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natalyarose · 5 days

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𝑅𝑒𝒻𝓁𝑒𝒸𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃𝓈 𝒶𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝓂𝓎 𝒶𝓇𝓉… (𝒽𝑒𝓁𝓁𝑜, 𝒮𝓊𝓃 𝒾𝓃 𝐵𝒽𝒶𝓇𝒶𝓃𝒾!)

~ This is a bit of a personal one lol, maybe I'm getting a little too comfy on tumblr- but hey, I like it here and I'm very grateful for everyone who's taken an interest in whatever I have to say :)

~ tagging this on Nakshatra tumblr because I feel like this reflection perfectly encapsulates Venus Nakshatras and is very aligned with the Sun moving into Bharani, the birth of Venus among the Nakshatras

// warning, cringe and angsty lmao

I have such an odd relationship with my artistic process. Unconventional? Stubborn. Sometimes just straight up bad lol.

I want to create beautiful, meaningful things, yet I have this sort of extreme resistance to being perfect or professionalism (however, somehow perfectionism and such a ruthless self-antagonism for not being 'enough' at the same time..).

It's almost like I purposely sabotage my art by intentionally leaving in mistakes, or leaving it somewhat dishevelled in protest of perfection. In hopes that the beauty and artistry still manages to shine through to the right people.

I guess it's also this thing where I feel like the imperfection makes art more unique, more exclusive- more personal & dearly held to the people who do find the beauty in it that I initially wanted to communicate. But, there is a difference between artsy, grungy, rawness and... just being crap, lazy, unrefined, undisciplined. (I'd never refer to someone else's work in this way but myself... mann).

Knowing full well that my artistic creation likely 'needs work', is not a finished product and will very likely be criticised for its' imperfection, I still have the overwhelming urge to go ahead and share it with the world/post it. In all of its' messy (again, maybe just straight up bad lol) glory. Then I wonder why I'm not gaining the traction I want haha. When I inevitably receive criticism, I get so hurt by it, I beat myself up and it eats at me to the point that I can't sleep at night, I'm up reciting the criticisms in my head and weaving them into my very own nightmare!

I don't understand why I do this to myself lmao. Later on after posting & putting myself out there, I hear that imperfection in the song, I hear those vocal parts I stubbornly left in and didn't want to redo, I see the dodgy brush strokes I refused to fix up in the name of authenticity, and I cringe. In fact, I feel such a deep shame for it all that I take everything down out of embarrassment. Even though it was fully my decision to put up something amateur sounding and imperfect.

Maybe it's something like the weight of desire for perfection is too much, so I just go 'to hell with it!'.

It's like an endless cycle for me, and I realise that over the years, if I'd just left things up online and was more patient with myself, I'd probably have cultivated a following of some sort by now, or maybe used peoples' criticisms to improve the art to a greater extent. I mean, there are people who have mentioned to me when they notice the art is imperfect and needs work, but there are just as many lovely people who have gone totally out of their way to express deep appreciation for the music/art I've put out and enjoyed it.

Here's my 'theory' as to why I do this to myself: when I create art, I don't just want to make pretty things, though I want that too. I want to be loved, and FELT. I want to bring people to this raw, vulnerable place in my heart where my ideas emerge from. I want to be loved not in spite of the imperfections, but alongside them, all encompassing.

I don't want to have to be perfect, have $1000 worth of equipment, hours and hours of recording time trying to 'get it right' in order to be understood and deemed beautiful. I don't want to show off how perfect or skilled I am either, I want to make people feel something. I want it natural.

r a w.

I kinda enjoy for art to be unfinished and slightly unpalatable on purpose.

Maybe it's a bit of entitlement on my part, expecting that even if I do a mediocre job, people will still enjoy it and see my 'talents'/message.

Truth be told though, that's how I love other people, how I enjoy others' art as well, it's not just something with me.

When I listen to artists I love, I adore seeing something beautiful, yet somehow messy and jarring. A sort of underground-esque, 'wild feminine' creation. It evokes that much more feeling and passion that something designed to be perfect just lacks to me.

I can't get into a lot of bands that are considered 'objectively good' by many people because they just sound too perfect to me- There's a lot of times I come across artists that sound technically good, very clean but my heart just can't get into it. I find myself listening and thinking 'I wish this was recorded on a toaster', or 'I wish there was a more rough sound to the vocals' lol, I crave the rawness & intimacy that imperfection and roughness lends.

Ugh, it all creates such an internal conflict- like I want my art to be seen, to be loved yet I somewhat reject things it takes for the art to be considered objectively good & well rounded.

The harsh reality might just be that just because I see the beauty in imperfection, just because I know I've got this personal, very niche vision of what 'good' sounds like/looks like in my mind, that doesn't mean other people are going to find value in the same things.

Of course, maybe all of this is just pretentious excuses & my own self-hatred manifested (I don't actively hate myself, I try to be much kinder to myself these days but yknow)

Anyway, I realised that it's the start of Bharani season in galactic centre mid-mula Ayanamsa today & I think this write up really aligns with that.

Thankyou for reading lol.. again, a bit of an angsty personal thing but maybe it could be relevant to someone, if y'all wanna know what Venusian artistic angst looks like in real time lmao 🖤🥀

#nakshatras #astrology #music #artist #aesthetic #vedic astro observations #venus

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professor-walten · 23 days

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just a seventeen year old forced to save the world, again, you know how it is.

he/him only, don't let the tits fool you ✨

Lee's my real dad lol. If I ever say "dad" I mean Lee.

Owner of Motostoke's one and only Hop Walten Labs. Ireland's Pokémon researcher, rescuer, rehabilitator, and releaser. Giving every Pokémon a chance is my job and passion. I am a Pokémon rights activist and I believe in league abolition. You would know if you read my book. Nobody in Galar really has. Legally classified as a "shiny hunter," but it's just conservation efforts

Callaghan Psychics know all of the known universe. Not other universes, I guess. That's kind of why I'm here? The multiverse kinda needs us atm

DID system. There are ten of us here if that matters to you. If you want to ask questions about it take this guide. Not being specific on ages because like none of us are normal humans lol

And me of course -(🐏)

The fate rests in the balance of a bunch of mentally unstable children. It always has, huh? My work is important to me, and so is understanding the multiverse, so you can always give asks about either. Cool 👍

[ooc under the cut :3]

pfp is a gift from bunnyhasaknife on instagram

disclaimer banner art is commissioned from littlebumblebe9

account banner is just dubwool from the anime

EDIT FOR CLARITY: The start of PULT takes place 3 and 1/2 years after the events of Pokémon Sword and Shield. Everything about the games is history. Leon isn't the champion, Hop is a professor, etc etc. Keep it in mind

EDIT 2: this will generally be lighthearted but the lore for hop in PULT is quite serious to certain topics like drugs miiiight end up being brought up. I'll tag each post with (tw __" so you can block it if you need to

HI, I'M HOP! Yes, my actual name is Hop too. He/him for admin as well. I've been wanting to make one of these for ages but only just now got the balls lolz. A little rotomblr/rotumblr based on my characterization of Hop for my Pokémon AU I've been working really hard to write, Pokémon Unown Legends Tale!! Read about it on my main @irlkisukeurahara I have a tag for it. I don't want to post it officially until the Unova book is done so I can provide weekly updates, so for now I wanted to make a little RP thing for it to kinda get people interested I guess

This blog 100% will spoil some aspects of it but I mean whaddya gonna do. I won't spoil major plot beats.

This is mostly just shitposting and talking about my character lore because I'm really attached to it. Having roleplays with stakes is fine but for the most part this is just silly behavior

Since the multiverse is canon in PULT I love the idea of other Hops/professor Hops/literally anyone interacting here and whatnot!! Who gives a shit about doubles I'm here to be silly

No explicit NSFW, sexual or self sexualizing jokes r fine but propositions or shit like that are obviously not

Hop has a bunch of ships in this universe (polyamory not a gay harem anime) - two OCs + two canons + one of his alters. Feel free to ask about em lol

The ships: Bede, Arven, Miles, Nico, Marcello

Feel free to ask DID questions here in or out of character, I just make Hop like this because I have DID too lol

I might say "fag" once or twice but otherwise no slurs plzplzplz but swearing is obviously fine because I will do it A LOTTT

If this gets any traction I'll make Leon and Arven accounts too

Pokémon teams: (some characters share Pokémon)

✨ = shiny

Hop

Doesn't have a full team because he isn't a trainer but his 3 main Pokémon are

Dubwool ♂️, elderly Pokémon he got from Leon as a birthday gift at 3, can use Electro Ball like a god

Azumarill ♀️, a chipper girl who saved his life

[✨] Saakash/Spoons (Alakazam) ♂️, reincarnated dead 7 year old boy with a major attitude problem, Hop's half brother (yeah.)

Tori

[✨] Kurama (Alolan Ninetales) ♂️

[✨] Toshiro (Glaceon) ♀️

[✨] Ryu (Kommo-o) ♂️

[✨] Ravenmore (Umbreon) ♀️

[✨] Saakash (Spoons) ♂️

[✨] Yukina (Froslass) ♀️

Janus

Cruinne (Cosmalenia) [Fakemon] ♀️

Supernova (Metagross) ♂️

[✨] Saakash (Alakazam) ♂️

[✨] Ravenmore (Umbreon) ♀️

[✨] Cosmo (Espeon) ♀️

Rukia (Clefable) ♀️

Marcello

Bucky (Crobat) ♂️

Doomshell (Cloyster) ♂️

Thunderstrike (Electrode) ♂️

Furyblade (Scizor) ♂️

Kickzilla (Hitmonlee) ♂️

Velvet Vogue (Lopunny) ♂️

Auryn

[✨] Goldbricker (Steelix) ♂️

Crypto (Gholdengo)

Ponzi (Corviknight) ♂️

[nickname incoming] (Alolan Raticate) ♂️

[nickname incoming] (Scrafty) ♂️

[nickname incoming] (Honchcrow) ♂️

Ryan

[✨] Kagome (Clefable) ♀️

Hawkeye (Decidueye) ♂️

Luffy (Infernape) ♂️

Aizen (Malamar) ♂️

[nickname incoming] (Weavile) ♂️

[✨] Kisuke (Mimikyu) ♂️

Rin

Sesshomaru (Houndoom) ♂️

[✨] Shippo (Ninetales) ♂️

Hashira (Blaziken) ♂️

[✨] Val (Delphox) ♀️

[half shiny] Usagi (Cinderace) ♀️

Helios (Volcarona) ♂️

Zabimaru

Hihiou (Vaporeon) ♀️

Nozarashi (Haxorus) ♀️

[✨] Hiei (Hydriegon) ♂️

Kommo-o ♂️

Harley (Garchomp) ♀️

[✨]Shenron (Dragonite) ♂️

Aoife

[✨] Kisuke (Mimikyu) ♂️

[✨] Seanchaí (Spiritomb) ♂️

Fomorian (Golurk)

Shadow (Hisuian Typhlosion) ♂️

Morrigan (Gengar) ♀️

Caelum (Cursola) ♀️

#pinned post #professor hop #rotomblr #rotumblr #pokeblr #pkmn irl #pkmn rp #pokemon irl #pokemon roleplay #pokeblogging #pokeblog rp #Pokemon Unown Legends Tale

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girls-are-weird · 11 months

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I know people say comments on the fic site are more effective than, say, rbing the announcement post on tumblr, but I only read your work on ffnet. Would you say that rule still applies when the fic site itself is pretty much dead and an rb would reach a wider audience?

well, i guess it depends on what you mean by “effective.” like, what is the ultimate goal? is it to share this fic you loved with others, or is it to let the author know how much you loved it? both are worthy goals, certainly.

as an author, i love comments. i love when people tell me how much they liked my stories, what their favorite scenes/moments were, or when they react in the comments as they read. even people who just leave a random sequence of emojis i can't ever hope to decipher (which happens a lot more often than you'd think 😄). it always makes me squeal, and it really does encourage me to keep writing. never underestimate how motivating a positive comment can be, especially for those of us whose life is really kicking our butts at the moment to the point where finding time in a hectic schedule to write something we're not getting paid for is an odyssey onto itself. it's always nice to know people are reading your stuff and liking it, but it's GREAT when they like it SO MUCH that they just absolutely HAVE to let you know how much it moved them. that's a special thing.

that's not to say other forms of reader engagement aren't lovely. kudos on AO3, for example, are fantastic, and they're a way to let the author know you're reading and enjoying. sometimes i'll post something late at night (i always post at ridiculous hours of the night because i'm in australia) then go to bed, and when i wake up in the morning i'll have like… one comment. and that's a little sad. but if i have a ton of kudos as well, that makes it better. it makes it feel like people are reading my fic/chapter and i'm not just sitting here halfway across the world, screaming into the void. so i'm not discounting kudos at all. some of my least-commented fics are also my most-kudos'd ones. but put it this way: kudos and likes are a bit like:

whereas a comment would be like:

and while i don't LIKE this, per se, it's also true that comments/kudos are a bit of a mark of popularity. i know people who look at the number of comments on a fic to tell them something about the quality of the fic and help them decide whether they should read it or not-- the idea being that fics with more comments are fics that people love more, or that more people love. it's also like that with kudos a little bit, but it takes a higher ratio of kudos to comments to produce the same effect as just having a decent number of comments would. and in FFN, where there are no kudos, comments are DEFINITELY much more of a "quality" marker. (which is a shame, because there are some gems out there that just don't get much traction for whatever reason, but that doesn't mean they're not great, and more people should read them.)

as for reblogs here on tumblr, i absolutely understand what you mean, and honestly, sharing the fic with other people might lead to more comments in the long run, so it's not like they're mutually exclusive. but in that same vein, why do you have to choose one or the other? sometimes when people reblog my posts, they leave short little comments in the tags (or even in the body of the post itself), and those never fail to make me smile. and if you don't want to do that, you can always just message authors directly to let them know how much you enjoyed their work-- it's not for nothing that we list all of our (ginormous list of) social media in our author's notes, and i guarantee you no author will ever be mad to receive a little note about their fic, even if it's just something simple like "hey, i just read your fic and wanted to tell you i really loved it. 🙂" it means a lot because it's an extra step that you didn't need to take, but you did take it, and that makes it all the more significant.

but of course, if you don't feel comfortable engaging in conversation, a reblog or a like or just kudos are more than welcome. (you can also leave kudos on AO3 as a guest, btw! you don't need to have an account or even identify yourself in any way.) i just want to reiterate, because i've gone through this recently and have had this happen many, many times through my years in fandom: it is so, SO important for us fanfic authors to know that someone out there is reading and enjoying our stuff. it can be very dispiriting to publish something you've been putting all your effort and blood, sweat, and tears, and emotional stability into, and get little engagement in return. any engagement is lovely, and i'm not saying that authors should depend on engagement to keep writing because i certainly don't, but some forms of it can be more impersonal than others, and also aren't as constructive when it comes to helping us better our craft. so please keep that in mind when you read, that there's someone on the other end of this story you loved that would love to know that you loved it.

tl;dr-- reblogs and likes and shares are great, and i adore any kind of engagement, and you should only do as much as you're comfortable with. giving the fic more exposure is certainly a worthy goal, and much appreciated. but comments/reviews are a step beyond "this was cool, cheers" as a ways for us authors to gauge audience enthusiasm, and they don't only come in the form of a formal comment/review as the fanfic-publishing platforms would have you think, either. there are many other ways to let authors know what you thought about their work… including in reblogs… so it would be fantastic if more people took advantage of those avenues, because it really can make a fanfic author's day/week/month/year when they get a little comment from their readers. and you never know, maybe they needed something to make them smile at that exact moment. ❤️️

#cali writes #fanfiction #fanworks #AO3 #fanfiction.net #give a little love to your favorite fanfic authors folks #reply

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bookshelf-dust · 1 year

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how did you gain traction with your fics? You and others have inspired me to get back into writing again, and I’m feeling a little disheartened bc I haven’t received any feedback… do you have any tips?? You don’t have to answer, love your work angel x

i won’t lie this made me kind of emotional?? you have no idea how much i appreciate you asking me this or saying that i’ve inspired you. me?? are you sure??

also i’m gonna try my best to answer this for you :)))

i started writing on wattpad before on here, and i did that purely because i wanted to. that’s why i write here too! i’d been writing stories in the notes on my phone and decided i’d revise them and give sharing them a shot. there isn’t a lot that’s made me as happy as writing does, so i guess my main piece of advice is to write because you enjoy it and write what you want. then all the other stuff will come later.

my blog is little and i quite like it that way, but there’s a set of billy headcanons i wrote that have a thousand and some odd notes? which might not seem like a lot to some people but it is to me. honestly i get scared to post so i tend to post things and then go to sleep. but that one is the most notes i’ve gotten. and it’s shocking because i posted that and didn’t think anyone would read it (i have very low expectations for myself).

so really i just write things i’m happy with and i post them and i completely understand the disheartening feeling that comes with a lack of feedback. i really appreciate comments and reblogs because they tell me if someone likes something and then that gives me motivation to write more. i have something i wrote that was the longest thing i’ve ever written, and it’s got less than twenty notes i think. and likes don’t tell me anything, you know? so i try to leave feedback on everything i read because i know what it feels like to not know if anyone is enjoying your work.

as for tips, i have noticed that there seems to be a time zone thing? like if i post at a certain time, no one sees it, but at another time it gets a little more attention? it’s odd. i also try my best at getting loads of tags in there. but honestly i didn’t start using tumblr until 2022 (almost said this year) so i’m still new and learning as i go. and i’m not totally sure about traction, i suppose? i think it depends on the characters too. my gareth work doesn’t do as well because he isn’t as popular a character. my eddie stuff does well right off the bat because he’s more popular, but then it sort of calms down after that. billy does well over time. i think sometimes people might be shy to share their feelings about billy. idk. maybe that’s bullshit and sounds silly.

so i’d say: do it for yourself. if you enjoy it, then write whatever you want for whoever you want. but i know it sucks to not have feedback. sometimes i post and it’s radio silent and it can hurt. and i think there is a definite problem with the lack of responses on here—i’ve seen people compare it to things like instagram where likes mean everything, and that’s not the case here. but really, if you enjoy it, keep at it. i think the good stuff comes later, if that makes any sense. sometimes i feel like quitting, but if i take a step back, i realize that i enjoy it and it doesn’t matter if no one reads it, because i had fun making up this little escapist world.

i don’t know if that was helpful at all, but again i really appreciate you asking me. thank you for reading my crap and for being here :)))

#bookshelf-dust #i love you lots #and lots and lots #and i’m gonna give you a hug #also billy hargrove?#yeah he loves you #he told me

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allsassnoclass · 1 year

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hazel!! hiya!! could i hear about 2, 7, 14, 37, & 45 from the ask game? -💙

@igarbagecannoteven hi megs! thanks for asking!

2. Go to your AO3 “Works” page, to the sidebar with all the filters, and click the drop-down arrow for “Additional Tags.” What are your top 3-5 most used tags? Do you think they accurately represent your writing habits?

Christmas (15)

Established Relationship (14)

Fluff (10)

Canon Compliant (10)

Alternate Universe - College/University (9)

Okay so. I have 95 fics posted on ao3 between my two pseuds. I wouldn't say that "Christmas" accurately represents my writing habits since those are from ficmas (and one shazam fic), and while I'll probably do one christmas fic a year in the future, I don't think I'll be doing a full ficmas again. I do feel like established relationship and fluff both fit! I find getting-together fics more difficult to write, so my short fics especially are usually established relationships, and I do like fluff! i like canon compliant stuff, especially for non-rpf fandoms, and while i think i'll write less college/university fics in the future now that i'm out of college, i know that the mashton college au accounts for a lot of those and i do have plans for quite a few other college fics.

7. Any worldbuilding you’re particularly proud of? i'm going to say the sorcerer/prince au! i feel like i did a good job of introducing this entirely new world in just a short little fic. i think the worldbuilding blended into the narrative really well.

14. Are there any tropes you would only read if written by a trusted friend or writer? in this fandom at least, since I have trusted writers here, soulmate aus are something that i'll only read by people i know will do it in a way i like. soulmate aus are something that i've gotten a bit more particular about as I've gotten older and read more fic. also, there are some aus or tropes that immediately lend themselves to smut (fwb, omegaverse, etc) and if i see one of those marked T or M i'll only read it if i know the writer and can trust that they rated it correctly. remember friends, it's not about the amount of sexual content in your fic, it's about how detailed the sexual content is!

37. Promote one of your own “deep cut” fics (an underrated one, or one that never got as much traction as you think it deserves!). What do you like about it? going to be controversial and promote when i watch the world burn despite the fact that when i first posted it i wasn't feeling the best. she deserves better! i know that she's not going to get better, because it's an apocalypse au and those aren't very popular aus, but I guess I wasn't expecting it to be as badly-received as it was? which is hypocritical, because i myself don't usually read apocalypse aus and looking at the tags and such on this one, idk if i would've read it, but i do thing it's good! it's a bit of a different style than is usual for me, but i think it works really well for the subject matter and i think there's a nice emotional quality to it.

45. What’s something you’ve improved on since you started writing fic? mmmmm good question! on a technical level i'm not sure what i've improved on, just because i'm constantly always trying to improve but it's always in the back of my head since fic is for fun, but on a personal level i've improved at ensuring that fic stays a fun hobby rather than something ugly and stressful and disheartening. i've gotten better at really listening to myself about what i want to work on, rather than forcing myself to work on fics i don't have motivation or inspiration for, and i've also gotten better at not looking at my immense number of wips as a bad thing. it's okay if i don't finish them! that's fine! i still do struggle with these things (there are a few fics where i'm like "aw man, i should finish that for [insert fic event] which is rapidly approaching" but i've also acknowledged that right now i simply don't want to write, i want to read, and therefore many of these fics won't be written in time for those events because i won't force myself), but i'm getting better, which is good!

Questions for fic writers

#ask #megs #igarbagecannoteven #thanks for asking megs!#also i've been writing fic since middle school so i *know* that there are technical writing things i've gotten better at #but i just. can't for the life of me pinpoint what exactly they are #since all of the writing has had a general quality boost since middle school #if i wasn't any better now than i was 10 years ago i think something would be wrong

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sneezefiction · 4 years

Text

soft nekoma sleepover

Nekoma x Reader - Sleepover Headcanons

a/n: the Nekoma portion of my soft sleepover series :,,) my friends and i have had rough weeks so far and i thought this would be a sweeter way to cope <33

warnings: none!

wc: 1280

---

you’ve always been such a strong person

whether you’d had a rough week full of assignments and exams or there was tension with your family/friends, you would always manage to hold your head up high and push through it all with a convincing smile on your face

but this past week finally pushed you over your limits

as you walked into Nekoma’s volleyball practice that Friday afternoon, manager’s clipboard in hand, you tried to keep up your usual peppy expression on

...but the smile refuses to reach your eyes

Yaku greets you warmly, expecting a big grin and a soft hug from you, but all you could do was ruffle his hair and walk quickly to your seat, holding in tears of frustration

this threw him for a loop and Yaku definitely asks you what’s wrong and if Lev did anything to upset you because, and i quote,

“I will fight him right here, right now. Just say the word.”

you just shake your head and stand up to give him a quick, wordless hug, which only leaves him more confused?? because he wants to fix this and you’re being really quiet??

Kenma then notices your gloomy presence and mentions it to Kuroo who’s eyes snapped your way quizzically

you were clearly upset and, if they weren’t completely mistaken, you looked like you’d been… crying?

Kuroo wasn’t having it at all bc you, of all people, deserve to be happy & smiling

he calls the boys in for a huddle but Kuroo asks you to wait on the bench with that trademark sneaky smile on his face

as they all converse, you see heads pop up and turn around to glance at you, Lev and Yamamoto’s concerned expressions making it obvious that you were the topic of conversation

it became clear that, even without words, your misery hadn’t escaped them… you couldn’t decide whether it was a blessing or a curse

“Alright!” Kuroo’s volume gains your attention

everyone turns to you and you feel as though you’re shrinking under their gazes

“We have a proposition for you, Y/n…” Kenma explains quietly

“More like a demand, but whatever you say Kenma.” Kuroo cuts in, with a slight drawl

“How about you come over to my place tonight? We’ve not had a team sleepover since our last training camp and none of us are busy tonight.” the quiet setter finishes

Kenma sounds reluctant, his eyes shifting from the floor to the wall, avoiding your gaze as much as possible

yet one glance over to you reminds him why he’s offering up his precious Friday night

a real smile graces your previously downcast face, which makes all the boys go silent in awe of what a simple sleepover suggestion could do

now cut to Kenma’s house where he has two consoles of Mario Kart already set up bc it’s the only game that everyone on the team knows how to play

you get there last, much to your own dismay, because you had hoped to feel more settled before interacting with all of the boys again

just before you walked in, Inuoka made sure that everyone was smiling, welcoming, and that there’d be no fights (@ Yaku)

and the team agreed that tonight was all about you: their precious manager who really needed some encouragement and fun in their life

the moment you set foot inside, you’re met with cheery faces, bowls of popcorn, “cards against humanity” on the table, and a spot on the sofa (that you have to assume is meant just for you)

everybody looks SO DAMN COMFY:

Kai, Kuroo, Lev and Fukunaga are in name brand sweatpants and soft t-shirts, Shibayama, Inuoka, and Yaku are in clean workout shorts, Kenma is in a trendy sweatshirt and the rest of him is covered by a weighted blanket, and Yamamoto & Teshiro are in their volleyball uniforms from earlier (ew)

you get a quick nod and a brief smile from Kenma (basically Kenma was never meant to be a Professional Host™), but the rest of the boys are ✨Beaming✨ as you look them over

and your heart swells because this is exactly what you needed. to be in the presence of these sweet, granted kinda sweaty, guys where there were no goals or deadlines to be met

Kuroo’s grin quickly catches your eye and he pats the open couch seat next to him

and conversations take off smoothly and sweetly, the airspace full of friendly taunts, crude jokes, and screams from Lev’s being hit by 3 blue shells in a single game of Mario Kart

after several hours of you beating their asses with Princess Peach on Rainbow Road, everyone ends up splayed out across each other for the sake of comfort

your head found its way to Kuroo’s lap (the two of you being both third years, classmates, and close friends) and his hands move to give you a much needed scalp massage

you feel the weight of the world melt off your shoulders. it’s like one night was all you needed to clear your head and at least help you back onto your feet

with your legs dangling off the arm of the couch, Kuroo’s hand now just gently stroking your arm, you decide to thank them for tonight as best you could, because you’ve not felt this happy in what seems like months

“I just want to let you kids know that you’re all the best.” you cut through everyone’s conversations, voice resting on their ears for a moment

“And, uh, not to be disgustingly cheesy… but I really love you guys.”

you cover your eyes, acting as though you were embarrassed, but in reality you feel tears threatening to spill out

Kuroo’s expression falls for a moment, because he’s not stupid and can tell you’re still processing everything

so he simply lifts your hands off of your eyes and you, with a perfect tear skimming the side of your face, can’t help but let out a soft, relieved laugh

it’s silent for a second, but Kuroo just smiles & opens his mouth to say something

but he’s interrupted by some rude-ass kids (Yamamoto & Inuoka) shouting out their love for you and rushing over to smother you in tearful hugs

you’re saved by Yaku, who’s grabbed them both by the backs of their shirts, stopping them in their emotional, hug-giving tracks

but your giggles continue, now laughing at all their surprised expressions and Kuroo’s peeved one from getting cut-off

so you hop up off the couch, place your hands on your hips and allow their eyes to rest on you before swinging your arms open wide with the sweetest, most genuine smile you can muster

“Well, are y’all gonna come hug me, or should I just go now?”

queue a small stampede of boys tackling you (gently) to the floor, laughter bubbling from every mouth, and warmth that spreads from the outside, in

in between the chuckles, shoves, and “get off of me’s” you hear a phrase tumble out of Kenma’s mouth

“We love you too, y/n.”

it was supposed to be unheard, lost in the tumbling around you, but those three words then took traction in individual ways with different boys

“We love you!”

“I love ya.”

“You’re kinda okay, I guess...”

“Marry me, y/n!”

“Shut up, Yamamoto!”

you would always have a place with them, no matter how bad things got and no matter what anyone said about you

because whenever you needed them, they’d be sure to show up, just as you’d do for them

---

soft team sleepover series

soft shiratorizawa sleepover

soft karasuno sleepover

soft seijoh sleepover

soft fukurodani sleepover

---

tags: @cherryonigiri, @yams046, @miss-rin, @shou-kunn, @senkuwu-chan, @super-noya, @stcrryskies, @holaaaf, @sugacookiies, @vintgicals, @moonlightaangel, @kit-tea, @theworldupthere, @sugasugawarau, @star-puff, @akaashisupremacy

(comment, dm, or send an ask to be added to my general tag list - blogs in bold could not be tagged)

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bicycle4two · 3 years

Text

say you wanna, say you wanna be || Sam Drake x Reader || Chapter 4

Summary: Sam isn't looking for a girlfriend and, frankly, you don't think you'd be a good one anyway, but you two aren't some one-night stand and it's been a long time since either of you thought of each other as a convenient booty call. This is something more, something the two of you didn't realize would be. It's uncharted territory. And there is no other choice but to figure out how to navigate through it together.

Pairing: Sam Drake x Fem!Reader

Tags(ish): developing relationship, implied/non-explicit sexual content, romance/fluff/hurt/comfort, age difference (though reader’s age is not stated), switching povs (second person reader, third person sam), no y/n but reader has a nickname

C.1 || C.2 || C.3

Chapter Four:

Here’s the thing.

Sam always knew that he and his brother were destined for something great. And, well, he can’t say that greatness didn’t fall on them. Yeah, sure, he spent thirteen years in jail. Who hasn’t? But despite that little hiccup in his life, Sam thinks that he’s done pretty well for himself. He’s discovered a lost city or two, with and without his brother, held some artifacts that were rumored to only be from stories, and tried one of the cigars from Sully’s collection. He even has a place to call his own now, his name on the mailbox downstairs, a doorman who greets him.

Honestly, it’s all he’s ever wanted growing up. More, even. Back in Panama, all he thought he wanted, besides, well, getting out, was to find Avery’s treasure with Nathan. It was that thought that kept him going most days. The idea of finding four hundred million worth of treasure! That was the dream. He and Nathan could finally settle down, or, rather, their version of it. Because they weren’t going to have a normal life. That was never in the cards for them growing up, but it was a nice thought, not having to worry about food or a place to stay.

And Sam hasn’t had to worry about that for a long time. He felt empty after Libertalia, that his story was only just beginning while Nathan’s was coming to a close. There are still things he wants to see, to do.

Time, he realized long ago, was something that he could lose so easily and he wasn’t going to let that happen again.

So he went on more adventures, climbed higher mountains, picked up little trinkets (a habit he got from his little brother, starting his own little collection) along the way to bigger, better things. (It’s just a shame that some things were destroyed along the way, like statues and buildings, but what can he say? It runs in the family.)

But tonight, after a long flight and an uncomfortable chair, all Sam wants to do is go to her and crash on her bed.

Because although Sam has a place to call home, a big apartment that’s filled with his stuff, clothes, souvenirs, a fish…it feels empty. Cold. Even if he had all the money in the world, Sam can’t shake off that feeling that he shouldn’t have too much. That in just a blink of an eye, all this could be gone. Because that has happened before—moving from place to place, packing what you can immediately get your hands on.

Sam wants riches, searches for them all over the world, but deep down he knows he doesn’t know what to do with them. That even if he dreams of more, he only knows how to live with enough.

So, he only has one pillow, a blanket. A towel and an extra, shampoo (the kind that has body soap mixed with it. 2 in 1! What a deal) and deodorant. Clothes, he knows to get the sturdy kind, the kind that won’t rip easily, that stains won’t be too obvious on. Shoes, too. He gets the ones that have good traction, that won’t chafe his feet, won’t deteriorate when wet.

The fish, Jim Hawkins—Jimmy was an attempt to liven up the place. To make it seem homey, to keep him company. But there’s only so much you can do with a fish and Sam can’t deck out Jim’s aquarium any more than he already has. He’s afraid that something would fall on the poor thing, that maybe there’s more inside Jimmy’s castle than meets the eye.

“Welcome home.”

“I’m ho…ome?” Sam drops his bag to the floor, more from being too tired to carry it than shock. He’d resigned to seeing her tomorrow, that it was too late to go over now, but there she is, curled up on his couch, toes peeking out from under a throw blanket. It’s hers. Sam recognizes it easily. It’s the same one she has thrown over her arm chair, the same chair Sam likes to lounge on when he’s found a good book to read.

“How was your trip?” She looks so cozy on his couch. Hands wrapped around an orange mug he’s never seen before, book on her lap. She doesn’t look like she going to get up and Sam can’t blame her. He sort of wants to curl up next to her, somehow squeeze his large frame in the remaining space. “Get me anything nice?”

“I, uh,” Sam’s swallows, blinking. “I’m not dreaming, right? Like, I didn’t get knocked out when I fell off the mountain?”

“You fell off what?” She’s moving to stand up, mug thankfully placed back on the table despite her haste, and Sam doesn’t want her to do that.

“No. No, don’t get up.”

She gets up anyway, blanket falling to the floor, and, oh god, she’s wearing pajamas, oranges printed all over her cotton shorts. She’s by his side in seconds, hands reaching up to his face, bringing him down to her height so she can get a better look at him.

“Ouch,” Sam says, the movement too fast for his aching body. His muscles are sore and the trip home didn’t do them any favors. But she thinks that it’s her fault, that she’s hurt him and her hands are in the air, her eyes wide with both surprise and concern. “It’s not you. It’s just…,” Sam hates to say it, makes him feel old, but, “My back. I hit the ground pretty hard.”

“I feel dumb for asking…but are you okay?” Her hands are back on him, her touch gentle and giving comfort Sam didn’t know he needed. She doesn’t seem to know what to do first, how to check for injuries, but the thought is enough, her being here is enough, makes him feel better.

“Well, I’m alive,” Sam brings up his hand to push her hair away from her face. It’s soft, slightly damp from a shower. Oh. He probably needs one of those. “Nothing a hot shower can’t fix.”

“Can you…,” she hesitates, sucks her bottom lip between her teeth and Sam bends down on reflex, damn his back, and kisses her. She relaxes, sighs, and pulls away, blushing. “Uhm, I, huh?”

“Can I…?” Sam prompts, smirking.

“Now I’m embarrassed to ask.”

“C’mon, princess, don’t leave me hanging. What is it?”

“Can you, uh, do you need help?”

“Do I need help?” Sam grins. “In the shower? Well, there’s only one way to find out.”

…

Sam mentioned it to Nathan before, when they were in Italy, trying to find their way into the Rossi Estate. When you’re locked up with no hope of being let out, it’s the little things you miss the most.

And Sam didn’t think that there was much to miss anymore now that he was out. He can ride his motorcycle anywhere he wants, go to his own bathroom any damn time he pleases, shower, eat, sleep, drink without permission. He can call Nathan and Sully and Elena without request, without reason. He can stay indoors or go outside without a schedule. He can live. The simple joys of being alive, Sam is able to enjoy them now, in much a greater magnitude than he has ever before.

Citrus, he remembers telling Nathan, he had missed the smell of citrus. The novelty of fresh fruit. The refreshing scent, the taste. The sweetness on his tongue.

“Clementine,” Sam gasps out without thinking, his mind stuck on things he missed and maybe this last trip had gone on longer than he liked.

He’s brought back to earth when the movement stops, even when he adjusts his grip, tries to get her going again, to move her hips the way he knows they both like. He opens his eyes to look at her when she doesn’t budge and she’s frowning at him, there’s a wrinkle between her eyebrows. An angry look.

“That’s not my name,” she says and it looks like she’s going to get off of him and, goddammit, why does she keep doing that?

“What?” Sam’s confused, blood not quite in his head.

“You called me Clementine.” Her tone is upset. Hurt. Sam’s never heard her speak like this before. “Who the hell is that?”

“Shit,” Sam breathes out. “You weren’t supposed to hear that.”

“Yeah. No shit.” And there she goes, lifting herself off of him as quickly as she had sunk onto him half an hour ago. Sam lets out a grunt. His ribs are bruised yet she flattens her hands on his chest to support herself. She’s doing it on purpose. She was careful before. “I didn’t think you’d be the type to do this, but I guess I was wrong.”

Sam’s cold without her, for more reasons than one, and he knows that if he doesn’t say something, anything, now, she’s going to be out that door before he can even finish saying Hail Mary. And no amount of prayer, to any sort of god out there, is going to bring her back.

So, Sam swallows down his pride, and says, “It’s you.”

“Yeah, I heard you say that before. ‘Just you.’ How can I-I be so stu-stupid?” Her voice wavers and shit she’s crying, isn’t she? He made her cry.

“And I mean that. Hey, come here.” Sam doesn’t want to hold her too tightly, afraid to hurt her, but he has to know that she isn’t going to leave, that she’s going to stay and listen to him. She turns to look at him, tears flowing down her cheeks, nose red, lips quivering, and Sam’s heart just about breaks. He did that. He’s never felt more like an asshole. “It is just you. It has been since the start. I promise.”

She doesn’t say anything. Just waits. And Sam feels like he’s back in school, standing in front of his class, giving a presentation.

“I, uh, did I ever tell you that I was in prison once?” Sam manages to get out. He always knew he was going to have this conversation with her, knew that with how their relationship was going, he couldn’t keep her in the dark much longer, but he had hoped that he would at least be wearing pants for this.

“No,” she breathes out, wiping her nose with a tissue she got from his bedside table. Huh. Was that tissue box always there? Anyway. “But I figured.”

“The tattoos?”

“No,” she says again and by some miracle there’s a smile on her lips. It’s small, gone with a blink of an eye, but Sam knows what he saw, has all of her smiles memorized. “Someone like you just has the talent of getting into trouble.”

And Sam can’t help it. He lets out a laugh because it’s true. She knows him.

“Well, I can’t deny that. But anyway,” He clears his throat. Was talking always this hard? “When I was in prison. In Panama—that’s important. This was when I was in Panama. I was there for thirteen years and, Jesus, time moves differently there. It’s like the days can’t go by fast enough but next thing you know a year has passed by, two, three, and you’ve lost your youth because some asshole decided to get all stabby with the guard.”

The words are spilling out, like he can’t get them out of him fast enough. Because he needs her to know, to understand.

“It wasn’t my fault. Well, okay, I was there on purpose at first, but those thirteen years were like a punishment for what that asshole did. I was supposed to die there. We were escaping, we were almost there, almost free, but I got shot and I fell. The guards found me and got some ‘doctors’ to patch me up. They made sure that if I was going to die, I was going to die because I rotted in that hellhole.”

Sam can see that she’s listening, that she’s hanging onto every word so he continues, because now that he’s started, he can’t stop.

“I was only in my twenties. There was so much I wanted to see, to do. Nathan and I had plans, dreams. We were going to go all over the world. But I was stuck there. Alone. And no one knew that I was alive. It’s like I stopped existing. Sometimes.” The words are stuck. But Sam forces them out. “Sometimes I, uh, I wished it were true, that it would be better if I was just gone. That I had just died back there.”

She’s crying again and Sam wipes her tears for her, brings her closer to him. Because these tears aren’t because of him anymore, but for him. And isn’t that something? Having someone cry for you.

“You don’t realize how much you have until everything is practically ripped away from you. I didn’t have any privacy. I…I couldn’t take a leak when I needed to. You just end up thinking, cuz there really isn’t much to do but think, about what you had. How life was good. And I, I just missed everything. I missed Nathan, of course, he’s my little brother. But, it’s the small things, too. Like riding my bike into the sunset. Grass beneath my feet. A glass of cold water. And…”

“And?” She asks, eyes focused on the gunshot scars on his abdomen, fingers tracing their shape. It tickles.

“And the smell of citrus.” He makes her look at him because this is important. The most important thing. “I missed the smell of citrus. The taste. And when I was in Japan, I thought about it again. The things I missed back here, back at home. And it’s citrus—you. I missed you so much, you wouldn’t believe it. I could have called Nathan. Elena, even. To come over here but I called you because,” Sam clears his throat once more. “Because I wanted you here. I had hoped you would be here when I came back. And you were.”

She’s quiet, eyes searching. And Sam’s poured out his heart and soul and now he’s got nothing else to do but wait and see what she does with it. Is this what being honest is like? Being vulnerable? It’s torture. Sam hates it. But he can also think of worse things and that keeps him rooted in his spot, trying to keep his face as honest as he can. Years of hiding is finally coming to bite him in the ass.

“You must have been so lonely.” Is what she says, hands back on his gunshot wounds. She’s transfixed. Almost like she’s been wondering about them forever. And maybe she has. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

“Eh. It’s all in the past,” Sam says with a shrug. Because it is in the past. He’s made his peace with it. Mostly. Some things are harder to shake off than others but he’s okay now. He’s built from strong stuff, a sturdy breed. “But, y’know. You’re, uh, killing me here.”

“Killing you?”

“Cuz I don’t know what you’re going to do,” Sam admits. It’s all truth from here on out, huh? “I can’t read you right now. Are you gonna leave? Punch me in the face? Report me? Please don’t report me. I’d really hate to go back to jail. Nathan would kill me. And I still have a few years left to go, y’know?”

She smiles and Sam realizes that he was rambling. He takes a breath, feels himself calm down. Damn. He needs a cigarette. Maybe two. Are his hands shaking? They’re definitely shaking.

“I think you have more than a ‘few years,’” she says, fingers tracing scars. Sam twitches from her touch. Is this what it feels like when he touches her back? “Especially if you stop smoking.”

“I’ve heard it all before.”

“You should start listening.”

“Ah. Someday.” Sam takes her hand in his, mostly to stop her stop her from tickling him, but also to bring them back on topic. Because she still hasn’t said anything. Nothing to give him an idea where they go from here, if there is somewhere to go from here. “So?”

“So…” She leans close, talks in a whisper, like if she speaks any louder, something might shift, break this bubble that they’re in. “So, you have to tell me what you want, Sam.” It’s an echo of what he said to her months ago, a vulnerable, fragile moment just like this. “So I know what to give you.”

But this time is different because she’s always been more generous than him, always been willing to give.

And Sam’s always been someone to take what he wants and he’ll be damned if this time is any different.

“It would be nice if you stayed.”

“Stay? I can do that.”

...

Chapter 5

Read on AO3

...

Sam’s apartment was inspired by @missdictatorme ‘s post

#samuel drake #sam drake #samuel drake x reader #sam drake x reader #sam drake fanfiction #fanfic #uncharted fanfiction #uncharted #uncharted 4 #a thief's end #self indulgent writing

64 notes · View notes

5uptic · 3 years

Text

crewfu: fanfic spotlight!

We work together by Anonymous (5up & DK, unrated, gen | 248 words)

Summary: One likes plants and baking, the other loves to create and design video games. They stay up and create monstrosities together, it's their fun, it's their favourite game. Aka a 5up and Dk roommate au!

No matter how life tangles, I’m still here with you. by hungryandsleepy (5up/Steve, general rating, m/m | 279 words)

Summary: 5up has been working so hard on his new map, and of course, he needs someone to give him a motivation to go to sleep.

objectively pretty by vesque (5up/Steve, general rating, m/m | 462 words)

Summary: steve is drunk. he's pretty sure 5up is too. that doesn't mean being called pretty is any less momentuous.

you plus me by mangoedges (5up/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 489 words)

Summary: 5up and Steve meet.

he said to me by mangoedges (5up/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 656 words)

Summary: 5up and Steve share a moment.

by the snowmen by mangoedges (5up/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 670 words)

Summary: Steve has a moment when it's all over.

today you got to know me (a little bit too slowly) by runninohhoney (5up/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 675 words)

Summary: Steve lights up a cigarette. 5up doesn't smoke.

what would it take by mangoedges (5up/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 787 words)

Summary: It's Steve's first mission. He hecks up. Or does he?

sorta cute by floweruru (5up/Steve, unrated, m/m | 822 words)

Summary: ‘I wouldn’t do that,’ he said. ‘That’s just disrespectful,’ he said. Yet there was 5up, crushed like a can in Steve’s embrace, feebly kicking at nothing as his feet leave the pavement.

i was gonna kill u, but ur kinda cute?? by Cthulhuer (5up/Steve, general rating, m/m | 1k words)

Summary: Steve is a mess and 5up is worse.

I hear a Symphony by AwkwardAce (5up/Fundy, unrated, m/m | 1.1k words)

Summary: He exhaled until his lungs ached for air, fingers twitching as he opted to remove the sleek white gloves he wore in a feeble effort to soothe himself. It didn’t work. He wrung his trembling hands together as his eyes raked down the worn leather case taking in the doodles- some etched some drawn- across the faded surface. He snapped the buckles open and his breath hitched, catching in his already tight throat. For a moment the world span, his head throbbed and he wanted nothing more than to run and hide. 5up breathed out slowly, shakily.

staring by lytriis (5up/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 1.1k words)

Summary: steve asks 5up out. 5up doesn’t know how to respond.

and it's four am, and yet, you're here by vesque (5up/Steve, general rating, m/m | 1.2k words)

Summary: in which steve shows up at 5up's house, in the middle of the night, completely spontaneously

more than this by mangoedges (5up/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 1.2k words)

Summary: Steve catches 5up venting.

3:15 by vesque (5up/Steve, general rating, m/m | 1.2k words)

Summary: Steve tries to guess Five's name. It's much more difficult than he anticipated.

things were different by fourpebbles (Apollo/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 1.5k words)

Summary: His eyes circled around to his friends, Kimi and Janet engaging in pleasant comversation, sleepy and becoming increasingly more sober. He looked, finally, across him, and caught Dumbdog staring at him. What now bro, what did this guy want. small talk, turns into not small talk, then there's no talk

Once Upon A Dream by SmearedWords (5up/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 1.5k words)

Summary: 5up looks ethereal, while Steve is struggling to breathe. "You're not real either." Or: Steve has a crush and a nightmare in three parts, 5up is tired, the crew life is hard and Polus sucks.

the ones you love will call you back by homeward_bound (Apollo/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 1.8k words)

Summary: stevesuptic: dude, is it weird that i miss vegas DumbDog: No? I do too. stevesuptic: okay [steve misses vegas and apollo. they talk about it]

cough it out by cj__writes (Apollo/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 2k words)

Summary: Apollo thinks that Steve must be well and truly gone, at this point, because he giggles, like Apollo’s just told a particularly funny joke. He looks Apollo right in the eye and asks, “Do you trust me?” “Absolutely not.”

ivy by Secular_Czar (5up/Steve, teen rating, gen | 2.1k words)

Summary: It might be a sad day, in general, but Steve isn't about to let it get to him. His friends won't ever let him wallow either.

The Colosseum by WhenTheFogClears (general rating, gen | 2.1k words)

Summary: Five squinted, looking at the colosseum intensely. He thinks Apollo was latched onto the sphinx’s shoulder, fur matted with blood. Janet was slumped against a column, probably out, with Kimi whose bow was snapped in two, her leg twisted at an odd angle. DK was in the corner trying to cast various supporting hexes and charms with a broken arm, whilst Hafu was dragging a heavily bandaged Steve away. or 5up slaughters a cat

Oneshots :) by woofles1990 (5up/Fundy, 5up/Steve, teen rating, multi | 2.5k words, oneshot collection)

Summary: Just a bunch of MCYT/Among Us oneshots, mainly featuring 5up's crew because yes :)

the adventures of 5up and steve staying up late because they're under 30 by 5280ft (5up/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 2.5k words)

Summary: “The night is young!” Steve yells at the ceiling, throwing his hands up in the air. “Take advantage of it! Commit crimes! Fuck hoes!” Five catches his hands in the air and laughs. “You wish you had hoes.”

unreasonably in love by cj__writes (Apollo/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 2.6k words, chaptered WIP)

Summary: "It was like pieces of a puzzle, everything coming together. And now, here they are, standing in their apartment, which looks more like a hollow shell than a home, filled solely with scattered boxes and the minuscule amount of furniture that they brought with them to Vegas." Or: what happens after Apollo and Steve move in together.

cant be love by fourpebbles (Apollo/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 3.5 words, chaptered WIP)

Summary: He had chuckled to himself, he felt so stupid. Who in their fucking minds names a playlist 'sugr?', he thought, internally cringing. A story where a Steve meets an Apollo, and some things happen.

Somewhere in the darkness, us together for a while by tumtummeke (Apollo & Kimi & Steve, teen rating, gen | 3.6k words)

Summary: Apollo worries about Steve. Steve breaks his vape pen. Kimi plays power washer. Self-indulgent angst, with a generous helping of friendship and cuddles.

odyssey by 5280ft (5up/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 23k words, chaptered WIP)

Summary: "First you will come to the Sirens who enchant all who come near them. If any one unwarily draws in too close and hears the singing of the Sirens...they warble him to death with the sweetness of their song. Therefore pass these Sirens by and stop your men's ears with wax that none of them may hear." -Homer, The Odyssey

Also: SilverSprinklez10‘s yupwaves collection.

Summary: This is a Harry Potter AU based on the characters/personas of the youtubers/streamers.

FAQ:

Wait what is this: pretty straight to the point! i’ll regularly share crewfu-related fanfictions to this blog :)

How regularly is “regularly”?: great question! LOL. it depends on the flow of fanfics that get uploaded, which i do not have any control over, but i’m looking forward to do this twice a month. after all, it’s only me doing this and i often run on a tight schedule.

What’s the format like?:

[title of fic with link] by [author of the fic with link] ([main pairing(s), if there is one/multiple], [fic rating: eg, general rating], [relationship: eg, m/m] | [word count in k] ([added prompt to specify if it’s complete or not)])

Summary: [summary provided by the author. if it doesn’t have a summary, a “No summary” prompt will be put instead]

(What does WIP mean again?): Work In Progress :)

Why are you doing this?: from the beginning, my blog has hosted conversations about RPF (real people fiction) and crewfu pairings. this has evolved into people sending me updates about certain fics in the crewfu tags every now and then, but i wanna take the next step and just do these things myself. after all, i’m already lurking in the tags often to see the fics that get posted. as someone who is both a writer and a reader, i wanna appreciate fanfic writers and help out other people that want to read fanfic and consume more fandom content!

Will it be AO3 only?: well, ao3 has a very helpful tag system that makes finding fics incredibly easy, as well as allowing people with no accounts to like and comment on fics, so that’s the site i will personally look in for fanworks. but if there are any fics you’ve written or liked in any other platforms, such as wattpad, you can always contact me through my inbox (send an ask or a dm!), and i’ll make sure to include for the next fanfic spotlight :)

Does it mean you won’t reply to fic asks anymore?: yeah, i guess. since i’ll be doing the searching myself it seems counterproductive. but if i ever skip a fic or again, it’s in another platform, or you’ve posted/read the fic a while ago and you want to get more traction on it, hit me up and i’ll take it into consideration!

Will you read every single one of the fics on your list?: oh no. again, i run on a tight schedule, and also i have my own taste when it comes to fics. i won’t be reviewing fics or any of the sort, and my intention extends to simply sharing these fics to this page so people will have easier access to them :) that’s where ao3 tagging becomes SUPER useful!!!

So what’s the criteria for the way you’ll sort out the fics in your list?: word count, going from lowest to highest. in case of fics in other platforms, i guess i’ll put them at the top of the list. i’ll also be looking for fairly recent fics, so let me know if you want any old-ish fic to be included.

I see you talking mostly about 5up/Steve and Steve/Apollo. Can I still send/see other crewfu fics?: why yes absolutely! my goal is to push every fic which heavily features regular crewfu characters - 5uptic and supdog just happen to be very popular pairings. so, to give you a list: core 4 (5up, hafu, dk, steve), apollo, aipha, annie, janet, kimi, ellum, koji... you know the drill. it doesn’t have to be centered on a relationship, or about 5up in specific, etc. my only requirement is that any of the previously mentioned members are a central part of the fic or are HEAVILY featured in it (sorry, minecraft fics with 50+ tags who only mention 5up as an afterthought won’t make the cut :/).

Isn’t shipping Bad™?: well, it’s a little more nuanced than that. i will go out of my way to discourage and shame people who often violate CCs’ boundaries by acting like so and so has a crush on this person, or that this and that are Actually Into Each Other or secretly dating. any sort of tinhat bullshit is a big nono (think larries). but i run on the assumption that people who write rpf understand that what they’re doing is simply write a completely fictional story using real life personalities, and understand the boundaries necessary to do it - aka they’re not tinhats, they understand they can’t assume everything about CCs’ thoughts and personalities, they understand that what they’re writing is strictly fiction, they keep these works only in fandom circles, etc. (but again, it’s only one me doing this, so please be kind if i don’t happen to know that this person is Actually a tinhat or whatever).

show fic: NO. (seriously. i don’t feel comfortable putting my ao3 account out there. please respect my privacy on these trying times <3)

I REALLY don’t care about your rpf/fic talk: fair! i’ll be tagging every single one of these posts as “fanfic spotlight”, so just mute the tag using tumblr settings so you’ll never have to look at these! likewise, you can follow the tag if you want to keep up with it, or search it on my blog to look at the other entries you might have missed (but this is the first one! lol).

Hey, my fic is here and I don’t feel comfortable with it being shared over here: no problem! let me know as soon as you can and i’ll take it down <3

#crewfu #fanfic spotlight

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kaykay-13 · 2 years

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Self Love Retrospection

Rules: It’s time to love yourselves! Choose your 5 (or so) favorite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc.) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you brought to the world in 2021. Tag as many creators as you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome works!

tagged by @rainbowrider1290!!

*sweats* here we go, boys!

1. sickness: of the mind and the self

it was good shit, okay? it slapped then, and it slaps now. even though i didn’t like the way this fic ended, it was my first attempting at a new writing style (which i still occasionally adopt now and then), and it was, well, good, in my opinion. 10/10 for old kat at trying her hand at something new

2. of dreams and desires; of desolation and despair

this fic was a whole bunch of effort. i’m really proud of it even though i know some areas could use working on. this massive chungus took up so much of my life span and god damn if i don’t love this baby, despite all its flaws

3. take me home, where i belong

this was written in the spur of the moment, and totally all of @tsuuie’s fault for giving me that One Sentence which changed my life forever. honestly i really liked how the writing in this just felt so natural, how it just all flowed so well so. so this goes to third, i guess.

4. a tale of two

this is a new work and by god did i bust this out riding on brainworms. this earns fourth simply because of how big brained the au is. nothing else could possibly compare (don’t quote me on this)

5. of memories, and of dreams

ah, a banger with a side of heavy projection. actually my favourite fic. it’s so soft and gay and it was written for pride month so of course how could i not like it?? my only leedle regret is that it didn’t gain as much traction as i hoped it would have. oops

there are a few more i wanted to include but nah, this isn’t some gratuitous promotion of my own work so i’ll hold it off for now.

wish i had people to tag but i don’t think any of them use tumblr ;( so anyone who sees this is free to pick it up!

#hehe you get a special treat if you're seeing these tags #i think all my toxic xingyun aus slap as well #along with the eula character study #it's just that i don't have the space for them to include in this list #the toxic aus gave me so much room to go ham with the metaphors and imagery and get all pretentious #but eula character study took me a long time as well just to research everything about her and make sure it was coherent #though eula fic was a little clunky in some area so.... oops?#i dunno man feel free to let me know what works y'all personally enjoyed #kk13

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justtoarguewithyou · 3 years

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ao3 stats thingy.

thanks for the tag @wanderingbandurria :)

i will also continue this under the jump...

How many works do you have on AO3?

32 whole works, plus another three that are anonymous right now because they're part of an exchange...

What's your total AO3 word count?

195,753. oh! i just missed my anniversary: 8-22. :) i've been active in online fandom for one year.

How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

3 fandoms: harry potter, the mandalorian and DC's batman.

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

1. A Surprise, to be Sure...

The Mandalorian, Modern AU: All Grogu wants is a dog...

2. Hit and Run

Harry Potter, From a Tumblr Prompt: “I hit you with my car and was the only one to visit you in the hospital” AU

Sirius hits Remus with his car. They fall in love.

(this is my first fic!)

3. Every Day I Wake Up and It's Sunday

Harry Potter, This is a Hermione story, with lots of 90s music and random fashion trivia. I have a very tender love for this fic.

4. Every Day Patches the Night Up

Harry Potter, another Tumblr Meet Ugly Prompt: “We met each other on a Sunday morning, both doing our walk of shame” AU Remus meets Sirius as they take a walk of shame.

5. Weightlessness, No Gravity

The Mandalorian, Din Djarin, reluctant Mand'alor, just wants off this rock.

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Heck yeah! I love comments (who doesn't?). Please comment. Or send me an ask! They really make my whole day. there's a few people i know (cough @allthatsentimentalcandyfloss @mlim8 @paulamcg cough) that leave the loveliest comments, and i'm always so thrilled to see that they like something that i've written enough to tell me so. <3

What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

I don't really write angst. I've written sad things. Death's Silver Lining is sad, but the ending is hopeful.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

no! i don't understand leaving hate on fic either. so...please. don't.

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I have written one smutty thing! It's anonymous right now, so I won't link it yet, nor will i expound further, since there's a whole spreadsheet dedicated to guessing who's written what!

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know! I hope not. I've worked hard on my things.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

No.

What's your all time favorite ship?

so, i write wolfstar, bruharv, jaydick, and also hermione granger and oliver wood (which doesn't have a cute shorthand name).

but, funnily enough, my all-time favorite ship isn't one that i write. i'll read anything if it's well-written. and one of my favorite writers is very prolific in rpf (which i understand is not everyone's cup of tea). but i love this specific ship because of the way that they've written it. and i don't know anything really about these people, and i don't really want to. but i love this author's writing (if you see this, hi! yes! i'm talking about you.)

What's a WIP that you want to finish, but don't think that you ever will?

I have a few things languishing in my WIP folders that I need to get around to doing. the thing i'll probably never finish (or it's going to take me the longest) is an idea i stole from someone (they know, and they've read what i wrote them).

What are your writing strengths?

dialogue. emotions. small details.

What are your writing weaknesses?

knowing where to put a comma.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in fic?

so, @wanderingbandurria mentioned something i've never really thought about, and that's italicizing a foreign language spoken in fics. i think i might have done it some stories, and not others. but yeah, i see the point about how it others the language speakers. i did teach myself how to have a hover-text note in ao3 (desktop) so, i think i will use that more often. but it only shows up on desktop.

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Harry Potter. (jkr is trash, and i don't support her transphobic opinions; but i am up for radicalizing and queering up her fictional world).

What is your favorite fic that you've written?

ooo. i love everything i write. is that silly?

but if you want to read something that i'm very proud of, that hasn't gotten too much traction, you can read Serenade in Blue it's about marlene mckinnon and dorcas meadows (HP Mauraders era characters that were mentioned once [twice?]) going overseas as WAACs during WWII. it's not long.

leave me a comment! ;)

#tag games #fandom questions #meet the author #justtoarguewithyou

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mandadoration · 4 years

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all-consuming

(gif by astreamidnightgifspam)

summary: What brutal efficiency Paz Vizla carries himself with, and what brutal efficiency he shows when he’s fucking you against the wall.

word count: 5,173

pairing: paz vizla x reader

tags: smut, against the wall sex, choking, face fucking, cumshot, very rough sex, dom/sub for SURE, awkward aftercare

a/n: Thank you all for being so patient while I tried to get this out! It has been definite Horny Hours on this blog with little actual content for a while, but hopefully the wait has been worth it! Enjoy it, ya filthy sinners.

Read this on AO3

Paz Vizla is nothing if not all-consuming. From his hulking stature that fills up the door frame to how the room quiets when he walks in, high tension trailing behind him, he makes himself present and known. He doesn’t need to verbally command a room when all it takes is a sweeping gesture, a too-tight turn of his head and a fist at his side before spines straighten and chins raise. The line between fear and respect blurs to the point it might as well be non-existent.

Even you aren’t quite sure where you are. He swallows you up in his shadow, and you just know that he revels in that fact. You can’t see his face-- and you highly you ever will-- but you get a feeling it’s something that adds to the puff of his chest. You know because he seems intent on letting you know whenever he calls in.

And the people in the room next to yours.

And the people down the hallway.

Maybe the entire star system.

He certainly seemed intent on that the first time he met you.

As far as first impressions went, Paz’s could be much better. He’s the one that gives you the impression that maybe Mandalorians aren’t taught manners, like to knock before entering a closed room, because he barged into your reserved room just as you took off your underwear for a leering client, pulling him off of you and off the bed by the scruff of his neck. The client makes a choked-off noise that has you pulling a face, scrabbling at the silken sheets with dirty fingernails as he tries to gain some traction. He has no chance compared to the large bounty hunter. If you had to guess, he was twice the client’s size, maybe more if you accounted for the armor. No contest.

You just watch with mild interest as the large Mandalorian knocks him out and slaps cuffs around his bounty’s thin wrists, barely even looking at you during the whole thing. As if you weren’t even there. The brutal efficiency in which the Mandalorian had carried out his actions had intrigued you. You had witnessed a fair share of violence in your life- just comes with not having the security of funds or status- but the Mandalorian in your room had done it so casually that you had started to really wonder if there were some malicious intentions, some deep-seated anger that manifested because the last you heard, knocking someone’s lights out wasn’t a prerequisite to bringing a bounty in.

Once the bounty was hauled over his shoulder, he had given you a curt nod, the only acknowledgement he had given you thus far, and stepped towards the door, intent to leave. That is, before you pouted your lips and called for him, asking for the name of your unconventional savior. You really hadn’t looked forward to having to service your client after all. Far too old and hungry like a starving strill for your tastes, lips perpetually pulled back in a sneer. The least you could do was offer what you were best at.

For a moment you think that he’ll ignore you and keep walking out the door, but he stops. Gives no name, granted, but least now you have his attention.

You hum, and trail a lazy finger up the outside of your leg. “You know, he’s already paid for the full hour,” you purr, making a dainty motion at the unconscious man, leaning forward and pushing your elbows together. You can’t tell where his eyes are looking, but from how the hand at his side clenches into fist, you have a small inkling of where his gaze lands. “Be a shame if it went to waste. I’d much rather have fun with you,” and your panties are already off anyways, so you lean back and relax against the cushions, lifting your legs into the air and batting your eyelashes at him. To top it all off, you bring your hands around to spread yourself open for him, and give him a winning smile like a pin-up girl worthy enough to be painted onto the side of the best starship in the galaxy.

It’s funny that all it takes for you to derail a Mandalorian and convince him to spend the prepaid hour with you was to spread your legs and look pretty for him. He shoves the man unceremoniously into the wardrobe and absolutely pounced on you. It was too bad you couldn’t tell the other girls that you had snagged a Mandalorian of all people. A Mandalorian that had reduced you to a shaking mess within the first half hour. A Mandalorian that managed to go two rounds and a half before your room’s sound system had chimed to let you know the hour was up.

As you lay in the bed, panting still and rubbing the fingerprint-shaped bruises on your shoulders long after he had gone, you thought that that would be the last you ever saw of basically the best lay of your life; but a few months later, he asks for you by name, much to your surprise, seeing as you never gave it before he left. You had started to think that maybe he wouldn’t even spare you a second thought while he was out there doing whatever it is Mandalorians do. But he walks in, without knocking, again, and grumbles about how much it was to rent you for an hour.

He seems to forget all about the expenses when you take him all the way down until your nose nestles in the coarse hair at the base.

He should.

This Mandalorian was entirely proportionate after all.

No small feat.

Most definitely not a small cock.

After all is said and done, you help him strap his armor back on. Previously he had taken off strictly what was necessary, but this time without a bounty waiting in a closet, he had the luxury of being a little more comfortable. Suiting him back up was an oddly tender moment, working quietly to make sure everything was in its place, fleeting touches so gentle compared to what had transpired moments before. You stretch back across the ruined sheets, wonderfully sore with tear-streaked cheeks, he gives you his name without prompting just as he leaves.

Paz Vizla.

You don’t actively try to remember the names of your clients, but his sticks with you.

With how he doesn’t linger or converse with you, you gather he isn’t one to be too sentimental about his affairs, and even more when it’s paid. Although you didn’t really need those small moments before and after the hour to know that. He’s rough and unforgiving, fucking more than actually having sex, pushing your face into the sheets to muffle your sobs or a firm hand around your throat, pressing and pulling and making you beg with each swat on your ass with his large hands.

So yeah. You remember Paz Vizla’s name, but don’t hold too much hope he’ll be back for a third time.

You think a girl, worn down by the world and turning bitter, once said to you that the key to happiness was low expectations, or something along those lines. You try to take her advice, but when you get back from a round around the club to check your data pad, a time slot has been filled up. No name. Just an hour. Highly unusual, but you can guess what kind of person could set up an appointment with and not provide a name. Although the words of low expectations and not getting invested in this line of work knocks around in your head, you’re antsy for when his hour rolls around.

You skip all the preamble of clothes to go for just a simple robe to protect yourself from the steady chill of the air, and wait. You hate to say it, but you find yourself even more excited for him to come back. It’s no lie that you do have regulars, people who have grown used to you and prefer your type, but you never really felt as anticipatory as you did now.

You then learn that he still hasn’t learned how to properly knock.

Paz Vizla practically kicks down the door to your room, stripping off his weapons and unbuckling his belt with his sights set on you. “C’mere,” he grunts, and he scoops you up off the bed where you’ve been waiting for him, and he shatters the demure act you’ve put up when he slams you against the adjacent wall.

“Rough day?” you tease him, and gasp in a stuttered breath when his gloved hand grips your throat to pin you against the wall. There’s that brutal efficiency again. Paz’s free hand starts ripping off the sheer, satiny robe you had on, and starts roughly groping you wherever he can reach, groaning when he finds that you’re bare underneath. You feel cowed by his actions, but you’re just defiant enough to keep running your mouth. “Th-that a yes?” He chokes you off when he tightens his grip, and he leans in close, close enough that you can see the reflection of your eyes in his helmet, pupils blown wide and swallowing the color around it.

“What do you think, you brat?” he grits out, voice tight with tension, and deliciously low. You can feel the frustration emanating from him, and you wonder how much of it you can direct at yourself. Grinning, you roll your body against his, grinding your naked pussy against the cold beskar of his cuisse, and put your arms around his neck to pull him forward until your forehead rests against his helmet.

“I think,” you purr, “you should relieve some tension, Paz.” His thumb rubs against the flushed skin of your throat, right over your racing pulse almost pensively before he pinches your nipple, making you inhale sharply.

“Yeah?” he asks, tugging on your nipple into a stiffened peak. “I think I will.”

Like a trained dog, when he lets go of your throat, you jump up high enough to wrap your legs around his waist, his hands coming to your hips in that bruising hold that never fails to leave marks, and presses you back against the wall, hard enough to knock some of the breath out of you, but soft enough that your head doesn’t crack against the wall. He brings one of his hands up your mouth where you obediently bite on the glove, and he slips his hand out, grabbing the glove and tossing it behind him somewhere. He slides the hand between your bodies, and starts rubbing at your clit in slow circles, dipping down to your slick and back up, and you sigh in pleasure. “You think you can take it?” Paz’s voice has dropped, and something bottoms out in you.

“Is that even a question?” you ask him, resting your head against the wall as you look at Paz through half-lidded eyes. The rough pads of his finger working your clit send small shockwaves down to your toes, warmth traveling all through your veins and curling in your belly. He doesn’t bother with teasing around your clit, instead going in and opting to alternate between short, quick swipes and slow circles. A shiver runs down your spine when you realize just how easily Paz his holding you up with one arm. You know he’s strong; you’ve known it since day one, but it still makes your toes curl at the thought of how easy it would be for him to break you, and that’s when you toe that blurred line between fear and respect again. Paz laughs, rough and wickedly when you shake in his arms.

“True,” he says. “If you can’t take what I give you,” Paz leans in closer, “then what do I pay you for?” He slides in a finger, relishing your gasp as you pull him closer still, and you can feel his amusement radiating off of him in waves when you press open-mouthed kisses along his helmet, leaving perfect lipstick marks on the metal almost desperately. “Pretty thing,” he murmurs, and graciously tilts his head so you can reach other parts of his helmet. The beskar is cold, but quickly warms up under your mouth. “And all mine .” His possessive tone curls around the base of your spine and leaves you warm, preening under his careful attention. You draw back and smile.

“Only for an hour,” you tease. You know that before he leaves he’ll go to the refresher to wipe all traces of your encounter away, and probably go actually clean his armor wherever he goes after; but for the time you have with him, you’ll leave what marks you can with the barrier of armor. “It’s extra if you go overtime.”

“I’ll make good use of the time I have then,” Paz growls. He adjusts his hold on you, digging his fingers into the soft flesh of your ass before he slips in another finger. A high whine escapes before you can smother it, and you flush deeply as Paz huffs a laugh. “You gonna sing for me?” he coos, condescending as he slowly drags his fingers out, against your walls, pressing your clit with his thumb as he does. You make a show of catching your bottom lip between your teeth, smiling at him coyly as you run your hands over his pauldrons, scraping your nails across the metal. Although most of your lipstick has been kissed off, your lips are starting to redden again from your biting. Paz gives you a harsh twist of his fingers that makes you rock forward, but you stay quiet. “That better be a yes,” he warns in a low voice. Paz curls his fingers in you, and you choke down a moan. Even still, you know he heard it catch in your throat because he does it again, stroking up against your clit at the same time. You can’t stop the next one, but you narrow your eyes at him instead.

“Or what?” you counter, challengingly. His fingers still their movements in you.

“Or…” he says, and pulls his fingers out of you, and shoves them into your mouth before you can protest. “I’ll leave you.” You look up at him through your lashes, curling your tongue around his digits and letting spit drool down your chin before you turn your head to pop his fingers out of your mouth. A weak threat you already know he won’t make good on.

“You can’t,” you say sweetly. “You paid for the hour.” Paz grabs a hold of your face, fingers pressing the flesh of your cheek against your teeth to the point you wince.

“Doesn’t mean I have to stay for the hour.”

“Then you’d be wasting your money,” you bite back at him through squished cheeks. You reach down to smear your wetness over the palm of your hand, then feel around blindly until your hand wraps around Paz’s cock, running your deft hands over the velvety-smooth skin, rubbing the pad of your thumb over the head. Your fingers barely touch each other when you reach around, but you try your best to hold him in a slick grip.

“Fuuuuck,” Paz groans, voice turning breathless at the end as he lets your face go in favor of holding the back of your neck. The heat of his hand is searing, but it just spurs you to tighten your grip. “Just like that.” You squeeze him root to tip, twisting your wrist and drawing a moan from him in response. After a few strokes, you pause, and let go off him, letting his cock bob in the air as you slap your wet hand against the front of his armor.

“Did you come here just for a handjob?” you ask him.

Paz doesn’t hesitate to answer. “I sure didn’t come here just to listen to you mouth off to me,” he says, but he loosens his grip and you get down, leaning against the wall and playing with your breast as he starts stripping himself of his armor from the waist up. He makes record time getting undressed, even going as far as to neatly put it down instead of dumping your ass, but it seems like ages before he swoops in again, lifting you back up and putting your knees to your chest, one arm under your ass and the other holding your waist. It’s a little uncomfortable, Paz seemingly wanting to get closer to you, but ending up making your knees squish your tits, but then he’s pressing in, in, in , popping the head of his cock into your hole, and stretching you until he bottoms out and you forget your discomfort.

You feel so full.

You don’t even realize that you’ve closed your eyes and left your mouth hanging open until Paz orders you to, “Fucking look at me.” You flutter your eyes open, and you feel them well up with tears as he drags his cock out, tortuously slowly, and slams back in, punching a high-pitched squeak out of you, and you knock your head against the wall. The pain of it is quickly washed over with pleasure as he steadies his pace.

“You know,” you gasp out, hands scrabbling at his shoulders in an attempt to ground yourself somehow, “we have a bed for a reason.”

“You talk too much,” he grunts, and brings the arm around your waist up to wrap his still-slick hand around your throat, squeezing the sides and making the blood roar in your ears. You teeter precariously in his one-handed grip, but he’s pinned you to the wall enough that you won’t fall. Still, something in your stomach flutters at the fear of falling. You wonder if he can feel your pulse jump under his fingers, but those thoughts are driven out of your head as he speeds up out of nowhere and pounds into you, the obscene slap of his hips against yours almost overtaking the faint beat of the music in the main area of the club. A broken whine escapes your throat, pitched up with every thrust. It’s almost too much too fast, and you end up holding onto Paz with a white-knuckled grip in an attempt not to immediately hurtle off the edge. The heat builds up in your belly into something devastating, and you feel your face turning redder and redder with every passing second. You look at Paz with pleading eyes, tears welling up, and a few spill over when he shifts a little, hitting that spot that makes you see stars. You need to move, need to outwardly express the sheer pleasure rocking through you, but the way you’re being held up makes it impossible. “ Maker , your pussy is clenching around me; you like it when I choke you?” He tightens his grip. You barely register that you’re babbling incoherently at him, little choked off sounds that barely constitute as Basic. The energy between you is charged, and keeps rising with every second that passes. “I bet you do.” You look at him pleadingly again for that relief you’re aching for.

“Aww,” Paz coos, “you wanna cum, is that what you’re trying to say? Poor, pretty little thing. And so soon, too.” Condescension drips off his words and stings you like acid, but you frantically nod anyways. That coil that’s been winding up inside is ready to snap at any moment, but you know, you know that Paz likes it when you hold off until you get his permission. If it weren’t for the helpless position he’s winded you up into, if it weren’t for the fact that it was him of all people, you would’ve done it as you pleased. But you want to please him. You want this dangerous man to approve of your actions and you know how to play him to get the response you want. The fact that you can barely think or string together any words doesn’t stop you, and you fix him with the most pleading, sorry look you can muster through your tears. So many years of your life building up a thick skin, so much of it in this profession, and he manages to slip by them. “Then do it. ”

If you had any breath left in your lungs, your orgasm would’ve punched it out of you, but instead you’re left with your lips tingling and eyes rolling back as your toes curl as you cum. Your vision nearly whites out you clench around Paz’s cock, his pace still at that constant, invasive speed despite the way you tighten around him. He releases his hold on your throat to hold onto the meat of your shoulder. Always, always too much of him, of everything, and you don't want to let go. But eventually you start trying to push him away, your pleasure moans turning more into uncomfortable whines, still too incoherent to form proper words.

When Paz finally lets go of you, you’re still shaking, and your knees give out from under you without his support. You gasp in a deep breath, head reeling and tears still slipping out of your eyes as you try to gather yourself, but before you can do anything, he threads his hand through your hair and wrenches it back, and shoves his cock into your mouth while you’re trying to recover, forcing a choked off noise of surprise. Paz is merciless, hitting the back of your throat and growling deep in his chest with every thrust as you look up at him with glossy eyes. At this point, you can’t do anything but keep your jaw slack and try not to gag around him, but then he’s burying himself into your throat, keeping your head down as he wipes the tears running down your face. You gag hard around him, and that’s when Paz slides out, slapping your face with his spit-soaked cock as you hiccup through your tears.

Despite already having cum, your core is throbbing with need again, and you reach up to softly put your hands on Paz’s muscled thighs. You lick your swollen lips.

“Please,” you rasp, leaning forward as much as you can with that firm hold on your hair to try and capture his cock back in your mouth. You manage to wrap your lips around the head, swirling your tongue. “Paz--” He draws his hips back, and you let out a pathetic whine. His hold tightens, making your scalp sting.

“Hm?” He pulls on your hair until your neck strains, making you tilt your head back to look up at him. “What is it, baby?” Your lips are parted, glistening with spit as you try and formulate a coherent thought. “What do you want?” You don’t want to see what happens if Paz gets impatient with you, so you opt to open your mouth and stick your tongue out as far out as you can, looking up at him with shiny eyes. You can see when he physically freezes, then he’s gripping the grip of his cock and pressing it back against your tongue.

Paz hisses through his teeth when he sinks his cock back into your mouth, looking at your red-rimmed eyes glazed over with arousal, and his dick twitches in your mouth when you blink up at him with your tear-soaked lashes. “Pretty thing,” he groans. “Pretty, pretty thing.” You moan around his cock as his words make your cunt clenches around nothing. “Let me do anything, anything to you.” It becomes too tiring to try and keep your hands up on his thighs, and despite how awkward it feels, you drop them to your sides, hanging limply as Paz fucks your mouth.

Truth be told, you space out a little, eyes slipping half-shut as you suppress your gags and instead focus on how the low, ever-changing neon lights of your room reflect and bounce off the surface of his armor. His pace starts to become erratic, more frantic as he chases the sweet warmth of your mouth. You wonder if he's going to cum in your mouth or buried deep in your throat as you swallow around him, but instead Paz pulls out just in time for him to cum over you, half in your open mouth and half on your face, moaning deep in his chest as he hunches his shoulders inwards, almost curling into himself as he continues to pump his cock, slick with your spit, and ride out his orgasm.

You’re not really seeing when Paz releases his hold on your hair, and you slump against the wall, heaving in breaths as his hot cum drips down your face. Your jaw is aching and you’re sure that you’ll feel the effects of being essentially fucked in a fetal position pressed against an unforgiving wall, but your head is still spinning as oxygen finally circulates to your brain unhindered. With Paz not so close to you, not radiating his nearly suffocating warmth, you feel yourself calm down a little more, breathing evening out as you swallow his cum and sigh.

Paz just watches you for a little bit, and you can’t tell what his expression is because of the damn helmet with your kisses still smeared all over it, but his hand is clenching and unclenching at his sides as his shoulders slow their rapid up and down. You blink slowly up at him, darting your tongue out to wet your lips and ending up tasting more of the cum on your face. Trying not to cringe, you croak out, “If you don’t tip,” and Maker, your voice is ruined, “I’ll be pissed.” The only indication that Paz heard you at all is a slight tilt of his head and a staticky noise you suspect is a huff of laughter. You shift, and wince when your knees shoot up in pain. You were not looking forward to getting up. Sighing, you duck your head down to rub at the reddening marks on your hips. His boots come into your line of sight, and before you can ask what else he possibly wanted to do, he’s scooping you up, an arm under your knees and the other cradling your upper body to his chest, and he gingerly puts you down on the bed.

You don’t really say anything, and you think to yourself that this is the first time he’s rendered you speechless without shoving his cock or fingers into your mouth or choking you. He’s gone before you can make a remark about it, ducking into the refresher as you lay on the bed. When you said that you had a bed for a reason, this was not what you had in mind.

Well, at least he’s utilizing it.

Or more accurately, you are.

You can already feel the exhaustion settling deep in your bones as you sink into the soft bed, muscles aching as you vaguely listen to the thrum of music that floats through the club. You have about 15 minutes before your hour with Paz is up, and another client coming in an hour. A bath is in order, and a short nap. Luckily you don’t have to work the floor tonight, so a small blessing from the Maker.

You’re jerked back to the present when a warm, wet rag runs up your leg. You lift your head up, just enough to see Paz lift your leg to make it bend at the knee, and wipes at the mess between your thighs. Most of the lipstick marks have been wiped off his helmet, but you can see little smudges where he’d failed to get rid of it completely. You swallow.

“What are you doing?” His motion of swiping over your thighs stutters the slightest. You could’ve missed it if you weren’t hyper aware of his every movement right now, if his touch didn’t fail to burn your skin.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” he grumbles after a brief pause, and resumes wiping away the sticky remnants. You wanna press it, tease him about the awkward tenderness that he’s demonstrating, but you know that if you mention any other word about it, he’ll leave.

The care is… nice.

You can’t say that any other clients have gone so far to treat you so kindly after a session. Maybe brief cuddling, a word or two of praise or pat on your ass, but not this. Not the hesitant press of Paz’s fingers into your forming bruises, not the way his shoulders tense when you hiss in pain, not the way he refolds the rag to make sure he cleans you up as much as he can. So uncharacteristic of someone his profession, you think. So uncharacteristic that the brutal efficiency has stepped into the background to make way for… whatever this was. The reserved, almost guarded and guilty way Paz is treating you.

It’s uncharacteristic of his character again when he speaks up.

“You can take a lot,” he says. You quirk a corner of your lip, and slip your eyes shut as the rag runs over your nose.

“That’s- that’s what you pay me for,” you respond, parroting his words back at him. Paz huffs out a short laugh.

“Little brat.” He places the dirty rag on the nightstand next to the bed, giving you one last lingering glance before he heads over to the pile of his armor, slowly strapping it on. You sigh, and reach over to tug a pillow towards you, tucking it under your head. You open one eye lazily.

“Want help?” you ask. He shakes his head.

“I don’t think you can even get up, pretty thing,” he says. You won’t deny it; you feel pretty boneless right now and that nap you were thinking about becomes more and more enticing, but your data pad lights up with a notification. You manage to overcome the urge to just roll your eyes and go to sleep, but you drag yourself far enough to reach the other nightstand and unlock it as you read the message. A slow smile spreads over your face, and a flutter of anticipation swells in your chest despite the pleasing ache between your legs and despite the slight tremor still running through your legs.

“Don’t put your armor back on yet,” you say to him over your shoulder. “My next client just canceled.” Paz hums for you to elaborate. “ Prepaid. And non-refundable.” As it always is at the club you work at, but you want to convince him to stay. You succeed, and Paz stops strapping his cuisse back on, instead straightening up and settling his body weight onto one leg. He tilts his head, and you can feel the grin that is no doubt playing under his helmet.

“His loss.”

Maybe you can reapply your lipstick before the second hour begins.

---

Forever Tag: @mabelleen @mando-vibes @isaissafail @adikaofmandalore @mudhornmando @jokersdoll @creamysacrilege @blondecity @satans-tongues @skinny-macncheese @mrsparknuts @eupphoriaaa

@magichandthing @lackofhonor @catsnkooks

#mandalorian reader #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x you #my writing #the mandalorian #mandalorian #mandalorian imagine #smut #paz vizla #paz vizla x reader #paz vizla x you #paz vizla reader #paz vizla imagine #there's probably a million mistakes but whatever #also has anyone else found that they cant save gifs anymore?#on desktop?

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utilitycaster · 3 years

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yeah one plan I really wanna work on is an archive of tumblr metas for crit role campaign 3, to keep all the debunked theories remembered!

My only fear is whether it can be publicly accessible :(

Not sure about public screenshots of other peoples content (with links to the original post) without their consent, but an archive of just links is so much drier to click through.

How would you do it?

Hi anon,

You seem like a nice person, from this ask, who does not deserve the tirade I am about to unleash below so my answers in short are:

1. I think a fandom theory on a social media is a thing that most people will recognize might get cross posted so I would just summarize and link, were I to take on this project, which I will not be doing.

2. No idea how I'd make it publicly accessible; I'd probably either make a website, or a Google doc under an anonymous email address, neither of which are ideal, but no better options come to mind.

Anyway welcome to the consequences of entering my inbox. While writing this I enjoyed myself a lot but I was also like 'tbh this is probably why I don't get as many anons any more; it is because I am Gotdamn Annoying.'

So this was like, maybe 75% a shitpost, not in that I don’t genuinely believe it would be useful, but in that a comprehensive list is nearly impossible to do. Even if you limited yourself to Tumblr (ie, no Twitter or Reddit or god knows what else), you would necessarily be limiting yourself also to things that were tagged and/or got a decent amount of traction within the fandom as a whole.

I think there are a number of problems though. The first one is that while some theories can be debunked immediately upon their arrival into the primordial soup that is fandom, some may always remain technically possible, just vanishingly improbable, including some of my least favorites (cough secret dragons cough) because you cannot logically prove a negative unless you just outright ask the creators. And still others may be debunked - or proven - only after a very long time (eg: The Traveler is Artagan) and personally I want to only use this for debunked theories, so you'd necessarily need to keep a separate list of theories that are neither proven nor debunked, otherwise you just become a rehash of the, well, hash, that is the Wild Mass Guessing page on TVTropes rather than what I was specifically envisioning, namely, "this is a list of theories that were proven to be wrong, and here is why."

The second problem, which you may have guessed from my previous line, is that I come to bury these theories, not praise them*. I think some theories are good but ultimately incorrect and it's worth having them on display! I also think a lot of theories are bad, and that a good deal of theories aren't even really theories. You used the word meta, which I actually think of more as analysis than theories although the line between those two things is blurrier than most. But also, a lot of things people call theories or meta are, well, Wild Mass Guessing, headcanons/personal opinions, wishful thinking that has a tenuous relation to canon at best, and/or pure unadulterated nonsense. And I would include some of that, but not all, even though I often use the word 'theory' in a similarly loose way to kind of refer to anything that people are saying might be true in the story even if I think it's the ravings of a madman, even though my 'proper' definition of a theory would be an explanation that both answers an existing question and is supported by the existing text.

My point here is that I think some theories are best forgotten and my motivation is more accentuating the positive, pointing and laughing really hard at the negative, and ignoring a lot of the neutral headcanon-type stuff on the grounds that a neutral headcanon is your own private business and I respect that.

The third problem is curation. I have run into a similar issue with kind of shitpost projects that I did sort of take on and now languish and glare at me from the back of my mind when I am doing nothing on a weekend (specifically my attempt to make a personally useable Exandria timeline). Wiki-style editing has its benefits, but also significant drawbacks, because the same people who make pure unadulterated nonsense theories have the same editing power as people who are excellent at literary analysis, if not more. In an ideal world I would recommend putting something like this on the wiki, and there might even be a page now intended to serve a purpose akin to the WMG page on TVTropes (I did not bother to check), but in practice the CR wiki is currently under the thumb of someone who I will sum up briefly in Figure 1:

Fig 1: A Venn diagram.

Anyway, the fact is, the TVTropes WMG page has had things like "when the Mighty Nein fight Trent, Veth will get the HDYWTDT" even though that's not a theory and in fact by the nature of D&D is impossible to predict by any means. That's just a thing that would be kind of cool to happen. I worry that any true wiki format would fall to a similar fate. It would not actually be a list of debunked theories, telling the story both of interesting and genuinely good ideas from fandom that ultimately just did not turn out to be true, as well as some real clownshoes bullshit, but rather a bathroom wall on which to scrawl vague ideas.

So I think the only way to feasibly do this is to just spend time in the fandom and collect theories, like an anthropologist, and accept that you're going to miss some, and maybe have a Google Form for submission thereof that requires things like a post with a certain threshold of notes such that you can easily collect theories from others but are under no obligation to include every one. Even then this will be subject to personal bias, and while I personally love having executive control of things I also recognize the flaws of such a system. I would definitely include some kind of disclaimer along the lines of "This has opinions in it about theories; while the debunking is objective, whether or not it was a good theory prior to being debunked has some subjectivity involved."

*I know in the context of this line actually the speaker was in fact coming to praise the thing he said he was just going to bury; RIP to Marc Antony but I’m different.

#Anonymous #i have literally no idea how to tag this #other than #long post

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sanderssidesfanfiction · 3 years

Text

If There’s a Place I Could Be - Chapter Thirty Seven

If There’s a Place I Could Be Tag

June 6th, 1986

Remy wasn’t entirely sure what his mother was glaring at the TV for. He was watching it play some boring news station or another, and there were a lot of people shouting, throwing things and picking fights, while rainbows and dozens of flags with different colors flew around in the background. His mother cursed under her breath, but Remy heard her.

Why was she so angry? Usually she didn’t get this mad, even if people were fighting. “They’re clearly wrong, why are they fighting against the truth?” his mother muttered.

Fight against the truth? Remy didn’t know what that was supposed to mean. What did rainbow flags and fighting have anything to do with truth?

June 11th, 2001

Remy’s first impression of Pride was that it was incredibly overwhelming. Remy’s second impression of Pride was that it was making Emile let loose, something Remy wasn’t sure was even possible until this point. Remy’s third impression of Pride was that it. Was. Awesome. Like, completely off-the-chain awesome.

People were surrounding them on all sides, some with pride flags, others with pins and badges, and some dressed like they were just going out on the town for a day. But all of them were happy, and laughing, and joking, and Remy wasn’t sure he had ever encountered so much positive energy in one place before.

Emile was standing next to him, beaming. He was currently looking around, for what, Remy wasn’t sure. Remy just hung next to him, unsure of where to go. He definitely enjoyed this, but he was so completely out of his element.

“Come on, girl, anywhere you want to go first?” Emile asked with a grin.

Remy’s cheeks dusted pink as he shuffled on his feet. He was wearing more feminine clothing today, his reasoning being that no one at a pride parade would care about whether or not he dressed masculine. He could probably go full drag and no one would bat an eye. But still, Emile calling him “girl” did something to his emotions that he couldn’t describe. “I’ve never been to a pride parade before,” he said. “I don’t know what there is to go to.”

“Okay, fair enough,” Emile said with a grin. “Why don’t we just look around at some of the stalls?”

“Okay,” Remy said, following Emile over.

He was surprised by how much of a social butterfly Emile was being. He was waving and high-fiving anyone in the general vicinity, yelling, “Girl, same!” whenever someone showed off bisexual colors, and generally putting himself out there in a way that Remy had only done anonymously in clubs before. Here, he supposed things were a little anonymous too, but it was still in broad daylight, where people could see them.

Emile walked up to one of the stalls, chirping, “Hi!” to the people on the other side.

Remy looked at the banner on their table and saw it was something for Catholics who were LGBT, and Remy inwardly shook his head fondly, because Emile wasn’t the most devout, but he did occasionally go to Mass. Of course he’d like people who were affirming in his faith. Remy looked around the other stalls curiously as Emile talked. He wasn’t really religious himself; he had too many bad experiences with his family’s church growing up to really put any trust in a higher power. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t curious about which denominations might be accepting.

Emile took a little pamphlet from one of the people and came over to Remy. “See any churches you like?” he asked.

“Not really religious,” Remy shrugged. “Bad experiences.”

Emile winced. “Yeah, understandable. Should we move further in?”

“Yeah, let’s do that,” Remy agreed.

They walked down the street and Remy looked around. There were a few big name corporations advertising here, but not very many. There were stalls for small book companies, and...he paused. There was one for a queer comics startup! “Emile!” he exclaimed, eyes lighting up. “Comics!”

Emile laughed and followed Remy over to the stall as Remy looked at the different illustrations they had. So many cool superheroes, and then some more realistic-fiction looking stories, and some high fantasy and sci-fi was scattered in there too. “Woah,” he breathed.

“You like comics?” the woman behind the stall asked with a small smile.

“Like is an understatement,” Remy said, eyes never leaving the pictures. “Are you guys selling these?”

“These comics are purely for display,” the woman said. “But we are starting up subscriptions as we’re gaining traction. We’re in a couple comic stores around, where do you live?”

“Uh...” Remy blinked, forcing himself into the present. “Fairview.”

The woman nodded. “We’re in the comics store there, yeah. That’s about as far out as we’ve gotten, though.”

“Hey, if it means I get to read you guys, then it’s fine by me!” Remy exclaimed.

The woman laughed and offered him a bookmark. “Here’s a little information on us, and our company name, of course. I hope you like what you read from us.”

“Definitely,” Remy said.

He was still starry-eyed and Emile gently dragged him away from the stall. “They have queer comics, Emile! Like, I know there’s some queer characters in bigger comics, but these stories...they have main characters who aren’t straight! Can you imagine?!”

Emile laughed. “Hopefully one day they’ll have cartoons like that, too. Then maybe I can understand what you’re feeling a little better.”

Remy was almost hyperventilating. “Pride is amazing,” he said. “I love this. Can we come back next year?!”

“We definitely can,” Emile laughed.

They continued to walk, Emile constantly chatting and greeting people still. Remy got a few nods, and he shyly returned them, holding onto Emile’s hand.

“Hey, girl! In the leather jacket!” a voice called from behind them.

Remy turned in surprise as another person who was wearing a full-on dress in light blue, pink, and white walked over. “I really dig your outfit, girl! You look fabulous!”

“Oh! Uh, th-thank you,” Remy stammered out, nowhere near his usual confident self.

“She and her pronouns for me. You?” she asked.

“Uh...” Remy hesitated. Why was he hesitating? What was so hard about this? “He and him, I guess?”

The woman looked him over closely. “It’s okay, girl, we all have to figure ourselves out in our own time. He and him work for you, that’s great, but if you ever want to switch it up, know that you can do that, you know?” she asked.

“Uh...yeah,” Remy said. “I...I don’t think I’m transgender, but uh...I don’t always like being called sir, you know? Sometimes it’s fine, others it’s just...suffocating.”

“Gender roles are suffocating girl, I getcha,” she said, nodding. “Nice to meet you. Tell your cutie of a boyfriend that I like his enthusiasm.”

Remy smiled and nodded, and she moved on. Emile turned to look at him. “Who was that?”

“Don’t know,” Remy said. “But she liked your enthusiasm.”

Emile laughed. “Oh! Well, that’s sweet of her!”

“She also called you a cutie, in case you missed it,” Remy said. “And she’s not wrong.”

Emile laughed, blushing. “Well, I don’t see what either of you see in me, but if enough people say I’m cute, then I guess I’m doomed to be cute forever, huh?”

“Not forever,” Remy said. “And some people might find you hot. I like it when you wear those skinny jeans. Those look really good on you.”

“Remy!” Emile hissed. “That’s not helpful!”

Remy laughed. “Oh, come on, Emile! You know it’s all in good fun!”

“Do I, though?” Emile asked.

“I should hope so,” Remy said. “After all, you’re the one who jokingly called me ‘hot’ first.”

“You can’t prove anything,” Emile said. “Plus, I’m pretty sure you’re the one who thought of me as hot first.”

“Yeah? I thought you were hot the day I dropped out of college and saw you in those skinny jeans for the first time, Emile. I’m not talking serious, I’m talking jokes. Get with the program,” Remy teased.

Emile snorted before clapping a hand over his mouth, shoulders shaking. “That early? Really?” he asked.

Remy shrugged. “What can I say? I know how to make anyone look good.”

“Shut up!” Emile laughed, starting to walk away.

“You know I love you, Emile,” Remy said. “It doesn’t matter whether or not you look hot, because I love you either way.”

“And I, you,” Emile said, kissing Remy’s nose. “Which is why I argue you don’t need that leather jacket everywhere you go.”

“Excuse you, that’s not to make me look hot, that’s part of my aesthetic!” Remy protested.

“Either way it’s unnecessary, Rem,” Emile shrugged.

Remy pouted. “You’re no fun,” he declared.

“Well, I do try,” Emile said. “It’s my mission to make sure you know I’m a stick in the mud, after all.”

“But you’re my stick in the mud,” Remy said.

“Oh, you better believe it. I’m not leaving you for anything in the world!” Emile said.

Remy laughed and his stomach held butterflies. “You mean that?”

Emile paused. “Yeah, of course I do,” he eventually said. “Barring some unfortunate accident, a messy fight, or any more drama from any sides, I don’t see myself leaving you.”

“Like, never?” Remy asked. He didn’t know why he was pressing this issue, but something inside him just wanted to be absolutely certain that Emile was certain.

Emile looked down at the ground, shuffling on his feet before he kissed Remy softly, sweetly, and with so much adoration Remy was practically drowning in it. A few people around them cheered or whistled, but Remy paid them no mind. His only focus was Emile, when he pulled apart, resting his forehead against Remy’s as he murmured, “Like, never. Never ever.”

Remy wasn’t entirely sure how to respond to that, so he blurted, “That’s gay, Emile.”

Emile laughed. “I love you too, Rem. Where do you want to go next?”

“Uh...food place, maybe? I could use a snack, if not lunch,” Remy said with a shrug.

“To the food trucks!” Emile exclaimed, causing Remy to laugh as they walked hand-in-hand.

Emile swung their hands lightly forwards and backwards as they walked, and Remy grinned. Emile, even when somewhat muted and calmer at pride, was still incredibly happy, and bubbly, and alive. He loved it when Emile seemed to come to life in a whole new way that Remy hadn’t seen before.

“What are you thinking about?” Emile lightly teased.

“You,” Remy said honestly. “You’re just...so alive. You’re completely in your element, and you’re so friendly and happy. You’re like a puppy experiencing grass for the first time. And it’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Oh, shut up,” Emile said, blushing. “I just really like Pride.”

“Yeah, I got that,” Remy said, nodding. “I don’t know why, it just seems to be something you’d like.”

Emile laughed and kissed Remy’s cheek. “It’s pretty great to not worry about PDA.”

“True,” Remy agreed, taking half a step towards Emile.

Emile squeezed Remy’s hand. “I’m super glad you came with me.”

“I’m super glad I came with you too,” Remy said. “Because I’m pretty sure Pride wouldn’t be the same without you.”

Emile grinned. “I mean, I’m sure you could have some fun without me...”

“But why would I want to?” Remy asked. “You make Pride fun...or more fun at any rate.”

“You mean that?” Emile asked.

“Of course,” Remy said. “I’m not sure I would want to go at all without you. You just make it...special.”

Emile squeezed Remy’s hand again as they approached the food trucks. “You flatter me,” Emile said.

“I’m speaking the truth,” Remy said. “Don’t sell yourself short, Emile.”

“Come on, what’s so fascinating about me that I make Pride more interesting?”

“You come out of your shell, like, entirely,” Remy said. “I’ve never seen you be so comfortable around a group of certified strangers before.”

“Well, the fact that I know they all at the very least support the fact that you’re gay and I’m bisexual and we’re dating helps,” Emile said simply. “I can go up to people and talk about you without having to just use your name and hope people assume I’m referring to you as a girlfriend.”

Remy sighed. “Yeah, I know you’ve felt weird about me visiting you at work because of that. Most everyone at my jobs know except for the managers, so as long as we don’t do obvious PDA we’re usually in the clear. But not having to worry about that at all is...”

“Freeing?” Emile offered.

“Yeah,” Remy agreed. “It’s definitely freeing.”

Emile grinned. “Aw, Remy, you like me!”

“Shut up!” Remy laughed. “You knew this for literal months!”

“You like me! You like me!” Emile repeated, practically bouncing up and down.

Remy sighed and rolled his eyes, but inside, he was smiling. When they first met, he would never have thought he could have ever made Emile as happy as he was right now, let alone enjoy it. But he was never so happy to be wrong.

#if there's a place i could be #sanders sides fanfiction #remile #emile picani #ts sleep

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