#yet they still try to plot something for me

[permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88]

this. this. yes, it's the state of fandom and fanfiction in general, now. there's no real way of telling whether or not it will change. but my gosh is it ever disheartening, and honestly terribly sad to see that this is the way it will continue to go, if things remain the same as they are, right now.

now, before anyone comes at me with them, I've heard the myriad of reasons why a person might choose not to comment or leave kudos. they're shy. they forget. they don't want to leave a "footprint" on this wild little place known as the internet. they fear retaliation and hostility from authors who misinterpret comments left in good faith, and any number of other reasons, as well. and I want to make it abundantly clear that this is by no means an attempt on my part to dismiss or invalidate those reasons. at the end of the day, if someone doesn't want to interact with a given work, they won't, and as much as that may sadden me, I fully respect it as their choice. a comment that comes organically, because someone feels moved to leave it is far better than one that is forced or pressured in any way, and that is a hill I will die on.

that said, though, we will continue to lose people who are willing to share their works with us, if this trend continues. it's just a fact. while I make no attempt to speak for all of us, there are so, so many people I know that write for themselves, sure, but they share their work in the hopes that at least one (1) other person out there will be moved by what they've created. they share in the hopes that said other person will maybe want to interact with them because of it. whether the interaction leads to an unexpected friendship and mutual discussion of fic plots and characters and new releases of our favorite series, or not, the hope for it is there. the heartbreak is there, too, when we, as creators, post something we're particularly proud of, and receive nothing but silence in response. it's there when we try to make sure we present a face that is receptive to feedback and interaction. when we encourage comments, and ask questions of our readers, and yet still...silence. sure, if we're passionate about what we're creating, and/or the themes/ideas we're trying to convey, we can push on. we should push on, because I, for one, am so beyond tired of a world that tries to stifle people, and drown their voices out because they don't "fit the mold" of normal that is determined by some nameless, faceless majority. but to continue doing so, and to continue to receive silence in response? to be called 'entitled' by some readers, because we dare to ask for something...anything...other than crickets, and the sensation that we're shouting into the void?

it's really no wonder that some may choose to move on to other things.

while I've never experienced what OP's friend has with Discord, I can only imagine that such a situation only makes what I've already mentioned above so much more discouraging. it must make those it has happened to wonder what on earth is the point? if everyone is too busy sharing their reactions in their isolated little groups without ever deigning to let the creator know their feelings, or just mass-consuming it and moving on to the next thing ten seconds later, as if the first thing that caught their attention never even existed, why are we even bothering to do this at all? again, I do not speak for everyone, but I daresay the majority of us are not trying to be the next big name author. we're not trying to 'make it big' at all. this is a hobby, that we do for free, in our (mostly) limited free time, and anymore, we largely receive absolutely nothing in return. we pour pieces of ourselves out there into the world, completely free of charge. we make ourselves vulnerable in ways that are often ugly. real. to many, silence in the face of that vulnerability is exactly the same as the dismissiveness and invalidation we've already received when we're that 'real' anywhere else in our lives. it drives home the thought that our voices do not matter, and thus we should not bother speaking. and no, society and our readers at large are not responsible for our vulnerability and our emotions and our traumas that we sometimes place upon our characters as a means of processing them. but even if we aren't opening ourselves up to our readers, if it's genuinely all in "good fun", we can't legally monetize it, interaction is our form of 'earnings' from this, and by and large that sort of thing is rare, and has been for quite a while. and sure. people can read and abandon fics at will, with or without leaving some trace of their presence along the way. that is well within their right. but I have also seen these same individuals go on to harrass the creators of works that have been abandoned or deleted for doing so, despite never once trying to show any form of appreciation at all. and then they have the nerve to call us entitled for wanting that appreciation in the first place.

the fact that the "social media-ification" of fanfiction (it is not Instagram, no matter how so many may treat it as such) and the quite honestly despicable behavior from a loud minority of touchy authors who have now effectively ruined commenting for so many of the rest of us has made fanfiction what it is today is just...heartbreaking. it really, really is. and while I personally plan to stick around and do my best to fight the demons in my mind that tell me no interaction means that no one cares about my stories so I should just stop writing them, not everyone will. we're all incredibly foolish if we believe otherwise, and honestly, as awful as I feel saying it "out loud"?

if fandom culture doesn't see a change soon, and more and more talented authors continue dropping like flies?

we'll deserve it.

tl;dr? creators are not robots, people. we aren't content-mills, put on this earth specifically to serve the bidding of consumers, on their timeline, and not our own. but what do I know, right?

I'm just a so-called "entitled" author who thinks interaction with our work, no matter how small, shouldn't be a thing that we have to try to pull from behind stubbornly gritted teeth.

A writer friend told me something that broke my heart a little bit today; they're going to quit publishing their fanfic.

My instant thought was that they had been trolled or attacked or that something terrible had happened in their life because this person is so passionate about their writing. It wasn't any of that. Engagement with their works has been going down, as it has for many of us. Comments are like gold dust a lot of the time, and just looking through the historical comment counts on old fics on ao3 demonstrates this trend very clearly. It was not simply the comments dropping off which caused them to decide to stop posting, however.

My friend came across a discord server for their fandom (I should point out here that their fandom interest and mine diverged a couple of years ago, we stay in touch but don't currently read each other's posts because I'm not into their fandom and they would rather gouge their eyes out with a wooden spoon than read anything Star Wars) and specifically to share fic in that fandom. They joined, because we all love a good fic rec, only to discover that their latest multichapter fic, which has almost no comments and very few kudos, is being hotly discussed in this server as one of the best stories ever. Not one of these people has bothered to say this to them on the fic. When they asked, none of participants could see the point in telling the author of the fic they apparently loved so much that they love it.

This discovery has absolutely destroyed my friend's love of sharing fic. They share because they love seeing other people's enjoyment, and fic writers do that through comments and kudos/reblogs/likes because we don't get paid. There is no literary critic writing a blog post/article about how amazing the story is for us to copy and keep/frame. There is no money from royalties. All we have are the words of the people reading our works.

Those people on that server could have taken five minutes of the time they spent gushing about how amazing my friend's story was to other people and used it to tell the one person guaranteed to want to hear that praise how much they loved it. They could have taken a moment to express their opinion to the person who spent hours upon hours plotting, writing, editing, and posting those chapters. Instead, they deprived my friend of thing that keeps them sharing their writing, and in the process have killed their love of it. My friend now feels used and unmotivated.

I won't be sharing a link to their fic, they said I could share their experience but not their identity. I know they plan to post one final chapter. I know they intend to express their hurt at being excluded from the praise for the thing they created, and I know they intend to announce that as a consequence they will not be posting for a long while, if at all.

So please, I beg you, don't hide your love of a story from the writer. It's just about the only thing we have.

[treeteaofversailles]

Fake Moaning? Not On My Watch…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

MDNI! This is my original work. Please do not post to another site or to AI. Thank you and happy reading!

Summary: You fake moan into Zayne’s ear, and Zayne shows you how that was a bad idea. This isn’t connected to the “Should Have Been Me” universe.

Tags/TW: Smut. No plot. Fem!Non-MC!Reader. Zayne is a munch and likes to get absolutely nasty with it :P. PIV smut, fingering, cunnilingus.

A/N: here's a Zayne *tosses and runs away*

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You leaned closer to him, turning your face and brushing your nose against his ear. Zayne thought you were going to give him a kiss on the cheek like you always had when you stopped by to visit him in his office while he was working. 

Instead, your lips nestled against his ear, and a shaky breath stuttered by his ear. 

And before he could ask you what you were doing, you exhaled the sweetest sound into his ear. 

“Ohh Zayne~!” You whined loudly. 

Your voice rang in his ear and sent shockwaves down his spine, settling low in his stomach. His cock twitched to life, instantly filling up the space in his cream-colored slacks. 

Zayne whirled around and glared at you, but you were already skipping out of his office. You even winked over your shoulder before closing the door behind yourself. 

He sat there for a few minutes, his ear still ringing with the sound of your saccharine sweet voice calling out his name like a siren. His face was so hot, he felt like he was going to ignite in flames. His fist tightened, and he clenched his jaw, trying to will the sound of your saying his name out of his head. 

He really needed to get back to work, or else he would be backed up for days. 

He took a steadying breath before he turned back to his work. Zayne pushed up his glasses and shifted in his seat, adjusting his slacks over his growing erection. 

Zayne kept typing, locking into the report so he could quickly get back to you. 

Meanwhile, you huffed, typing in the group chat with you, MC, and Tara. You tossed yourself on the bed, lying on your stomach as you texted your sister and your friend. Zayne’s t-shirt rose over your shorts as you kicked your legs in the air. 

“It didn’t seem to work, guys (╥_╥)” - You

“Told you it would take more than that to break the icy doctor (×﹏×)” - MC

“Don’t speak too soon~! Maybe he’s just finishing his work before he tends to you (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧” - Tara

“You could double down and send him a picture of you in lingerie or in his clothes. It worked for me and Caleb” - MC

“That’s cuz Caleb is already a freak (��_ಠ)” - You

“(¬‿¬ )” - MC

“Usually, I just throw in that I have plans with another man, and then Xavier is all over me.” - Tara

“That’s cuz Xavier is possessive af bro Σ(°ロ°)” - You

“That’s cuz Xavier is a freakier freak… (┬┴┬┴┤(･_├┬┴┬┴)” - MC

You laughed at the conversation and continued typing away, completely unaware of someone creeping up behind you. It wasn’t until you sent another text, teasing Tara about the “bruise” on her neck last week, that you felt a pair of cold hands grab your thighs. 

You shrieked and dropped your phone before whirling around to see Zayne hovering over you, a dark look on his face. 

Your heart was slamming in your chest from the initial scare, and now it was beating harder from his eyes boring into you. The sweet emerald-gold of his hazel eyes was nearly gone, swallowed by the void of his pupils. 

“Had your fun yet?” he asked, his voice deceptively sweet, cooing in a faux innocent question. 

You tried to answer, but you shivered when his hands slowly slid up your thighs, going under the shirt you’d stolen from him. He massaged your hips and climbed on the bed, the mattress dipping under his knee. 

“You want to moan so badly? I’ll give you something real to moan about,” Zayne heaved breathlessly. 

You could only squeak in shock when he roughly dragged you to the edge of the bed. 

He kissed you roughly, drawing a soft moan from you. Zayne parted your lips and shoved his tongue inside, his giant hands grabbing at your body and tugging on your clothes. 

You crumpled under him, grabbing at his shirt. You kissed him back hungrily, ignoring your phone going off with texts from MC and Tara. You had more pressing matters to attend to. 

Like Zayne’s bulge pressing into your clothed cunt. 

You whined whenever the rough part of his slacks rubbed harshly against your increasingly soaking and aching pussy. 

“Zayne, please…” You whispered against his lips when he pulled back enough. 

“No. I’m going to have my fun first. You’re going to take it. And then, maybe, I’ll give you my cock,” Zayne’s gaze held your firm to the bed. “Understood?”

You swallowed thickly before nodding. 

“Good girl.”  

He yanked your shorts and underwear down in one go. Zayne spit on his fingers and brought them to your clit. He rolled the sensitive bud under his dripping fingers and smiled brightly at your squirming under his touch. “You’re so sensitive, aren’t you, sweetheart?” 

You could only gasp and cling to his arms as he circled his fingers faster. Your mouth fell open in a silent cry of pleasure, your breaths escaping in short bursts. Your nails dug into his shirt. 

Zayne began to flick the sensitive bud, and your thighs constricted his waist. You hastily grabbed the sheets with one hand and covered your mouth with the other. 

“No, no, no,” he tutted sharply. “Let me hear you, baby. Let me hear how good you feel.” 

He used his free hand to free your mouth. Zayne laced their fingers together and circled his fingers faster. 

Your stomach was fluttering with that demented heat of your impending orgasm. It clawed under your skin, stealing your breath away. 

“Z-Zayne, ‘M-!” You whimpered. Zayne pulled his hand away, and he gently made shushing sounds when you whined loudly, pressing his lips to yours. 

“You were always so sensitive… You always came so quickly… But not tonight, darling. Tonight, you play by my rules.”

Zayne knelt on the floor. “Just relax. I’ll take care of you as I see fit.” 

That shouldn’t turn you on as much as it should have. But you obediently lay there on the bed, your legs spread wide open for him as he undressed to his comfort level, loosening his tie and undoing a few buttons of his shirt. Your pussy was aching so badly and clenched under his intense gaze. 

“Now…” he grabbed the underside of your thighs, spreading your pussy open so reverently under his thumbs. His eyes were so dark, and his cheeks flushed a deep rosy shade. Zayne stuck his tongue out and licked a long stripe along your folds. His grip tightened when you squirmed. He only moved his tongue to your clit, flicking it a few times before he focused on your dripping pussy. 

You broke into a moan, breathlessly crying out his name. You pinched a needy whine in your throat, but earned a sharp slap to your thigh. 

“Louder,” he ordered, his cheek squished against your thigh as he lapped his tongue faster on your dripping cunt. He panted heavily, the short puffs of air making your cunt clench around nothing. “You wanted to moan like a needy little thing in my ear. Now you get to, sweetheart.” 

You squirmed even more against the bed, his shirt rising up higher on your body the more you moved. Your nails sank into the sheets, and your head fell back, his name ripping from your throat when his tongue wiggled its way back inside you. His name echoed around the bedroom walls. 

“Good girl,” Zayne cooed, his glasses bumping askew on his nose against your leg. He looked up at you with eyes so dark with lust, and a deep blush dusted across his cheeks. 

“You’re so beautiful,” He smiled sweetly at your before flicking his tongue against your swollen clit, watching with glee when you whimpered loudly, your knees buckling around his shoulders. 

Zayne went back to wiggling his tongue around on your aching clit. Her eyes rolled to the back of your head when he got his lips around it and sucked. You mewled as more of your juices were gushing down your legs. It was staining his face, and he was smearing it all over your face again. 

You choked air into your lungs and looked down, your stomach tensing tightly with the next impending orgasm. Zayne was still diligently on his knees and hungrily slurping up all of your juices and burying his tongue so deep inside you. His teeth bumped and ground against your puffy folds, grating your nerves raw with mind-melting pleasure. 

His glasses were fogged up from his hot breath and your juices covering the gold-rim lenses. 

Your stomach fluttered wildly, making your legs even weaker than they were now. You warned him of your orgasm by grabbing his hair and pulling the soft, raven locks tight between your fingers. 

Your hips bucked a few times before your body snapped like a bowstring pulled taut. Your rapid, high-pitched breaths came out in long whines and whimpers as you came all over his face, gushing on his pretty nose and his glasses. 

You rutted a few times on his face and obsessive mouth before you came to a halt, falling against the tree with your full weight. 

“Naughty girl…” he huffed despite licking his lips as if he had just finished savoring the finest sake in the land. Your head was spinning so fast you couldn’t catch what he slipped after that name, but you were able to catch his next part, “You dirtied my glasses.” 

Thick globs of your cum trailed down the gold-rimmed glasses. It barely hid the way his eyes bore into you. His eyes were dark, completely molten with his arousal. He pressed his face against your again, gathering up as much of your juices and cum off your body as he could with his tongue and smearing more onto his glasses. 

Zayne still held your quivering thigh in one hand and pulled his glasses off with the other. He stuck his tongue out and licked all over the lens before dragging it over the glasses' round shape slowly and tantalizingly. All the while watching your as he gathered up the thick globs of your cum on his tongue, painting it white. 

You weren’t able to apologize again when he got to his feet and kissed you hard. You tasted yourself on his tongue and mewled from your cum being smeared all over your tongue and lips. The heady taste of your arousal mixed with his lips caused you to squeeze painfully around nothing, the emptiness inside you suddenly, and agonizingly, unbearable.

“Ohh Zayne~!” you whined against his hot mouth, still fervently kissing your as if he were dying. Your hands went to his shirt and yanked it open, exposing his beautifully toned chest to the world. 

You undid his belt and drooled more at the feeling of his cock straining against his briefs. You barely got your fingers around the soaked fabric to expose his cock when he slapped your hands away. 

“Needy little slut,” he growled against your lips. “Turn around.” He slapped your still-exposed ass and you keened into his mouth. “Ass up.” 

You shuddered from his gruff voice ordering you around, your pussy clenching nothing. You quickly did as you were told, trying not to come again from how he was manhandling you. 

Zayne yanked your shirt up so hard that he shoved you deeper into the mattress. You stumbled to regain your hold. Her exposed pussy clenched from the cold air slapping against it and the way you felt his eyes boring into you. 

“Look at her,” Zayne purred. A thick and hot wet drop slapped against your cunt, causing your to flinch before you moaned when you realized he’d spat on your pussy. His rough fingers smeared his saliva more into your folds, combining his spit with your continuously dripping slick. 

  “A beautiful pussy for a beautiful lady,” Zayne kissed along your spine. One of his hands stayed on your cunt while the other snaked up your back and twisted into your hair, yanking your back when he got a good handful. 

You let out such a slutty moan that your cheeks flamed from how filthy you sounded. 

“All for me? Is this all for me, baby?” he cooed. 

You nodded instantly, pushing back against him and grinding up against his hard length. “Yes, sir! Yes! Yes, please! I want your cock!” 

Zayne moaned and hissed a breath in before slapping your ass, digging his fingers into your flesh before replying. “So needy for me… Gonna treat you right. I’m gonna make you feel so good.” 

You mewled eagerly. There was a soft shuffling of his underwear being pushed down and not much other preamble before he pushed his cock inside you. 

Your mouth dropped open and a long wanton moan was dragged out of your as each inch of his hard, throbbing cock was buried inside you. Your knees went weak instantly. 

No matter how much you had him inside you, you will never get used to his thick girth stretching your so taut around him. Every bump and grind of his veins running along his cock worked your walls open, stretching your so snugly around him. 

He was barely halfway in when you were already pushing yourself back against him. 

“Be patient,” Zayne grunted and slapped your ass again. But you knew he was equally as desperate from the strained timbre of his voice. He grabbed your shirt, twisting the fabric tight around his fist several times, pushing you into the sheets. “Stay fucking still.” 

“I’m sorry, sir!” You whined and looked behind you. “Just need you so bad!” You pouted a bit when he stopped, motivating your to push your hips back some more, pushing his cock deeper inside you. His drooling and obscene tip was so, so close to kissing your sweet spot that it was making your head spin even faster. 

“Come on, Doc,” you looked up at him from under your lashes. His jaw flexed as he glared at her, his hands tightening to the point of bruising the shape of his fingers on your skin. “Come on, I want you to fuck me alre—!!”

Zayne cut your off by ramming the rest of his cock into you. Her breath slammed out of your lungs. His name began to echo around the bedroom from your lips with each bullying hit. 

His cock pummeled your sweet spot, knocking your harder and harder into the bed. Your nails tore up the sheets, trying to grab for a stable hold. He wasn’t letting you catch your breath in the slightest. 

Every sound punched out of your body from his brutal thrusts and his own grunts and panting was pure music to your ears, filling you with a darker and hungrier need for the doctor. 

The rotund tip of his cock was grinding against your sweet spot. If you tensed your stomach enough, you could feel every drag and shove of his cock in you. 

Shit, he was going so deep you could feel him in your lungs. 

He let go of your shirt and found his way to your hair and yanked your back, sending thrilling bolts of pleasure down your spine.

“Feel me in your lungs, huh?” Zayne laughed hotly against your ear. You choked up a confused whine when you realized he heard her. “Feel me that deep?” 

He brought his hand to your front, pushing down on your stomach, making your feel his cock pummeling your insides even better.

You sobbed in ecstasy and squeezed the doctor’s cock tighter. 

Your thighs were quivering with each calculated hit against your increasingly overwhelmed bundle of nerves, shaking uncontrollably no matter how hard you dug your knees into the soft earth beneath her. 

The doctor was ruthless and unforgiving in his thrusts. His rough hands pressed hard on your body, molding you to a shape befitting his touch.

Tears streamed down your face, and you turned back to Zayne, his hand still wound in your hair. 

“Z-Zay…” 

Zayne turned his head and caught your lips in a heated kiss. You kissed him back, still whining and panting against his tongue as he licked into your mouth. 

“I’m so close! ‘M so—!” You shuddered. 

“Come for me,” Zayne pleaded, his hazel eyes locking with hers. “Come for me, my beautiful girl.” 

Your breath hitched in a sob and you cried out against his jaw as you came, your cunt convulsing around his throbbing cock. Her walls squeezing him did little to slow him down. Zayne milked you of your orgasm, securing your hips in his hands to chase his own orgasm. 

Zayne gave a few more deep thrusts before he spilled his hot seed inside you. He groaned loudly and lay over you, grinding his hips slowly to make sure his entire load was trapped inside you. 

You were breathing raggedly. You curled under him, humming softly whenever he pressed kisses to your face and exposed body. 

“Are you okay?” he whispered, his voice ragged. 

You nodded and turned around as best as you could, being pinned under him. You kissed his cheek. “Yeah,” you kissed him again, smiling when his lips were drawn back to yours again. 

“Had your fun?” 

You giggled and nodded, “Yeah.” You looked at him carefully, “It’s been a while. I missed you.” 

He hummed softly, his hands smoothing up and down your sides. “I missed you, too. Been too long.” 

You caressed his face for a few more moments, taking in the beautiful curve of his cheekbones and the slope of his nose. You kissed him, turning around slowly, carefully disloding his flagging cock from your cunt. You lay on the bed so your chests were pressed together and wrapped your arms around him, kissing him more reverently. 

Zayne’s hands traveled up and down your sides as he drank up your affection. You pressed their foreheads together, lying tangled in each other’s arms. 

[where-does-the-heart-lie]

I hope y’all like my OC’s!! I picked them cuz at least one of them is related to Fossils (duh duh duhhh)

For those who dont have an account on the artfight but are still interested in my oc’s, I’ve provided the description that i gave them on their pages under the cut off :)

There came once two siblings, as the moon still and sun brighter, but all stars must die and in her eyes-- too soon. But children, they were, and with her plea to a deity, the young sister of the dead boy came; bring my sun back to me, for I cannot live without that warmth upon my skin and heart. I want my brother back, and I will do whatever you need. The deity told the girl of the illness that ransacked and ravaged that land in a prior 200 years to her present, something that should have never effected the youth of now, yet it came for him ever still. A residue of a war they never were to be apart of, or intended rather, for there now came yet another casualty. Oh what could the girl do, she wailed, and the deity took those tears to heart. In the anguish of those fallen tears, came her wish fulfilled-- The Spirit of Health was born. Even as this spirit, the girl could do little to nothing, her aid not helping this illness that crept and crawled upon his very bone, like vine upon a trellis. So, with another bout of pleas, she came to the god, who listened, and for a second time, granted that same wish in a different form-- The Spirit of Death was born. That too failed, even able to bend his life into the route she wanted, the river still flowed the same. That limbo she stuck him in, it was no life, so she, for a third and final try, lamented to the deity, who took a final pity upon them, for there could be no other aid to offer. The girl had a familiar, a grand bird of mighty wing, with the property to carry on through death, to bounce back and perch once more to her being. The girl and her savior plotted, creating a plan to be fulfilled before the first arrow came flying over the castle walls. To use the host, her own beast, as a conduit for the ceaseless, hungering rot that revenged her brother.  Feed it pieces, subject and inflict, a loveless pet in deed. That solution could not utterly cure. In 20 years time, her familiar's body would expel the illness and produce that desired ichor, however she would not be with the bird long enough for that desire to come and pass. A thankless act, that deities work,  for soon there came a plot upon them. The girl and her waxing sun, not they but a HE, a masculine force far beyond their doing. Her failure of courtship, an ex lover perhaps, he came all the same; it came time to hatch a plot. To usurp a kingdom, to kill a being far beyond the flesh and human bone, to end a deity that once held itself upon the little girl, now woman's heart; it came time to end all of that rot, and pain. A bird flies, a woman weeps, and the suggestions of a ruin stand still now.  There came no aid for that diety, no wishes granted, who was to listen to their plea but the ever roaring silence of an unwavering throne. Oh sun, oh moon, oh stars above, bear witness to blessings each. To find that cure, that fluttering hope— where is thy bird now, oh sister of mine. 🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺 Doc is a No Bullshit doctor who has the ability to heal all non-magical illnesses and wounds. She travels to find a cure to her brother's illness and her bird, whichever comes first for now. She took a graft of his skin when she left, she keeps it alive with her powers, and its her most treasured possession.

💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀

Busk is an inventive musician who possesses the ability to control the dead. He really doesn't utilize his abilities all that much though and chooses instead to spend his time playing music, inventing instruments (of the musical or mass destruction varieties, and doing drugs. Often in sequence of each other. He used to have a pet cow that passed away and now he wears her skull on his head in connection to her. He does not dare to reanimate her body because that wouldn't be her, that would just be him controlling her remains.

[gugudalala]

ft. sae itoshi / rin itoshi x reader

synopsis: They grew up together, hearts quietly entwined — even when Sae left for America. Now that Sae's back, Rin is done watching from the sidelines and pushes his way between them, Sae's long-suppressed jealousy boils over — the quiet bond they once shared threatens to erupt into something far more dangerous.

TW: smut with plot, spanking, degradation, size kink, unprotected, praise, ect+++

words: 1087

A/N. I do not own any of the character or picture (credit to the rightful owner) only the plots are mine. 

Enjoy ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

CH: 1 | 2 | 3

────୨ৎ────

You slip out of bed quietly, careful not to wake Rin. Last night was never something you imagined would happen. He had always been the quiet, kind younger brother you grew up with. Your family member would never question the night as you sometimes sleep over at his place after some long night tutoring and today they would leave with his family for a trip Sae provided as a gift.

As you dress and move to leave his room, you try not to make a sound, not wanting to disturb anyone else in the house. But just as you reach the hallway, you stop in your tracks — Sae is standing by his door, half-naked as if he’d been waiting for you all along. Without a word, he grabs your wrist and pulls you into his room, the door slamming shut behind you. Before you can react, you're tossed onto his bed, the mattress dipping beneath you.

“Sae?” you breathe, barely getting the name out. It feels like last night all over again but this time with Sae. 

His eyes burned with anger, yet beneath it, I could feel the heat of his desire “If I had known, I would fuck you way sooner” he grunted as he got down to the side of the bed. Reaching out to you and force your leg open “No!” you scream as you try to close them. You didn't want him to see the tace that had been left from the night before. But that does not stop him as he forces you out of your dress and rips out your panties keeping you wide open for him. 

“You're sore” he mentioned as his hand spread you open. Tracing along your slit, he yank his hand to slap your pussy “I had you first, but you let him steal what already belonged to me”  he slapped again on your slit, on your clit, on your tights. You try to squirm and close your leg only to be forced open and slapped harder you choke out a noise somewhere between a sob and a moan as you feel both pain and pleasure from him “I want it red” he demanded as he gave you one last hard slap 

he grabs you tight with both hands and keeps you open as he takes his time viewing his work on you. His face was so close to your cunt, you could feel his breath on you. He then licks your pussy soothing the pain that was there. He takes his time tasting you. As he pushes his tongue into you, you whine from the soreness of the night before. But that didn’t stop him as he kept linking using his tongue to pleasure you. You can’t help but feel the tension in your stomach knowing that soon you will cum, you grab onto his head trying to push him out only for him to dig in deeper, and you come onto his face. By the time you come down from your high the whole lower half of the face is soaked and dripping and he still doesn’t stop 

“Please, no more…” you plead. But that does not stop him. He used his tongue to play with your clit as he used his finger to gather your juices to play with your arse “No! Don’t—please, not there… I’m begging you” you cry out to him “You give him your front, then I should take mine as well” he murmurs, voice low, taunting. He pushed his finger in deeply, spreading you open. He kisses, licks, and plays with your clit to make you feel nothing but pleasure. You could feel the coil coming back, you reaching your peak again with a shaking leg. He got up and remove his pants, at this point you are too tired to even move. He sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled you onto his lap with your back to him and your leg wide open. You could feel the cold air hit you cunt. He adjusts himself and rubs his cock on your slit taking all the juices before then he slowly pushes it back into your arse. 

You tense up as you feel it going into your back “Relax” he groans as one of his arms holds you to him he uses his other hand to finger you. Being distracted from the pleasure from your front makes you relax and he was able to make you sink down to him, talking him whole. 

“I know you can take it, what a good slut you are” his hand continues to finger you as he makes you bounce on his cock. He slides in and out, harsh thrust, so deep that your eyes roll back and you let out choked moans. You never felt this much pleasure from both front and back, you can't help but scream his name. 

“That right scream my name, so he knows who fucking you” he thrust in harder both front and back. “Too much, too much” feeling from both sides, making you feel dizzy. The pleasure is too overpowering but what Sae did next pulls you back to your senses “Look who is here to watch” he whispers against your ear. You look up, coming to your senses to see Rin standing in front of you. Your eyes widen, heart pounding, as you meet his eyes burning with a mix of desire. But even with Rin in front, Sae didn’t stop he kept on thrusting while all you could do was whimper and taking it all.

You let out a broken moan reaching yet another climax and he grinned “Go on come, come like a whore you are” You came squirting, making a mess all over the place. His finger doesn’t stop making your mess go everywhere “Good fucking girl” after a few thrusts he comes into your arse.

You’re so far past tired, it’s like your body doesn’t belong to you anymore. Every inch of your skin is still echoing with last night’s touch and this morning’s cruelty. Sae lowers you onto the bed and Rin is still there, unmoving—silent, unreadable like a storm waiting to break.

Their eyes meet over your barely conscious body, and the air thickens. Something cracks between them, quiet but violent. You can’t tell if it’s jealousy, guilt, or possession snapping taut, but it coils in your chest like a warning.

You know, with a sinking certainty, that today isn’t over. It’s only just begun.

[ayunas-tuna]

língua do desejo ━━ 2.8k ˚ smut

pairing: vacation fling!jimin x reader genre: smut with plot (kinda), vacation fling au, strangers to lovers, light angst, soft romance, language kink tags/warnings: explicit sexual content (18+), soft dom, fingering, riding, balcony sex, language kink (portuguese), body worship, dirty talk, thigh grabbing, desperate grinding, praise kink, unprotected sex (be safe irl), intense eye contact, breathy moans, emotional tension.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ᭄᭡ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⁺ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 🌴 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⊹　₊ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ͏͏✧

꒰ঌ summary : you meet jimin at your cousin’s wedding in rio and things just spiral from there. he’s beautiful, charming, and way too observant. he doesn’t speak portuguese, but he listens to you like every word you say is meant just for him. you start teasing him on purpose. whispering things he can’t understand just to see the way his jaw tightens and his fingers twitch. it’s a slow build. soft looks, hot glances, quiet tension, like something’s about to snap but neither of you says it out loud. until one night, it finally happens. he pulls you into his lap, you say something filthy in his ear, and he breaks. it’s messy. hot. needy. a little sweet. he wants all of you even when he doesn’t know what you’re saying. and afterward, when you’re both lying there sweaty and tangled up, he’s still whispering… what did that mean? what did you call me? and you just smile. you’ll tell him later. or maybe never.

the heat in rio hits you like a kiss, slow and heavy and impossible to ignore. as soon as you step off the plane, it wraps around your skin, sticky and warm, like the city is already pulling you into its rhythm. you wipe your damp hair back from your face and wish you hadn’t worn that stupid jacket on the flight. your skin itches, craving fresh air and sun, not recycled airplane heat.

the taxi winds through the streets, windows rolled down, the noise of the city alive around you. palm trees blur past, brushing the sides of the car, their leaves rustling softly in the humid breeze. the smell of salt and some wild green something, maybe the rainforest, maybe something else fills your nostrils. you lean your head against the window and let the scenery wash over you, the colors brighter and more alive than you expected.

you’re here for your cousin’s wedding. the villa they rented is perched high above the ocean, white walls glowing in the afternoon sun, surrounded by flowering bushes and the faint sound of waves crashing somewhere far below. it smells like fresh paint and jasmine, like summer and beginnings.

you step out of the taxi, the pavement hot beneath your sandals, and immediately your eyes catch him.

he’s standing on the balcony, leaning lazily against the railing, his linen shirt open just enough to catch the light on his collarbone and that gold chain resting there. his hair is tousled like he’s just come in from the beach, sun-kissed and messy in the best way. jimin. the groom’s cousin. the one everyone’s talked about in whispers and smiles.

he’s watching you. not like you’re just another face in the crowd, but like he’s trying to memorize you already.

you catch his gaze and your lips twitch into a smile. you say something to your aunt in portuguese, the words flowing easily from your mouth without thinking, full of teasing warmth.

jimin’s eyes flicker with interest but also confusion. he steps closer, lowering his voice when he asks, “what did you just say?”

you laugh softly, shrugging like it’s no big deal. “you wouldn’t want to know.”

he tries to hide his smile but it breaks through anyway, shy and a little breathless.

you turn and walk away, your heart doing that stupid fluttery thing you hate but secretly like.

you don’t know it yet but this moment is the start of something you’ll never forget.

you barely get a chance to catch your breath before the wedding party kicks into gear. music spills out from every corner of the villa, the beat bouncing off the walls and making your skin tingle in time.

later that evening, you find yourself at the beach bonfire, the sky dark but stars sharp and scattered overhead. the air is cooler now, but the heat between people feels electric.

you spot jimin across the firelight, sitting with a few others but somehow completely apart, like he’s watching the flames but really watching you.

he catches your eye and raises his glass in a small, shy toast. you smile back and walk over, slipping into the circle.

you lean in close and whisper in portuguese, your voice low and slow, “você fala tão bem com os olhos.” you speak so well with your eyes.

he blinks, clearly not understanding the words but loving the way your voice wraps around them. “what did you say?” he asks, his eyes dark with curiosity.

you grin and don’t translate. instead, you lean closer, letting the heat of your breath tickle his ear. “something you don’t want to know.”

he laughs, that soft laugh that makes your chest squeeze tight. the way he looks at you now is different, more open, more… interested.

you can feel the tension building, like electricity waiting to spark.

he reaches out, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. your heart stumbles.

“teach me,” he says quietly, “teach me what you’re saying.”

you consider it for a moment, then whisper, “maybe later.”

he smirks, but there’s something in his eyes that says he’s not giving up anytime soon.

and just like that, the game between you starts to play out. slow, teasing, and impossible to stop.

the next few days pass in this strange, quiet rhythm.

you don’t seek jimin out, but he always seems to be where you are. by the pool. near the drinks. waiting for an uber to the beach party at the same time you are. he doesn’t hover, doesn’t push. just… appears. like the universe keeps throwing you into each other’s orbit to see what happens.

every time you speak portuguese, his head turns.

it’s not just the words. it’s your voice. soft, low, like you're saying something intimate even when you're not. sometimes you catch him staring at your mouth. like he’s trying to understand you by watching how you form your syllables.

you’re lounging on the villa steps one afternoon, sunglasses sliding down your nose, sweat curling around your neck. jimin walks by, shirt clinging to his chest, skin golden and damp from the heat.

he pauses. “you look like you’re melting.”

you glance up at him, take a slow sip of your drink. “maybe i am.”

his mouth twitches. “what do you say in portuguese when someone looks like that?”

you smile lazily, tilt your head. “when someone looks like what?”

“like… that,” he says, gesturing vaguely at you. “like they’re trying to kill me.”

you hum, pretending to think. then, slowly, you say, “você me olha como se já soubesse como eu gosto de ser tocada.”

he blinks.

you let it hang there.

he leans in a little, voice lower now. “what does that mean?”

you shrug, eyes never leaving his. “you’ll figure it out.”

he looks wrecked for a second. cheeks a little pink, mouth parted just barely.

and then someone calls his name from across the terrace. he hesitates, still looking at you, then finally backs away with a soft laugh, like he knows he’s in trouble and doesn’t mind at all.

later that night, the wedding party spills out into the city. dancing, drinks, way too much laughter echoing down the narrow streets of rio.

you don’t remember exactly how it happens, but somehow you and jimin end up in the back of the same cab, pressed too close together, the air conditioner broken and the music too loud.

you’re not drunk, not really. just floaty. warm. loose in a way that makes you lean into him a little more than you should.

his knee brushes yours. neither of you move.

“where are we going?” you ask, voice soft, eyes on the road.

“back to the villa, i think,” he says. “i lost everyone.”

you nod, barely paying attention. the city lights blur outside, golden and fast, and the heat between your legs has nothing to do with the weather.

his fingers graze yours on the seat between you. not on purpose. maybe.

you turn your head, slow.

“you keep looking at my mouth,” you say.

he swallows. “i know.”

you smile, tilt your head. “why?”

he doesn’t answer right away. then, quietly, like it costs him something: “because i want to hear you say something that’s meant for me.”

you blink, surprised.

then you lean in, lips brushing the edge of his jaw as you whisper, “tudo que eu digo é pra você.” everything i say is for you.

he exhales hard through his nose, eyes shut, jaw tense.

“jesus christ,” he mutters.

you kiss his neck. just once. just to see.

he turns toward you, fast. his hand finds your thigh, firm. warm. he doesn’t pull you in, just rests it there, like he’s asking.

you give the tiniest nod.

the cab stops at the villa. you don’t remember walking up to your room. you only remember the way he stood behind you in the elevator, not touching, but close enough that you could feel the heat rolling off of him like a second sun.

your hands shake when you unlock the door.

he steps inside like he’s crossing a line he’s been staring at all week.

you don’t say anything.

neither does he.

you just look at each other for one long, burning second.

then you kiss him.

and it’s over.

his lips are soft. a little unsure at first, like he’s still testing the edge of whatever this is. but the second you pull him closer. fingers tugging at the back of his shirt, your body pressed tight to his. he makes this sound, low and breathless, like he’s finally letting go of whatever he’s been holding in. his hands roam your waist, your hips, your back. he doesn’t settle anywhere for long. like he doesn’t know where to start, or maybe like he wants to touch all of you at once.

you drag him backwards toward the open balcony doors, kissing him between steps, stumbling a little because neither of you can stop. the night air is thick and warm as it rushes over your skin, but it doesn’t cool anything. your blood’s still boiling. the moonlight floods in, pale and heavy, painting both of you in silver. you back him into one of the balcony chairs and straddle his lap, your dress sliding up as you settle your weight onto him. he’s already hard beneath you.

he curses under his breath and grips your thighs, looking up at you like you’ve just knocked all the air out of his lungs. “say something,” he whispers, voice shaky, like he needs it.

you lean down, lips brushing his ear, and murmur, “você quer me ouvir gemer?” his breath stutters. his grip tightens. “what… what does that mean?”

you smile, press a kiss to his jaw. “you want to hear me moan?”

he groans, a real, full-body kind of sound. “fuck.”

you rock your hips against him, slow and cruel, grinding down once just to see what he does. his head drops back, mouth falling open, eyes fluttering shut. he looks so pretty like this. flushed, panting, already falling apart and you’ve barely touched him.

you kiss down his neck, soft and slow, and whisper against his skin, “você fica assim só de me ouvir?” he gasps, doesn’t understand, not really, but he nods anyway. his voice is barely a whisper. “i don’t even know what you’re saying but… fuck, keep saying it.”

you hum in approval and guide his hands up your thighs, under your dress. his fingers are warm and a little shaky, sliding over your skin like he’s not sure he’s allowed to. you let him touch, let him get bolder. when he finally reaches your underwear and pushes it to the side, he groans again, fingers slipping into the wet heat waiting for him.

your head drops to his shoulder as you roll your hips into his hand. “isso,” you murmur. “assim.” he starts to get the rhythm, fingers pumping slowly, the heel of his palm pressed against your clit. your whole body tenses with how good it feels, how perfectly desperate he is. his other hand grips your thigh like he’s holding on for balance. “you’re so fucking wet,” he whispers, almost like it hurts. “jesus, what do you do to me…”

you sit up, your breath coming quick, and look at him. he’s wrecked. cheeks flushed, eyes heavy, his cock straining under his pants. he looks like he’d let you do anything to him.

“tão obediente pra mim,” you murmur. so obedient for me.

he whines. actually whines.

“tell me what to do,” he begs. “say it in portuguese. please.”

you smile. slow, dangerous. and lean down until your forehead rests against his. your voice is a whisper. “tira a roupa.”

take off your clothes.

he moves fast, fumbling with the buttons, shrugging off his shirt, then his pants, his boxers. he’s hard and flushed and already twitching against his stomach, leaking at the tip. you don’t look away. don’t hide how much you want him.

you slide off his lap and stand up, pulling your dress over your head in one slow motion. his eyes never leave you. you take your underwear off last, slow enough to torture, and when you step out of it, he looks like he might lose his mind.

“come here,” you say, softer now. he does.

he steps into you like he can’t help it. his hands slide around your waist, holding you bare and close, like he’s still scared you might disappear. you kiss him again, slower this time, deeper. his hands wander over your skin like he’s trying to memorize every inch. your stomach. your back. the curve of your hips. he moans into your mouth when your fingers wrap around his cock, slow and easy, like you’re savoring him.

he’s warm and heavy in your hand, already leaking, already pulsing. he drops his head to your shoulder and groans when you stroke him once, twice. you press soft kisses to his temple and whisper, “gosta disso?” – you like that?

he nods, desperate. “yes. fuck, yes.”

you guide him back toward the balcony chair again, but this time you keep him standing. you sink to your knees in front of him, lips brushing over his hipbone as you say, “olha pra mim.” look at me.

he does. dazed. shaky. ruined already and you haven’t even started.

you take him in your mouth slowly, letting the heat of you melt around him. he gasps, one hand flying to your hair but not forcing, just holding, grounding. his thighs tremble. every time your tongue moves he lets out this soft, broken sound like he’s losing the ability to hold back.

you pull off with a soft pop, breath warm on his skin, and say, “você quer gozar assim ou dentro de mim?”

he whimpers. “what, what does that mean?”

you stand up, press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “do you want to come like that,” you whisper, “or inside me?”

his hands are on you instantly, pulling you into him, mouth crashing into yours. “inside,” he says, rough and breathless. “please. inside.”

you turn and guide him toward the bedroom without another word. the sheets are cool against your back when he lays you down, but it doesn’t last. not with the way he’s kissing you now. like he’s starving. like every second without your body against his is unbearable.

he lines up at your entrance and pauses, forehead pressed to yours, eyes searching your face. “tell me if you want me to stop,” he says.

you shake your head. “i won’t.”

then he pushes in.

slow, careful, inch by inch until you’re full, stretched around him, your breath caught somewhere between a gasp and a moan. his mouth falls open like he’s never felt anything like this. like you are something unreal.

he stays still for a second, buried deep inside you, trying to breathe.

“fuck,” he whispers, voice wrecked. “you feel… oh my god.”

you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, legs tightening around his waist.

“move,” you whisper. “go slow.”

he does. every thrust deep and deliberate, like he wants to feel all of it. your nails scrape down his back and he moans. you say his name in portuguese, soft and breathy, and he thrusts harder without meaning to. he says your name in return, like a prayer.

his hands are everywhere. your hips, your thighs, your face. he kisses you through it, messy and open-mouthed. every time you whisper something in portuguese, he moans louder. me fode assim. isso. não para. he doesn’t know what the words mean but his body does.

you feel him start to tremble. he’s close. you are too.

“don’t stop,” you gasp, clinging to him, your voice broken now. “don’t stop, i’m right there-”

he fucks you through it, chasing your high, his name falling from your lips in pieces.

you come first. hard and fast and full-body, your legs shaking, mouth open in a silent cry. jimin groans as you clench around him, and within seconds he’s coming too, deep inside you, hips stuttering, body going stiff before collapsing over you.

you stay like that. tangled up, slick with sweat, chest to chest, both of you breathing like you just survived something.

he presses his lips to your shoulder. then your neck. then your cheek. his hand strokes your side, lazy and warm.

“what did you say earlier,” he mumbles, lips barely moving, “on your knees… that one line… what was it?”

you smile, eyes still closed, voice hoarse. “you’ll have to learn portuguese if you really want to know.”

he groans and buries his face in your neck.

“you’re evil,” he says. “so fucking evil.”

[pumpkinnning]

black sails episode I (s01 ep01) notes/review (spoilers)

> intro song still slaps so hard

> i know s1 has Problems but the first ep is still so good

> Flint being introduced as the one who spares the captain's life fits w him being at first shown as apart from the crew, more humane, more strategic, more intellectual and withholding and "civilized" compared to Singleton's populism and bloodlust - a view however which disintegrates throughout the ep - then at the end he's shown to be the most brutal and unhinged of them all - obvs this is also abt the duality within him but comparing where we start and where we end, the contrast is really dramatic and impactful

> that said he's truly first introduced as a terrifying story/whisper/flag on the horizon which, obviously, appropirate

> Silver's intro is so great, too - the cook tries to scare him by talking about Captain Flint's ship pursuing them, how he hates cowards etc and Silver immediately turns it back against him when he sees the cook hiding the page "what will Captain Flint say about that" - and then using what the guy told him about how cooks are always useful on a ship to create a new identity. the ease with which we see him slip into a dead man's character. so slippery, ressourceful, the big charming smile w nothing behind the eyes

> and then !!!! the first true emotion we see him show is when Billy talks about the equality and loyalty among the crew and how they take care of Randall even though he "lost his wits" but Silver still has to prove himself. And yeah he's worried for his survival but it's also so clearly "this is a man who's never had this kind of loyalty and equality before so he doesn't really believe in it" but. it also makes him look a little desperate to experience it. fitting when the crew's loyalty is a key part of why he turns into Long John Silver.

> tbh i never fully believed in Silver as this purely selfish creature. to me i read him as like he came from something so awful there are no words for it and this is what he turned into to survive, cynical to his core and incapable of hope/trust - but there IS a part of him that yearns for true companionship right from the start but he's too fucked up to ever fully let it emerge. i honestly think he's the most tragic character in the entire show. yeah Flint's life sucked but at least he fucking Went for It

> Flint being so annoyed yet disdainful about the plot to overthrow him is so funny in hindsight. like who the fuck cares abt these men wanting gold when im on my gay rampage of wrath. peasants. then Gates trying to babysit him by sending Billy w him. Billy is like this guy does Not rate me. Gates being like yes yes he thinks so highly of you. Flint being like who's Billy ??? workplace comedy. and Then after Gates seeing unconscious Richard Guthrie in the boat and being like. Fucking Hell How does he always find a way to make it Worse. he is not paid enough for this shit

> the "Blackbeard" bit IS stupid but i guess it does fit the whole stories are true and untrue theme

> i guess Vane has some points later on but in this season he's so insufferable alpha dude fitness bro bleghhhhh

> Eleanor's opening statement IS cringe as fuck but it fits her character. she's brave and arrogant and insane and she wants to be a pirate so badly AND a rich girlboss lady that everyone bows to. she talks about her pussy getting wet in front of all these grody men that she wants to respect her. in an era where any respect given to women is generally tied to their sexual purity. and this puts her squarely in the camp of immodest sluts who deserve to be treated like shit. bc she relies on her father's status and money to shore up her own but she Knows how instable it all is and really she built everything with this insane boldness and she knows it's so risky but also she doesn't want to see it ! bc as we see in a lot of these characters, confidence is at least 60% delusion. she's awful and i love her and they needed at least one female character like this it can't just be the men

> Silver and Max's real first scene together is so funny bc they just fucked but you can clearly tell they're so not into each other. but there is a sort of cold respect/recognition there that they're equals. fascinated by how many of the sex scenes in this show are actually not erotic at all and so many of the more erotically charged moments are just characters talking or staring at each other. and most of all, telling stories

> the Max/Eleanor scene makes me sad bc you can tell Max really really cares for her, wanting to be her harbor in the storm etc. the "you only see bad things. the world is full of surprises, let it surprise you" speech Max gives is actually a forerunner to me of Flint's freedom in the dark speech on a much smaller scale. it's about embracing the unknown and the new outside of social norms through queer intimacy/love over status. but Eleanor refuses it just like Silver will refuse the offer - for different reasons but still ! another world is out there ! and people keep refusing it !!!! ughhh

> the shame and gossip speech ... they really chose the perfect actor to deliver that line he's so slimy and smug and insufferable you can feel every ounce of gross social repression

> the "they mean to make us monsters" and "i am your king" speech just fucking gives me chills Toby Stephens is such an actor. like that's such a moment where you go wow this guy is INSANE insane but somehow he imbues it with so much urgency and passion you entirely buy it. it's incredible

> man the fucking vote/fight scene is still so fucking good. Flint is clearly screwed for much of it. he doesn't have the vote and he doesn't have the page - but first he turns the situation upside down by accusing Singleton of stealing the page. and he is clearly physically outmatched for most of the fight, Singleton whacks on him and pushes him around and throws him down etc. but he still wins the fight out of sheer determination rage and brutality. And Then he turns to Billy - who has been introduced as The Decent Guy - covered in blood, saying heyyy i just beat a guy to death w my bare hands for made up purposes, can you lie to your whole crew for me ? and Billy looks at him like he is fucking insane. and he still lies for him. because it's that fucking compelling

> there are four audiences to this scene : us the actual viewers, then the crew, who are the in-world audience to Flint's theater and end up buying it. then there's Billy on whose support the whole operation depends, knows the page is lost. and then there is Silver - only we know he is Actually the one with the page. so he understands what is happening - that Billy is lying for Flint - specifically after Silver heard Billy's "we are all equal here no special treatment" speech. and i think he bought it. it's not that Billy is a hypocrite. it's just that Flint is THAT good

> and Silver specifically has been introduced as a great liar. so him witnessing Flint doing that, it's a very... like this is the first seduction moment, the start of the obsession/awe/repressed lust thing. but their ability to lie and convince come from such different places ! which is fascinating

> like Flint is such a good orator he is so passionate he burns with vision and conviction he will force you to see it he will get people to go to war for him - but not bc they like him, but bc they're convinced of his authority and capacities and power to bend luck to his will. it's intense and dramatic. but they don't like him, and once he is gone they will remember that - it's not the lasting type of loyalty. meanwhile Silver is chill and friendly he doesn't try to impose his will on people he is whatever they want or need him to be instead he's a chameleon but the funny thing is - what the crew need him to be is simply a version of Flint - crazy charismatic, nearly supernatural ability to make shit happen, fucking unhinged - that cares about his crew. and his awe for Flint is what also draws him out to take a more active, involved role instead of always being so detached. and meanwhile I think Flint sees that Silver gets people to like and even love him and i think on some level he also wants that and so he commits more and he opens up and tries to be honest. and it goes horribly wrong. they make each other worse but i think they also make each other better specifically in a way that the world is poised to crush. like yeah they're toxic and terrible but it's not just that. its a lot more tragic

> man i fucking love this show

[himewonu]

hey guys, i kinda forgot i have tumblr even tho i talk about wanting to write fics...! anyways, I'm kinda conflicted on which fic to write cs I have too many wips so you guys can pick for me <3

[goldenflowers]

A3! Act Addict Actors || one gifset per episode ↳ Episode 04 ❀ A New Challenge

[elephantbitterhead]

My favorite thing about being in a non-US time zone on this site: often when I post in the morning (late night/early AM in the US), it attracts porn bots, a course of events I can only assume relies on something like 'Oh look at this sad man with no life posting in the wee hours, let's try to entrap him with our robotic sleaze.'

[singsweetmelodies]

watching the alpines qualify dead last... my immediate thought was "oh it's going to be sympathy kisses+ for Pierre all season long in the your lips, my lips (apocalypse) universe" 💀

oh my gosh, HI 🤭😍 well this ask made me grin far too fondly down at my phone screen... it just means SO much that people are still thinking of this fic universe even though it hasn't been updated in forever. 🥺 i am really SO touched!

and i also agree COMPLETELY! sympathy kisses all night long, for sure... perhaps even a sympathy blowjob or two... or even (since charles has once again reminded us that he's not sensitive to bottoming) a sympathy fuck 😏 but whatever the case might be, you can bet your ass that they'll definitely be in each other's beds in the 2023 kisses fic 'verse <3333 😘

[whatsagirltoblogabout]

I'm at the conspiracy theory stage of my White Collar hyperfixation.

In the Season 3 premiere (3.01 On Guard), Neal's tie is sliced during a fencing match and he's forced to put on a new one at the WC office. He puts the new tie around his neck, but then takes a file out of the rack on his desk and moves it to a different part of the rack before starting to tie his tie. Does he have a mirror or something hidden in his file rack??? Was this established or hinted at somewhere else, either in the series or in behind the scenes content? And if there isn't a mirror, then WHY DID HE DO THAT???

[ranger-kellyn]

idk if i'll ever actually make anything of it, but i have to admit i AM enjoying jotting ideas down for an original avatar story

[anotheruntitledsong]

i did like the hidden palace but (SPOILER if anyone hasn't read it?) i'm genuinely so annoyed at how Arbeely is handled like... I wish i could be sad but i'm just fucking irritated. I was overly invested in him and that's def why but i just feel like they did him dirty

[koushirouizumi]

{R.E.B.O.R.N} - T H E O R I Z I N G ~ P A R A L L E L Worlds + Y A M A M O T O & B Y A K U R A N + G E N K I S H I S Death + TYL!Y A M A M O T O

Inheritance Ceremony!Y A M A M O T O -> T.Y.L

"T H I S Will D e c i d e {It}."

B O N U S:

"{T S U N A}, Why don't you T a k e a l i t t l e B r e a k?"

"THIS will D e c i d e I t..."

"If I can get {t h e m} with {T H I S} IT'S--" "{G A M E} & {S e t}!!" A.K.A. C o n c e p t s For S t o r i e s I'll N e v e r? -- Be Able to W r i t e...?!

{Cap'd by Me} (A S K to Use)

[lavenderjewels]

maybe im just very hard to please when it comes to media lately but I didn’t really like this bsd episode

[yaminerua]

God I wish I could really like. Sort out a proper overarching plot line for my OCs so I could actually Do what I want to do with them bc right now I just have disjointed scenes that hit me like a truck but it’s all just free floating loosely with nothing solid to tie it together;;;;