#ANYWAYS i am not anti rpf

[wmnylander]

nah u should speak your truth fam

[thekidsare-not-alright]

was only on fobtwt for 2 minutes before I saw

yet another ridiculous argument that literally does not matter yet they are all up in arms (it's whether or not pete has written corny lyrics. yeah I know)

someone complaining about not having more pics from patricks personal life. yknow. the things hes private about for some reason 🤷🏼‍♂️

[joosthead]

touch tank || j.k. f!reader

WARNING #1: explicit real person fiction ahead, dni if below 18. dni if anti-rpf

WARNING #2: explicit rpf/real person fiction content ahead. read at your own risk. dni if anti rpf, dni or read ahead if you simply don’t like rpf lol

₊˚⊹⋆ prompt(s): 16S) the classic “oh, let me help you put some sunscreen on” but then the little massage turns into something more

part 2 of just too soft for all of it — this is a standalone fic but both of these are set in the same universe if you want some more : )

₊˚⊹⋆ reader: f!reader, gets referred to as joost’s girlfriend. notfamous!reader. if you are a person who does not tan/burns—pretend that you can tan easily for this fic😭 exploration into joost and normal!reader’s dynamic. little bit opposite aesthetic reader

₊˚⊹⋆ word count: 7.7k

₊˚⊹⋆ cw: smut (oily massage, f!receiving oral+eating from back, unprotected piv, outdoors [but still private] sex, creampie), perfect world w perfect temperatures and pools, quite sappy lol didn’t know i could top jtsfaoi but here we are, google translate dutch. note: ice lolly/popsicle in mind. yes this is important. idk if they have these in nl but they do now < 3

WARNING #3: rpf ahead—don't like it, don't read it. do not repost this on any other platform, screenshots or text alike. do not click ahead if you don’t want to read rpf. do not interact if you are below 18. how to block tags/words on tumblr.

₊˚⊹⋆ track(s) of the fic: “touch tank” by quinnie, “love is strange” by mickey & sylvia, “pink in the night” by mitski

₊˚⊹⋆ junote: i really wanted to combine this with prompt 14 but i couldn't make it work : ( i do have requests for that that i’ll fulfill so stay tuned teehee !! sorry this took so long, i am a perfectionist and absolutely adore this prompt so—here you guys go !! enjoy : 3

₊˚⊹⋆translation: "Kun je me hier voelen, diep in je?" - "Can you feel me here, deep in you?"

18+ only — explicit rpf content ahead, minors dni, anti rpf dni. 4th and final warning!

Because your life is so perfect, the day after your meltdown and subsequent putting back together (courtesy of Joost), your area gets hit with the worst heatwave of the summer. 

You guess that this is some cruel tactic of the universe to make its stars align for you in any way it can. The unbearable beams of sunlight beaming down upon you the moment you exit Joost and your shared home into the backyard. “Are you sure we should have a day outside?” you call back behind you, putting on your sunglasses. “Shouldn’t we just chill inside and watch something?” 

Joost comes up behind you, arm snaking around your waist, lips planted on your cheek in a second. “Some sunlight will be very good for you, you’re always holed up in the office or library,” he mumbles into your shoulder, covered by the baby-blue cotton fabric of one of his button ups. “You can bear it.”

You shake your head, but keep walking forward down the steps anyways, sandals slapping against the small wood deck. “I think the heat might kill me.” 

“It won’t—I won't let it!” Joost exclaims proudly, letting you go and going ahead of you. Even without seeing his face, you know how big of a smile he’s got on his lips. 

The pool sloshes on its own, the aqua blue water spilling over the sides and darkening the gray pavement next to it. On one of your loungers, Joost sets down the tote bag he prepared of towels, sunscreen, the change of clothes you’ll wear when you go back inside. You woke up to it this morning, along with a butcher paper wrapped breakfast sandwich and a glass of water. A text accompanied it—he would be out back, taking the cover off the pool and setting everything up. 

Usually, you're the one setting everything up, preferring to have it your own specific way, but—you chose peace last night, going straight to bed after taking that bath together  After these few years together, Joost may not be as Type A as you, but he can certainly hold his own now around the household. 

Your backyard is a quaint sight: the fence lined with various flower bushes, clean cut grass all around. A tree stands in the corner, roots surrounded by a ring of decorative rocks and pink carnations—there isn’t much either of you have done to upkeep any of it, but somehow, they bloom year after year. Your loungers are baby blue, covered in the towels that Joost has set out, the tote bag spilling over on the left one. 

It's almost like you’ve taken an outing to the beach and you're not in the little old house you’ve lived in for the past few years. Any day with Joost is that extravagant, he makes it that way. Already, you can relax, your shoulders lowering as you sit down on the edge of your lounger and watch as Joost squats, running his fingers along the surface of the water in silence. 

Low on his hips, Joost’s swim trunks are black and needlessly designer, just the way he likes them. He’s shirtless, the expanse of his back to you—his own name is tattooed on his right shoulder in some sans-serif script he must’ve liked before he ever met you, and in this sunlight, you wish in secret to see your own next to it.  

“You’re staring, lieverd,” Joost remarks over his shoulder, giving the water one final splash as he stands up and you smile. 

“How could I not?”

“I’m just too beautiful, aren’t I?” He comes over to you, standing in front of you and shielding you from the sun. “You ready to get in the pool?” 

Behind your sunglasses, you squint up at him and nod. “Put on some music and I’ll go.”

Goofy as always, he salutes to you and marches away like some Supreme swim trunk clad soldier. As he sets up the speaker on the far side of the pool, you unbutton your shirt, get ready to slip off your flip flops, but in your pocket, your phone vibrates. 

You check it—it’s an email from your supervisor, asking you to look over a few files for her. Regardless of your big day out taking up your time…it’s a Saturday. And yet you still find yourself about to respond, about to start typing when Joost places his big hand over your phone screen, saying, “We can look at that later, yeah?” Your grip on the phone loosens; he’s right, you can look at that later. There’s still a part of you that wants to reply, scared of what the consequences will be if you don’t, but—“Today will be great.” Taking your face in his hands, he presses a kiss to your forehead. “Come, now.” 

You stand up and he slips off your button up for you, dropping it on the deck chair. You adjust the strings of your bikini; white and blue and flowery, patterned like a delicate porcelain vase, so pretty on you and Joost tells you such.

Turning to him, you hold your hands out to the side, showing yourself off. Joost’s hand comes up to your collarbone to fidget with the matching necklaces you both have that you wear now—pearl pendants in dainty silver cages attached to short chains and these green and tarnished (“well-loved,” Joost calls them) old halves of a “BEST FRIENDS FOREVER” heart-shaped necklace from a Claire’s you both visited on a trip to America. He wears them both today, too, chains intertwined and tangled as always. 

“Do you realize how pretty you are? Zo mooi mijn liefste,” Joost says, taking your hand and twirling you around for a better look—he wolf whistles, and it makes you laugh, cheeks warming with his eyes on you. 

“With how much you tell me, I think I’m starting to realize it.” 

“Very glad,” he says, pulling you in for a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll tell you more then.” 

Grinning, you pull away and make for the pool steps, but not before Joost taps you on the ass; you act scandalized, dropping your mouth open, narrowing your eyes at him, but it’s lighthearted, and just makes you want to finish what you started last night. “Smokeshow!” he whisper yells through his cupped hands around his mouth as you walk forward and to the side of the pool—it’s still morning, and your neighbours are weird about noise. This is his version of being considerate of that. Too bad for them that you moved Joost Klein into your once quiet home. 

Dipping a toe into the water, you immediately suck in a breath through your teeth at how cold it is. Even with the tarp and the sun shining down upon it for hours, the water still nips at your skin, something in your brain perceiving it to be freezing and impossible to step into. “Ew,” you mutter, and Joost snickers from behind you. 

“Baby can’t handle it?” he teases. 

“Not true,” you mumble, going down the second step, ankle deep, and immediately scrambling out of the water. “Jesus Christ, what the fuck?” 

“You’re surprised that water is supposed to be cool?” 

“It’s not supposed to be that cool.” 

“Come here.” You turn around, walk right up to him. Even without shoes, you still have to look up at Joost, and he smiles right down at you—you know that’s going to happen. “C’mon. Jump, schatje,” he says, tapping the backs of your thighs, so you do—he can carry you with ease, all the times he’s brought you upstairs this way, all the drunken piggybacks he’s given you. You wrap your arms around his neck, wrap your legs around him tightly, while he has his hands under your ass. “Good, baby.” 

He takes the opportunity to press a kiss to your neck, then starts forward down the pool steps, slowly so you can adjust. “Agh!” you yelp softly as he moves further into the pool, the cold water coming up around your body, engulfing you. The temperature is a shock to your system, though the way it cools your hot skin is so, so welcome. It isn’t as cold like this. 

“Is it okay?” 

“I’m okay,” you say, though you hug him closer to get any sort of warmth on you. 

“Are you sure?” he laughs, and you nod, still clinging onto him like a little bear. “You’re so cute. I think I deserve a kiss for that.” 

“One for carrying me,” you say, kissing him on his soft lips. “Another for setting all of this up.” You kiss him again, and Joost deepens it, somehow squeezing your body even tighter to his, tongue teasing at your mouth as he squeezes your ass, as you rest your hands on his chest.  “Have we ever done it in a pool?” you ask once you pull away. 

“Never.” Joost gives you one last peck, one last kiss on the jaw as he smiles at you. “Do you think today is the day?”

“Maybe. We’ll see.” 

—

After around an hour of wading around—you’ve both decided that today is not the day to do it in a pool. It’s too hot, even with the cold water you’re situated in. Not even your house or the tree in the corner of the yard provides good shade for the water as the day gets later, the sun beating down on your shoulders; it would turn into a burn if you were that unlucky, but you, however, are not. 

In the morning when you first stepped out, the pool was still shaded and you and Joost could do whatever you wanted: breath holding contests, Joost trying (and failing) to do a handstand underwater, racing each other across and back several times like this was some backyard Olympics. After a bit, you floated on your backs together, laughing about what the water feels like in your ears, laughing about how terrible he is at floating. Finally, you felt all of the worries from the past month melt away and into the water as you gazed up at the blue sky above you. 

You heard it before it came—Joost swiping the surface of the water, making a large splash that drenched your face as you floated. You exclaimed, “You dick!” and freed yourself from your float to splash him back in the face hard, then he feigned the hurt and sorrow that fills one’s heart after chlorine fills their waterlines, rubbing at his eyes—you weren’t not going to come over and dote on him, but then he splashed you back as you looked over his red eyes, and it made you splash him back even more. 

Noise be damned, you were both laughing and shrieking and splashing for around an hour—in the midst of your splash war, you noticed how pink Joost’s shoulders were, the beginnings of a nasty sunburn afoot with the afternoon sun shining down on both of you. You shooed him out of the pool and into the refuge of the umbrella covering your lounge chairs, and started to rummage in the bag before he sprung up from his seat. 

“Wait, wait, wait! Before I forget—” Joost exclaims, running back up the stairs and into your house. A minute or two passes, and he comes back with his hands behind his back, closing the sliding door shut with his foot. In front of him, he holds out a twin popsicle—two sticks encapsulated by sweet red syrup and already melting in its package. “Ijslolly!” He presents it to you as he comes down the stairs, then bows to you deeply and dramatically, which makes you laugh. “Here you go, m’lady,” he says, then tips his imaginary fedora to you because. Because of course he would—anyone else, it would make you cringe, but it’s Joost. Perfectly goofy, perfectly sweet, perfectly Joost. 

You laugh as he opens the wrapper and splits the popsicle in two—one for him, one for you. “Thank you, kind sir,” you giggle, playing along. “Where’d you even get this?” you ask, taking your half and licking at the melting syrup already dripping onto your hand. 

“I went to the store while you were sleeping,” Joost says proudly, biting into the popsicle. “It’s strawberry, do you like?” 

Walking forward, you nod and get up on your tiptoes to give him a kiss. “I love.” 

He beams at you, sits down, chomps at his popsicle while you eat yours; he puts his hat and sunglasses back on and you do the same, and you sit together as the music plays for you. 

A new Charli xcx song, Joost and Käärijä’s recent collaboration, an incredibly sexual recent Ski Aggu release that you make a note of texting him “???” about later. 

Before you know it, you’re left with a red-stained stick, a red-stained mouth, a satisfied sweet tooth. “Okay, Joosty. Sunscreen time.” He gives you an exaggerated grumble but sits down at the edge of the lounger nonetheless, and you stand between his legs, taking the sunscreen from behind him and uncapping it. “You need it more than I do.” 

“Shush,” he says, but lets you take out two fingers worth of sunscreen, lets you take off his sunglasses and spread the sunscreen on his cheeks, rubbing it in. You can’t resist him and his pretty face, dusted pink cheeks, ocean blue eyes looking up at you through long blonde eyelashes. 

You’re so distracted by his face that you don’t pay attention to where you’re going—“Oops,” you giggle. “I got sunscreen on your mustache.”

“Oops,” he repeats. “I don’t mind.”

Hands on the backs of your thighs, Joost pulls you close by them and presses a kiss to your stomach, then hugs you tight around your waist. Automatically, your hands come up to play with his hair, combing your fingers through the strands. “All of your sunscreen is going on my stomach, Joost.” 

“Don’t care. You think if I lay out in the sun for long enough, it’ll bleach my hair more?” 

You snicker, “The heat will singe you to pieces before it can even bleach your hair.”

Sighing, he presses another kiss to your stomach. “You’re lucky. You get to tan today.”

“I ran out of my oil in Cuba, Joosty, I can’t.” A couple’s vacation with Appie and Alanis in Havana, feels like so long ago even though it’s only been two months. Fruity cocktails on the beach (and in your hotel room, and at the bar, and in the club, and…), running down hallways, fussing over Joost’s sunburned cheeks, Joost ogling you sunbathing but unable to do anything out of respect for your friends right next to you. You should have picked up another tub, but you weren’t exactly expecting to be tanning back in Amsterdam anyways. 

“You can't, or you won't? Look in the bag,” Joost mumbles into your tummy. You lean over behind him and reach into the tote—most of the other things have already spilled out and onto the lounger behind him: your sunglasses, two droom groot caps, the wrapper of your popsicle, a cheap film camera, and…a brand new tub of coconut oil. Your favourite brand. He must’ve picked it up on his trip to the store this morning, and you laugh, “You're so sweet.” 

“Mm-mm,” Joost hums. “That’s you, lieverd. You should lie down, I’ll put the oil so you can tan your back.”

Cocking an eyebrow at him, you snort, “Feels like you have something up your sleeve, Klein.”

He grins a toothy smile up at you—“Maybe I do.”

Joost gets up and moves all of the things to the other lounger, allowing you to lie on it on your stomach. You wiggle around a little on it, settling into the soft cushion, your back already stretching with your position. 

“I will be a great masseuse, schatje, don’t you worry. “ Careful not to put too much weight on you, Joost straddles the backs of your thighs. 

“Should I be worried?”

“No.”

“I feel like I should be worried.”

“Don’t be.” From behind you, he gets up, and you turn around to see what he’s doing—he gets your/his button up from the other chair and slips it on. “No more burning today for me.” 

You nod as he settles back on you, and you hear the sound of your little coconut oil tub being opened, the safety seal being ripped off, the clicking of his tongue at it ripping off unevenly. The air is a comfortable blanket of warmth upon you now, your worries melting away with it as you wait for Joost. 

“Can you untie the string around my back?” you ask before you forget. 

A few beats of silence pass until Joost finally says—“What?” 

“Is there a problem?”

“Why untie?” 

Joost’s voice has deepened an octave—almost grave, the tone of his voice is, because all of the possibilities in his mind floating around. Just your bare back and its expanse in front of him.

“I don’t want a tan line,” you explain. “Untie it and I won’t get one.” 

“Okay,” he affirms, though sounding uneasy as he undoes the tight strings of your halter top, the strings around your torso. He swipes them out of his way, and you assume the pause in his movement is to dip his fingers in the coconut oil and warm it up for you. 

Your assumption is right. In a minute or so, Joost’s big hands smooth across your back, firm yet gentle—he knows exactly how to handle you. The oil provides a lovely glide for his palms against your skin, and it smells so great; the pressure he’s applying is perfect on you, and you let out a little mewl of pleasure. The knots in your back are melting away with every swipe of his hands across it and you have to ask—“Where’d you learn to give such a great massage, Joost?”

“A magician never reveals his secrets.” 

Even if you tried, you couldn’t deduce how he learned to do this; maybe you’re just super tired from the last month (very likely) or he was a masseuse in his past life, but you’re already less tense with his hands on you. He digs his thumbs into the small of your back and rubs circles into it as you sigh in contentment at how it feels.

“I like this song,” Joost mumbles as it changes to this one you found years ago, some song about baby blue shirts, how pretty he looks going down on you.

“Mhm,” you hum.

“Seems very appropriate for the situation, right?” Eyes closed, you smile with his fingertips hovering just above your skin, a pause now in his treatment for you. “Can I…you know…” with his finger, Joost writes a small J, one, two, three times, on your back and sliding with the oil waiting for your response. 

“Massage me for a little more, I’ll think about it.”

“Fine,” he breathes, then gets back to work. 

Joost smoothes his hands over your back muscles; first over the top, over your trapezius, then up to your shoulders. He pinches a little around the shoulders, gliding over the smooth skin there. Hands sticky with oil, the solid melts with the sun-warmed dip of your spine, the valley of your back before him. The dip is perfect to smell, perfect to kiss; perfect to put a light hand on in public and a harsher grip on in private. With every movement of his hands, it smells more like coconut, smells less like you, and Joost has to resist the urge to bend down and nose at it to get your scent back. Every movement is accompanied by a little—a little breath. A little happy sigh from you, and it makes him go insane with every press of his hands against you. 

You’re much more refined than he is, more able to keep it together; if Joost was in your position, he knows he’d be a mess under you, quick and fast and easy. You’re his favourite person—the wave of your hand could bring him to his knees. Taking care of you comes so easily to him, even if he’s so commonly doted upon by other people. This feeling—no wonder you like taking care of him as much as you do. 

Today is so happy, a day that’ll get him through weeks and shows to come without you, long days on the tour bus wishing you could be by his side. Joost got through yesterday, his flight, the ride home using the prospect of you, seeing you, to get by. Then he got home, and seeing you was all he could look forward to after being away for what felt like forever, and he finally did, and he was so overjoyed and then—then you were crying, and he felt so sad that all he could do was hold you. He wants badly to understand why. 

“Can I ask…can I ask why you cried yesterday, lieverd?” Joost adds in a soft voice, still running his hands firmly over your sore muscles, “It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it right now, I understand. But I’d like to know sometime, so we can help you feel better.”

You’ve known since the moment you started crying that you’d have to talk about it sometime. Sharing everything with each other is the way your relationship is, how it always has been—you thought about it in the bath with him, his chest against your back, deep and tired voice reverberating with it. How to word it as he played the first track on the new album, so crazy experimental and unlike anything you’ve ever heard from him before. Thought about it in the pool, thinking about it now. 

“I just…I’m probably the most mundane part of your life. There’s this little voice in my head, maybe it’s what I think people are saying about me—‘You’re telling me Joost Klein couldn’t find someone more interesting?’” You think back to an offhand Tweet you saw come up on your timeline, 10 angry quote tweets already defending you, no likes, but it still sticks to the back of your mind like some aggravating super glue: “‘His girlfriend doesn’t even do music or anything special and she still can't show up for him.’ I don’t travel like you do, I’m not always making music or doing things. And still, I couldn’t be there for you. 

I watch you at your shows and you’re this…enigma, you’re amazing. I want to be as good as you, I wanna show you off like you show me off. But there’s always something in the way. My schedule, or university, or work.” It’s truly difficult now not to feel like you overshared, dumped something on him that maybe you weren’t prepared to dump on him—a cloud shadows the sun, just at the right moment, and the parts of your skin not already touched by the umbrella’s shade are cooled momentarily. “Or maybe I’m just not trying hard enough for you.”

“I’m not flashy,” you say softly, settling on your forearms. “My way of being flashy is the way I love you, and I don’t know if I’ll ever think it compares to how you do it. I feel bad, that’s all. Like I could be doing more for you in every way.” Whatever it is, whether or not you were prepared to say it—it’s out now. “‘Cause you deserve it, you always do.” Blindly, you reach behind you and hold your hand out for him to hold, and he does, squeezing it tightly. Your cheeks warm, and it’s certainly not because of the temperature outside anymore. “I’m sorry I killed the vibe.” 

From behind you, you hear a sniffle, and you raise your head and look back, alarmed. Joost wipes a tear away with his other hand, laughs a sniffly laugh as you laugh, “Joooost. You’re gonna make me cry.”

“No, no, no vibe killing in this house.” You crane your head back again, pursing your lips, and he leans forward so he can kiss you, then peppers kisses until your shoulder, mumbling, “I should be comforting you, lieverd.”

“It’s okay,” you say softly. “Don’t really need to be comforted, just need to get it through my head that it’s not like that. I’m just sad that you’re sad.” 

Joost rubs your back, though it seems like he needs that more than you do if you’re judging by his sniffles and wavery voice alone. “I never knew you felt that way.”

He wraps his arms around your torso, hugging you close and continues, “If it’s any consolation, which I hope it is—you could never be careless. You set out my favourite sleep clothes for when I got back, favourite snacks, plushies on the bed, a place in the dresser for new stuff.” You have to admit—you were pretty proud of that last idea when you came up with it. “You’re thoughtful, and you’re kind, and I’m so lucky to have you. I love you, I love you. I love you.” 

With every “I love you” is a kiss upon your skin that you can’t see, but feel wholeheartedly anyways. “My muse, my saviour,” he says, and you have to laugh a little. “I mean it, you know I mean it.” And you do, you know it—how could you not when it comes from Joost? “You’re the most extraordinary part of my life, schat. Every show, your presence is there with me, even if you feel you aren’t.” 

“Not true,” you say, voice teasing. “That would be impossible, wouldn’t it?” 

You can feel the roll in his eyes from here, even though you can’t see it. “Yeah, yeah. But you know what I mean, right? Best friends forever, that’s what our necklaces say. Always there for each other. You’re always there with me.”

He kisses your shoulder. The oil is strange on his lips, but he doesn’t mind—it’s you. “Nothing compares to you, everything we have together…I hope you know how I feel now.” Pausing, Joost rests his forehead on the back of your head, breathes you in. “I’m obsessed with you, I think,” he whispers into the nape of your neck, then kisses it, and you laugh with the tickle of his lips, his facial hair against your sunwarmed skin. 

“You are? I didn’t know,” you tease, perking your ass up against Joost on top of you because—somewhere in your conversation, he’s gotten hard, and it’s poking against your thigh now, making you bite your lip. Stroking each other’s egos has gotten you both excited, it seems.  “What’s up with that, hm?” 

“You should know. I’m telling you right now, I’m obsessed with you. And this?” Joost grinds his crotch against you just lightly, kissing the side of your neck as he lowers his voice, “This, I like talking about you too much. You can’t blame me for it, you’re gorgeous.” 

“I don’t think I know how obsessed with me you are yet. Tell me more?” 

“Do I have to tell you, schat?” he says, gentle and low, fingering the delicate ties on your sides and the sensitive skin of your hips under them. His fingers drag down the column of your spine, tease at the edge of your bikini. “I don’t think I have to tell you, right? That I love you, need you?” 

“You don’t? Have to tell me?” 

“I’ll show you.” 

You imagine what he looks like behind you—burnt shoulders, rosy cheeks, dark sunglasses, chlorine dried blonde hair all messy and the tips dripping with water still upon the billowy cotton of his button up. Those blue eyes, blown out at the sight of you underneath him, wandering every lovely curve of your body. Slowly, he unravels the ties that hold both sides of your bottoms together, the nylon springing back against your skin, and you fight the urge to smile in anticipation of Joost all over you soon. 

“You don’t want any tan lines down here?” he asks, fingers already underneath the damp fabric of your swimsuit bottoms. You shake your head no. “Ok, then no tan lines.” 

Joost slips the fabric off of your skin; the dampness makes it cling to you still, though it’s easy enough to take off completely. You hike your leg up for easier access, turn your head so you can get a good look at him. In a sort of headband, his sunglasses are perched atop his head; the button up wrinkled and a bit stained with oil; rightfully, his eyes are half-lidded with want, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his trunks.

“What do you want to do?” Teasing him, you run a finger down his bulge and he smiles at you. Truly, you haven’t a single idea about what Joost wants to do with you next, and it looks like he doesn’t either—until his eyes light up, and you figure that tugging gently at his trunks for him can help expedite the process.

“Can I try something?” 

“Go right ahead.” 

You lie in wait as Joost lowers his shorts, erection springing out and his hand coming to wrap around it and give it a few pumps—you reach behind, running a finger down the slit, and he sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth as he strokes himself, then settles his cock on the soft cleft of your ass and glides it against, between it. 

You laugh, “You’re such a dog, Joost,” but as he ruts gently against you—the little moans he’s doing in your ear, already rambling about how good you feel and he’s not even inside yet, one hand gripping your hip and keeping his cock in place and the other on the back of the lounger so he can keep his balance; this is your personal paradise. 

“Fuck,” Joost whispers, biting his lip. You love a show, and he’s ever the showman—but you’re outside, he’s outside, he’s very aware of your cranky old neighbours, and he loves you and your house. One day, you’ll share the lease together, so he tries and stays quiet for the sake of that dream, so you both won’t get kicked out for verbal indecency today. 

“I know how much you like it, Joost,” you purr from under him, voice muffled by your arms. “You can tell me.” 

From Joost’s point of view, you look like a line in his song, the notes in the margin crafting and tailoring the work to his perfect vision; you look like the fully realized final draft of something he’s been working on for months, trying to find the sound of for years. 

If he could write something about this moment, it would probably result in entire sagas, but for now—keeping you like this close to his chest is a gift only he has. 

“I can’t be eloquent like this,” he laughs, and you have to agree; whatever goes on in that head, he short circuits before he can say it in this state of pleasure. 

Joost pauses his small thrusts, catches his breath. “Go on,” you encourage, but he breathes a quiet, “No. If I go any more, I’ll cum early and that would be so lame, schat.” 

“Not lame. I would personally love to see it.” 

“Mm-mm. We are not doing that today,” he laughs, and the sound makes your heart warm. 

“Put it in,” you say softly, trying to convince him to keep going—it’s so cute how far gone he is already, how hard he’s trying for you. 

“No, no, no. Let me taste you first.”

You cannot argue with that. 

In an instant, you abandon your bikini top, abandon the bottoms too in a crumpled mess on the ground laying on your sandals and his flip flops. “Hands and knees, lieverd,” Joost says, and you follow his direction, settling so you’re on your elbows and your ass is hiked in the air. 

A few moments pass as Joost sits behind you, and you have to ask—“What are you waiting for?”

“Just enjoying the view,” he says, then gives a kiss to your ass cheek, making you giggle. “So impatient today, schat. Is it because I was gone for so long?” Joost moves your knees so they’re spread even wider, giving him more access to you. “How much did you miss me?” A kiss to the back of your thigh, right near your center, your stomach caving in with the deep breath you take in anticipation. 

“I missed you a lot,” you whisper, looking back at him focusing his dilated eyes on your pussy, and your cheeks grow hot at the sight. “Missed you more than you know.”

“Did you?” He licks a tentative stripe up your slit, up even higher over your hole—so sensitive, your knees could shake with only the tip of his tongue teasing you. “Show me, let me hear it, lieverd.” 

“Joost,” you scold, though your arching back reveals your true feelings about what he’s doing.

“Sorry, can’t resist.” He presses a kiss atop it before coming back to your pussy.

So exposed, so vulnerable, so open, Joost’s fingers parting your folds. He spreads them gently so you’re even more open to him and licks in between, drinking from you. The smacking of his lips against you—it’s filthy. You’re so cognizant of the sound; is it unmistakable from outside, Joost’s tongue flicking against your clit, his fingers rubbing circles on where he can’t reach? You hope the sounds of the city outside your flat cover the mewls that spill out of you as he lays his tongue flat against it and laps up your wetness. 

“I think we should get you more tan in the front, too, right, schatje?” Joost says, breathless, and you flip over, laying on your back for him. Before he can get back to business, you cup his chin, pinching it gently between your fingers. His lips are covered in your wetness, glistening with it in the sunlight. You pull him to you, bringing his lips to yours, the salty taste of yourself on your tastebuds, on your chin as well now. 

This all makes you realize—you weren’t wrong at all for missing him so terribly. 

When you pull away, Joost pauses, gazing at your face, brushing your hair out of your eyes. On top of you, lying partly on you, he cups your cheek, silver chain resting on your chest, the pearl pendants and the halves of one heart of the matching necklaces you own together right next to each other. 

“Zo mooi,” he says quietly as he lowers down, kissing your chest right next to your pendants, kissing down between the valley of your breasts, maneuvering so he can graze your nipple with his teeth, flatten his tongue over it. His hand comes up to cup your other breast as he sucks at the bud, then sucks at the skin next to it; that will leave a mark tomorrow, a sweet reminder of your time together. 

Finally, he’s satisfied with his work on you and starts down your body, kissing your stomach, your hips. Before you can even process it, he folds you in half, hands on the backs of your knees; licks one long stripe through your folds, then attaches his lips around your clit, sucking it, forcing a loud and choked moan out of your mouth as he alternates between licking hard at your bud with the tip of his tongue and sucking.

Joost is a fiend for it, devilish look in his eyes, smile on his mouth even when it’s pressed up so close against you—his fingers tease at your dripping wet hole, then his middle fingers are inside you, and then he’s there to the knuckle and petting at your g-spot incessantly. 

Joost knows you inside and out; can already tell that your pretty hands resting on the back of his head and holding him there will result in your fingers tangled in his hair and tugging lightly; knows that a few more seconds of his curling fingers and his tongue on you will make you try and push against his hand still holding you open with your thigh, you’ll fail to do so, and be happier for it. 

You’re too lost in your pleasure to look at him like he wants you to. No matter—you’re a beautiful sight coming undone for him, eyes closed, chest heaving with your breaths, a slight sheen to your skin. “Joost,” you sob quietly as he continues pumping his fingers in and out of you, continuing to lap at your pussy like he’s trying to quench an unquenchable thirst. 

“Mhm? Do you like it, schat?” Joost says against you, the vibrations of his deep voice making you twitch. You nod, and there it is—he pauses to smile when he realizes you're holding his head in its place, burying his face in your center. Who is he not to give you what you want? He drinks you in, and it makes you moan louder. “Keep quiet,” he mumbles. “We wouldn’t want the neighbours to hear, now would we?” 

You’ve come back to reality enough to nod, quiet down a little, but after a few more seconds of him sucking your clit, pistoning his fingers in and out of you, you cum, saying his name over and over again, then whispering it once you realize that yes—you’re still outside. Joost presses one last sloppy kiss against your overstimulated bud, and you nudge his face away with your fingertips, laughing breathlessly. 

Joost laughs too as he settles his cheek on the inside of your thigh, peppering soft kisses to it as he gazes at you; the look in his eyes is so tender, you almost want to look away, but you don’t. You’d take a picture if it wasn’t so glaringly obvious what you were doing before. You cup his other cheek, and he nuzzles further into your thigh, eyes closed. 

For a few moments, you stay like this, catching your breaths, basking in the afterglow of your orgasm together. After a little, Joost wipes his mouth and his cheeks with the back of his hand. “Owie,” Joost winces, reaching back to rub over the spot on his head where you pulled on his hair. “You really enjoyed that, schatje,” he smiles, climbing up over you. 

“I'm sorry,” you say softly, putting your hand over his as he lies down on you, head on your chest. “I shouldn’t have tugged so hard.” 

“It’s okay, it was worth it.” You pet his hair—Joost is so warm, the air is so hot around you, but you’ve never felt better. “I’m so hard it hurts, schat,” he mumbles, and you laugh as he shifts around on top of you, erection through his shorts poking your thigh. 

“Let’s fix that?” 

“I thought you’d never ask.” 

With quickness, Joost is up and off of you, straightened on his knees and parting yours, but you sit up. Hooking your fingers on the waistband of his trunks, you pull them down slightly, pulling him in to kiss you as you pull them lower, letting his cock spring out as you kiss sloppily, strawberry stained tongues meeting. You wrap your hand around his thick shaft, run your thumb over his weeping pink tip to spread around the precum, which makes him groan into your mouth, makes your teeth knock together. 

You stroke him a few times, Joost’s hand resting at the base of your neck. It’s like time slows down when you pull away from him and watch him and his furrowed blonde brows, the way his lips are dropped open, the pink blush of his skin creeping down his neck to his chest with all of this exertion. 

Joost opens his eyes, catching you gazing at him intently, and he brings his forehead to yours as you keep jerking him, and holds your face in his hands. “Catch me if I fall?” he asks, and you laugh. 

“So dramatic.”

“You don't even know, dude.” A few more kiss-filled seconds pass until Joost finally calls it—“Enough, baby, I need to be inside of you now, please.” 

Nodding, you lie back, opening your legs for him. He sits back, stroking himself. “No crying today, hm, schat?” Joost says as he takes his place between your legs. “No crying unless it’s out of pleasure, of course. Or if you want to cry out of sadness, that’s okay, too.” 

“I’ll take note of that, thanks,” you smile as Joost lines up with your entrance, lying over you. You slip your hands underneath his shirt, fingers running over Rayquaza, his skin piping hot on yours. The pool still sloshes, the sun is much higher, he's inching his cock inside of you and saying something in Dutch that sounds like whatever is equivalent to “fucking Christ,” his face screwed up in pleasure. 

“So warm,” Joost practically whimpers, and you both know that he certainly didn’t mean to say that in such a whiny tone. “So warm,” you laugh, making an exaggerated moan to tease him as he covers his face with his hands and laughs with you. 

“Shut uppp.” Another inch inside you, so deep. “I wish you could feel how it feels, it’d change your life.” Every vein and ridge on his cock, you can feel as you envelop him fully. “You changed mine,“ he says, and it makes your heart soar. “Over/under, 3 minutes, schat?” 

“Under. Over/under 30 seconds?” 

“Under. Maybe. Jesus fuck, you feel so good,” he laughs, breathless. “So tight, you’re amazing.” Joost goes silent as he fully bottoms out in you, but a few moments pass, and he states like he’s been thinking of it the entire time, “Lowkey, I wish we had one of those squeeze bottles,” he makes a disturbingly good squeeze bottle sound with his mouth, “Pfft-pfft. We could be oiled up super quick if we did. Maybe for next time I give you a massage.” 

You give him a puzzled, amused look—you know him like the back of your hand, but where his mind wanders sometimes, you aren’t sure. “I just don’t know,” you laugh. “Maybe we can workshop that idea.” Joost grinds himself against your clit, and you moan into his mouth as he comes down and kisses you. 

Joost fucks you like you both have all the time in the day to be here—as far as either of you are concerned, you do. Long, languid thrusts that you both watch as his cock disappears inside of you, his thumb rubbing gentle circles on your clit. The wet, hollow slaps of his hips against your ass are filthy music to your ears; you pant into each other’s mouths, close enough to touch, but not wanting to for the sake of watching each other, eyes open. 

You snake your arms around his neck, bringing him closer as his thrusts become shallower, quicker, erratic, punching into your g-spot. Without warning, Joost straightens up, exiting you fully, then lifts your hips up to meet him where he is, his shaft rubbing against your clit. 

“Ik hou van je, lieverd."

“Ik hou van je, Joost, I love you so much.” 

Joost’s face lights up then melts once he hears you speak Dutch—it’s so cute, like a little surprise for him even though you try to speak it with him regularly. Since it’s easier for you to express yourself in English, he'd rather you just speak Dutch at work and school like you already do, but the excitement in his expression when you do speak it is priceless. 

He sinks inside you once more, a loud shared moan between you two; this angle allows him to be deeper inside you than before. You tighten around him, and he sighs in pleasure. Joost splays his fingers out on your belly. “Kun je me hier voelen, diep in je?” 

“Ja, je voelt je zo goed, schat,” you breathe. Your praises seem to incense him to thrust into you firmly, out, in, out, in, sloppy, though you can’t blame him. Still, the head of his cock hits your spot with every seat of himself in you. He smoothes his tattooed hand over your chest, your erratic heartbeat probably felt through to his palm; he moves up to put his thumb in your mouth, and eagerly, you suck as he fucks you. Anything to quiet yourself, anything to have more of him inside of you. “I’m close, Joost,” you say once he moves his hand to your shoulder for leverage. 

Nodding, he says, “Me too,” keeping the pace, smearing more of your wetness over your clit so his fingers slide over it better as he rubs it for you.  

A few more reckless thrusts, your arms flying up around his neck for support, lips catching each other’s, swallowing each other’s moans. That familiar tugging feeling in your stomach grows and grows until you can’t ignore it anymore, your core tightening, your pussy tightening around him as you gasp out his name over and over again with your climax, and he gasps out yours. He’s not finished yet, but his hips have lost the rhythm they once had, his control over his impending orgasm with how you’ve constricted around him. 

“Schat, hold on for me a little.” 

“I should be telling you that,” you say, though you understand—the overstimulation of his cock dragging against your insides is getting to be a lot. You hug him close, your lips right next to his ear, his panting breaths right in yours as he ruts into you. “Cum inside me, Joost,” you whisper, and with one last deep thrust inside of you, he cums with a groan, with a breathy moan of your name, clutching your body tightly in his hands as he shoots inside of you, cock pulsing; so warm, being filled up like this, no space between you two, his stuttering hips fucking back into you for a few final thrusts.

In each other’s arms you lie there, panting—sweaty skin on sweaty skin, music still playing from the speaker, him softening inside of you. Joost kisses you deeply, kisses your cheeks, your chin, and you smile. “You are everything I’ve ever wanted and more, schat,” he says into the side of your neck. “Don't forget that.” 

thank you so much for reading! likes, comments, reblogs always so so appreciated <3 : ) - juno

[chronically-ghosted]

i totally agree that it’s ridiculous for people to write fics for films that haven’t been released yet, but the problem isn’t the smut itself. people have every right to write porn if that scratches the itch.

i think your main point is the most important: it’s impossible to write a thoughtful, inspired fic when we don’t even know the story it’s based on. no one knows who this character is or what he’s like.

at this point, everyone should just call a spade a spade and write pedro rpf. all they care about is seeing his face in different situations.

so my earlier post was not so much a statement on Pedro Pascal Character fanfiction/porn, but the commercialization of art and I interpreted the thoughts and opinions of others through the lens of the medium I most often express myself with, which is fanfiction.

let me be clear: i have no problem with smut - pwp or otherwise. people are allowed to write whatever they want, about whoever they want, with whatever tropes make them happy.

my overall focus (and granted it was probably very muddled by the end of those - what, like three reblogs?) was an interrogation of fanfiction as art, and the state of art in this modern era. and after doing some more thinking and listening to more people much smarter than me (thank you to everyone who dm-ed me directly to talk further about this), my opinion is thus: the creation of content (not art) is more ubiquitous today is not because we are getting more stupid as a society, not because of our failing attention spans, not because we are on the brink of moral collapse but because we physically do not have the mental strength to be intellectually curious as a direct result of constant, distracting, emotionally-draining stimuli.

i can explain what i mean below the cut with two primary examples, specifically regarding the shift in fanfiction cult, and yes, the prominence of smutty oneshots in the pedro pascal character fandom of which this blog is a part of.

I have been in various fandoms for almost twenty years. I have been writing fanfiction for almost that same amount of time. In recent years, I've noticed two trends that initially discouraged me, but that I now believe is a symptom of our adjustment to a modern, constantly online era.

A severe lack of engagement within the artistic artifacts of a fandom

The quality of the fanfiction itself (because yes I do consider fanfiction to be an artform) has gone down hill - mostly.

Lack of engagement:

Art is inherently created to be shared. This is especially true for fandom because the community lives or dies by how many people are interacting with each other and sharing ideas (news, theories, fanart, fanfic, etc). If you say a fandom is dead, it means there haven't been any new posts or fic about it in years. So I don't wanna hear it when people say, "oh write for yourself, you shouldn't be chasing engagement" because that is antithetical to the very concept of fanfiction.

In recent years, I have seen and experienced myself engagement in my work only so far as a like or kudo. This is not how it used to be. Message boards (yes I am that old) and niche fandom sites were constantly abuzz with media sharing and excitement, and everyone enjoyed some version of praise (unless you got hit by the antis but they're never fun anyway). Initially I blamed this drop in engagement on laziness: people just want the next thing, they can't be bothered to appreciate the hard work writers put in and they just see content and art as the same thing - stuff to consume.

But I myself am GUILTY of minimal reblogs and comments and I LOVE what I'm writing - the impact certain works leave me with is long, long lasting but for some goddamn reason, I can't sit down and praise the author's works. Am I lazy? Possibly, but this is also not an isolated behavior and it's on the rise: people do not have time to engage with fandom/fanfic like they used to. Most people I know have worked at least two or three jobs at some point in their lives to just to make rent. This gen z is the first generation in DECADES to be worse off economically than their parents. With an interest rate at 8%, who the fuck can afford the security of a home anymore? We work ourselves to the bone for scraps and the realization that The Dream has officially died. And so what do we want to do in the free time we do have? Engage with the very bare minimum. We want to read things that we can at best skim, things we don't have to think about or engage with in any meaningful way. We want a way to turn off the noise of the next apocalypse and sometimes the best we can do is the tap of a thumb.

Which brings me to my next point: what the fuck happened to thoughtful fanfiction?

But this question is inextricably linked to the points above: oneshots are easier to write, faster to write, and if you write fic that is basically "Mad libs porn" (without ever engaging in the actual medium because it is literally not released yet), you are doing the most minimal work for the most amount of engagement. But I can't fault ANYONE for doing that. It feels good to be told your smut is "so hot" or "this exploded my panties" and in this era where the time available to create is so fucking small and minimized of course you're going to write for the most popular character, whether or not you're interested in the source material because we want our art to matter to someone. Intellectual pundits loooove to lambast our "shorter attention spans" but fuck, when are we allowed the time to think - in between this "100 year storm" that's happened twice in the past five years, or the global pandemic that turned millions of deaths into a political punching bag, or the next video of a white woman crying wolf to the police over an innocent black man, or - or - or - or

In a day where reality and the world as we know seems to be holding onto a thread, we turn to comfort: comforting tropes (dbf to rape/kidnap fantasies), comforting fanfic (pwp), and comforting ways to engage with fandom. There is nothing wrong with wanting your art to be appreciated and there's nothing wrong with inherently wrong with pwp - but I do believe its symptomatic of a MUCH larger and more sinister movement within ALL art right now.

I come from the generation who banished fanfic authors for scrubbing off the filing numbers to their fics and publishing it as original content because, in our communities, they were selling out. Fanfiction is inherently an act of rebellion. Every time you write fanfiction you break canon, an established structure with its own rules and boundaries. So by trying to appeal to the masses, to curb your own writing to fit whatever is mainstream, you are doing a disservice to yourself AND to the art of fanfiction. If something you write becomes popular, wonderful, great, you are very lucky and there is nothing wrong with that either. But do not sell out your 13 beloved fans who WILL take the time to leave a comment, who WILL take the time to reblog because your weird little fic spoke to them on a fundamental level and now is with them for the rest of their lives - in favor of a 100 thumb taps.

If you've made it here, thank you very much for reading. I've added some links to some additional references to see how this concept of "populist" art is having a serious negative down turn in the quality of art, but is also not any one individuals personal failings:

Why the world is addicted to background tv by Kayleigh Day

How Modern Audience are failing cinema by Like Stories of Old

Rupi Kaur episode of Rehash podcast

I'm always here to talk fic and art and what makes you excited about your writing. Much love and please rest. We need you here.

[the-heartlines]

i am really pissed off today and want to take a moment to rant about holier than thou antis and their fucking dumbassery.

on twitter, i received a ton of harassment (about my age mostly lol cuz you know once you turn 30 you're immediately considered elderly and need to join a nursing home 💀💀💀) and some anonymous death threats on my curious cat in the last WEEK—all over shipping ghoulcy, including one rpf walt/ella twt, & for writing ghoulcy dead dove & daddaughter incest fics. not blacking out names because fuck that shit. you reap what you sow.

there's a ton of negative qrts on those twts and thankfully my fellow shippers and moots have been extra supportive, but i am so sick and tired of the antis and their ability to not separate fact from fiction.

i am fucking sick and tired of the same antis shipping things like jackieshauna (which i ship immensely by the way!) and other ships (villanelle x eve and hannigram come to mind) and having this mentality that if you ship other toxic fucked up ships in a dead dove way, you're a "*insert buzzword here* (including pedo, rape apologist, pornsick addicted freak) who needs to be locked up. also kys!"' these assholes care more about the fictional fake made up characters than an actual human being this vitriol is being thrown at and im so disgusted and disappointed with each passing year, seeing this conservative, puritanical form of mentality take shape and get worse and worse...and i don't know what the fuck to do about it and am scared for the future generations who are dealing with this absolute disgraceful nonsense because no one and i mean NO ONE should be telling anyone to kill themselves over any damn fictional ship!

anyways, i had to rant about this because it's been BUGGING me because i have gotten a lot of vitriol from hotd stans for other ships i like and see potential in. and it's so awful that any kind of shipper deals with this at all. and we need to call these fuckers out and un-normalize this behavior before it gets even worse for the future generations. and it's crazy and baffling that this needs to be said but here i go anyways:

writing or creating or consuming any kind of dead dove content, doesn't mean you condone it in real life. it doesn't make you a rape apologist, a pedophile, or a porn sick addicted freak. people have been doing this shit since the beginning of time and if this shit squick you out, makes you uncomfortable, you need to block/mute/dni/ignore with this kinda content, keep your mouth shut, or gtfo. because it never gives you the right to treat an actual human being lower than dirt and wish death upon them.

[darksvster]

Hey, I saw your recent posts on twitter, and I just wanted to thank you so much for taking the time to share these scripts with the fandom. I am sorry you have to deal with losers saying awful things about you. Nobody deserves that. Obviously I would be very sad if you stopped posting even the Daemyra scenes, but I definitely wouldn’t blame you. Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that the time and effort you put into this is appreciated 💜

i normally don't reply to these messages. not because i don't appreciate them — because i do — but because i don't feel the need to publicize praise for me.

but this has been an incredibly difficult and exhausting week for me personally (from a work front, a personal health front, a personal life front). thank you for this and thanks everyone for the kind words you guys send, it doesn't go unnoticed.

i don't think some people really consider that i am a real person who doesn't like to be insulted. this shouldn't be surprising because i don't think anyone looks forward to insults when they wake up in the morning. i don't like seeing my tweets screenshot and criticized by people who don't know me at all, i don't like people attacking me and my friends for having fun. i don't subscribe to the mentality of, "you decided to post these, so surely you knew you would get the attention." that kind of thought process is the same as, "she dressed that way, so she deserves it." i don't think i deserve harassment for simply liking things. i

personally, i would not attack someone for what they enjoy and i have simply been blocking people and moving on. but this sort of behavior is reaching a threshold for me. for my mental health, if i keep waking up to more people calling me names or saying i'm subhuman for liking what i like (yes, i have rpf ships, if that bothers you, keep it to yourself or move on) i will simply unschedule everything. i know i said before i would always post daemyra stuff, but quite frankly there are some daemyras who are as bad as the other antis.

if that happens, i will be fine with posting all the screenshots of the people who led me to make the decision. they clearly have no regard for respecting me...

i had planned on going to the library again just to pull some more stuff for people who have been asking so politely (especially since i realized that i didn't have anything re: rhaenys), but i'm deciding to just keep that time for myself since it is a big pain in the ass.

edit: i also don't care if there are anti-daemyras looking at my posts. that actually doesn't bother me and i see those comments all the time. personal attacks, however? those are not tolerated.

[lilac-hecox]

When I saw that new discord created just for "rarepairs" I definitely got the vibe that its targeted towards the ianthony fandom in disguise. It's a shame that this fandom felt already so divided with one part of the fandom not giving smosh main channel or sketches a chance on smosh reddit and now same bad vibes are being bought on smoshblr. honestly it's giving "Oh I am not like others, I'm different" syndrome. It's completely alright to not connect with something, but to actively talk shit about it in fandom spaces and putting other creatives down who produce fan-content related to that is next level of weird. If you don't like something why are you even engaging with that piece of content? it's like those high school bullies. I'm sorry for this rant but it's really sad to see people dragging others down over *checks notes* fanfiction. like it's supposed to be something lighthearted and way of expression. And to these people acting holier than thou over a fanfic, while themselves dabbling with rpf which is itself a polarizing thing doesn't make sense. creating a whole server just to be a hater is crazy.

I think you're right and the server was born from a hate of the 'main' ship in our fandom and not created to celebrate the rare pairings in the fandom. Even so, to devote a whole channel so shitting on a pairing seems like too much to me, but again, if people don't like Ianthony, it is their prerogative and I was told by several members that the ianthony bashing was in good fun and for the most part I believe that. I think that the creator had some bad vibes and motives behind the server and kind of used it to further their own agenda.

I think a rare pair server is a really good idea but just less toxic. I was talking to @punk-gremlin about potentially making one (but tbh I do not have time to be a moderator so I would need a trusted moderator).

I will say though I saw others who also thought the server was for celebrating rare pairs and not tearing down the popular ones. When I addressed the issues with the creator I was told, "Well, you're an ianthony person i didn't think you would join the server." but the server isn't marketed as an anti-ianthony server, its a rare pairs server and I enjoy rare pairs like Amanda/Ian, Amanda/Shayne, etc.

Anyways, yes, tl;dr its okay to like and celebrate rare pairs, its okay to not like or be tired of the main pairing in the fandom, not okay to bully others in public spaces though.

Would anyone be interested in being a mod for a rare pair server that is made and not toxic?

[sinni-ok-sessi]

Five ships in five fandoms

with thanks to @tallangrycockatiel for the tag

Well, there's the Enterprise, obviously, the Surprise, the Terror, the Indefatigable...

OK no, I will do this properly

1. Lin Chen/Mei Changsu/Xiao Jingyan (Nirvana in Fire)

Coming in first and surprising absolutely nobody! I am so very onboard with any and all permutations of the Greater Liang Polycule, but I have a special fondness for Guy Who Is Very Invested In Mei Changsu and Guy Who Is Very Invested In Lin Shu becoming jointly Guys Who Are Very Invested In Keeping This Idiot Alive In Spite Of Himself. Also I love angst and this ship offers the incredible buy one get one free deal of grief that your best friend now has someone else who knows more of his secrets and grief that your best friend is burning his life up in service of someone else, all turning on the fulcrum of a man who would probably just die on the spot if he let himself feel one tenth of the things he's been repressing for the last decade. Also, I love characters who won't say what they mean, so. You know.

2. Charley Pollard/Eighth Doctor (Doctor Who Big Finish Audios)

God, they're so weird about each other. It's not romantic but it's not not-romantic and also at one point they eat each other's corpse in an anti-time universe (I think? It's been a while since I listened to Scherzo) and I remember experiencing a lot of confusing and proto-aromantic feelings over them when I was seventeen, so they deserve a mention

3. Francis Crozier/James Fitzjames (The Terror)

YES I FEEL WEIRD ABOUT IT OK. Constantly I am playing this game with my brain where a fic can neither be too historically inaccurate nor too obviously Just Straight-Up RPF and let me tell you, this narrows my options considerably. BUT. Hhhh. The fact that they're doomed from the start. The way both of them, through sheer effort of will, put aside the selves they've been playing and better, truer people, in circumstances that really would have justified the opposite. They're doomed and they keep trying anyway. I'm going to go stare at a wall now and maybe bite something.

4. Kirk/Spock (Star Trek TOS)

I know, I know, I'm basic, but look, I didn't get an E in C4 maths because I was too busy writing k/s fic to revise to deny this truth of my heart now. What can I say, I love a man who is repressing a planet's worth of emotions at any given time. I love gentle bickering, I love putting your life in someone else's hands with absolute trust, I love this simple feeling. Ok, gonna go stare at a different wall for a bit now

5. Crowley/Aziraphale (Good Omens)

This one's dedicated to last summer, when I spent three months losing my goddamn mind, having been a casual Good Omens enjoyer for years at that point. I love all the permutations of these characters, but I do especially love watching Michael Sheen and David Tennant's faces do things. I think I mentioned before my love of characters who won't say what they mean, and I especially enjoy SIX THOUSAND YEARS OF IT AND COUNTING. Also, as someone who didn't so much break with the church as saunter vaguely away, GO fic sure does tap some long-buried part of my psyche.

~

I have all the object permanence of a concussed goldfish, so I'm almost certainly forgetting some personality-defining ship, but! I have done my best and no one should criticise me!

tagging @betweencrossedblades @trans-cuchulainn (you can count each tain recension as a separate fandom if you like), @cendiar , @bitterflames and anyone else who'd like to do it

[just-antithings]

hi! Former anti here. I was first in fandom when I was like 13/14, and that was...years ago. I know first hand how easy it can be to fall into the whole "you can't ship anything remotely problematic or you're a bad person" thing. It honestly is a really sucky, self-righteous mindset. Not only did I get pushed into it by those around me, but I also didn't understand what proshipping and antis were. I thought minor x adult and incest ships were gross, and i didnt get the appeal of them, and that's what people told me being a proshipper was about. And I believed them. Everyone else, even ADULTS kept showing me it was okay to make stupid "if you ship xy then I will come to your house and stab you :)" type posts.

Anyway, I deleted Tumblr for mental health reasons when I was like 14. I still read fanfic, but avoided talking to fans/discourse etc. Came back, years later, new account, different fandoms, now an adult.

I got so fuckin sick of ship wars and antis real quick. Even though I personally don't like or want to consume minor x adult, rpf, or incest, or even some quote unquote non-problematic ships, I feel so much better just...blocking those tags??? It's so much easier than harassing people?? I felt like my fandom experience was SO much more peaceful and relaxing. That's when I started seeing the pro/anti thing again, and I realized it was never about "oh degenerates vs nOrMaL people", it was about one side leaving people be and the other harassing people about anything they personally didn't like.

Anyway, long sleep deprived rant basically boils down to this: used to be an anti, yet now, despite having no "pRoBlEmAtIc" ships, I am a proshipper! Bc I honestly couldn't give less of a fuck what others ship bc I can block tags and mind my own business :)

Side note: proshippers are actually way better at properly tagging their shit than antis. So. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

.

[killerlookz]

I NEED TO GET SOMETHING OFF MY CHEST

I am a young adult. Born in a time where it was seen as cringey/insane to be obsessed with a singer. I remember going to school and my friends making fun of one direction fans/ Justin Beiber fans. I must admit I was in on that train at one age, but then it hit me.

What the fuck is wrong with people enjoying a person's music and showing their love?

Nobody is being harmed. Nobody is being discriminated. Nobody is being in anyway impacting the lives of others. Why do we as a society put down these people? (This excludes fans that were harassing/stalking)

And for years I respected those types of fans from a distance, never quite understanding their love but seeing how it brought them so much joy.

Then I discovered Joost.

My world has changed completely. I began listening on the day before TRAFIK came out and I was hooked.

I love everything about him. From his music, persona, fashion, friends, and even this fan base.

I am embarrassed sometimes of what a big fan I am, and that's not right. I wish nothing but the best for Joost and in my time of being a fan I have ensured I have done nothing that could make him uncomfortable.

...

Except maybe read RPF but I truly in my heart of hearts don't think he will mind, because the shit he wrote about himself was no better. And if he ever came forward saying it made him in anyway uncomfortable I'd never read it again.

Seeing how you and many other have explained RPF has really helped me get over my worries. Though I won't be putting it on display any time soon, I am a huge Joost fan.

Anyway, thank you so much for opening my eyes to the wonderfulness of Joost and reblogging so many different types of media.

You have helped me discover so many different blogs that have quickly made their way into my heart.

Sorry if this is all a lot. I just really needed to talk it through and I admire you a lot :)

hiiiii !!! thank you so much for your message :-)))))

i don’t know what it is in particular about the joost fandom that is so anti rpf hahaha but it’s kind of commonplace in most other fandoms so i’m not sure where the insane amount of outrage comes from when joost hasn’t said anything about it himself …

like i know there are obviously people who are anti-rpf in every fandom but its not usually such a big talking point??? like people keep it to themselves.

even I MYSELF used to not enjoy rpf for a time… (until i turned to the light) but even then i literally did not gaf if people wrote rpf??? like i literally did not give a single fuck? and i didn’t expect the people who it was about to share my stance either so i don’t really understand this fandom in particular

but whatever! don’t be ashamed of regular shmegular fandom activities! this shit is so normal and i think here it joost was ever to communicate anti-rpf boundaries we would all completely understand that :-) were just having fun here, and no harm is intended, just creating little stories with an artist we admire!

people feed into the stereotype too much that people who participate in fandom or fanfic are just all creepy stalkers who think about whatever celebrity 24/7 and try to invade all types of privacy. i just don’t think that’s true- but the stereotype has people literally gripped by the throat that so many people are turned off from fanfic / fandom without even trying to get to see what it’s actually like!

but i’m so glad you’ve found your space here!! i love the joost tumblr fandom so much <3 they’re so great!!! such a fun little community for real :-))

[platonic-soulmates-gencest]

I accidentally stumbled across the actor talking part of the fandom that wasn't focused on j2 and I feel like vomiting. There's people hating on some of the actors and sometimes they have some valid reason but it all makes me so sad. Like, seeing J2 together is healing my soul. Whenever I see clips of them I get immensely jealous of what they have. I want a friendship like that. And then I stumbled across anti-daneel posts and those made me sad but they had a point. But then I saw anti-Jared and anti-Jensen posts and some of them were so... unreasonable? I guess?

Anyway. I am not stepping foot in the spn rpf part of the fandom for any reason except exclusively j2 moments from now on. I'm shook. (I sincerely hope the anti-daneels are wrong but I actually see their points and it makes me sad for Jensen. I hope they are wrong but I don't think they are... I hope j2 can hang out more so Jensen would get some much needed joy from his friend ;;)

[bewareofdeaddove]

hello! since this is a discourse blog, introducing myself isn't a priority, but i'll do it anyway.

you can call me whatever name you want on this blog. i'm a minor. i use it/its pronouns. i will provide tw tags simply: no "tw" or "cw", just, for example, "blood" or "queerphobia". please block tags you're uncomfortable with!

i have no dni; i believe in fostering open and good faith discussion on this blog, as that's the point of making it! telling me to kill myself will get you blocked.

as a quick tl;dr before i conveniently list out some of my opinions: i am against harrassment and censorship, and i don't care what people decide to write fanfiction about or draw.

i am wholly against any form of harrassment. this includes calling people pedos for fictional ships, telling people to kill themselves, and anything else. if you really hate someone's posts, complain in private with your friends like everyone else does, don't harrass people.

i am wholly against censorship. media, no matter how bad or "irredeemable", always has a right to exist. all art has inherent value.

i don't judge people's morals over fictional content. as long as whatever you're posting is tagged properly and can be blocked if neccessary, it's not my business.

fiction and reality are not equal, but do have some effect on each other. i, of course, have issues with trends in media that, for example, downplay abuse and sexualize/"adult-ify" teenagers, but fanfiction is, like, the very end of that chain. it doesn't affect anyone. because of that, i don't care about it.

i don't care what you make if it doesn't hurt anyone, but being a bigot in your fiction does hurt people. the way people behave towards fictional characters, i.e. racist comments towards characters of color, can still be bigoted. it doesn't hurt the characters (obviously) but it does hurt real people, and that's where i draw the line.

i only have an issue with fanworks when they begin to perpetuate actual, real-life bigotry. this leads into my next point...

what are your personal limits regarding fiction?

aren't you basically pro-ship, then? well, yeah, i guess. i don't identify with the pro-ship label for many reasons, though. most of all, though, i don't want people to put words in my mouth; i have no desire to be called a pedophile because of the pro-ship label. i have no desire to have people assume that i want terrible things to happen in real life over internet discourse. i will never tolerate these accusations, and i don't use the label in order to avoid the possibility. you can call me whatever you want, though.

i don't particularly like anti-shippers. this is mostly from experience. i have been deeply entrenched in anti-ship communities, and i have come to only think one thing of them: the people themselves have good intentions, but the mindsets they foster are incredibly harmful. i'm open to discussion about this.

i avoid anti-shippers because of their tendency to harrass people, also. like... big tendency. community-built-on-the-idea level tendency. pro-shippers also harrass people, which is another reason i choose not to label myself as one. this i know from experience.

as a general rule, i am uncomfortable with:

shipcest

minor/adult ships

lolisho content (i have complex feelings on it, but i'm just uncomfortable with it as a whole and ask that it not be brought up with me)

rpf, but i only draw a hard line at rpf of minors and generally tolerate everything else, however begrudgingly.

i am fine with:

aging up underage fictional characters

selfcest (although i usually call it selfslash for comfort)

"rpf" of fictionalized versions of real-life people, like idk, hamilton characters.

just about anything else, honestly. we'll see about specifics.

in addition, my boundaries for this blog are as follows:

i will not respond to anon hate, including anything with death threats or anything accusing me of, like, being a pedo.

i will try not to reblog from people who have neutrals in their dni (as that's what i consider myself), but i don't really check dni pages, so i might make mistakes in that regard.

i will not reveal personal information about myself to justify my opinions.

[draculagerard]

my dark fandom past ... i think im going to have to judge this not by my own embarrassment (because i pretty much dont have shame) but by how others react to hearing about it

- spn and doctor who but not sherlock

- voltron (i was a diehard sheith (the non-klance ship) sheith is the superior ship dont let anyone tell you different. this is not the hill ill die on but it is the hill ill kill on)

- hetalia for like 5 minutes

- i still like homestuck and a selection of kpop and bandom and dan & phil so those dont count as my dark *past* exactly. also i am a firm bts anti so i think that negates the kpop anyway

- i have written a lot of rpf

uhh i think thats the worst of it. other than hairy porter which i was only into for the marauders era stuff ages ago anyway

tldr ive been in a few obnoxious fandoms but *i* dont see it as my dark past. only those cursed to interact with me do. also i was fascinated by topics such as jigsaw puzzles and world war two fighter planes as an adolescent which is why there are not more truly horrendous ones. holy shit this is an essay my bad

okay no but thats the best combo

oh my god the voltron ship discourse 😭

why does EVERY one of my followers have a hetalia past. do you guys remember the time when like 5 different people anonymously confessed to me that they were into hetalia last month

oh that is so real. homestuck and dan and phil and bandom have literally so much respect from me. i dont know that much about kpop (despite the fact that all my friends are into it)

RESPECT !!

jdfjjf those two things are not the same. also dont even worry about it i love essays as messages. ask literally anyone i talk to

[sing-me-under]

AO3 has so many fucking Dream SMP fics that I’m actually suffering while setting up the filters because even after two years, the DSMP community on AO3 is still dogshit at tagging.

I’m specifically looking for fics that are not SBI or Bench Trio centric, but I’m not opposed to reading Tommy-centric fics as long as their not SBI or Bench Trio-focused. It’s fine if they’re in there, but I really don’t want it to be the primary dynamic.

I also don’t want to read anything with the cc!s unless it’s the cc!s crossing into the DSMP universe but trying to filter out the RPF from the fictional RP is a fucking nightmare.

I don’t want to read apologists fics of any character nor do I want fics that villainize any characters (I’m specifically referring to the ones where they bash on c!Quackity because uwu c!dream). Fics that actually have characterization beyond shallow tropes are highly preferred.

I would HIGHLY PREFER to read something original that isn’t just the same superpower AU rehashed a hundred times over. I have an interest in villain!Tommy where he’s genuinely a little shit and not a vigilante or a corrupted government’s hero turned anti villain. I like the superhero AU but boy oh boy am I sick of the extremely traumatized child soldier/escaped lab rat c!TommyInnit AUs.

I’m not particularly interested in Eggpire-centric fics because I like the canon Eggpire as it is. Similarly, I’m not interested in SkepHalo as anything more than a background pairing.

I don’t want to read self inserts or blatant wish fulfillments. I don’t want to read excessive hurt/no comfort. Comfort/no hurt would be great, but I’m not opposed to satisfying amount of angst.

I really really REALLY do not want to read finale fix it/rewrites because they tend to either have c!Tommy kill c!Dream and I cannot reiterate just how much that is a terrible idea or they’re written by a c!Dream apologist. Unless the fic is a genuine exploration of the finale rather some shallow wish fulfillment, I have absolutely no interest in it.

I like canon divergent AUs. I also like canon adjacent AUs. I really like dimension/time travel fics.

I would not be against rereading every c!Karlnapity fic under the sun again, but I do that on a weekly basis so like.

Aside from the fiancés and staged duo, I have no interest in any ship fics. And because I really like the fiancés, I especially don’t want to read fics where the author ignores their relationship if it’s a fic focused on any of the three because it’s such a critical part of their characters??? Like, it doesn’t need to be a romantic engagement. Hell, they could even just be very best friends, but like, don’t write them as if they don’t care about each other.

(On a similar note, I especially don’t want to read fics where any of the three fiancés are shipped with another character.)

Anyway. I have very specific taste and the Dream SMP tag on AO3 is far too over saturated with everything I don’t want to read.

PLEASE LET ME OPEN THE DREAM SMP TAG ON AO3 WITHOUT BEING BOMBARDED BY DNF AND SBI. PLEASE. I DONT KNOW WHAT TO READ SO I CANT JUST DIG INTO A SPECIFIC TAG BUT JUST GOING THROUGH THE BASIC FANDOM TAG IS LIKE WADING THROUGH QUICKSAND.

[secretsofamultishipper]

Nav.

About this blog:

This blog exists for four porpouses.

1. To post my sfw/softcore art & fanart

2. To hoard writing and drawing tips/advice from other blogs

3. I want to read and see the works & art of other people

4. I want to indulge in media of my favorite fandoms & topics

I write fanfiction & original projects exclusively in spanish.

Translations are unlikely & if I do them, may not be of good quality.

This is my website where I archive and organize everything. If you are looking for a specific project look there. If you are looking for all the fanfiction I did on certain fandom, is there. The website is spanish.

AO3: as sv4649, i host fanfiction and original projects here. Theyre in spanish and translation might be unlikely of very low quality because i learned english without a teacher.

FanfictionNet: as sv4649, fanfiction crossposting from AO3

Aethy: as sv4649, my sfw and nsfw art portfolio. Warning, it has problematic themed art. All of it is tagged and hiden in a filter until you decide to show it.

About the creator: Well, you can call me Sofia. I am a mexican in my 20's that was introduced to fandom and fanfiction back in 2009. Since 2010 I spend time creating stories and art, hope you like them. I am RPF friendly and Live action character ships friendly :)

>Any DNI? Harassers and rude people shouldnt even interact here.

>Are you proship? Yes I am antiharassment, anti censorship and profiction.

>Do you draw nsfw? Yes I do. But i dont post it on tumblr. Only on my Aethy account you can access my nsfw art, every post is well flagged and tagged and censored until you click on "show" button.

>Do you hate on ships or a character? I hate 1 ship and 1 character from Jane The Virgin (Rafael Solano 😡) but i dont read fanfic or interact with the fandom after the end of certain season that drove me mad lol. but besides that, I dont hate any ship and neither any character.

>"look at my anti (insert character or ship) article, you should hate them too" I really hate characters discourses and any time spent on keep talking about fandom stuff you are supposedly not fond of. Is a waste of time, i dont participate in this behaviour.

> "Lets roleplay" no, just bc i draw and write nsfw does not mean that i consent to non-asked advances. Be civil and respectful.

TAG NAVIGATION

myart: art i made

Which fandoms I am already active or wish to be more involved?

Bold text = Already Involved

Normal text = wanting to create* for it but currently just a consumer due to already in progress projects

Italic text = Interested, not yet in the mood, maybe just neutral for now, just enjoying the show/movie/actor/fanfics/music.

*Creation in this instance means any fandom expression: fanfiction, fanart, collages, edits, fanvideos, fanmixes, playlists, poetry, lyrics, etc.

Naruto

B.A.P

James Cameron's Avatar saga

TSFamily

Encanto

Twilight saga

The Covenant (2006 film)

Tokio Hotel

Yo Soy Betty La Fea

Grossology

Max Steel

Barbie

ATLA

Backstreet Boys

JustB

You (Netflix series)

Brooklyn nine-nine

Miraculous Ladybug

Star Trek

Shadowhunters

OCxCanonCharacter

OCxOC stories

Self-Inserts

I would love to create a cover of your fanfiction someday, so if you write for any fandom on the list (which will be updated as time passes) keep in touch so you get notified when I post the dynamic.

Anyways, besides this, please be respectful. I just want to have fun and a safe zone to dump my stuff.

[zannolin]

How do you deal with posting with a fandom that people hates so much? I love dsmp fan content but everytime I go online there's just so many people hating it... It makes me insecure about making the things I want to make

it's not fun lol. honestly i spent the last two years managing to forget that the dsmp was so hated because the fandom itself was just so big and full of drama on its own that i could kind of forget about dealing with other ones. lately as i have worked my way out of the fandom but still have things to post and have tried to venture into new spaces (and been blocked by a few people for the association...sigh) i've been forced to remember and deal with that shitty anxiety all over again.

there's not really a lot you can do about other people hating something you don't, especially not in this day and age when people are even less inclined to listen or just be willing to like and let like. you kind of just have to ignore it. like. it fucking sucks especially when you want to interact with other fandoms and people will hit you with dnis. even when you're like me (anti-dr*am, doesn't watch streamers anymore, was only ever interested writing about characters not rpf) people are gonna judge you for it and you kind of just. have to live with it. i have to tell myself that people are allowed to block and move on and if they can't handle the fact that i had a block men phase we probably couldn't be friends anyway. i don't have the energy to relocate to a new account and i don't really think i should have to anyway, especially when i became the writer i am today by writing like 40+ block men rp fics.

basically i am just as miserable as you but i keep posting because even despite no longer actively being in this fandom i have stories i want to finish telling and if i let people stop me from telling them then i will regret it forever probably.