#I can’t stop making niche memes
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no nut november — han (loser #1)
pairing: han jisung x fem!reader
tags: no nut november mini series, established relationship, ot8 inclusive, smut!!!🔞
warnings: swearing, open conversations about sex as an impulse/need, insecure reader for a bit, fingering, oral ( f + m receiving), slight dirty talk, unprotected sex, no nut november as a bet, needy!jisung,
inspo: kaili’s brain <33
notes: @sluttywonwoo and i are finally collabing after like five years :’). i’m so so hyped for this one!!! make sure to tell us what you think and place your bets on the winner🥰 😉
banner by @sluttywonwoo
{ wc: 5246 }
jisung and his friends were close. very close. they saw each other practically every day and would share everything with each other. it was something he cherished deeply, and he loved just how jisung he could be around them.
they never made him feel like he was too much—unlike most of the people he grew up with, and they even indulged him when he’d start talking about his niche interests or when he shared a new song he wrote. they were always supportive.
maybe to a fault.
“so, even though we can’t grow facial hair,” chan concluded, “i think it would be nice if we could at least make a donation to the charity.”
“what charity?” seungmin asked.
“weren’t you listening?” changbin yelled.
“no,” the younger said easily.
“hyung was explaining to us about movember,” felix recaps. seungmin just shrugs.
“i could grow facial hair if i tried,” he challenges.
“that’s not the point!” chan shakes his head. “will you guys make a donation with me or not?”
they all mumbled their affirmations.
“why is it in november?” jeongin quips.
chan just shrugs. “every months has things attached to it, i suppose.”
“november has another thing,” minho says, plainly.
“there’s national cappuccino day,” seungmin agrees with a nod.
“and fried chicken day!” changbin adds.
“yeah, and there’s a challenge to write a whole novel in the month of november,” hyunjin says softly.
“yeah,” jisung says, tone serious as he leans forward, “you’re forgetting the most important one. no nut november.”
minho smirks at him as the pair of friends exchange a look that says ‘you read my mind’.
“yeah, right,” chan chuckles, “the other ones sound like real things though.”
“it’s a real thing!” jisung defends.
“no, it’s not,” chan just shakes his head.
“it is!”
“do you know anyone who actually does it rather than posting stupid memes about it?”
“me,” jisung shrugs confidently.
the room fills with a chorus of laughter so loud, jisung sits there with a shocked face at the reaction he just got.
well, fine, he doesn’t do it. he’s never done it. he’s never even thought about it. but chan doesn’t need to know that, does he?
“why?” jisung said once the laughter calmed down, a few minutes after he last spoke.
“you’re trying to say you’re not going to have sex or do anything for a whole month?” seungmin tried to clarify.
“yeah, why?”
“it’s just…” he holds back his laughter, “…i don’t think you’re capable of that.”
“hey!” jisung exclaims. “i’m not an animal, i can go a month without sex.”
“oh, we all know that,” hyunjin laughs, “we’ve seen you go through a year long dry spell before you found y/n. but you got off every fucking day.”
“uh—i don’t—why do you know that?” jisung could feel himself blushing.
“we share a wall.”
the boys laugh harder. jisung can’t stop himself from cringing.
“hyunjin, please never say that again,” he tries to brush off.
“maybe you can not have sex for a whole month,” minho chuckles, “but you can’t go that long with nothing.”
“it’s not that hard!” jisung insists, unable to accept the fact his friends think so little of him and his self control.
“it is!” chan adds, “we’re used to doing stuff like that all the time, we can’t just stop.”
“yeah,” changbin agrees, leaning forward to give jisung the kind of look he gives him when he’s trying to encourage him. “none of us could do that.”
“hey!” felix quips up, just as seungmin puts his hand up.
“speak for yourself!” the younger adds.
“yeah!” jeongin nods firmly.
“you guys think you could go a whole month?” chan raises an eyebrow at his friends.
“i could, too,” hyunjin shrugs plainly.
“first of all, this isn’t fair,” minho leans closer, as if evaluating the situation. “innie is single. he’s used to not getting any,”
“—hey!—“
“—and most of you have girlfriends so you can’t just decide to do this without telling them.”
“most of us?” changbin quotes back at minho, “like you don’t have a girlfriend?”
“she’s just as competitive as i am, so she’ll do it just to show you guys we’re the best.”
“the best at not getting any?” jisung quips with a raise of his brow. the boys snicker.
“yah!” minho exclaims. “don’t start with me!”
“maybe minho is so confident because she never lets him get it anyway,” seungmin laughs.
“you think i can’t get some?” minho squares up, acting as if he’s about to take out his phone and prove his friends wrong.
“uh,” chan tries, hands up, “i think we’re getting off track here?”
“let’s put money on it,” jisung offers. he’s joking, well, kinda.
now that the boys have all doubted him, while simultaneously agreeing they’d be better than him at something, he has to prove them wrong. even if it is only trivial and honestly pretty stupid. jisung is never not the best.
“how much?” felix rubs his hands together.
“enough for the winner to get a nice weekend away with his partner,” hyunjin suggests, “minho’s got a point. they’ll have to go through it too so might as well treat them.”
“and what does innie get?” seungmin can’t help but ask.
“i’m single, too,” changbin croaks.
“you’re not,” chan rolls his eyes. “being too scared to establish the relationship doesn’t make you single.”
changbin smiles sheepishly at the raised brows around him, trying to ignore the pointed looks his friends are giving him.
“yeah, when are you going to just ask her to be your girlfriend? we’ve all met her already and we love her,” felix encourages with a soft smile.
“why is this about me?” he yells back. “tell jeongin to get his shit together and ask his crush out!”
“that can be his prize. a getaway that’s the perfect excuse to ask her out,” chan offers with a smile.
“so, agreed? no sex for a month and winner gets a weekend away with their lover, undefined partner, or unrequited crush, as a prize,” minho concludes.
“it’s not just sex,” felix points out, “no, uh, fireworks at all.”
“it’s called orgasms, yongbok,” seungmin says bluntly.
“fine,” he rolls his eyes, his cheeks dusted pink, “no orgasms.”
“we should exclude jisung from this,” hyunjin smirks, “since he was gonna do it anyway.”
“poor y/n,” seungmin tsks, “at least our girlfriends will get something nice for this torture.”
“hey hey hey!” jisung lets out quickly, barely breathing as he goes on, “if anything as your inspiration and true role model i should be part of this bet, too. and i’ll have you know i take amazing care of my girlfriend whether i sleep with her or not and no, sleeping with me is not it’s own kind of torture,” he says quickly, before seungmin and minho can say what’s so clearly on their minds.
they both let out a disappointed grunt at his words—confirming jisung knows them far too well.
“but we have to tell them we’re doing this,” chan confirms, “i don’t keep stuff from her and like minho said, it’s just cruel not to tell them.”
they all agree.
jeongin curls in on himself ever so slightly, before he says, “maybe just hyungs should do this, then. i don’t have a girlfriend so it’s an unfair advantage.”
“as the youngest your hormones are most active, so if anything it’ll be harder for you,” hyunjin says, comforting his friend.
what a weird way to comfort someone, jisung thinks. and then he says it out loud.
“it was actually very comforting, thank you,” jeongin glared at jisung, “but it’s fine. i don’t have to be part of the bet. i’d have no one to take to the getaway either.”
“don’t worry,” minho says quickly, “you’re playing. we’re not letting you sit this out just because you haven’t had the chance to make a move on that girl.”
“but—“
“—the more of us play, the harder it is. more people you need to outlive.”
“outlive?” jisung repeats with a gulp. minho simply nods at him, his face expressionless.
“right, shake on it!” chan announces, and all eight of the boys put their hands in the middle of the circle, each grabbing at one or two people’s fingers.
november 2nd
why did jisung ever agree to this? why did he even bring it up?
this was stupid. this was so so stupid. you haven’t had the chance to come over since the month started, and well, jisung got too distracted and engulfed by your presence that he didn’t have a chance to bring the bet up just yet. he didn’t know how to say it, either.
“i bet a romantic getaway with my friends on us not having sex for a month,” felt like a stupid thing to say. well, it was stupid. stupid!
it felt borderline ridiculous when you snuggled up closer to him on the couch, back flush to his chest as you played the next movie on your scary marathon list. halloween was over, but both you and jisung agreed there were far too many good ones to just stop once the holiday was over, so jisung was happy to let you keep working through the list the pair of you curated on your letterbox account.
“you’re so warm,” you said happily, moving in closer to his embrace. jisung planted a small kiss on the back of your neck, squeezing you tighter as you sighed.
“i love being like this with you,” you mumbled, moving your head to the side enough to plant a soft kiss on his equally soft cheeks.
“squeezed to your death?” jisung teased, squeezing at your stomach and your hips, where his hands were casually wrapped around you.
you let out a dramatic huff before you giggled at him, curling a hand underneath his bicep to push his arms away from you. he only let his grip loosen, but didn’t dare move away too much. you kept your fingers around his bicep, slowly pressing into the muscle.
“ji, all the time you spend away from me at the gym really paid off,” you mumbled, leaning down to kiss at his bicep softly.
jisung smiled timidly.
“uh, thanks,” he cleared his throat.
“i feel so safe in your strong arms,” you added.
“why do scary movies always make you horny?” jisung asked.
“what?” you chuckled, “i’m not horny?”
“you are feeling me up,” he pointed out, his chin gesturing at your fingers and the way they wrapped around his muscles.
“i can’t admire the artwork?” you huffed.
“there’s admiring, and there’s drooling,” he said, eyebrows raised.
“since when are you so cocky,” you sighed.
“does that turn you on, too?” jisung smirked. he was moving into dangerous territory, but he couldn’t help it when it was you. there was something so enticing about flirting with you, especially when you were sat so snuggly in between his legs.
“for the record, everything you do is a turn on.”
jisung swallowed. it didn’t go unnoticed to him that your thighs spread ever so slightly since this exchange started, or that you were much closer to his chest than you were a few moments ago. he had to keep it clean. “focus on your film, honey.”
you two still exchanged kisses, you still fed jisung snacks in between jump scares, you still laughed at all the kills together. so, it was just like any other movie night.
except it wasn’t—for the very reason you were pointing out now.
“jisung,” you began, tilting your head to the side slightly as he sat back down on the bed. he cleaned his room from the snacks and came back quickly, but it was enough time to for you to realise what happened.
“jisung? who the fuck is jisung?” he knitted his eyebrows together. “what’s wrong?”
“are you upset with me?”
his face reminded you of a surprised cartoon character, his mouth a perfect circle as his eyebrows met his hair.
“what? no, no. why? why?”
“it’s just,” you blushed, causing jisung to grab both your hands and trail his thumbs against your wrist soothingly. “we’ve never ever had a movie night without your hands down my pants.”
jisung laughed.
“stop,” you groaned. “i’m being serious.”
“my baby! my sweet sweet baby,” he teased, getting closer and closer to your face with his signature shit eating grin.
“it’s like an instinct you have, jisung. we watch a movie and you touch me. it was really weird that you didn’t.”
“stop calling me jisung,” he scoffed, “i’m not your friend.”
“you are now, since friends usually have normal, non-pussy-touching movie nights together all the time!”
“so you didn’t get touched for one movie and i’ve been bumped back down to friend status?” jisung gasped.
“i don’t know, have i?” you counter.
jisung notices the way you don’t quite let him hold your hands, the way that gorgeous glint in your eyes isn’t there. he isn’t too sure you’re just joking about this.
“hey,” he says softly, “are you being serious?”
you nod softly. “did i do something wrong?”
“why would you think that?” jisung exclaimed, pulling you closer to him. “where is this coming from?”
“is it because i didn’t put perfume on today? i know i’ve been getting more comfortable around you, i’m sorry i haven’t put a lot of effort in today i just thought we were gonna have a chill night so i didn’t wear my best clothes and—“
“—hey! hey! stop that now,” jisung shakes his head quickly. “i love that you’re comfortable around me.”
“it’s just, i don’t know, jisung. you’re always—“
“—can you not call me that—“
“—you’re always touching me in some sort of way and then i don’t see you for a week and you’re just not anymore?”
“why are you insecure? you know i love you,” jisung emphasised with all his might, his figure slumping until he met your gaze. you wouldn’t look in his eyes.
“it’s okay if you just weren’t in the mood,” you say quickly, realising your insecurities were indeed leading your train of thought. you owed it to jisung to be understanding—even if his behaviour was painfully uncharacteristic. “i just never see you not in the mood.”
“you’re making me out to be some sort of pervert,” jisung jokes, trying to get you to laugh. or at least let him hold your hand.
“but you’re my pervert,” you pout at him, causing his insides to crunch at the sight.
you always made him weak—and he was holding everything inside him not to tease you during the movie like he always did. but it was only his first try, he couldn’t lose already. and if he touched you, jisung knew he wouldn’t wanna stop until you were both spent and satisfied. he thought so hard about that, he didn’t stop to consider how you might see it. or the fact he never fucking told you.
“i made a bet with the boys,” jisung said quickly.
“huh?”
“we’re doing no nut november so i tried not to touch you because i don’t wanna lose on the second day,” he said in one big breath.
“that was too fast, rapper boy,” you pointed out, unable to catch half the words he said.
jisung repeated himself, slowly, feeling the blush creep up his neck as he spoke clearly and carefully.
“what did you bet on?”
he felt his eyes gap again. that was your first question?
“a romantic getaway for the couple that wins.”
“and where will changbin go for his getaway, do you think?”
“what?” he gasped. “i’m taking you on a romantic getaway.”
“no, you’re not,” you laughed, amused at his incredulous face.
“what does that mean?”
“ji,” you giggled, lacing your fingers together, “i have never met anyone as insatiable as you. even if you can somehow hold off sex for a month, you really think your impatient dick will be able to stay calm for that long?”
jisung felt heat rushing all over his body, coursing through him then all the way down to his crotch.
“i’m sorry i made you feel insecure,” he tries to change the subject, ignoring just how dry his mouth felt all of a sudden, “please never doubt how much i’m obsessed with you.”
you smiled at his words, nodding in acceptance.
you lean forward, capturing his lips in a soft kiss.
jisung wanted to make it up to you, he wanted to make sure you had no doubt at all about how crazy he was about you—he wanted you to know this was just about the bet.
so he wrapped an arm around your shoulder and pulled your body closer to him, deepening the kiss as you sighed contently.
he ran a hand down your back, slowly, cupping your ass softly as he felt you smiling against his lips.
“so obsessed with you,” he mumbles into the kiss, “so obsessed.”
“i’m obsessed with you too,” you sigh, unable to quite finish your sentence before jisung slips his tongue past your lips.
the kiss is still soft, jisung’s tongue moving slowly against yours, but his movements are more urgent as he grabs your hips and pulls you onto his lap.
“my perfect, perfect girlfriend,” he sighs, kissing down your jaw.
jisung wants you. he wants you really bad. and he can have you. why not? the rule is, as felix put it, no fireworks. jisung is not the kind of man that can only have sex if he cums. he can just focus on you. he’ll just take care of you. that’s allowed.
“can i make it up to you?” he asks, eyes looking up at you as he moves your hair away from your face.
“how?” you cock your head to the side.
“i’ll touch you now, give you what you so clearly missed out on,” he chuckled.
you nodded instantly, biting your lip.
“you sure you can?” you ask, no hint of teasing in your words. you know how competitive jisung is, and you also know he really doesn’t have much self control. you wouldn’t want him to lose just because you were feeling a little insecure lately.
“yeah,” he nods. confidently.
you lean down to kiss him again.
jisung doesn’t waste any time pulling your sweats down your legs and helping you shimmy out of them. he slowly presses you down onto your back, pushing at each knee to keep your legs open for him.
he trailed his finger up your thighs, slowly, smirking at the way your eyes fluttered at his action. he’s still jisung, so he’s still a fucking tease, and he circled your lips once and twice, bringing his finger in between your folds casually.
before you think to protest, he dips the tip of his finger inside you, his eyes gleaming at the squelching noise. it’s only the tip of his index finger, but it’s enough to make you want more—so you buck your hips up in a silent request.
jisung leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your hipbone.
“don’t get needy,” he warned, “you know we shouldn’t be going crazy.”
you nod, taking in a deep breath as you focus on the feeling your boyfriend is giving you right now. you know you shouldn’t be greedy.
jisung is spread out in front of you, his whole body on the bed—face in front of your exposed pussy.
he leans his head against your thigh, kissing at the soft skin as his eyes fixate on his fingers—slowly, shallowly, going in and out.
“faster,” you dare.
jisung obeyed instantly, the tip of his finger tapping in and out of your entrance in quick shallow motions.
“ji, fuck baby,” you start chanting, breathing fast as the pleasure starts to consume you.
“more?” jisung raises his eyebrows at you, his smile big and cheeky as a sense of pride follows his movements.
“please, please more,” you pleaded.
jisung climbed up your body as he kissed around your collarbone, planting kiss after kiss after kiss before he pulled your shirt down enough to expose your bare chest.
“no bra?” he gasps.
“i said i was more comfortable around you,” you shrugged.
“fuck, baby,” he chuckled, “be as comfortable as you want.”
he grabbed your tit, kneading the skin before he rolled your nipple in between his fingers—a loud moan escaping you. jisung leaned down, sucking the sensitive bud as you grabbed onto his soft hair.
“ji,” you moaned, “fuck, please. please.”
“what?” he asked, almost genuinely. he knew you quite well at this point and he was doing everything you taught him you liked. what was he missing?
“want you,” you sighed.
“i’m here,” he smirked up at you, kissing your lips softly before turning his attention back to your nipples—tongue moving fast against it.
“can you, uh, would it be okay if you—“ you stuttered, unsure exactly how to ask for what you wanted. usually you just told jisung to fuck you, but you didn’t want to ask that now. still, you weren’t quite sure how to word your next request.
“what is it, baby?”
“can you use your mouth?” you blushed. but jisung didn’t even stop to tease you about it—and instead buried his face in between your thighs without a second to spare.
you squealed at the coolness of his tongue, taken aback by just how fast he was going from the start.
jisung was good at a lot of things—but you didn’t think anyone could possibly be so good at giving head. he proved just how good he was at it every chance he got, and now, he was determined to prove that point one more time.
your fingers carded in his hair, pulling at the strands as he placed his tongue flat against your clit—moving it in a pulsing pattern against the sensitive bud.
you’ve never been with anyone who ate pussy like him.
you weren’t even sure what you were saying, too lost in the feeling to realise you were chanting your boyfriend’s name like a prayer, mixed in with a few swear words and some questionable noises.
but it was driving jisung insane.
he loved knowing he was making you feel good, he loved the compliments that tumbled out of your mouth without you even realising it, he loved how you always said how good he was when he made you cum.
he couldn’t remember the last time you were this loud for him.
as you tugged on his hair again, pulling him even closer to your cunt, jisung grunted. he was rolling his hips into the mattress.
“fuck baby,” he pulled away slightly, catching his breath for a moment, “i’m gonna lose my fucking mind soon.”
he kept rutting into the mattress as he sucked on your clit, moaning against your body and causing another set of swear words to leave your lips.
“such a filthy fucking mouth,” he let out, his eyes hooded slightly as he looked up at you, his hips still rolling against the mattress. “how does someone so pretty sound so dirty?”
“ji,” you whimpered, “ji, your mouth is so good.”
“yeah,” he sighed before getting back to his task.
after a few moments, both of you rolling your hips in search of more friction, you started to whine.
“i’m close, i’m so close,” you said softly.
jisung knew you needed more to be able to cum, and although he could’ve just used his fingers—he was desperate for more, too.
so he climbed up your body and rolled his sweats down his thighs.
“what are you doing?” you asked quickly.
“just let me feel how warm you are,” he all but sobbed, “just for a little bit.”
“are you sure?” you checked, glancing down at his dick. he was swollen, hard, and the tip glistened with precum. you weren’t sure he would stop after a little bit, especially considering he was practically humping the bed until now.
“wanna feel how warm you are baby,” he repeated, kissing your neck, “please. i’ll stop if i get too close.”
you nodded at him. it was all you wanted too, to feel the stretch of his cock inside you, but you could tell jisung wasn’t thinking clearly as soon as you noticed just how blown his pupils were.
either way—how could you care about the stupid bet he made with his friends when the prettiest boy in the world was begging to put his cock inside you?
jisung lined himself up easily, his strong hands on either side of your shoulders before he pushed himself all the way inside you.
the pair of you groaned in unison.
“so fucking tight,” he sighed, “so wet.”
“it’s from how good you are at eating me out,” you moaned, grabbing onto his shoulders as you pulled him closer.
“can i move?” he asked, his nose bumping against your chin before he kissed you sloppily.
“it’s up to you, baby,” you nodded.
jisung thrust up into you. hard.
you yelped.
“more,” you couldn’t help but ask.
jisung repeated his actions, once and then twice, and then he was rubbing your clit fast.
“oh my god,” you moaned, “don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop.”
jisung wouldn’t dream of stopping, not when you looked so good underneath him, moaning and grunting and biting your lip in pleasure.
he was focusing as best he could on thinking about literally anything else to push his own high as far away as he could.
he could do it. he could make you cum on his cock without losing. he knew he could do it.
and soon, your moans were getting high pitched and longer and then—
“i’m cumming!” you announced breathily, and jisung shut his eyes. it was one thing feeling you clench and pulse around him while keeping his focus, but he couldn’t possibly look at your blissed out face right now. he needed to focus.
once he felt you calm down, heard that little sigh you let out as soon as you relax, he knew it was safe to open his eyes.
“ji,” you chuckled, “that was fucking amazing.”
you kiss him, hand cradling his cheeks as you pepper more kisses around his face.
“happy to be of service,” he smirked at you. pride coated his shoulders as he kissed your cheek.
he actually fucking did it.
he took a moment to appreciate your expression, the sweat on your forehead, the way you were still taking in big breaths, your messy hair.
“fuck, i’m so lucky,” he let out. you chuckled in response.
“can i—would you be okay if i did the thing?” you asked, shyly.
only recently did the pair of you discover you both loved tasting your own release on each other. jisung would eat you out almost every time he came inside you, and you loved sucking him off after he fucked you. it wasn’t like you had to do it—but since this discovery, your aftercare reached a new level of hot.
“sure,” jisung nodded, laying down on the bed beside you after he slowly pulled out.
“tell me if i need to stop,” you said before kissing his lips.
“don’t worry, honey,” he smiled, “i got this.”
you nodded before sliding down his body.
you licked his tip softly, testing the waters, and hummed at the taste. the saltiness and your own taste combined together as you took more and more of his dick into your mouth.
you licked the shiny part of his thighs where a bit got away, sucking a small bruise into the skin. and then you licked his balls, and then you took all of him inside you.
jisung was quiet the whole time, his face scrunched in concentration. he wouldn’t even look at you.
“baby, you’re okay?” you asked, rubbing his thigh soothingly as you licked his tip slowly—still tasting yourself on his warm dick.
“yeah, baby, all good,” he grunted as he shut his eyes.
you took that as a sign you could keep going, and tried your hardest not to tease him too much. you just wanted to clean him off.
“there we go, my love,” you hummed, “all done.”
jisung opened his eyes with a smile, bringing a hand into your hair.
“thanks, baby,” he smiled, visibly relaxing in front of you.
“you did so well, ji,” you smiled, “so patient and calm for me. you’re gonna win this for us.”
you gleamed up at him, a big smile on your lips, and instinctively you found yourself bringing your hand around him as you stroked him twice.
“wait, wait, wait,” he said frantically—waving his hands at you.
but before you could question that kind of reaction, or even respond, his thighs had contracted in front of you as cum shot onto his stomach.
it was too late now, so you made sure he at least enjoyed it, stroking him in a pace you knew he liked as you watched the pleasure sink into his body.
“fuck!” he let out as he came down his high. “two fucking days?”
“i don’t understand what just happened,” you chuckled, sitting up. “was it something i said?”
“i shouldn’t have looked at you,” jisung groaned, bringing his hands up to rub his face. “your stupid cute smile.”
“really?” you giggled, “you could fuck me through an orgasm but me smiling at you was the last straw?”
“you know what,” jisung chuckled, grabbing the pillow next to him and launching it at you, “i wish you would bump me down to friend status.”
“you don’t mean that, jisung,” you smirked, reaching over to his bedside table for some tissues. you helped him clean up his now ruined shirt as the pair of you laughed.
jisung leaned up to kiss you, pulling you closer by the back of your neck.
“don’t call me that,” he whined as you pulled away.
“so like, i’m not allowed to call you by your legal name, i can’t smile at you, anything else?”
jisung rolled his eyes at you with a grin, leaning up to kiss you—tasting everything you cleaned up on your lips.
“two fucking days,” he mumbled again as he pulled away.
“get over it, ji,” you chuckled.
jisung huffed at himself, running a hand through his hair before he pulled his shirt off, letting you cuddle into him as the pair of you sighed into each other’s embrace.
his phone buzzed at that—pulling you away from your momentary post sex bliss as jisung read over the text.
minho: so how is movie night going? 😌
jisung: fuck you
“don’t worry, baby,” you said as you giggled at the texts on his screen, “the boys will never find out it was only two days.”
jisung grumbled at that.
“minho is a dick. and we all know he’s gonna win it, too.”
“sure, sure,” you patted his chest, thinking did it really matter that much? “i’m sure whoever wins will use their gift wisely.”
“oh wait, shit,” he exclaimed. you looked up at him curiously. “we were all busy the week of his birthday so chan said i need to plan a party for next week. will you help me?”
“of course, jisung,” you pressed a kiss to his lips.
“stop calling me that!” he chuckled, eyes wide as he shook you around by your shoulders.
you decided kissing him would calm him down, and it did—the pair of you kissing until you were both too tired to go on.
#skz x reader#skz x y/n#skz x yn#stray kids fics#stray kids x reader#han jisung smut#han x yn#han jisung x reader#han x reader#jisung#jisung x yn#jisung smut#han smut#skz smut#nnn#nnn skz#no nut november#all.works
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[ateez as tinder dudes]
this is a joke, but i’m also convinced that i’m correct, so… there’s that. also, don’t look at me, incorporating a fourth (FOURTH!!!) group on my blog. i don’t want to talk about it 🫣
hongjoong
he’s treating this like a portfolio. he’s got the max number of pics uploaded, and they’re all editorial, like he’s expecting to be scouted. is he repping a brand? is he just flexing that he’s got better style than you ever will? he knows this is tinder, right? no.
absolutely no bio, whatsoever. his age isn’t even listed, somehow. you know nothing about him except that he owns more than one cowboy hat, and honestly? that’s all you need to know.
you’re actually 98.4% sure that he’s a catfish — who just looks like that? — but that’s not going to stop you from swiping right to see if he did, too.
he did not.
seonghwa
he’s intentionally using pics of him with his mother, with kids, with small animals, etc. because he’s calculating. couldn’t be more of a targeted attack if the profile was computer-generated. frankly, you can’t say if it was or wasn’t. suspiciously perfect.
that’s where the tinder prowess stops. he doesn’t know how the swiping feature works so he’s swiped right on everyone. oops.
his bio has subsections — plural — with endearingly dorky interests laid out in full. he’s well-rounded and objectively attractive to literally all people. man is everybody’s type, esp. yours.
tragically, he has never once responded to a message, and he never will.
yunho
he must’ve made this as a joke, right? every picture of him is hilariously unflattering or a recreation of a meme or some childhood photo, except the last one — which is a meme. it’s something obscure that appeals to the sense of humor of exactly .01% of the population. you can tell by looking at him that he is chronically online and had unrestricted internet access as a kid.
his bio is also absurd. this dude has something like “my first words were, ‘this human form is limiting’”, and it’s extremely polarizing. on purpose. puts his whole personality right there, right from the get-go because it will ward the wrong people off and flag down the exact niche he’s targeting.
i feel like he’s either a lukewarm conversationalist that makes you wonder how the rest of his profile was so funny, or the first conversation is an incredible, god-tier bit — and then, when the bit runs its course, you realize that he deleted his profile, never to be seen again.
rip
yeosang
all of his pictures paint an image of someone hard and edgy, and you’ve got it all wrong. you’ve been fully bamboozled, bestie. that is a whole ass fairy princess.
always messages first and/or responds immediately, revealing that he’s the most “uwu” person of all time. seriously, what the fuck? people unironically use “hehehe”? in this day and age? ^_^
unexpected gem. the person he actually is isn’t someone you would normally shoot your shot with, but you’re not mad about it.
one of the rare few on the app who would rather die than find a hookup (the idea makes him itchy, okay?) but he will actually seek and find a future spouse, just watch.
san
most of his photos are of him and his friend (it’s wooyoung. of course it’s wooyoung), and the subtext is so confusing that you can’t tell if they’re looking for a third or are just guys being buds ??? what is happening, and why are you so into it?
the photos that don’t include his friend (boyfriend? seriously, what is going on there?) are all action shots because he needs you to know that he is athletic and built. you do not need to wonder what he looks like naked because he’s not wearing a shirt in any of them.
he’s got the stock photo equivalent of a bio. most uninteresting thing you’ve ever seen, so you do not hit him up.
you should have :( you would’ve loved him.
mingi
i regret to inform you that this man has the most cringeworthy online presence of all time. god, he’s so fuckboi-coded!! and you hate him for it, but you hate yourself even more for being into because you sure are, diva!!!
i feel like the song on his profile is extremely questionable, either because it’s some bizarre, ambient instrumental; by someone that’s been justifiably cancelled and you don’t know whether or not he knows that; or worse, it’s his own.
all of his pictures are group pictures. you cannot tell for the life of you which one of them he is, requiring you to go to the instagram he’s referenced in his bio — which is exactly the point. the instagram links to his soundcloud because it can get worse.
if you actually bite the bullet and respond to his shitty pick-up line, he’s the bbygirl to end all bbygirls. absolute heart of gold. you almost want to smack him for being so bad at marketing himself.
get him a PR person to straighten his shit out; mingi is fired.
wooyoung
this motherfucker has deleted and remade his profile 8,000 times because he needs to “reset his matches” aka has spent every waking moment swiping.
he probably pays for tinder so he can swipe in other locations — not because he’s looking for anyone, but because he wants people to look at him.
you have to wonder who took the photos because they’re sure as shit not selfies but they’re all vaguely chic thirst traps (it was san. of course it was san.)
when it comes to messages, he either communicates exclusively with emojis or gifs, or he only responds to compliments. small talk? NOPE. tell him he’s pretty or get out :’)
if you do wind up linking (because the whole conversation thing is a lost cause), he’s insane. you’ll spend one night with him, never see him again, and you will remember him on your deathbed.
was he a ghost or a fever dream? you’ll never know.
jongho
he’s only here because his friends made him, and he will make that crystal clear. nothing else will be, though. he’s either got an extremely dry sense of humor + is deeply ironic, or he’s genuinely that odd.
all of his photos are identical selfies (expression, location, angle, etc.) and the only difference is the shirt he’s wearing. is…. is that on purpose? is he being funny, or is he seriously that much of a cartoon character? WHO KNOWS.
tbh, he’s the dude that makes a profile, finds an IRL partner immediately, and totally forgets he has a profile because he deleted the app ages ago. this is tragic; he would’ve been just your type.
message him all you want, bestie. it won’t work.
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You know, being around Tumblr for like…5 years now, I’ve seen a lot of silly, goofy posts from fandom peeps making jokes and memes about themselves having to pretend to be ‘normal’ about a certain topic or thing they’re passionate about when around their friends, or wishing that someone else cared about their fics or OCs or whatever-else-have-you as much as they do themselves, so that they’d have a reason to share their trivia and go all out on the subject without being labeled as ‘cringe’, and like…yeah, they’re kinda funny, and don’t get me wrong, they’re definitely relatable to an extent, but…most of all, I just find them sad.
I know there are a lot of people — especially when making posts aimed towards fic writers — that’ll be like, “just do it for yourself!”, or “write/draw/create like no one’s watching!”, and that is genuinely good advice; I’m glad that it’s out there, because it is a very important step in being able to enjoy your hobby and/or your passion.
…But at the same time, something I never hear being said that I think really should is: while yeah, you should be able to create for yourself like no one is watching — in the sense that you should try to tune out the naysayers and just do what you love above all else — you should also allow yourself to be free enough to create like everyone is watching, in a good way.
Yes, realistically speaking, most people in the world right now probably don’t care that much about that super niche fic you wrote, or that OC you made, or whatever else it is you created or saw that you’re so excited about, but…so what? Who cares if not that many people have noticed it and given it the attention it deserves in your eyes? Why are you letting that stop you?
Go out there and make that ‘official blog’ dedicated to that creation you love, build that music playlist of perfect vibes for your OC or your favorite character, create hundreds of drawings and drabbles and fics and edits and posts and whatever else that you so want to do, talk like the whole world is listening with bated breath for your next statement about an update or interesting tidbit about that thing you made!
What is anyone going to do about it? Call you cringe? Send you hateful messages or make nasty comments? Delete them. Block them. Cut them off. They’re just a bunch of losers who have never learned a better way of coping with their own personal misery and unhappiness besides trying to drain the joy out of other people’s lives. And if you’re afraid your friends would do that to you — guess what? They’re not really your friends. There is a time and place for everything, sure, and there are going to be some people who enjoy doing different things with you more than others, but if you genuinely can’t just be yourself and have fun around the people you love without fear of being judged over something fictional or otherwise harmless, then you’re not in a very healthy situation.
And I’ll tell you something else, too.
When I started writing my most beloved fic of all, I had no idea that it would ever possibly get more than maybe one reader at best — if that — because of how extremely specific and niche the plot and the main pairing (and even the secondary pairing) was. I thought that it would at best sit on AO3 in silence forever and at worst receive massive backlash from a certain part of its primary fandom.
And I’m not gonna lie; it has received a few nasty comments over the years — but you know what it has mostly received? Love. Love, and appreciation, and support, and all of the things that in the beginning I never would’ve thought was possible.
I made an official blog for my fic, and it actually has a few dedicated followers that aren’t all just my close friends. I have playlists for it, I’ve made art, animatics, development notes on each chapter, I celebrate milestones with actual polls and events! I talk like people are listening, even when I’m not always really sure that they are, just for the fun of it, and you know…I’m happy.
And personally, I think that kind of obvious love and joy and dedication for what you do sells itself more than any type of attempt to appeal to the so-called ‘critics’ ever could.
Do what you love like others already love it just as much as you, and the rest will eventually fall into place.
#linklethehistorian#thoughts#my thoughts#fandom#but also#non-fandom#writing#advice#been thinking a lot about this lately#so glad I have good friends in my life who aren’t control freaks about other peoples’ interests and hobbies#but that’s mostly by design#and that support group took a long time to build#I’ve learned and grown a lot over the years and I hope that knowledge I’ve gained in the process can maybe help others too
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Hello dear Internet stranger, I just want to tell you that I’ve been following your blog for a few months and you make my fricking day every single time I go through it. Like it’s actually ridiculous, how I can’t stop laughing and smiling at your posts. Astérix was part of my childhood (outing myself as a native French speaker ew ouais je sais c’est dégueu) and I even got ridiculously hyperfixated on it for like a few months when I was around nine, and it just brings me so much joy to see you talk about it and meme the heck out of it like it’s just any other big tumblr fandom (it really feels like it is when I’m looking at your blog). Also I can really relate to being obsessed with a relatively niche thing that barely anybody knows about (I mean, in Astérix’s case, the entirety of la francophonie knows about it, but you get what I mean), since I never EVER shut up about Yume no Crayon Oukoku, even though it’s a 90s toddlers anime that literally nobody has seen.
ANYWAY, I just wanted to thank you for making so many of my days better and also for single-handedly carrying the Astérix and BD fandom on your back. You’re awesome, keep doing you! :) :)
Oh also Gaylois is canon (I don’t know if you remember me, I’m the person who said they were ace and you I agreed.)
Sorry for the late reply, honestly I've just been keeping it in my inbox to gaze at happily like a nice letter from Papa who's gone to war. This means very much to me, so thank you! I think I absorb speaking patterns from fandom Tumblr so even when I'm talking about stuff that doesn't have a fandom I make it "sound like it".
I'm so glad you like my posts!!! And Astérix!!
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re: my tags on this post, @psychicbluebirdmiracle wanted a list so here’s some of my favorite Robin Hood adaptations in no particular order:
Sidenote: most of these are either extremely niche and/or “you may think it’s bad but I think it’s good” because that’s just what my tastes are.
BBC’s Robin Hood: You all knew this one was going to be up here and if you didn’t, you haven’t been following me long enough. This is what gave birth to my brain worms. I’ve given a PowerPoint presentation about this which was three hours long. I have subjected other people to this show to the point that there is now a yearly celebration where we watch only one specific episode of this show and make memes about it. I am insufferable about this. The day I stop thinking about this show is the day I have lost all brain activity.
Back to Sherwood: I am once again reminding everyone that I have offered to exchange my firstborn child for the original English version of this show. The Vibes on this show are perfect and I will never forgive the people that cancelled it after only 13 episodes. Fun time-travel related hijinks? Sign me up.
Princess of Thieves: Who doesn’t love a Keira Knightley movie?
Disney’s Robin Hood: Listen, you just can’t go wrong with this one. Very solid all around. But there’s another reason I’m putting it on this list. My cousins (ages 6 and 4) were staying over with us on Easter and I put this movie on at one point to get them to sit down for a few minutes while my parents made lunch. My godson (the 6-year-old) asked me why I knew so much about what was going on in the movie and I explained that I watched it when I was young, and then my dad said that the movie is so old that he watched it when he was a child. It was a lovely inter-generational bonding moment over my special interest as my dad explained to my cousin about the different characters and how there’s a lot of different versions of the story.
Not really an adaptation but continuing from the last one, this YouTube video: Some of the best analysis on why most mainstream Robin Hood adaptations suck. This is why I mostly just like the versions that have good Vibes.
This soundtrack to a Swedish Robin Hood musical: I can’t even begin to explain how upset I am that I found out about this musical after it had already been cancelled due to the pandemic. I could have gone and seen it. There’s not even a DVD of it. At least we have the soundtrack which is full of bangers. Everything sounds as over-produced as you’d expect from the country that makes over-produced Eurovision songs, and I love every second of this. If you’re not going to listen to the whole thing, at least listen to Prince John’s song.
This even more obscure soundtrack to a Finnish Robin Hood play from 1997: Everything here is just Vibes. I wish I knew what the actual plot of the play was but these songs are great on their own. The fact that the singer from a famous Finnish band (Neon 2) sings a couple of the songs is just ?????A Choice???? but a perfect one at that.
Robin Hood: The Great Escape: My most vivid memories of listening to this play that’s a podcast is when my IBS was really bad and I was on the bathroom floor crying in pain, so I just put this on to distract me. Anyway, this one has good characters, interesting mix of different cultures and LGBT+ representation, and it all works seamlessly in a way that doesn’t feel forced. Definitely worth a listen.
Robin McKinley’s The Outlaws of Sherwood: I bought this book from my local library’s clearance about 15 years ago. It’s a solid fun adventure and that’s pretty much all I can say about it.
The Finnish opera adaptation of Robin Hood: The dogs in this are nightmare fuel and the whole thing is bordering on the “so bad it’s good” line. The lyrics are so weird at times, it’s awfully cringy sometimes but I love it so much. I own it on DVD and it has English subtitles so if anyone wants to watch it sometime let me know.
Carrie Vaughn’s The Ghosts of Sherwood and The Heirs of Locksley: I need a third part of this. These are a quick read, about 100 pages each, about the children of Robin Hood. And although the premise may sound cliché and childish, I swear these are so good and worth your time.
C.K. Brooke’s Marian: Princess Thief: Ah, yes, the “disappointingly heterosexual” one. Putting aside the fact that this book missed a great opportunity in making at least one of the characters gay, it has an amazing all-female-cast of characters (there’s a male love interest there too I guess, I don’t care about him). This book made me feel like how Sailor Moon made me feel in high school with it’s focus on the Power of Friendship.
That one Finnish audio drama that’s based on Finnemore’s version: Everyone sounds so horny in this one for some reason and the actual text is not helping. The theme song is a banger. It’s a shame the CDs were copy protected so I couldn’t rip the files for myself.
A black-and-white recording of a Finnish play from 1971: The fashion is so 70s it hurts my eyes. The songs are so bad. The plot is almost non-existent but I love every second of this. (I would have linked it but you can unfortunately only watch it in Finland)
The 2009 movie with a dragon in it?????: I don’t remember most of this except that it’s definitely in the “so bad it’s good” category. They just shouldn’t make high-budget versions of Robin Hood when low-budget productions are so much more entertaining.
Edale Lane’s Heart of Sherwood: I need to re-read this one because it had everything I could have asked for. A lesbian Robin Hood with a good story that was a fun adventure which still somehow made me very emotional. 10/10.
That one zoom-play on YouTube: I bought the novel that was made based on this play just because this was so entertaining. In a year I’ve only read about 20 pages of the book but the play was so good and at one point so full of twists I was staring at the screen with my mouth open for like 10 minutes.
I could probably include even more things from my List (I have a list where I collect all the different versions I’ve seen/read/listened to etc), but this is already too long and I ended up taking a few things out. I only included versions I’ve enjoyed the most but there’s still plenty of good ones out there.
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Tag 10 people you want to get to know better!
Tagged by @wistful-wisterias! Thank you! ❤️❤️
Relationship status: Single and staying that way. I’m not about that life lmao
Favourite colour: Teal! And every variation of blue and green
Favourite food: Probably tacos. I could eat my weight in tacos
Song stuck in your head: Uptown Girl. Love that damn song
Time: 9:30am
Dream trip: I would kill a man to go to Australia (I’m in love with the fauna), although I would probably instantly die the second I stepped off the plane. I do not handle heat well.
Last book you read: The Fox and the Hound by Daniel P. Mannix
Last book you enjoyed reading: Again, The Fox and the Hound. It’s a beautiful story, very different from the Disney adaptation of it.
Last book you hated reading: Uuuuuhhhh the last book I remember hating was Atlas Shrugged. What a godforsaken nightmare of a novel lmao
Favourite thing to cook/bake: I like cooking anything but meat, and I love to bake cakes and biscuits. I can’t bake for shit but it doesn’t stop me from trying.
Favourite craft to do in your free time: I have many crafts that I love to do, but right now I have developed a mild obsession with embroidery. Pulling apart and threading the floss makes me vaguely homicidal but the embroidering itself is very satisfying, lol
Most niche dislike: When my bird throws his food at me to get my attention. Brat.
Opinion on circus(es): Some of them are super cool, like Cirque du Soleil. Acrobatic stunts blow my mind.
Do you have a sense of direction: Absolutely not. I can kinda suss out where West is by looking at the mountains but otherwise I’m lost.
I tag: @chrisbitchtree @mortalprojection @writerwhowritesao3 @charleslucid @memes-saved-me @biillyhargroves @spaceboxkitty @ickypuppi3 @eternalgoldfish @thatharringrovehoe if you’d like to do it!
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{dane dehaan, 35, cis man, he/him} || joshua 'beau' bellefield is a mutant with the ability of pain illusion. they’ve been in new york for two weeks where they spend most of their time as a rockstar. when i think of them, i think of bruised lips kissing mom’s forehead, coffee with too much milk and sugar, flipping off the camera. they are affiliated with no one. [mango, 26, she/they, EST, n/a]
helloooo! very excited to be here! here’s a short rundown of joshua.
@c23intros
comes from a small town in nebraska, he’s the eldest of four (one of them being atticus!)
wasn’t really involved as a human being. fear of failure/disappointing miss mom and mister dad discouraged him from really trying...anything.
he sometimes played his dad’s old guitar (dad swore it was owned by jeff beck. no way, even the autograph on it looked fake.)
mediocre at school. could barely hold down a job. hung out with losers who littered parks and gas stations’ parking lots at night.
after his younger brother left to join xavier’s institute, joshua toyed with the idea of leaving as well. he couldn’t just rot there.
he and his loser friends gathered all their money and left to nowhere in particular.
with jeff beck’s alleged guitar and whatever other instruments they could get their hands on, they played in semi-abandoned bars in where-the-fuck town and other similar spots.
you could call their music...experimental. but since they hadn’t been booed or thrown trash at, they felt like the real deal.
it took them about two or three years to strike gold-- their biggest stage yet. an old library turned strip club turned restaurant turned back strip club bulldozed into a skate park, not too far away from fucktown’s downtown area!
...everything happened so quickly.
it was supposed to be a simple rehearsal; joshua would shred on jeff beck’s alleged guitar, his loser friends would do their thing, and they’d howl in excitement. end.
but the losers went on for too long. their howls turned yells turned screams. joshua joined in, sure, but he found it weird.
he had to stop after tingles in his body felt as strong as their voices. he could feel them inside of his muscles, in his bones. it was painful, but it felt good.
imagine this in slow-mo. joshua finally turns around to ask what the fuck was that? to the loser friends. two of them splayed on the ground, the third can’t even stop screaming. he drops jeff beck’s alleged guitar on the ground to run towards them.
...
well. two dead (and one no one wants to talk about) was enough to push the band into the spotlight. it would be foolish not to ride the wave.
it took a few years for joshua to even think about making music again.
years in which he got to learn his ability and how to properly control it. pain illusion, who would’ve thought!
that meme of marge holding up a potato and thinking they’re neat-- that’s how joshua feels about his mutation.
coming back to the music scene, he was known as the dude who lost his whole band. and the dude with the fake jeff beck guitar. allegedly fake.
now in his mid-20s, with a somewhat reputable discography-- reputable only in the most niche circles, of course. people come to his shows to feel. literally.
joshua controls his ability so precisely he knows how to tread the line between pain and pleasure. he incorporates it into his music, so really you’ve probably never heard of him. oh, he’s too indie. too cool.
he sends all his money to his mom, eats and sleeps wherever free food is served. really, too cool.
lately (about..ten years later), he’s realized he can’t feel. anything. is his ability taking a toll on his body? is he...
is this...
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@faeties said — 🍒 faeties and i want everyone to know they made me send this
send 🍒 + a url for positivity or else 🔪
stop snitching motherfucker you’re the (no homo... maybe some homo) love of my life and i need the world to know that so you’re just gonna have to deal with it >:((
seriously though, me writing positivity for you would just be an endless list of things that i admire but i’ll try to keep it short. there’s nobody that i look up to more, your kindness and strength is something that’s kept me going for a decade now. maybe it’s sappy as shit but, i love the way that you love! you’re so passionate about everything you do that i can’t help but be drawn into whatever it is, whatever the next fandom or hobby or even just random niche interest is. i could listen to you info-dump for months (and i have, please never stop) and i’d never get tired of it. you’re quite literally the only person who could have made me get into s.t.ar w.ar.s and that alone is impressive! but not just that, you’re the most caring human being i’ve ever met, both to me and to all of your friends. listening to you talk about them or anything just reminds me of how big your heart is. 🥺 the world doesn’t deserve you, and i stand by that. you make me want to be a better person every day, if only because i know you’re a good person inside and out. i will be pushing you down the stairs for the angsty meme spam tho, so sorry about that.
#yes im being sappy on main abt the loml#faeties#╰ 𝙰𝙽𝚂𝚆𝙴𝚁𝙴𝙳 ╯ ⋯ a story is no small thing#╰ 𝙾𝙾𝙲 ╯ ⋯ himbo energy but like ‚ lesbian
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A cloud of uncertainty looms over the crown of your head, when had it all went away? So quickly, so rapidly had time whisked away what little bliss your youth had left behind.
I used to be chained by anger, filled with blind, red-hot rage, when we first stopped talking. Coarse symbols and characters leave my mouth as my eyebrows would be knit in anger, as I went on and on.
But under that facade of outrage, I was just purely hurt. I did not understand then, but all I felt was shame and pain that our friendship ended so abruptly.
There’s something very aggravating and heart-wrenching about the break up of a connection. The end of something you know you can never have proper closure with, just incites a deep feeling of melancholic yearning for something better than this. Indeed all connections end in some way, just like how energy can’t die or be destroyed, it can only be converted or transferred to somewhere else.
Our stories together and the laughters evoked within us will live on in me like energy being converted. I try incredibly hard to bury deeply inside my mind, yet sometimes the worm of a single memory is enough to choke a sob out of me.
When I think of carefully crafted automotive, it reminds me of you. When I think of niche memes and long discussions of the discernment you feel, it makes me burst in contained joy, I think about the moments that I used to only want to share it to you. When I think about it all, I’m only ever grateful, because what better way to discover true and innocent love in the way we’ve cried, and the secrets we’ve harboured deep within us. The times where we talked about dreams, the past present and the future. How scared you felt when the dumbbell almost fell on you, the tiny bliss you felt when you finally got your new laptop.
I don’t think of you that much anymore, but when I do, I think about grateful that I had you, and how lucky the world is for getting to experience the wonders of your mind as I have before.
I hope you’re doing well, euvin.
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Some random thoughts.
You know, on second thought, some of this stuff is too random and niche. Maybe only the folks who want to read my stuff should see this. :)
--You know, James “Buster” Douglas did in fact beat Mike Tyson exactly once. It happened and the world DID NOT come to a fucking end. =)) Some people just really need to stop with their pathetic Kept God-Champion trip, it’s turned really shitty lately.
Having said that, if Theory does hire 2-3 bodyguards and then somehow cash in his prize and beat Reigns? I will laugh like 16-Bit Count Dracula, specifically from Konami’s _Zombies Ate My Neighbors,_ for the whole week Austin Theory keeps his strap. Yeah, it’ll only be seven days at most and long enough to establish a meme, and that’s it, but damn son, how chickenshit are some of you inbreds?
--Karens and/or radical feminists are the worst, at least of the bunch that doesn’t routinely murder people. And yeah, I’m lumping those two groups in together because they’ve earned that--they’re both groups of women who flip OUT whenever “Strange men” (usually older, or poor, or ugly, or Person of Color, or LGBTQ+) show up. They both have this habit of accusing men in general, and even boys really, of being rapists, sight unseen, just because of the junk they were born with. They act the same in spite of their “opposite” motivations.
But it needs to be said: some feminism, of the egalitarian sort, is a positive influence on society. It literally is what separates most of the United States from Saudi Arabia. Feminism lets separation of church and state function. I’m not an idiot. I get it that I benefit from feminism as much as most folks do. It just grinds my soul to dust that I, as an abuse survivor, have to put up with being accused of being an abuser, and that I, as someone who was molested as a child and teenager, have to put up with being accused of being a rapist. What the fuck even. I can’t believe I have to bash these paranoid-ass women just to defend myself.
--This band. _Gorillaz._ Their latest work. I’m not sure I can enjoy it. I saw their video for “Cracker Island” and to be candid? A large chunk of it appears to have the cast of the band in a psychiatric ward. Which in turn makes the lyrics about cognitive behavioral therapy, or at least how CBT is used and practiced here in the USA. Yes, there’s more to it than that--there’s an alien loose and things. But for the most part, I’m not sure I can groove along to the tunes knowing that the lyrics are going to make me a touch more paranoid than average? Yeah.
--And I’m still messed up in terms of some of my desires. But let’s be real here, my health and life are ruined. It won’t BE an issue. I wouldn’t know what to do with a romantic fling or even an autumnal flirtation if one landed in my lap and just GAVE ME what I wanted. But yeah, there’s no question that a certain niche I was once notorious for pursuing, it now back to growing again and pulling in slightly more people than average. =))
--Mainly I’m just exhausted from this summer. From having to wait so damned much for things to happen. No really, if political types WANT me to vote in these mid-terms this year, they could actually do things SOONER and not wear me out with CONSTANT hurry-up-and-wait bullshit.
But hey, what do I know, right?
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#I can’t stop making niche memes#my memes are self serving#BTS#jimin#jk#jungkook#yoongi#suga#Jin#Leo rising#Virgo sun#sag moon#Virgo#Leo#sagittarius
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I was curious what advice would you give to someone new to writing fics? I've been wanting to get back into it but haven't seriously written something since high school. I hope this isn't an annoying question or anything!
Not an annoying question at all! I'm just a little worried that I won't have terribly good or useful advice. To be honest, I also sort of stopped writing in earnest right as I finished high school, and didn't pick it back up until my late 20s. It's certainly an adjustment! But I think the few things that really helped me get back into writing fic as a hobby and something I spend quite a bit of time on would be:
Write for yourself first, then find your other motivations. My original inspiration in getting back into fic writing was that there just were not that many fics I liked for my favorite pairing, and I wanted more of them, and I especially wanted more with the tropes and characterizations I wanted to see. I think at the very core of anything you need that internal spark that drives you. At the same time, for me at least, if I just relied on my own drive, I would not get much done; I need some external guardrails. So having people send prompts, or writing for particular events, or writing stuff for friends really helps me to get my ass in gear and finish stuff. That may not be the perfect motivator for you, and that's fine! You just gotta figure out what is.
Be open to inspiration. Anything and everything can be spun out into a story with the right tweaking. Obviously stuff like music is a classic inspiration source, but I've also pulled ideas from poetry, from memes, from Reddit threads, from YouTube videos, from rambling conversations on Discord and from real life to make fics out of. So many times, someone will post a silly Twitter screencap, and I'll think, There's a fic in this. And a lot of the time, there is! Research is a wonderful thing, but so is serendipity. If you're out there actively looking for ideas, eventually one that you like will stumble past you.
Find your community. I can genuinely say I never would have finished more than one fic if I didn't have fandom friends to talk to about even stupid headcanons, to bounce ideas off of, and to encourage me (and to encourage them in turn!). Discord has been a godsend, and some of my closest online friends are people I met in the GaaLee discord server. As I've gotten more comfortable as a writer, I've also joined general writing servers and Reddit communities and have found them immensely helpful on both a motivational level (bingos, sprints, owe-me challenges) and on a craft level (plot workshopping and writing ethics and live grammar help). It's a lot easier to think about fic ideas and hash through problem moments when I have a constant stream of fandom-related chatter coming from the little people who live in my phone! Ao3 is an amazing website, and it's great as, well, an archive, but it isn't social media by design. If you want conversation and human connection and cheerleading, you've gotta forge out and find it.
Make it a habit ... If you want to produce anything longer than a couple hundred words, you really have to set aside time for it. And writing is just like knitting or dirt biking or painting little model figurines: the more you do it, the more easily it comes. When I was first getting back into the proper swing of things, I committed myself to 30 minutes of writing per week. Just 30 minutes. I didn't even hit that goal every week, but there were tons of weeks I got on a roll and went over that amount, and by the end of the year I'd written over 200,000 words. I used to spend an hour laboriously tip-tapping out 200 words, but now I can easily blow through 1k in a 50 minute sprint. It's all about training that muscle.
... But don't make it a chore. With fanfic, you aren't doing this as a job, and you aren't ultimately doing it for anyone other than you. That means you can take breaks when you need them, you can set deadlines and then fail to meet them, you can write stuff and then decide to never post it. When you start getting burnt out, when the practice loses the joy and energy, stop. There's no 'hustle' here. In our capitalist society we're so trained to push past our limits and keep going even when it hurts us, but the hobby you do for connection and relaxation and whatever else shouldn't be like that.
Ignore metrics. Sometimes stuff isn't gonna get hits, or kudos, or comments. There are some basic 'rules' as to the stuff that does and doesn't get traction, but every time you post something it's a roll of the dice. If you're focused on watching that kudos counter tick up, you will get bummed out fast. And any writer will tell you that the stuff you think is your best work will never be the stuff that gets the most accolades. So you have to find something else to give you a sense of success. For me, it's watching my wordcount go up in my stats and those occasional comments where someone has a lot to say and that one person who always leaves me a <3 emoji (and, shout out to @egregiousderp, having someone to have long one-on-one conversations with about the stuff that never made it to page).
Don't strive for perfection. It's really easy to want your first ever fic to be a complete showstopper, the best fic fandom has ever seen, hitting all the tropes and the ideas and the characterization that you just know fandom is missing and would be everyone's top favorite if only it was written. This is a trap. No one fic can be all things. Most people who want to write an epic as their very first venture will not see the end of that epic, because they haven't put in the practice hours to make something on that scale work. That's not to say you can't start out with a big, sprawling multichap, just don't expect it to be the greatest thing since sliced bread if you're just starting out, and be okay with abandoning it for greener pastures if you get to that point. Think of the first time someone makes a vase out of clay or bakes a loaf of bread. That's never their best vase or their best bread. If they keep up with it, they'll make more and better vases and loaves. Likewise, your first fic is probably not gonna be your best fic. See it for what it is: your launchpad.
You can't edit an empty page, but you can over-edit a full one. This kind of spins off of #7, but if the words aren't there, you can't fix them. Daydreams and headcanons are fantastic (and god, how many times have I wished for a speech-to-text engine that projected my falling asleep thoughts onto a Google doc for later perusal), but they aren't fic. If you want to write fic, you've gotta get comfortable with the idea of sloppy outlines and rough first drafts. You can't build a house without a frame and you can't build a man without a skeleton (I mean, you can, I guess, but he'd be one floppy man). The nice thing about fic is that it doesn't matter if that frame is structurally unsound or the skeleton has 18 too many bones, you can clean that up in the editing process. But you can't start hanging curtains and arranging furniture in something that doesn't even have walls. That's the process. But! Also know when to set down the editor's pen and say, "Okay, this is good enough for government work", and call it done. ("Done" doesn't have to mean "posted", but it does mean, "I'm done picking at this for now, and I'm gonna go write some more stuff".) Over-editing can make stuff seem laborious and forced, and it prevents you from actually improving. To continue belaboring the house metaphor, you can spend your whole life rearranging furniture in just one room, but the end result of that is a pretty narrow existence and a room with a lot of footprints and tracks in the carpet.
Write shit down. When you have ideas, jot them down--in a notebook, in a Google Doc, in the Notes app of your phone, in pen on the back of your hand. You think you will remember that brilliant line of dialogue or sparkling snippet of narration or genius plot that came to you in a dream, but you Will Not. Write it down. Write it down. Write it down! There have been so many times when a fic was completely saved by past!me having written down my shower thoughts about what happens next in the fic, that present!me had completely forgotten about and was floundering over.
Have fun with it! Try different stuff. Try stupid stuff. Try experimental stuff. Do stuff you've never done before that you aren't sure will work. It's important to get comfortable with your niche (for example, I know I'm never going to be the sort of person who writes intricate plots of intrigue or super long 100k epics or detailed battles), but you can't find that niche unless you explore lots of different niches! Figure out what you love and what you absolutely hate, and then keep doing the stuff you love.
Okay, so that was actually TEN things, but ... I hope you still found this helpful. Feel free to send another ask if any of this was confusing or unclear. Good luck with your fic writing and, if you want, send me a link to what you've written once you've written it! I'd love to read it.
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My Name is Bot
Text-generating neural networks can do a lot more now than they used to. When I first started generating things with neural networks, sentences and even simple phrases were mostly beyond them (that didn’t stop me from trying, with hilariously inept results). But now programs like GPT-3 can keep track of much larger blocks of text, capable of writing multi-question personality quizzes (as long as you don’t mind that the tests make no darn sense).
Now here’s one I’ve wanted to do for a while: there’s a form of poetry called bredlik, introduced in late 2016 CE by Sam Garland after a cow was discovered licking the loaves at a bakery:
my name is Cow,
and wen its nite,
or wen the moon
is shiyning brite,
and all the men
haf gon to bed -
i stay up late.
i lik the bred.
With its pseudo-Chaucerian spelling and meter of strict iambic diameter, bredlik is one of my favorite things the internet has produced. And, now that the interest in bredlik has declined from “very niche” to “virtually none”, it’s the perfect time for me to see how a state-of-the-art neural net does at generating bredlik poems.
I gave GPT-3 15 example bredlik poems, focusing on those that stuck to the standard 8-line length. I also included a (subject, verb, object) header to each poem so I could specify the topic. The cow poem above, for example, got (cow, lick, bread) as a header. Then I gave GPT-3 a few headers to add to, and here’s what it produced:
(giraffe, trick, bot)
my name's giraf,
and on the veld
i lik to pley
with bouncing gait
but when it's cold
i shiver, no.
my tunge wil bach,
i trip the bot.
(bot, make, memes)
my name is bot
and wen i memz
i go into the street
i maek the sound
lik dok dok dok
lik boom boom boom
but all at once
i see a meme
and i can't meme.
It’s close. It’s soooo close. Terrible, though. It does make an effort to match my prompt, even when I sabotage it with way too many syllables or something:
(cat, eat, broccoli)
my name is cat,
and wen i feel
the smell of treat,
i jump up fast
from box or seat,
and run and leap
and seize the feep,
and say, yum, meep!
(moon, moon, moon)
my name is moon
and wen it’s night
and stars are out
and you don’t see
a single sound
I am the one
to set your heart
I moon the moon
It occasionally gets the rhythm right, though it’s curiously bad at counting lines. It tries to do the pseudo-Chaucerian spelling but some of its misspellings are so weird that I suspect it’s just making up words. Other times it uses real archaic English, which is not the point of bredlik but it’s still kinda cool that it drew the parallel. Note that it is also almost following the rhyming scheme, especially if you take some liberties with how you pronounce the made-up words. For the rest of the poems in this post, GPT-3 generated not just the poem, but the prompt as well.
(Sheep, graze, name)
My name is Sheep
and wen it’s nyght
i like to bleepe
with shut and ee
and munch upon
the buettom green
of grounges fourm
i lik the name
(fish, lick, thing)
my name is fish,
and wen i see
the mote that doth
bestow upon me
the gift of life
and givith unto me
a watery strife
i thank the fen
i lik the thing
(bell, scare, doom)
my name is bell
and wen you kno
the wyld dark nere
to Hell’s abyss
and in the mire
the dead a roon
you think it’s naym
the bells will toon
i scare the doom
I’m surprised at how often GPT-3 did manage to get close to bredlik, since AI-generated poetry is notoriously hard, and even careful scripting can produce glitchy poems with unexpected odes to mining company Alusuisse. Still, in this post I’m only showing a few of the generated poems - most of them not only fail to fit bredlik, but do so in a boring or unsatisfying way. The exception is this poem, which has definitely strayed from bredlik, but on the flip side contains the phrase “beely might”.
(Bee, use, thief)
My name is Bee
and wen I see
a moth upon a tree
I use my beely might
and steal it from its fight
And then I lik the thieft
Subscribers get bonus content: more neural net bredlik poems than would fit in this post, including many that are for some reason quite unsettling.
My book on AI, You Look Like a Thing and I Love You: How Artificial Intelligence Works and Why it’s Making the World a Weirder Place, is available wherever books are sold: Amazon - Barnes & Noble - Indiebound - Tattered Cover - Powell’s - Boulder Bookstore
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Ah I was sitting on this idea while waiting for requests to open! I loved your ask that had La Squadra meeting Risottos daughter from the future that got me thinking what if La Squadra had a memey s/o from present time? Would they ask lotta questions about the future and get confused when they speak in vine or tiktok references? 😆
La Squadra with a meme-y s/o from the future
gn reader // sfw
ahh that was such a cute ask and glad it made you think of this idea! thank your for requesting this and omg so so so so sorry it took so long, hope you’ll still enjoy it none the less! 💖✨ (you and your LS bf have a good comprehension of each other’s timelines and are used to traveling back and forth a bit :D)
Risotto
He knows the complications are endless and at times it all seems incomprehensible- having an s/o who can literally time travel; but your sheer knowledge of memes and the way you seem to effortlessly drop them into everyday conversation is astounding to him.
He doesn’t understand them that well, no amount of context or explaining will help. It’s simply a language he does not understand that well. And the memes or slang he kind of does understand, he just doesn’t find that funny.
However, he will never actually find it a bother when you drop a few weird jokes. The way they make you laugh and sometimes even dry-heave from the hilarity makes him love you even more.
In moments like that he’ll dryly let out a few slang words he remembers. You will never forget the time he let out a serious and deep “yeet” when you were already hysterically laughing, his addition might have made you stop breathing for a minute. It still makes you grin when you remember him shaking your shoulders and telling you to “breathe dammit!!”
Overall this man does not really get it or find it that entertaining himself, but he’ll gladly tease you and make you smile with the stuff he picks up. Risotto just can’t stop staring at your beaming grin.
Formaggio
Although he doesn’t truly grasp the layers of certain jokes or memes, Formaggio is your man! He’ll start using jokes and memes he learned from you and is so pleased when he makes you laugh with them.
Formaggio is great at continuing a bit but once he loses interest he just...stops. Which is kind of perfect since your knowledge of vines is a lot bigger than those of tiktoks so those quick six seconds are easy to get the point across.
He’ll still get some stuff wrong but he gets the gist of them. He loves annoying his teammates with his newfound references and they all can’t stand him. The second he opens his mouth with that smug look in his eyes, they all sigh in unison and prepare for the incomprehensible babbling that’s about to commence.
The rest of the gang likes you but when you and Formaggio are hanging out at headquarters together, they tend to keep conversations quick because they know once you two team up, the suffering will never end.
“Babe, wake up! New meme just dropped!”
You two are a menace to deal with but god if it isn’t sickeningly cute and funny when he calls you his baby, his cinnamon apple!
Illuso
Don’t get Illuso wrong, he loves you but dear heavens you are on thin ice with him. He isn’t the most joke-y type, he likes a good chuckle but please do not oversaturate him with references he does not get.
He has little to no interest in the videos you wish to show him and even less interest in remembering the ones he begrudgingly watched.
At this point you’re allowed a couple jokes a day, he doesn’t count or literally prevent you from saying them, but you know each other well enough to see when he’s actually getting annoyed.
To shut you up he’ll try and fluster you! He’ll look into your eyes so intensely as you continue talking about a meme, one eyebrow cocked and one side of his beautiful lips curled up into a smug grin.
He’ll place a single hand on your cheek, his thumb gently swiping across it while the rest of his large hand and fingers rest on your scalp. As he hears you stumble over your words and can feel your cheeks heating up he’ll get in nice and close to your lips. Ghosting his over yours and placing a single kiss that you wish would last longer. That’ll keep you quiet for a bit 😌
He accidentally (re-)invents “that’s cringe” without your help. (he’s referring to you, sorry bestie)
Prosciutto
Why are you saying these weird words AT him? Why must you crease his brows even further?
Prosciutto’s patience is getting tested with you and your innate need for adding incomprehensible colourful commentary to everyday things and situations. He truly doesn’t get it and there is no amount of explaining you can do to change his mind. Even after the memes make even a little sense, he won’t find them funny.
He does love you, so much in fact, that he knows asking you to stop isn’t going to work and it wouldn’t be a fair thing to do. He sees how your smirk feeds into the satisfaction of landing a joke in your present time where most of your friends know what you’re talking about.
However when you come around his part of the space time continuum, playtime is over. Well mostly. He does enjoy being a bit goofy around you, his snarky comments get a sarcastic edge that parallels your need for adding a fun flair to mundane things.
The only time you made him laugh with a meme was when you kept repeating “i can’t believe you’ve done this” over and over while poking his cheeks during a playful mood. After a final poke, Prosciutto’s resolve finally breaking, he couldn’t help but snicker. With one final addition of the line, ever surprised by the wonderful sound he makes when he finally breaks, you stop and stare. Enamoured by your wonderful boyfriend and his gorgeous smile.
Pesci
He’s the most supportive partner out there! Anything that makes you laugh and giggle, like the memes you keep showing him, fills his mushy heart with joy.
Pesci will kind of get them? They all make sense in a way, but some of them just go above his head because of the layers of internet knowledge he does not possess. Although he really loves it when you show him stuff that reminded you of him.
🥺🥺🥺🥺 <-- his face the entire day after you show him cute pictures of animals and said they made you think of him. He’s just so in sickeningly smitten with you.
He’ll try out a couple of internet slang terms and blush really badly when they make you laugh. If Pesci could, he’d play your laughter on loop 24/7. Him baby, ok?
When the whole internet was debating their existence and that of every object because everything is cake, you quizzed Pesci on his cake-recognizing skills. He failed horribly, they all looked way too realistic and he might have had a small existential crisis.
You playfully bit his wrist to show he wasn’t made of cake, planting some kisses along the sensitive spot. He shivered at your tickling pecks, relieved he wasn’t just a tasty confection and even happier that you’d love him regardless.
Melone
Your meme comrade.
The first mistake was showing him what the internet was like in your future timeline. He got so invested in its machinations and the entire culture surrounding it. He studied every single social media outlet. Every niche he could find only fuelling his curiosity.
Pandora’s box has been opened and there is no turning back now. Not only does he get all the memes and vines you show him, he memorized them too. Melone will artfully display his knowledge in daily life when you’re around and show off.
Do you regret showing him? Maybe...but is it hilarious to hear him quote terribly long copy/pastas? Yes. Yes it is.
He will steal your phone so he can feed into his meme needs, saving the most fried up images that barely make any sense, to your gallery. You sorted the ones he saves into a special folder so you wouldn’t have to strain your eyes so much.
It’s all fun and games until he starts referencing stuff during more intimate times. At first they made you laugh but as time went on you had to ask him to stop.
Hearing Melone whisper “eeby deeby” while kissing his way down your neck might not be the mood you’d preferred. (hearing him sigh and say “so, no head?” was pretty hilarious tho)
Ghiaccio
To your surprise, once he understands the memes and gets the references, he becomes quite good at using them as well. Steering clear of the misspelled ones, of course. (one bad gloop might actually kill him)
Ghiaccio is such a big softie once he’s alone with you, letting his guard down and finally calm, not irked or stressed by his surroundings.
He loves it when you show him new weird pictures you saved because they made you think of him. You don’t allow him to have a smartphone no matter how much he wants it (it’ll mess up sensitive time stuff) so when you’re scrolling through your preferred meme gathering app with Ghiaccio alongside you, he’ll point out ones and snicker a “that’s you”.
It makes your heart melt how cute he can be with the stuff he picks out. Once he actually said “you’re baby” and you felt your soul leave your precious body as his cheeks turned redder than plush tomatoes in summertime.
When he’s around the rest of the squad or in a more public setting, the usual stressors return. But with you around to offer quick witty jokes, things tend to become less focused on irritation.
You are 100% sure you’ve heard him yell the famous words “AM I WRONG?!” during a heated argument with Melone. You had to leave the room to prevent worsening things, holding in your laughter and silently dying as you heard him rave on.
#cozy ask#jjba x reader#la squadra x reader#jjba headcanons#risotto x reader#formaggio x reader#illuso x reader#prosciutto x reader#pesci x reader#melone x reader#ghiaccio x reader#jjba imagines#la squadra headcanons#jojo's bizarre adventure#sfw#gn reader#thank you for your patience guys#it means a lot
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#and I remember being shocked at that#at the idea that blocking or using a sheild being a legitimate battle strategy#something OTHER than a meme or a situational#niche battle tactic for specifically dragonfire#like ds3 was my first game and I was just like#wtf is blocking#thats not what these games are about#its about rolling through enemies attacks#and using weapon arts#and the jankiest backstab hitboxes known to man#it was the same in bloodborne
Okay, I’m sorry, this is going to be rude, but I have to just stop and say what the FUCK are you talking about.
Blocking and using shields has ALWAYS been a core part of Souls games. Dragonfire is in fact one of the few situations where you don’t want to use a shield and instead get out of the way.
If you’re not supposed to use shields in those games, they wouldn’t be a dedicated weapon type, they’re not a meme what fucking planet are you from. Bloodborne is the stand out exception among contemporary FromSoft action RPGs BECAUSE it has no shields, save for a rinky dink joke item and a hyper situational magic shield.
The complaint about shields in Elden Ring is that like the Souls games, shields are a dedicated weapon type as per usual, but this time around they’re legitimately awful. Shields as a whole were so bad they had to be buffed in the 1.03 patch, and even afterwards they’re still worse off than the shields in any of the previous Souls games.
One of the Souls series greatest strengths was you could absolutely beat everything the game had to offer with any build so long as you put your mind to it, whether that was spellcasting, sword n boarding, dual wielding, or naked two handed axing, with effort and patience you could do it. Elden Ring is frustrating because many, many encounters are designed to be overly hostile and punishing to specific playstyles, in particular colossal weapons and shields. Colossal weapons suffer from the least variety of weapon arts and don’t deal enough damage to justify how slow and vulnerable they make you, and shields eat up so much stamina when blocking that you’ll be lucky if you’re able to attack or roll at all after trying to block a string, assuming it doesn’t break your guard to begin with.
This is not an issue of “old stuck in their ways Soulsborne players can’t adapt to new things”, the problem is Elden Ring is riddled with legitimate gameplay design flaws that a large majority of the playerbase wants to just ignore and excuse with “git gud” because Souls games have amassed one of the most toxic and pigheaded online communities I’ve ever seen.
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my take on the literary masterpiece, the chic diet
Firstly, I am no one. It’s part of my charm. My fifteen minutes of fame was years ago, when I had an instagram niche meme page. I didn’t even take any brand deals! And my posts averaged six thousand likes! Anyhow. I am hardly literate and well hydrated and carry a small sephora-CVS-hybrid worth in my mini tote bag. Here is my guide on how to live like me, the intermediate kitsch-rat, aspiring influencer. But like, in an apathetic, somewhat dissonant, ironic way. I like saying I live by dogmatic principles. But a lot of it, um, is just eating disorder rituals. But that’s not really important. You’re as hot as you say you are, and as much an authority on what you write so long as you say it with, you know, conviction. It’s kind of venerable how fucking delusional I am, actually. Giving any sort of advice like I’m anywhere close to the ritzy ideal of the amphetamine-areyouami label-american. New York, ideally. West Village, preferably. But I guess the kind of guide I can write is better suited to someone living in a suburb, in a house with the twelve-paned windows. I always thought those were so chic. SO quaint, in a somewhat luxe way. Like, Connecticut vibes. My parents used to drive me up there as a child to buy books and ice cream. Nowadays I’d opt for a matcha latte with novelty ice cubes, but I guess at the time it was pretty sweet.
Because I popped a Vyvanse at like, 10pm, this next little bit could go one of two ways. I will write the most articulate, brilliant piece of literature of my life. Magnum opus, if there was a skinnier word for it. Or, I will get wrapped up doing something like folding all my last-season knits (which is part of my look, okay! I don’t have a job!) and fixating on a paragraph on how a girl’s collarbones are almost as identifying as a fingerprint, or a signature. I’m not a graphologist, but if you write your A’s with the little tail on top (like on a computer), you’re probably a snake. Nothing personal, just an observation. Also, I do have a biology final to study for. Not that I’m super anal, or even particularly committed to academia, but even in my precariously manicured (read that as separate terms; I did a good job on my nail polish, okay? But I happen to also be teetering on the brink of an epiphany or a collapse. Hence the use of the word precarious.) state, I know it’s important enough I can let one of my countless side-quests sit idle for a couple more days.
The first section seems only natural to be about hydration. And the whole idea of drinking things, really. There was a section in The Chic Diet about Adderall dry-mouth, which deeply resonated with me. Once I bit off a chunk of a Nivea Strawberry Shine (my favorite lip balm, more on that later) and swished it around my mouth. Didn’t help. Really, really didn’t. Anyway, I suppose that even if it served no purpose for combatting my prevacatingly ingenious cottonmouth solution, I was able to milk a sentence or two out of the experience. “Do it for the Vine”, all grown up! And wearing bananapapaya resin hoops too. Side note, that Etsy shop is a parasocial enemy of mine. It stems from jealousy, which sucks, but hating from inside a club I’m adjacent to is much healthier than being a hateful individual towards people I would, you know, interact with. Daily. Or something. I stopped going to therapy because I felt stupid about going and I don’t live in the right kind of town to warrant vacuous $300 hours. Bitching about my well-adjusted parents and how desperately I wished my anxiety would just “go away” was plainly gross, and a waste. Like, pretty sure almost every problem I have could be solved by a couple painful conversations taking place during a hurricane. Such a shame it doesn’t rain much here. Anyhow, I digress.
Staying hydrated. It is essential to my character, my persona, if you will; to never be without either an elegant metal bottle (I’m loyal to the smooth enamelled S’well ones, printed to look like marble or a semi holographic solid) or a little 16oz tumbler with a metal straw. Hydroflasks were some of the worst things to happen to society. I want to preface this claim with the fact that I wanted one in the same way a teenage girl wants a new iPhone so she can keep up appearances with her dermatologist-dad friends who still have the XR, by the way. But I ended up spending the money on like, a minidress at Brandy Melville before it fled my city. Or maybe a Fresh Sugar tinted lipbalm. For the better, even though the dress has a busted zipper now and the lipbalm tube has inevitably gotten dinged and dented by the other contents of my mini-totebag. Unlike a car, though, a couple scuffs on your laptop or your luxury lipbalm tube looks kind of cool. Like, you’re not someone who values the pristine, unused quality of an item that was ambiguously intended to be used versus displayed on Instagram. Now, I’m wondering why this paragraph about hydration is so fucking impossible to stay on track for. I literally drink several litres of water a day, and more tea on top of that. And sometimes an almond milk latte if I can budget it in. Not that I’m so anorexic I can’t afford a 45cal latte. They’re just not that important to me. Anyhow. Drinking lukewarm (on the cool side) water is better than ice-cold. Partially because I just get it out of the tap of my ensuite and I can’t be bothered to wait for it to run cold enough every time, and it just seems wasteful. Plus, there is something so.. skinny about drinking water at an “obscure” temperature. Trust me, I want to know why my thought process is like this too. My favorite tea is blueberry tea foraged in a side aisle at my local supermarket. I love a good commercial, high-end steep or fruit infusion as much as the next girl. Maybe more. My pantry is filled with tins labelled with things like “emerald jade organic” and “magic potion”, which is really just currants and butterfly pea flowers. But there is a necessary glamor about drinking dirt-cheap tea on the daily. Seriously, a box of 25 sachets is like, $3. At a higher point with my, um, Adderall problem, I spent like several times that on pills. I didn’t really need to include that, and could have linked the price point to the cost of a drugstore lipbalm, but I wrote it in. And I’m married to it, stubbornly, as all amateur writers should be when they wittle in a somewhat indecorous little joke. This tea is sooo good because it has a strong fruit-reminiscent taste (not as sweet as a fresh blueberry, but who wants that anyway?), it’s zero-calorie, it’s the most GORGEOUS color ever. The latte, the third drink in my little trifecta, is nothing special. But necessary. The trick is to use a milk frother to whip up sugar free syrup with instant coffee and a little bit of hot water in a glass. It’ll make the most luscious foam.. Top it off with almond milk. My dad is a coffee purist, owning both an upstairs keurig AND a downstairs one (among other more analogue methods, but I can’t name-drop, so what’s the point?), so he hates this drink. Now, calling oneself a plebian is so unglamorous and teetering on self-deprecating territory, dangerously close to insecurity. But I can use it here because I am at least posh enough to have a different pair of earrings for every outfit I could possibly come up with, and I only wear Patagonia if I am in a situation where I just have to wear fleece. Like I was saying. It’s such a simple drink, certainly not a delicacy, and… I had a joke about the word plebian but I keep getting up to refill my water and I fear I have forgotten about it.
Next section; the importance of a good tinted balm
In the intro I alluded to how a girl’s collarbones function essentially as an identifier, the way a signature or fingerprint does. This is a lie, or at least an exaggeration. But one’s ultimate tinted lipbalm is actually extremely indicative about who you are, as a person, as a member of society, even…
If you are loyal to Dior Lipglow, I have a couple questions. One; did you shoplift one tube, once, and refill it with cheaper stuff afterwards? I did that. I consider it one of my better-kept secrets, but now you know. Might as well explain the catalyst for my parent’s first separation now, and the horrifying experience that was meeting my dad’s Manhattan sugar baby (?) at the age of thirteen, wearing an overalls dress from, like, Topshop or something else equally embarrassing. .. Kidding. I digress. It’s such a fancy lipbalm, and good too! It smells like thin mints! But I could just never justify cell phone monthly installation payment money on something I will inevitably talk off. I do own three, but two I stole (before I lost the nerve, somewhat unfortunately) and one, a boy(not)friend bought for me. This is not something I feel any remorse about, because his house was easily four thousand square feet and his sisters had a dedicated all-glass room for their shared peloton. Oil money. Ugh!
My personal favorite lip balm, and I have tried a frightening amount, has got to be the Nivea Fruit Shine collection. The frosted one is shit-ugly. Hideous. But the strawberry one is the love of my life. It’s such a pleasant red, looking healthy and rejuvenated and really completes any look. Only downside is it will always, hopefully not always, remind me of Charles. Kissing Charles, specifically. And him asking me what lipbalm it was, because he knew I was somewhat frivolous and definitive and would have a very long answer. But for whatever reason, I simply stated it was from “out of town”. Not really sure why I said that, but it plagues me (minorly) to this day. Of all the things to make up.. .. The peach one is a perfectly demure spring classic shade. Cherry exists too, but the only tube I have ever had the fortune of owning was purchased in Costa Rica and lost somewhere on the way home. Honestly tragic, it was the juiciest shade. Blackberry is perfect too, but I have to layer it with either peach or untinted lipbalm to avoid what I imagine TooPoor would choose if she believed in tinted lipbalm. I don’t mean this hatefully, I think she’s a queen, but super dark, smudgy makeup suits the eyes better in my opinion. Or something. Or something.
Afraid to bore the reader, I have to move on now. Maybe at a later date I will release an addendum on my ultimate lipbalm buying guide. But also, that is so deeply personal (and everyone needs the excuse of “hunting for the perfect staple shade!!”), so it is really not my place to have any authority on something so intimate and subjective. Etcetera.
Moving on; Decorating your room
Here is a section I lifted out of my memoir document. It fits, because as enigmatic as I hope I am, I am also quite unchanging.
I just pushed three hangers and two tiny strappy tops with the tags still on, off my bed. Most nights, all, these days, actually; I spend in my large but cluttered bedroom. I have a little ensuite with a jetted tub I’ve never used because I just never get around to it. There’s a plush grey rug, spanning the expanse of the room (covering an ugly cherry wood that doesn’t match the rest of the house; no clue why. I never asked, and the previous owners were eager to sell so they could finally ditch this town and retire in Montreal for the bagels, or Hawaii for the monk seals. Point is, I’ll never know) with loose beads and loose pills and little shards of glass from plier-crushed beads. I vacuum every day. The whole room tells you exactly the kind of person I am; the clutter I possess, the encapsulation of the projects I start, start, start and the hours I don’t sleep for and the clothes I tried on (these to sell, these to cut up with kitchen scissors; thrifted lululemon and aritzia and heaps of knits and plaid fabric..) I would not say the room is a mess. Lived in, maybe. Chopsticks and mugs and gum wrappers. Single dangle earrings. I just finished the last of my Creme Brulee eos lipbalm; disguised as a relic of 2015, I was gifted it Christmas of ‘20. I think my next waxy conquest will be a tinted Burt’s one I palmed a while back, before I lost the nerve. Peering around the room you will see shopping bags strewn about the mouth of my walk-in closet. Every surface has something shiny or colorful stacked up on it. Cluttered, busy, but intentional. Except for the walls, which are bare. Bare and gray and miles-tall when I lie flat on my back, high out of my mind, willing things to change but knowing I’m responsible for a first step I will always be too scared for. Bare, pristine, no gumtack. Empty, Like they’re waiting. I wait around a lot. It makes sense. That was an awful lot of words about my stupid blank walls when truly it does not bother me that much; I really just don’t get around to it. I have other things on the ground to tend to, like post-email nausea, addressing envelopes, marrying wire and bead. Writing a document I care about because I am determined and I am alive, alive, alive, goddammit.
Excerpt over. The memoir is coming out when I get famous, or something earth shattering happens. Like I become the world’s least remarkable entrepreneur, and I get retweeted by Colorpop. I don’t want to be the next Elizabeth Wurtzel. I read two of her memoirs one restless night, absorbing it to make up for the nutrients I didn’t that day (you can laugh. I think that is pretty clever), heart breaking a little bit. She writes about her struggles so intrinsically, you either get it, or you don’t. Anyway. She had the books and the fame from it, and she wrote more memoirs than I think a single person should. That is admirable. Aspirational, even. But I do not want to be like her.
Where was I? Oh. Yes. Decorating/adorning/filling your room. Your room should serve as the kind of place to watch a movie (if you believe in film. I don’t) and put on ridiculous glittery eye makeup, or smoke an ~artistic cigarette~ or stay up all night on the phone, which is different from staying up all night simply on your phone. Chatting with someone you are tepidly in love with is much more exciting. Not chic as the whole affair is so juvenile, but fun regardless. It’s somewhere to keep your worldly possessions, too. I know I have a lot! Also, it is kind of thrilling to hide things in your room in little crevices only you know about. Now, unfortunately, everyone reading this will know too. But, like, I trust you not to really.. do anything about it. I keep my extra juul pods in the sliding box my apple pencil came in. That box is almost more useful than the pencil itself. I’m somewhat morally opposed to the iPad. Whole culture is so embarrassing! I have a tea tin with an ounce of golden teacher shrums in it. This is tossed in my closet among tins filled with other things, like lace trim and buttons. Which makes it actually a pretty terrible hiding spot, I see now… Anyhow. Keeping benign little secrets like that is so fun. You can tell I don’t have siblings. I sort of wish I did, but it is easier to believe there is something aristocratic about being an only child. Not sure if older-sister me would be egalitarian enough to share things. But that’s prophesying, which is kind of a waste of time. I live in the now, in a room positively cluttered with meaningless things that mean the world to me, chewing on my lip because my mouth is just so dry and 5gum is just not an after-8 indulgence. To live truly kitschly, you have to have somewhat hideous decor. Now, do not confuse dissonant, or incoherent, with what I mean by “hideous decor”. The kitsch room has as many surfaces to look at as possible, while also shying away from too many shelving units. Then you risk your room looking like a storage unit or something. When my mom renovated (re: paid someone to do it) our New York house so we could sell it, all our stuff was stacked up in a Cubesmart self storage. It was sort of horrifying, seeing my childhood home reduced to plastic storage tubs piled what felt like thirty feet high. Anyway. It’s just not an inviting way to store things; I imagine it makes your room look like your stuff is all trapped in gelatin. The more fussy, tiny things you have out in the open, the better. Nail polish. Earring trees. Bowls full of rings and lighters and water color pans perched on your windowsill. A rack with the tackiest assortment of knits and bucket hats and baguette bags. And so forth.. Quickly surveying someone’s room is so telling. Bonus points if all your books are spine-in, except for your favorite ones, because you don’t want people to get the wrong idea. (that you read).
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