in the general sense of art in the general sense rather than porn, which has a huge gap in characteristics between stuff usually written by MLM vs when it's written by women. (sorry about the binary language here)

I know some people don't like any realism in their porn, but I personally really like small details such as prep being mentioned, foreplay, even acknowledgment of the existence of condoms even if they choose to go without.

Especially as an MLM who lives in America currently, the ever-present acknowledgment and stigmatism of AIDS is around us. We think about it, even when we don't want to. An entire generation of MLM, trans people, and a lot of POC were wiped out. Not necessarily a PWP detail, but including discussion of prep, PrEP (the anti HIV medication) and/or getting tested, even for diseases besides HIV, is a small detail that I think is nice. MLM often have to have a moment when opening up a conversation about sex where HIV is mentioned, our dating apps and hook up apps have sections where you put positive, negative, non-transmissible/undetectable, or prefer not to say. The books take place in 2006 so PrEP didn't exist yet, but also the aids pandemic was happening when they were being born and as young kids, so it wasn't that long ago in society's mind. It's still illegal for many trans people and MLM to donate blood despite that the blood is screened for diseases after donation. 

Also, some realism I like is when a character isn't getting their ass ate first in the morning. Like, for me that's a huge turn-off because I think “holy fuck hygiene.” specifically with anal play I just really think even casually mentioning “washing up” or basic prep, or if you want more accuracy/details mention time between last meals or “x only ate a salad, so he would be fine”. It's like a joke in the gay community to eat chili fries or some shit on a date to indicate that either there will be no anal, or if there is you’re not going to be the one to do it, because you just fuckin ate those fries to say so. 

A cock just going in without prep and no condom is going to A) hurt very bad the body does not do that naturally and can cause injury B) get shit dick.

An also not sexy detail that is common for sex is just laying down a towel so you don’t have to wash sheets. Lube on hands? Wipe off on the towel that you’re on rn. Laying down a towel is pretty normal especially for anal. But this is if you’re going for a much more playing for accuracy sex scene. 

Honestly just writing fingering and prep and stuff like that in my opinion goes a long way and also gives the audience more to read. 

Also, sex is way more than peen in hole. Get creative, frottage, mutual masturbation, docking? Idk like thigh fucking, fucking buttcheeks but not hole, handies, blowies, anal oral, Neil doesn’t have to be the only one who gets his ass ate and things don’t have to follow formulas, in fact, they’re better when they don’t. 

Sex comes in many forms, and like I’ve definitely been with someone and he took off his shirt and I was like what, because he was skinny and clean-shaven and I didn’t expect him to have nearly as much chest hair as he did. I bet honestly Neil has a massive bush, like fuckin, massive. 

Andrew and Neil don’t have to like everything the same amount, Neil could be like “I wanna lick your armpit” and gets really off on it, Andrew is neutral but likes that Neil likes it and agrees even if it does nothing for him physically. Honestly, Neil having a sweat kink imo is pretty fitting lol. 

Try not to categorize the characters into “the bottom” and “the top”, or “the man” and “the woman”

This is something I see a lot and pay attention to how “the bottom” tends to adopt traits that are seen in straight porn that are over-exaggerated. I’m not saying it's inherently wrong to write someone as slim, but we know Neil isn't delicate, but I personally wouldn't categorize him as slim. He's a college-level athlete and is definitely muscular and defined, he has some bulk at least, he isn’t model lean for sure imo. You also often see PWP where the bottom makes a bunch of noise and the top makes none, or the top grunts and the bottom mewls, these are things I personally feel gives the bottom the role of a woman in porn. I don’t think Andreil have rough sex necessarily, but I do think when Neil does make noise, it would be because it was practically punched out of him by the feeling, and would sound more like a gasp than a kitten or whatever. There's nothing wrong with writing them both grunting, both of their voices being lower. Someone bottoming doesn’t suddenly magically not have secondary sex characteristics and stubble and body hair or a deep voice or however, they’re like everywhere else. 

When I read an over-emphasis on Neil’s slim waist and swaying hips and ass I’m like,,, okay someone please mention Andrew looking at Neil’s dick or bulge or shoulders. As an MLM, what do you find hot about men? I like stomachs and arms and shoulders, jawlines, collarbones, asses yes but like in a different way than how I like women’s asses (I’m bi lol) they are smaller and I like them muscled and squared almost. I look at veins on hands and noses and shoulders and backs, I look at a lot and I honestly don't have a type. But yeah so think about what you like, why you like it, what you might want. Or look at what others like, and why and how they want and like it.

what would Neil like, how would he feel about it? And Andrew. I kinda feel like Andrew is low-key masc 4 masc but that's just me lmaoo. Anyways, good luck writing. 

#aftg #ask #fandom psychology #fandom culture #osha violation #mailob

[thegreatobsesso]

Okay. It’s time to quit overthinking it and just put something out there.

Here’s a bit I quite like, and yeah, it’s totally out of context but so will anything I post from my massive WIP. I’m just gonna do it. And I’ve got a lil’ bit of art for this one too. :)

-----------------

- Callie -

They called this place Charlie's Recovery Room. It was hardly a place to recover; just a dingy dive on the corner with with neon outlines of women’s bodies in the windows and signs advertising cheap beer, but they knew her here, and she liked that.

As Moira, of course. Moira, the mousey brunette who either went home after a long day of lying to old people on the phone to the peeling tiles and clanging radiator of her apartment, or she came here, to kick back a cosmo or two or seven.

The red Christmas lights stapled around the top of the bar were anything but festive, casting a feverish glow on the regulars - bikers, mostly, and a few old married couples who seemed to like it here because they didn't have to talk to each other.

The red light, it would have looked good on her before, back before she had to glamour herself within an inch of her life before being seen in public. But if she wanted to be herself, well, she shouldn’t have killed someone, should she?

The thing was, she fucked up last night. Not in like a gotta-get-outta-town way. In more, like, a hurt-herself-and-now-she-needs-distracting-before-she-hurts-herself-worse kinda way. She needed alcohol and someone to talk at and a warm body to drive herself into before the thing that was always waiting inside her ate her alive.

Not one of the bikers, not for this. She knew them and liked them. Someone else, but pickings were slim tonight. There was a couple down the bar smoking cigarettes together, two guys drinking beer (one of whom had already rejected her once), and a woman by herself who looked too neatly-pressed for this place.

She could just go somewhere else. Except, no - no getting on her own bike because she was already feeling pretty slippery. She'd have to walk home. Why was she drunk already? Had she eaten today?

Fuck it. She'd just go home and pass out. She fished for her wallet to pay her tab when the bartender brought her yet another pink drink in a plastic martini glass.

“No no no,” she said. “I don’t want it.”

“Lady down there bought it for you.”

He nodded down the bar and she frowned, following his gaze - the neatly-dressed lady was looking her way, and lifted her own drink in acknowledgment.

Callie’s confusion must’ve shown, because the woman gave a sheepish smile and looked down at her lap.

Well, hell. She didn’t mean to make to make her feel bad, she was just… surprised.

Their eyes met a second time, and the lady looked away a second time, clearly embarrassed.

Unexpected but delightful. Okay, she could work with this. She wasn't gonna look a gift horse in the ass, or whatever.

“This isn’t the kind of place people buy each other drinks at,” she said, sliding into the stool next to her. 

The woman gave a demure smile. “You looked lonely.” 

She had a soft, deep voice - sexy.

“Are you lonely too?” Callie asked her.

“Kind of,” she said, lifting it at the end, like a question. “I’ve been here about a week and I’m not… great at meeting people.”

She was attractive in a not-so-obvious way Callie failed to notice from across the room. Her strawberry blonde hair was pulled back into a lazy bun, and she wore a crisp white blouse covered by a modest denim jacket. She was rail-thin but looked strong, and her grey eyes were sharp behind her wireless glasses.

Not bad at all.

"Well, welcome to town," Callie said, swiveling on the stool to face her. "This is the bar. Across the street, there’s a gas station, and down the road from that, there’s a shopping plaza. Now you're an expert on town.”

She took another sip of her drink, not because she wanted it but for the tipsy hope it made her look alluring.

“What do you do?” the woman asked her.

“No,” Callie said.

“I’m sorry?”

“No, it’s, it’s so boring I literally can’t make a single sentence about it,” she said, and she wasn’t trying to be funny but the woman broke into a bright smile anyway. “And I hate small talk, you know? Like, I make boring words, and then you make boring words back at me, and we’re not saying anything, not really. When’s the last time you did something crazy? Like, really crazy, like you were watching yourself do it and you couldn’t even believe it was you? That’s something fun to talk about, where you’re actually saying something, you know?”

Oh wow, she had those last few too fast. Her filters were almost completely disabled. A voice in the back of her head was reminding her of the inherent danger, but it was faraway and stuffy and annoying to listen to. As long as she didn’t start running her mouth about being a fugitive, she’d be fine.

“Something crazy?” the woman said, and it look Callie a moment to remember what she had asked. “I guess it’s a been awhile.” She shrugged, self-deprecating, shy, and took a sip of her pink drink and cleared her throat, like she didn’t like the taste. “I’m pretty boring.”

“You’re pretty pretty,” Callie quipped, proud of herself. “You wanna go somewhere?”

She raised a single eyebrow.  “You don’t waste any time, do you?”

“I don’t do anything but waste time.” She leaned forward on the barstool, careful not to go too far and face plant. “What do you say?” she purred, and put her hand on the woman’s knee to see if the sweet thing would shy away.

She didn’t. She only angled her body closer, meeting her gaze without embarrassment this time – warm grey eyes, like a summer storm. "I never do this sort of thing," she admitted.

Oh, of course not - they never did. "Don't you worry, baby," she hummed, enjoying the dance. "You just follow my lead."

--

For someone who didn’t “do this sort of thing,” whatsherface was a fast learner. So much so that Callie was so thoroughly spent afterward, she didn’t even care if the lady spent the night, so long as she didn’t snore - and that was the whole blessed point, to get the feelings fucked out of her so she could get some fucking sleep.

That was the last thing to flit through her head until she woke, sometime later, to something hard and cold closing around her wrists. It stuck her hands together behind her back; a hand clamped over her mouth.

Panicked, she reached reflexively for Peter’s magic to defend herself. Nothing happened – nothing – except an explosion of pain in her chest like she’d backfired on herself. Someone pushed her onto her stomach, planted their knee between her shoulder blades.

“Easy, Callie,” said the same soft voice from the bar. “I’m gonna put a needle in your arm, and if you struggle, you’ll hurt yourself. Nod if you understand.”

Her own name shocked her into stillness, more than the pain, more than anything. No one had called her her name in years. No one should know it.

She nodded.

“Good,” the woman said.

There was a sharp pinch, and then nothing at all.

.

.

.

- Riley -

Given all the fuss about Callie Ray, it shouldn’t have been this easy. 

The sensationalized portrayals from the news were all wrong - this was not someone ruthless, calculating, or even particularly competent.

The original plan was to obtain new samples to work with - hair, skin, saliva, blood. Peter’s DNA was only half the puzzle. Could anyone do what she did? Or was she uniquely capable of it and if so, why?

Her plan had expanded in scope, but this small part, sample collection, was still relevant. It was now undoubtedly Callie Ray lying unconscious, her glamour fallen away, red hair spilling like rivulets of blood over the dull, dirty sheets. She’d be out for awhile.

Riley grabbed the keys Callie had thrown onto the junk-strewn table on their way in and went to get her bag. She let herself back in minutes later and cleared a space for herself to work.

She got the woman dressed - it was the decent thing to do. There wasn’t much around in the way of comfortable clothes, but she managed to find a t-shirt and pair of worn leggings that would do the job. Callie didn’t seem to own pajamas.

Riley wasn’t out to frighten or torture the woman - in fact, now it’d be best if Callie felt safe with her. A tall order, given what she’d just done, but when she woke up with her magic dampened, they'd have a proper, civil conversation.

#AAAAAA I'M DOING IT #oc: callie #oc: riley #my ocs #writebrl #my wip #original novel #original fiction #original writing #my art #original art #writing excerpt #writing #writing community #THIS IS SUCH A LIL BABY PIECE BUT IT'S THE BEGINNING OF ONE OF MY FAVE ARCS #tw: alcohol #tw: sex #tw: swears

[tessatechaitea]

Text Adventure Review: “Border Zone”

The main reason I'll probably need to pause the game is to masturbate when I meet the sexy double agent and type, "Fuck sexy double agent then fall asleep".

In the picture above, try not to read the three chapter titles because there's a spoiler in the third one that says "The Assassination." I'm going to forget that's a plot point and start playing "Chapter 1: The Train" because Marc Blank suggested that's what I do. CHAPTER ONE The protagonist (that's you! The person you play in the game! Or it's me! I'll probably go back and forth using first and second person pronouns so please don't be confused by my amateurish writing style) is just a regular non-spy person who does a little importing and exporting across the Iron Curtain. This game is from 1987 so nobody remembers what the Iron Curtain is anymore. It really wasn't that important anyway, at least not to those of us living on the Western side of it and never had to really think about its implications on the people trapped on the Eastern side of it. Am I supposed to have enough time and compassion to worry about the state of other peoples' worlds when I can barely keep my world from disintegrating?! If you want Levi's, people dumb enough to be born in countries annexed by the USSR after World War II, maybe you should have thought about that up in heaven when God was asking you what uterus you wanted your soul implanted in! Idiots. The train story begins, as all good espionage train stories do, with a probably dying secret agent breaking into your compartment to hand you the documents that will stop the assassination if only you can get them to another secret agent by responding to a coded phrase with a coded phrase of your own. I think I've practically got this part of the game won! Except I've forgotten both of the phrases already. I should probably restart and make a note of them, right? Okay, I've figured out what the secret agent will say to me and what I have to respond and I've even translated the sayings into Frobnian because I understand how Infocom games use their non-digital printed material as copy protection! Somebody without the phrase book that comes with the game wouldn't realize that the American agent is telling you the English codes but his contact is Frobnian! I'm so far ahead of Marc Blank right now he would say something like, "Whoa! That guy is super far ahead of me! And totally not a virgin." As an experienced business man who has dealt with border control for my entire business life (the fictional me in the game! What, you think I actually work for a living?!), I know that I can't just keister the document. The searches at the border are brutal. And I don't have a fake mustache so I'm flummoxed already. Plus the wounded agent left a big blood spatter on the floor of my cabin. So to even make it out off the train so I can meet my contact, I've got to clean up the blood and figure out what to do with the document. The blood was easy but to keep the document, I had to get caught a few times to figure out where the evil trench coat wearing man's interrogation weaknesses lay! Or lie (I knew I should have phrased that differently. Stupid lie/lay is worse than who/whom). Because apparently even if you flush the document down the toilet underneath a huge nervous stomach shit, the border patrol will dig it out and bust you. So I cleaned up the blood by doing all of the boring and inane steps like turning on the faucet and wetting the towel and turning off the faucet and scrubbing the floor and returning to the bathroom and flushing the towel. In Infocom games, it isn't enough to just tell the protagonist to clean up the blood and then, like a normal adult human being, the protagonist would think, "Oh yeah! I know how to do that! Let me get right to it!" I guess Infocom games are less about ordering some jerk around and more trying to pretend that you are that jerk and that that jerk is kind of stupid. After cleaning the blood, I had to figure out what to do with the document. No matter where I tried to hide it, border control sniffed it out and traced it back to me. So the only thing to do was to tear it up and shove it up my ass! I mean throw it out the window. But that meant I couldn't complete my mission which really wasn't my mission anyway and why did I care if some ambassador was assassinated?! I didn't ask for this responsibility! It's not my fault if somebody dies today. It's the fault of the clumsy American agent who got himself shot, stumbled upon a useless dolt to complete his mission, and then fell off the roof of the train! I should just throw the document out the window and get on with my life! And maybe I will! But before I did that — you know, just in case my conscience berates me continuously for the rest of my life — I figured I should probably keep some photographic evidence of the document. After doing so, I couldn't help worrying about how there was another picture left on the roll of film and I was probably going to have to completely restart this stupid game when I realized I needed to take one more picture before removing the film and hiding it up my ass from the border patrol. Stupid Infocom games always have me worried that I'm in a walking dead with a roll of film up my ass scenario! Being the super chill American businessman turned spy kind of Lothario I am, I totally and easily complete my new mission and probably fuck a hot double agent too! But not the young girl I handed the roll of film to! The double agent was probably older than that!

I know this screenshot is different from the previous screenshot! But the Apple IIe copy I found crashed when you examined your clothes or photographed the document. And the Commodore 64 version seems to think people who play Infocom games are already wasting their lives so why not make every move take an interminable amount of time. So I wound up playing the browser MS-DOS version on Archive.org.

For an Infocom game, that first chapter was simple! All you had to do was act like a boring idiot who totally wasn't involved in political espionage at all and you succeeded! I bet every nerd who tried their hand at this game beat Chapter One. But the next chapter will be different because the player takes on the part of the American spy! What greasy nerd knows how to act suave and sophisticated and super sexy? I mean aside from me! I was born to play this role! CHAPTER TWO You begin the story of the American Spy after he falls from the roof of the train. He claims he jumped for it but when I was the businessman, I know what I saw! I'm a clumsy oaf! I mean he's a clumsy oaf! No, wait. I guess I am the clumsy oaf! And I'm not clumsy at all! I totally jumped for it and looked hot doing it. Now I just have to survive the freezing weather and try to get past the border patrol or else I'll die out here in the ... BORDER ZONE! Hopefully I'll also get another chance to fight my rival Viper to the death! Ew, I'll show him! Or her! Or not! After playing this chapter for about ten minutes, I realize it does every single thing I don't like in text adventures: time limit, characters that go about their business while you're off in other areas, and a puzzle that relies on knowing so much about the timeline that you have to play the scenario dozens of times to work it all out. I feel like I've got the gist of what you have to do (although I'm probably wrong on one key point because I haven't played more than a handful of times) but I'm not sure I'm willing to keep at it. After you bail from the train, the border guards begin searching for you. So you've got some guys in a vehicle driving around and a pack of dogs (not to mention the searchlights and fences at the border) hunting you down. Early on, you have to get to a small house because it has a parka in it to keep you from freezing to death. You have to time this with when the guards arrive to talk to the owner so he's distracted while you sneak in the back. There might be more to do inside the shack other than gather up all the crap in the storage room but, as I mentioned, I haven't really explored the scenario yet in multiple ways. As a spy, you have an explosive pen on you. It has a timer which means I have to figure out how long to set the timer for and where to stick the pen to get something further in the story to happen. I feel like I have to stick it on the guard's automobile so that it explodes near the border, distracting the guards at the spotlights so I can make a run for the other side. Realizing that that might be the solution is what has really made me dread continuing with this game. Another puzzle is to get the dogs to stop following you. I'm fairly certain you do that just by putting on the work boots and trudging through the swamp a ways before leaving the swamp in a new location and leaving the boots behind. If there are any other puzzles (aside from staunching your bleeding gun shot wound), I haven't found them. I suppose the biggest one is sneaking about to get the pen on the guard's car and figuring out how long to set the timer for. Do I want to bother with that? I feel like that's the big puzzle that allowed Infocom to tack on hours and hours of gameplay to Border Zone. Because now I have to follow the car around to see where it goes and how long I'll need to set the timer for and where I'll need to be when the pen blows up. I have other things to do with my life, Marc Blank! I mean, they're not very important things. But they're things I'd rather be doing than messing around with the timer on my imaginary explosive pen! I'm not cut out to be a spy, especially when that spy has to know things he couldn't possibly know on the first playthrough of this game. Does Marc Blank know how real life works?! Oh, your argument is that this is a game and not real life and that maybe I should chill out about it?! Well if this game is a game and not real life, why the fuck does everything keep moving along even when I'm not entering any commands?! Who wants to play a text adventure like that?! Even Bioshock doesn't demand that kind of effort out of the player. Bioshock is the only other game I could come up with. It isn't even a fair comparison. If Border Zone were a first person shooter, I'd absolutely finish this chapter! I could see the guards moving and physically hide from them. I could observe how everything moves in the game by following them around. But in a text adventure, it's fucking impossible. Sure, the game tells me if the dogs are to the north or the west. But when I'm hiding behind the shack, it sure would be a lot easier to figure out what I'm doing if I could see the guards interacting with the owner of the shack and milling about searching the premises! I don't think my imagination is good enough to handle this bullshit tension. I'm so fucking stressed out right now!

Apparently you can get close to the border without doing any of the stuff I previously mentioned except stealing everything from the storage room.

It doesn't seem like I've done enough before getting to the border but I guess I should explore this area a little more before writing Marc Blank a letter about how terrible some of his decisions were early in his career. I suppose I need to use my explosive pen here to blow a hole through the fence which I won't be able to climb through because the guards will hear it. Unless I time the explosion to blow when both guards are at the same spot, killing them? Then can I rush through in the chaos?! Figuring out the answer to that means doing math, I bet! That's because you get a timer and a little ASCII display of the guards' motion as you watch them. This is way too hard! I miss the Infocom days when you could just type "kill thief with sword" and hope the random number generator gave you a good result. Once you get through the fence, you can climb up a guard tower where there's a bolted ladder leading up to a locked door with a guard inside. But even if you can hide on the metal bit bracing the ladder, knock on the door, and shove the stupid guard off of the tower, you still can't jump across the border from the top of the tower. You just wind up dead. Which is when I thought, "Hey! I need the exploding pen for this part! I bet I can just climb over the fence and save the explosives for this scene!" And I was almost completely and absolutely right except for a few small details which would have frustrated the fuck out of me if I hadn't gotten completely lucky on restarting Chapter Two to try out my new solutions. You see, there's a small shed in the forest near the shack. A small shed that is almost impossible to find due to my apathetic attitude toward mapping Border Zone and the way every location is described as "You move 100 yards north and find you're still in the snowy forest. What did you expect, jerk?!" Sure, the shed has been drawn on the map that came with the game so that people who actually purchased Border Zone would have explored long enough to find it. And I have access to that map because everything is free on the Internet. Right? Am I making a terrible assumption there? Um, anyway, when I restarted, due to not having mapped, I couldn't remember exactly how to get to the shack before the guards got there. While stumbling around lost, I found the shed with the rubber gloves and bolt-cutters inside. And like in most text adventure games that aren't Infocom, the main puzzle was simply finding the right items where they were hidden. Because as soon as I found the bolt-cutters, I knew I had this chapter beat. What I didn't know was that the border fence I'd previously blown up to get through was electrified! Luckily, I had found the rubber work gloves right there with the bolt-cutters. Marc Blank practically gave that puzzle's solution away for free! Idiot. He should have hid the gloves somewhere in the forest where you weren't ever clued in to dig in the snow. That's more like a proper 80s text adventure! Of course, that's not Infocom's way! Infocom wants you to succeed! They want you to realize you wasted the pen explosive and needed a new solution where you use the pen to blow up the tower so that it falls over the border fence with you inside of it! But at least in the actual solution, you still get to push that stupid Frobnian Nazi off of the tower. Eat snow, grumblebutt!

I'll accept my Champeen of Infocom crown now.

Chapter Three The first two chapters were way too easy for Infocom games so I'm really nervous about this third chapter. Have I just gotten more brilliant as I've grown older or did Marc Blank save all of his dreadful Infocom ingenuity for this final chapter?! Hopefully this chapter doesn't have dozens of NPCs whom I've got to track across multiple playthroughs just to figure out where I should be every minute of the scenario. I really do prefer text adventure games with static environments that simply react to the things I do. I'm already stressed out thinking about my race against the clock to save the ambassador! Remember when I didn't even care if the ambassador died during the first chapter?! Why am I suddenly invested in saving that asshole?!

In this chapter, I'm the sexy double agent!

The sexy double agent is also — and this is a huge spoiler for all you Infocom fanatics who just haven't, for some reason, gotten around to playing all of the Infocom games — Viper, the man in the trench coat trying to get the documents back from the importer/exporter in the first chapter! If that's the case, you'd think I could just go to a coffee shop and hang out for the rest of the game. If I'm trying to stop the people trying to stop the assassination, then can't I just stop trying to stop those people so they can stop the assassination?! Maybe if I just hit "z" and "enter" until this chapter ends, everything will work out for the best! Seventeen in-game minutes later, the ambassador has been shot and killed. What the fuck?! How incompetent are the American spies? I guess that's why I'm a double agent. Because I'm double the agent all of these other jerks are. I guess I need to get to work saving the day all by myself! If only that stupid American businessman had given me the documents, I could have saved the day myself. Except when I did get the documents in Chapter One, the game still ended with the ambassador getting assassinated. I should just get on with saving the day already. I bet when I'm done, I'll run into Topaz (that was my secret agent name in Chapter Two, apparently) and we'll share a deep, passionate kiss. I do run into Topaz chilling at a coffee shop exactly like I was planning to do!

I guess Topaz doesn't feel the same way that I feel about him.

Topaz is probably still important to the story, so I decide to leave him alone for now as I got about my double agent business of stopping the assassination that I put into place. It's actually not too hard to do if I don't mind sacrificing the rest of my double agent career. I meet my contact, learn the sniper's password, figure out what window he's sniping out of (by checking the apartment directory, you just have to find which eastern facing apartment is empty on the fifth floor (maybe other floors at time but it always seemed to be the fifth floor on my multiple restarts), and go shoot him in the back. But that puts a lot of suspicion on you and you wind up pushing papers in Siberia. Better to trick Topaz into stopping the assassination! I guess that's why you have to save his life in Chapter Two. To do that, you have to get him to chase you back to the sniper's nest without getting caught by him or the local police. At one point, you get to push over a hot dog vendor's cart so it really feels like you're in an action movie and also that you're a fucking prick. Once you lead Topaz back to the sniper, the difficult part was not also being killed by Topaz. After making him a huge hero, he kept shooting me in the face because he's a huge bastard whom I wish I never helped cross the border now! At first I thought, "Well, this is an Infocom game. It was bound to get difficult at some point! And I guess one or two moves away from completing the game is as good a time as any to get stuck." But then I thought, "Well, even though the sniper doesn't let me move or do anything, and the sniper's apartment is completely bare, maybe I can try to hide so Topaz doesn't fucking murder me when he kicks in the door?"

Oh fuck. Easy as that, was it?!

And with that final move to hide in plain sight, I fucking defeat Marc Blank! You stupid son of a bitch! You thought you were so clever, didn't you? "Oh, look at me! I'm an Infocom imp! I write the hardest text adventure games in the world and I only mattered for like four years in the mid to late eighties because I hitched my star to the most boring entertainment ever! Only stupid virgin assholes would keep playing the games I wrote, the dumb bastards!" Hey! Fuck you, Marc Blank! How did that Marc Blank imaginary soliloquy get away from me so badly?! Anyway, suck on this, Marc:

Seriously though. I can't believe I beat this game without any hints. I'm fucking chuffed.

SCORES Game Title: Not great since it basically drove me away from this game for years. I suppose if you're into espionage stories, it's a great title because it's so evocative of crossing a border! That's like the hardest challenge in the espionage genre! I think. I'm not a fan so what the fuck do I know? My favorite espionage movie is Run, Lola, Run. Does that count as espionage? I guess that's more heist fucks time travel while fingering romance's anus. Puzzles: As far as modern day Interactive Fiction "rules" go, the puzzles in Border Zone are terrible. Nearly all of them rely on playing through and losing dozens of times to see how the NPCs react to different situations. It's the only way to learn how they behave so you can act accordingly. But compared to a non-Infocom game, the puzzles were generally satisfying. Because of the way the game works, I'm not even sure some of the things I did were solutions to puzzles or just wasting my time. Did I have to go through the swamp to lose the dogs or could I have just done everything quicker? Were there alternate ways to solve puzzles or were things like the binoculars and the wood saw in Chapter Two just red herrings? Generally, once I saw the way the other characters reacted, it was long before I figured out how to thwart them. I believe Marc Blank was relying on some puzzles to be difficult due to the player losing track of the story. Like in Chapter One, you can get all the way to the end and still get caught when you try to pass the documents to your contact because you were wearing the stupid white carnation the entire time. But once you realize you seem to have done everything correctly and some guy on the platform is still following you, it's not hard to realize you need to not stand out and to keister that stupid flower until you actually need it. Gameplay: Fucking annoying. I hate adventure games where the story continues no matter what you do. I hate timed adventure games. Border Zone decided not only to use those two aspects I hate but to invent a third one that — Hey! Guess what?! — I hated even more: time passes even when you're not typing! Is there a word that means both "innovative" and "Goddamned fucking annoying as fuck"? Whatever it is, Marc Blank should copyright it. Graphics: Normally for a text adventure, I'd say none and be done with it. But this one did have graphics! It had a little ASCII bit to show two guards marching around the base of three towers! And it absolutely did nothing for me because the dumb guards barely even notice you when you cut through the fence silently instead of blowing a huge hole in it. Hell, even after blowing a hole in the fence, the idiots keep to their regular patrol only slightly more alert due to hearing an explosion. Concept: I think I more than adequately covered my apathy toward the concept. I will compliment Marc Blank for his work in making a game about a really stressful experience into a really stressful experience. Good job, jerk! Fun Time: I keep forgetting to track the amount of time it takes me to play these games. Maybe I'll get better at it eventually. But I think I spent maybe six hours (at most. I might even drop that to four or five) playing this game over the last week and a half? I did think about it more than that though. But not a lot more. And the third chapter which I thought would be dreadfully hard took the least amount of time of all. Probably not even an hour. The good news is that the amount of "fun time" I had with this game is equal to the amount of time I played it. That doesn't often happen. Usually the "fun time" gets expended quickly and I force myself to trudge through the rest of the game, adding the experience to the long list of things I'll regret when a doctor finally says to me, "You have three months to live due to your malignant finger cancer caused by typing."

#Border Zone #Text Adventure #Infocom #Marc Blank

[minsou-l]

Under My Skin (Demon! Namjoon)

Title: Under My Skin

Pairing: Namjoon x Reader

Genre: Smut

Summary: A sequel to this freaky thing. Like three lines of plot and then a sexy bathroom meetup.

Word Count: 1,764

You dream of him every night for weeks, long after you leave parents’ and return to the city and your life. Sometimes you only see his eyes gleaming bloody red against a pitch black backdrop. Sometimes it’s his hands, large and imposing upon the tender flesh of your thighs, the soft dip of your stomach, the swell of your breasts. Sometimes you don’t see anything at all, only feel him inside of you, feel his heavy breath against your neck, feel the darkness in him spill into you and fill you up.

Some of the dreams just feel like dreams, but others feel like visits. Those are the times when his touch and warmth are so overwhelmingly vivid that they haunt you until morning.  

Every night you awaken restless, thighs slick and eyes watery, achingly empty. You fight the urge every time, squeeze your thighs shut and close your eyes in an attempt to ignore your throbbing core. And every night you give in, dip your fingers deep into your damp heat until you climax with his name on your lips. At first you’re ashamed but it’s exhausting, being constantly disappointed in oneself, and you give it up early on. While the object of your desires might be morally questionable, there isn’t anything inherently wrong with your desires themselves. Besides, everyone wants something they shouldn’t at one point or another, don’t they?

You keep it under control for the most part; your newly unleashed sexual deviance. You get yourself off once, twice, sometimes three times a night and go through the day just fine. But it’s like a growing beast and the longer you go the stronger it gets. You find yourself adding more fingers, then toys, turning the power all the way up. Many sleepless nights are spent trembling from one orgasm right into the next, sweaty and breathless as you lie in bed.

It all comes to a head one fateful rainy Tuesday when you’re at work.

It’s early in the day and you’re typing away at your desk, fully engrossed in the mindless monotony that keeps the bills paid when a strange sensation washes over you. It’s the opposite of a shiver, liquid warmth shooting down into your belly instead of a chill. You cross your legs against it and turn back to your work stubbornly. But it spreads, a warm tingle overtaking your lower half altogether and rising, causing your clit to throb in time with your hardened nipples. A small sound escapes your lips. It goes unnoticed by your coworkers, but you don’t think you can go through the rest of the workday without doing something about the arousal simmering under your skin.

In a bit of a rush, you save the file you are working on and rise from your desk. There is a handicap bathroom on the third floor that goes mostly unused and you make your way there as discreetly as you can, avoiding the eyes of everyone in the hall lest they try to speak with you. Once the door is closed and locked you lean against it and take a moment just to breath. You check the time on your watch and give yourself five minutes.

The hand you shove beneath your skirt in no longer clumsy an inexperienced. Your fingers slide inside your panties and find your clit easily, press against the sensitive bud with just the right amount of pressure while your middle finger slips into your slick entrance, curls up at the perfect angle to make you gasp. Usually it doesn’t take you long at all to come like this, but today it only seems to drive your arousal up. You chase an orgasm for five frustrating minutes, then six, then seven. When you finally pull your hand out of your underwear ten minutes later you are far from climax but close to a breakdown. You close your eyes and knock your head back against the door in annoyance. All you want to do is come.

A thought crosses your mind, a thought of Namjoon, a thought driven by desire and not much else. Idly, you wish he would just come to you, come fuck you against the door, fuck all of the arousal and confusion and turmoil out of you. You wish that he would come and take you home, keep you in bed all day, give you orgasm after orgasm until you were both too spent and sore to do anything but sleep.

There is the sound of fluttering wings, the distance clap of thunder. There is his voice.

“I can do that.”

You open your eyes and he is there, standing three feet away from you in the poorly lit handicap bathroom, looking just like sin and salvation. Part of you is surprised and part of you isn’t.

“Did I last long?” You ask.

“What?”

“Did I last long compared to the others? Did I take a long time to call you compared to the other people you’ve made deals with?” You clarify. You hope you outlasted the others.

“There aren’t any others.” That seems somehow significant. You file it away for further contemplation.

“Oh.” You clear your throat. “I…I need to come.”

“I know.” He murmurs, voice soft and understanding. Oddly, it settles something in you.

“Are you going to take me home?”

“Mhm. After. Come here.”

You go to him easily, unafraid this time. He hurt you, but you’re certain he didn’t mean to. He pulls you into his arms and he’s warm and more comforting than a demon has any right to be. You link your own arms around his neck and bury your face in the soft fabric of his t-shirt. He smells like spice and fire; you breathe it in.

He clicks his tongue. “Look at me.”

You look at him. His eyes are warm and entirely human. When he kisses you, you expect it and fall into it without a fight. It feels nice to kiss him. His lips are plush, dry but not chapped, and his mouth tastes like cayenne and cocoa just like you remember. You don’t startle when his hand slips between your thighs. Instead, you part your legs to allow him easier access. He moves his lips away from yours to press warm, damp kisses against your neck. You can only imagine how wet you must be when his fingers finally push aside the crotch of your panties and dip into your folds. His thumb brushes your clit carelessly and you shudder, pressing down against it.

“Please don’t tease. I need it-I need-” You feel frantic and unbalanced.

“Shh. I’ve got you, baby. Don’t worry.” He hushes you gently.

His fingers are significantly larger than your own, but one slips inside of you without resistance. Two fill you, but you need more, need to be full enough that you feel it with each breath.

“One more.” You beg.

He presses his middle finger in alongside the other two and that’s good. So good. A breathy little mewl escapes your lips and you can’t stop yourself from grinding down on his digits. He thrusts them in and out of your hole a few times experimentally before picking up the pace. At the same time, he rubs his thumb on your clit, no teasing this time. It feels incredible. Logically, you know he isn’t doing anything different to you than you were just doing to yourself, but something about his presence alone changes the sensations. Everything feels infinitely better when he does it to you.

You try to keep quiet, try not to alert the entire floor to the fact that your demonic companion is fingering you within an inch of your life, but sounds still escape. Breathy little moans and curses and his name over and over again.

“Namjoon.” You sigh, eyes fluttering open and you didn’t even know they were closed.

He’s looking down at you intently, eyes still a chocolatey human brown, but there’s something hot and dangerous simmering beneath the façade. You move your hips in time with his fingers even as you lock eyes. You bite your bottom lip to muffle a loud moan. There’s something about the look in his eyes that makes you feel wild.

“You should see yourself.” He says. “Look.”

You allow yourself to be maneuvered, allow yourself to be turned, even as his fingers stay buried deep inside of you. The mirror above the sink reveals an image of yourself that you’ve never seen. Flushed cheeks, hair a mess, and lips bitten raw from your own teeth. Your skirt is pushed up around your waist and your pretty light blue panties are pushed far to the side, revealing everything. Your pussy lips, swollen and glistening, parted around Namjoon’s fingers where they’re being eaten up again and again by your hole. All in the bathroom of your workplace. You’re embarrassed by your own shamelessness, but more than that you’re aroused.

“So pretty, baby. My little slut.”

You meet Namjoon’s gaze through mirror and whimper at the emotion coloring it. Possession. Pure, unbidden possession that shouldn’t make you clench and come around his fingers but does. You come harder than you have in weeks and it takes everything in you not to cry out, not to collapse and blackout. You bite your lip hard enough to draw blood and that somehow only heightens your pleasure, the salty metallic taste flooding your mouth. Pure pleasure. Wave after wave of it, release that you’ve been needing since you met in your dreams, washes over you, until there is nothing left.  

Namjoon’s arms are the only thing holding you up as you shudder and shake, blinking away tears as he draws his fingers away. When he brings them up to your mouth you let him slip them inside easily, sucking the taste of yourself from the digits while trying to regain feeling in your legs. He pulls them free after a moment, wiping them dry on the leg of his pants before moving to readjust your clothing so you are back to being presentable. He turns you back to face him and fixes your hair too, straightens out your bangs and presses down flyaways. He seals it with a kiss to the top of your head. The gesture is cloyingly sweet, not very demon-like. Significant.

“Thank you.” You say quietly, feeling weirdly shy and grateful.

“You’re welcome. Are you good to walk?” He asks, arm still secure around you.

“Mhm.” You nod. You feel steady, steadier than you have in a while. “Let’s go home.”

A/N: there will be a third part to this, maybe more, I’m just not sure when.

#bts fic #bts smut #namjoon smut #namjoon fic #namjoon #rap monster

[dinapaulson]

On Obsession With Mrs. Kim Kardashian West

Photo credit: SPLASH NEWS

#TBT to a celebrity think piece I wrote 2 1/2 years ago... 

August 2015

The self-assertive, media-as-life-force Mrs. Kardashian West is present and accounted for, met by grievance or happy sigh; the latter, you release when she posts her latest selfie (fortunately, you don’t have to wait long). It bolted from a sex tape and grew up in a famous family; the “it” being her infamy and evolution into the queen of household reality and indisputably of the selfie, of TMZ and talk show grit, as virtual reality character, fashion line entrepreneur, and endorser of food, beauty, and household products, and now as wife and soon-to-be mother of two. Naturally, she is also very good looking. 

Mrs. Kardashian West is everywhere, from front row at the MTV Video Music Awards to covering Interview Magazine with selfies in bed via the new 'smart' interview on FaceTime, to promoting brands and her lifestyle on KUWTK, at fashion weeks around the world, with her daughter resting on her lap during Hair & Makeup; add bookstores to the list, too, as she autographs copies of her debut book, Selfish, around the country.

You might think you’d escape her if you only watch NPR, but last summer she appeared there, too, on Wait Wait ... Don’t Tell Me! She drew criticism so sharp from its core viewers, one would think she announced a blindsighted peace deal with North Korea or a migrant policy even harsher than Hungary’s. Some insinuated they would boycott the station or were simply incredulous as to what standards the reputable 'real-news-only' station were abiding by that allowed them to see Mrs. Kardashian West as an acceptable guest. 

Check out the comments on a 2014 New York Times article covering her derrière. Whether or not these readers actually unsubscribe from the New York Times, the red-in-the-face frustration one might expect seemly outlier reporting to produce is replaced here by almost vehement revulsion. People really can’t seem to stand her--those that can’t stand her, that is.  

What Mrs. Kardashian West is not is an everyday woman, though she sometimes takes a stab at this, and sometimes, it does quite well. Her realest Instagram post gently defied those who attacked her body during her first pregnancy. She posted a message that resonates in the I-know-this-person-she-could-be-my-neighbor kind of way. Everyone’s bodies change during pregnancy, she reminds us. It’s the Cindy Crawford and Demi Moore shot, naked with the stomach protruding. It’s worth noting that her baring throwback launched a thousand copycats. Models from Marisa Miller and Miranda Kerr to singers like Jessica Simpson have posed in similar postures as expectant mothers. 

Of course, there is nothing simple about a naked body ever, and with the pregnancy bump, viewers are drawn straight into the embrace of the Madonna. Mrs. Kardashian West knows this well. What she has done is not only make her pregnancy look normal, but at the same time garner almost two million likes of “approval” with her stance. This is a good example of how she does everything that she does.

A few weeks ago, Mrs. Kardashian West announced to the world with two pouty, cleavage selfies that she reached 45 million Instagram followers, the most in the world. Less than a month ago, she had 42 million followers. That’s roughly 100,000 new followers a day--100,000 new followers a day. Compare her number of Instagram followers with other people you might imagine have high numbers of followers. Oprah--4.1 million followers. The White House--1.1 million followers. The Dalai Lama--152K followers. These giants are falling behind. 

While Mrs. Kardashian West, arguably a thought leader of her own modeling, isn’t necessarily saying globe changing things, she also is not saying things that are inherently harmful. Here are my comments on this--no, I have not read every post she has ever written on her social media accounts, and two, I say this in a very literal way--she is not promoting genocide or mountaintop removal, to my knowledge. 

She may be adding weight to the notion that women's physical beauty is the right hand requisite to sexiness and seduction, but is she alone in this? This is what many beauty publications, such as Cosmopolitan, are still doing. How much more harmful is she alongside forms of print and digital journalism that pit women subliminally against other women by creating charts and how-to’s, promising here is how and who can win the big prize, the big man? 

If you do find Mrs. Kardashian West attractive, isn’t it singularly about her and not a call for women everywhere to pose and post like that? Because you can’t is the subliminal message of her repertoire. This is the ground levelness of her strategy. Only she can do what she does, and masses of smartphone and tablet eyes worldwide have nodded in agreement. Inhabiting a fantasy is a frenzied, pleasurable if not frustrated state, which relies on the emotive, erotic tradition of seeking after thou that has been around since the beginning of warm-blooded humankind. 

Mrs. Kardashian West is the type of fantasy that leaves the lights on and windows open. Being married didn't close them one bit, which is (again, smartly) key to maintaining her Bertolt Brecht stage with fans. Hers is the most obsessive-making fantasy of all because her viewers will never be fulfilled--they will never be with her intimately nor, for her adoring friendship fandom, get to hang out with her one-on-one. 

And so, her followers will keep mounting, and people will keep watching. She has found the tick of the human genome. It’s easy to keep them coming back, ecstatic for new posts and photos, because she's always going to show up. She is fiercely loyal to her work (herself) and her fans, who crave her work (herself). 

Mrs. Kardashian West spills about her business ventures and work-out routines, everyday and special moments, being a mom, being a wife, and being a sister and an aunt. She uses a lot of exclamation marks. She markets her husband’s empire, promotes lifestyle products, and ats who she wants to bring into focus. People have taken note. Hillary Clinton just took a grinning selfie with her and her husband, Mr. Kanye West, at a recent campaign event. 

It seems to me if you despise Mrs. Kardashian West, she must represent something ferociously anti-feminist, anti-work, anti-genuine or a combination of the three. It is worth mentioning that America, with its complex narratives of celebrity bildungsroman, feminism, and the development of women at work, is bedding for the kind of success Mrs. Kardashian West, an American, has built. She once said in an interview, generally addressing those who say she is famous for being famous or famous for doing nothing at all, they should try to be her for one day.

I am not saying there aren’t lives more difficult than hers--I am not saying that by a long shot. What I am asking, is what is fundamentally different from her and another pop star who releases a brazen, sensationalist statement for shock effect and pulls in publicity? How different is she from other reality television celebrities in Los Angeles with her same social background who grew up in the spotlight and wealth she did? What sets Mrs. Kardashian West apart is her persistent work ethic at institutionalizing her own brand, which doesn’t make her much different, either, from a larger pool of more seriously regarded entrepreneurs who focus on one product to reach success. 

Mrs. Kardashian West’s product is, of course, herself, and in the end, it may be a matter of individual exigence deciding whether what she shares is valuable. From moral theory to opinion sprawl provided by google, hashtags, and trending topics, there is no end to determining what influences how we think nor least of all finding, in an information society, an environment that makes it easy to ponder, or even, remarkably, focus on our thoughts. Instead of preaching so much dislike, live and let live isn't a bad attitude to consider, and possibly, much less exhausting. Mrs. Kardashian West as our 2020 First Lady, giving a speech in sexy entrepreneurialism? More seemly unimaginable things have happened.

#TBT #throwbackthursday #women writers #writers #essayists #kimkardashian #kimkardashianwest #obsession