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odinsblog · 3 months

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I just found out about Jasmine Sherman and they look really cool. Like, the policies that they say they’re going to do? The fact that they have an audiobook option for people to listen to what the policies say on their platform? (If people don’t have JAWS or screen readers on their devices, JAWS for computers.) I really hope they get far enough in the presidential race. Although Cornel West is my next choice should he get far.

Yeah, sorry but Hell NO.

I’m all for audiobooks and JAWS readers, but I’ve never heard of Jasmine Sherman before and as far as I’m concerned, Ms. Sherman is just another throwaway vote. She has the same chance of winning the next election as a randomly picked name from a hat. Same goes for Cornel West and for 🤡 RFK Jr., and same for Marianne Williamson, and in fact, same for anyone who isn’t named (I honestly cannot believe that EYE am saying this, but here we are) Joe Biden.

Look, in 2020 I went through the same journey that I think a lot of voters are going through right now: I swore up and down that I wasn’t going to vote for Biden because he had (and still has, tbqh) a lot of conservative policies that I vehemently disagree with—LOL, don’t even get me started on Title 42, okay? But at the end of the day, I carried my Black ass into that voting booth and I begrudgingly did what I had to do.

All I know is, I do not want Donald fucking Trump in the White House. That’s it. Not “lesser evilism” not “he’s the next LBJ” not anything else, except for I’m voting for the person who has the best chance of beating Trump and keeping his racist ass out of the White House. THAT’S just about my only motivation here. Dassit. Periodt. I can deal with everything else later.

And I can live with myself with that vote.

But yeah, I’m Black and I gotta live not only with myself, but I also gotta live in this world and look other people in the eye. People who don’t even have my extremely limited level of privilege.

I’m not gonna go into detail about how a Trump presidency would make literally everything worse than it already is—and yes, sadly that includes Palestine, Ukraine, transphobia, homophobia, immigration, and whatever else is allegedly important to disproportionately ☭ white, online “leftists” 🙄 who keep telling people not to vote, or keep telling people to vote for candidates who cannot win.

As far as I’m concerned, Trump getting back into the White House is an existential threat to everything I hold dear. So no, anon, I will fucking not be throwing my vote away on some random ass person I’ve never heard of before, who has no mf chance of ever winning.

And yes, I still have problems with Biden. Like, a lot of problems. Like, a LOT, lot. But he’s the best chance we got at stopping Trump, and Trump needs to be stopped. That, plus I desperately want to see Trump pay for everything he’s gotten away with so far. Voting for Biden is the best way for me to give that a chance.

So yeah, I am deathly afraid of a second Trump term. And a big part of what is driving that fear is the fact that Joe Biden is vulnerable and super beatable. Like, his winning the next election is not a guarantee—did Hillary Clinton’s completely preventable loss teach you nothing at all??

Anyway, I’m not tryna write a book here. I think I’ve made my thoughts clear on Jasmine Sherman and whoever else is the flavor-of-the-day that can’t and won’t beat Trump. Biden is really fucking up and making himself even more beatable by unconditionally supporting Israel, and if he wins he might continue to fuck up, but I promise you that Trump will do unimaginably worse to Palestinians—and that’s not hyperbole.

Lastly, I really debated long and hard about whether or not to make this post rebloggable. PLEASE don’t make me regret that decision, OKAY??

Like, I know that a lot of people who unconditionally LOVE Joe Biden (that’s not me, btw) and the Democratic Party will be tempted to add, “VOTE BLUE NO MATTER WHO!” to this post, but I am begging you to please resist that urge, okay? I don’t know how to precisely put it into words, but unless you’re already convinced and have decided to vote for Biden, there’s just something about adding that braindead slogan that is incredibly off putting. It’s like an annoying ad that you want to skip and ignore on YouTube; it’s vapid; it’s old + tired; it’s lowkey offensive, and it tells people that you haven’t really given a lot of thought to anything and you’re just another insipid Blue MAGA sycophant blindly hopping on the bandwagon. Please find a better more intelligent way to express your support of Biden, okay?

ALSO, if you just search for Jasmine Sherman on Tumblr, you get a lot of anonymous asks like this

And sorry, but having lived through the 2016 and 2020 interface elections, yeah, it just smells fishy af. Chipping away at Biden votes is another way to help get Trump re-elected. And Trump supports Putin and Netanyahu

#anon #ask #answered #politics #election 2024 #jasmine sherman #this is a donald trump hate blog

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jemgirl86 · 1 year

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See, this is why I have on comment moderation, because, truly, what was the point of leaving me this comment? What was the reason? To annoy the fuck out of me lol… folks love to say I complain, so let me complain for a hot minute:

Do you know how much hot garbage I’ve clicked on on SamBucky ao3? Now, ask me how many times I’ve left a comment like this… I haven’t, because that would be a dick move. I literally just close the fic and scroll away… because I’m not uncouth. Also, how was Sam out of character, he was in it for five seconds lmaooo. He came in, found out Bucky was into him, and reacted. Dassit. And should I really be tagging stuff AU, if I tagged it post-tfatws? We haven’t seen the characters since the show aired, so if it’s tagged post-tfatws, surprise crush, and getting together, then common since should tell you that I’m about to make some shit up that could happen after the show takes place. Jesus Christ.

You know, I was initially going to delete that comment, like I typically do when I get stuff like that. Then I thought about approving it and replying to them, but I decided to post it here just so everyone can see the totally asinine and unnecessary comments authors get on fics in this fandom. I see it on other peoples’ work, and I see it on mine, and it needs to stop. Guess what, if you don’t like how something was tagged and you don’t like a story, then you can keep it to yourself.

Remember when I said I was pretty much done with writing for this fandom the other day? This is like the cherry on the top of what made me come to that decision lol. Those anons, these comments, the lack of engagement yada yada yada. Nobody has to like anything I say on here or post on ao3 but they certainly don’t have to send me anons on here or comments on there telling me they didn’t like it.

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hypaalicious · 1 year

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If you’re a published author reading reviews of your own book… do yourself a favor & stop.

And I’m deadass.

There’s been an embarrassing amount of new authors I see screaming, crying, and throwing up over readers leaving scathing public reviews of their book and even going as far as to respond or report the reviewer for “harassment”, and like…

If I had to make a guess, these new authors grew up writing for fandoms where they are used to feedback coming directly to them in the form of likes and comments. Reviews in fandom are very much formulated to be ego boosts to the writer. And I’m here to tell you it’s not that way in publishing, beloveds.

In publishing, the reviews are for other readers, not you the author. Reviewers generally do not think of the author when reviewing. There may be scathing commentary on your precious project and it is the reader’s right to detail that in a review. As long as they are not slandering your personal life, it’s fair game.

You do yourself absolutely NO favors scrolling feverishly through book reviews as if they’re Ao3 comments. I don’t even plan to read reviews for my book when it comes out; it’s simply not my concern. What IS my concern is that people who want to read it are able to access it easily, dassit.

If you think book reviews are for author critique, I’d advise you to get a wide range of beta readers PRIOR to publishing. That is literally their job. The general public will only be able to say whether they liked the story or not, there is no reason to pretend that you’re scouring reviews for a gem of critique that will allegedly elevate you as a writer.

This goes for fic writers too, but especially authors: invest in a group chat of close friends to vent to about your work not being received as well as you’d like. Do NOT go online and whine to the public, it’s a bad look. Do NOT take it out on a reviewer who didn’t worship your book like you believe everyone who reads it should. Either take the Ls gracefully or don’t even look for the Ls in the first place. Collect ya royalty checks and keep it pushing.

If you look to the general public for validation on your craft, it’s gonna be a very bad time for you, I fear. 🥲 The public is fickle and will discard you just as fast as they raise you up. You will not be able to consistently wow everyone with your works in order to fill that hole within you, it’s a fool’s errand. You will lose the drive that got you writing in the first place. Whatever positivity you need to keep you going, you’re gonna have to find a way to cultivate it within yourself and with your loved ones.

#cause I’m tired of authors embarassing themselves online #you actually TURN OFF potential readers being that pathetic #you hurting your own bag by not keeping it to the group chat!!#you gotta love creating for the sake of creating to make it outchea no cap #because people can and will destroy your will to continue if you let them and that would be a true travesty #writing #authors #publishing #reviews

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therichantsim · 1 year

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Miss Antwanyce, if I can call you that (?) I'm on s8 of Let it Burn and can I say that I really, really love the style and progression of your story? I was Team Octavia/Isiah day one but then Trinity x Marcus became a favorite then Rashad, then Diamond- I'm getting off topic. You be writing about some real ish, and I'm hooked, dassit. That's all I wanted to say.

Omg! I just so happened to pop in here tonight. Thank you so much. You made my night! I miss them I need to get back to them. I love the Blackburns and their circle. I am writing their story in my head even when I’m working on other projects. Feel free to hit me up anytime if you have any questions.

Also: I’ve been recently made aware some of my blog has missing images. I haven’t had time to fix that but hopefully it won’t ruin the reading experience too much for you.

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heauxplesslydevoted · 1 year

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“we’ve been working hard, collectively, to write and showcase powerful, independent women”

I’m all for powerful, independent women, but then you have those same people shoving their feministic views down peoples throat, and that ain’t it. And good for whoever the “we” is for writing their MCs the way they want to write them. Here’s a cookie 🍪 But they invalidated themselves when they came into someone else’s inbox with the audacity to say that the way they write their character is “disappointing.” Ew. I could say a lot about the ways some write their MCs, but I don’t because it’s their vision and not my place to say anything just because I may or may not agree. Maybe they should remember that next time they get the urge to spew ridiculous nonsense.

And for the record, Naomi is one of my favorite MCs here because she’s real and relatable, and I love the way you write her.

Let me preface this by saying, I genuinely don’t think that anon meant any harm. I just wanted to give them some food for thought, we have different POVs and that’s fine.

And yes, I believe feminism involves women having the right to choose whatever they want to do, and not being invalidated or judge by those choices, and still be given the same respect men seem to get in patriarchal societies for simply being men. No justifications, explanations, exceptions, etc just the right be simply be. Dassit!

Reiterating again from my last point, money—spending it, earning it, etc—feels like the most minuscule way to measure our MC’s success because they did and accomplished so much that had absolutely nothing to do with the pieces of paper with dead people’s faces printed on them. Most of it while they were broke interns 😂

And thank you for loving Naomi. She’s my lil baby 🫶🥰

#ethan x naomi

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uzumaki-rebellion · 2 years

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I’m genuinely curious, how do you deal with haters?

I never see anything unless someone @'s me and thus far the only thing that's come my way is from the same person using several screen names. There was something on Twitter and on here (by the same delusional person), but that's all I've been made aware of by people who had been looking up fics of mine and ran across that person's comments.

Honestly, no one jumps up at me directly or inboxes me hate, so if there are more people out there besides ole girl, then I am completely unaware and don't worry about it. Like the great Steve Biko once said "I write what I like" and dassit. People like what they like and can critique how they wish. Fanfction is just free shit people put out for fun, and to get all discombobulated over how someone else writes Killmonger, a fictional character, is hilarious to me. Like, go read someone elses' shit you do like, the fuck?

I'll just keep putting out content and minding my business per usual.

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cherrysha · 4 years

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A Sudden Realization

Ya’ll gunna kill me fr this... its not phinks like i promised. i’m still working on that one but i finished this a few days ago so this is my offering to yall. Is there a thing fr happy angst? Idk i gotta figure that out buut this is Illumi! He’s kinda hard fr me to write since uhhh... he quiet. But i tried!

Summary: Illumi finally lays his fears to rest.

Word count: 875

My requests are open atm

Warnings: Yandere Illumi, kidnap, angst. dassit

“There’s a storm coming”

You whisper it mostly to yourself. As it stands there’s no one else here to listen to you. And even if there was, you don’t think they’d very much care about what you had to say. Hugging yourself, you peer out the window.

How long has it been since you’ve felt rain wet your skin?

You can’t remember.

You don’t know it but he’s behind you, watching from a distance as you let out a sigh, warm breath fogging the glass. You don’t know he’s there and you rarely ever do. You don’t know that he can sense your desperation. Your longing. It hangs in the air like a fog so thick he can almost taste it in the back of his mouth.

A year inside is a long time, he knows that. But the idea of you leaving him isn’t even an option. If you get out you could escape, not that you’d make it very far, but the thought alone is enough to irritate him. It’s not a chore he’s willing to deal with. He watches as you move to sit on the floor, legs pulled up to your chest as you crane your neck up to look through the window. Down there you can see the sky better; watch as fat storm clouds gray out the sun.

It’s times like these that you let yourself acknowledge the fact that you’ll never leave. That it’s futile to even hope.

Maybe once he was back from this job he’d think about just letting you walk around the garden soon. Although you highly doubted it. His mind was made up, and no one could make him change it. Not you, not the butlers or even his own family. Not that any of them cared anyway. You held yourself even tighter.

Minutes tick by as you listen for thunder since it was always your favorite part of a good storm. Quiet engulfs you, wraps you in a blanket of comfort and muffles the ache that’s caged in the hollow of your chest.

“Maybe one day.” you whisper to yourself. But in a place like this, it was hard to have any hope.

Your voice is a whisper when he hears it.

Maybe ten minutes after the clouds finally burst, drenching the earth with the type of rain that wouldn’t be stopping for hours, you start to hum to yourself. It’s something sad, a melancholy tune that barely passes through your vocal chords. Head laying against your knees, you give yourself a moment to be fragile. With no one around to hear, to mock, to punish. You let yourself feel for the first time in a long time. You mourn the loss of your life and yet there’s no crying. If anything it’s just be a waste of energy. You’ve grown to learn that tears are useless.

He doesn’t know why, but even though he’d be content to watch you for hours he makes his presence known.

And maybe it’s the longing that consumes his senses like the ozone before a storm. Maybe it’s your quiet song, or the way you sit there so patiently like you’re willing to wait until the last drop falls from the sky. When you look up at him there’s no shock at the fact that you were being watched. You were used to his quiet intrusions. What shocks you is how he picks you up and carries you out into the garden.

He realizes now, in this moment, that he should know better. He shouldn’t let the possibility of your escape worry him. At this point it’s just a fact that he could stop you if you tried to escape, not an assumption. Illumi knows that you’ve come to that realization too and his actions should reflect as much.

It’s hard to know what you have until it’s gone, it’s a lesson he’s had to learn the hard way. And he watches as a smile creeps across your face, sure that he hasn’t seen an emotion that genuine from you in months. Right now, observing you as you lift your palms upwards like you’d be able to catch all the drops in your hands, It fills him with some feeling... something pleasant he has no name for.

It’s followed by light giggles as you bask in the downpour. In all practicality the rain was more of a nuisance in his eyes and he doesn’t think that will ever change. It’s so trivial he doesn’t understand it, but he doesn’t care to either.

But the way you spread your arms in silent worship, angling your neck so it falls in your face, it was like you’d just found God.

He sits down on one of the concrete benches littered around the garden and lets you to continue to feel as you rest on his lap. Tears mix with water and you don’t care if he sees, it’s nothing he hasn’t witnessed before. Letting your joy guide your movements, you kiss him.

A small and light thing, only pressing your lips to his long enough to get your message across.

“Can we please stay here for a moment Illumi?”

“We can stay as long as you’d like.”

#Illumi #yandere illumi #illumi x reader #yandere x reader #hxh #hxh illumi #hunter x hunter

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honeysidesarchived · 3 years

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WHERE THERE IS NO TEMPTATION, THERE IS NO GLORY.

⊱ a santino d'antonio / oc short-fic

interlude i ( read on ao3 ) ( masterlist )

words: 3k

warnings: clown to clown communication! dassit.

rating: m/t

notes: little flashback/interlude chapter where we can all pretend we don't know the inevitable doom that euphie and santino are hurtling towards at breakneck speed ♡ thank you everyone for your love and support on this fic!!!

and thank you to my beta @starcrier who has been reading this content and proofing it not for the first time, but now for the SECOND time, after beginning this fixation for me from the start. you are an angel and ily! ♡♡

Two Years Earlier

It’s the second time that Euphemia meets Santino that she realizes some things in her life have been decided for her, by Fate, and against her will.

Down the road, it will be come a hallmark of their love. Santino will say it against her mouth, her jaw, her neck; il destino, he’ll murmur, you are my destiny. But Euphie will have felt it, that inevitable pull of him, long before he says it.

It’s a black tie even at his museum. She’s been here once before, for a different event he’s thrown, with a different man as a date. That one had been Italian; this one, tonight, is Russian. She would try to remember their names if they mattered, but they don’t.

Admittedly, it’s not quite a date for her, but it is for the Russian. He’s been courting her well and good for the last week, has taken to calling her my girl, is unaware that just two weeks ago she had let another man call her that (or if he knows, he refuses to acknowledge it). She won’t think about it very much; if there’s a little bit of her that hates it, she is reminded that almost all of the money goes home, and that’s what matters.

So, yes—the evening she meets Santino for what is, technically, the second time, she’s on the arm of another man, and Santino walks by with what she’s sure is every intention of ignoring her date for the evening. Her partner says his name, bright and friendly, and the Golden Boy stops and turns with a smile planted on his face that only thinly veils his annoyance at being detained.

“Buonasera,” Santi greets, hands tucked into the pocket of his slacks as he drags his gaze once over her date and then turns his eyes to her. The linger, longer than Euphie might like—men, she thinks, nothing they do doesn’t feel intrusive—and then turn back to her paramour for the evening. “Thank you for coming. Are you two enjoying the evening?”

“Yes, thank you,” the Russian says, and then with a pleased little smile, he plunges on to introduce her. “This is my Euphemia.”

The words leave a sour taste in her mouth. My Euphemia, this fucking gangster says, like he hasn’t paid for her attendance in expensive gifts that she promptly turns around for profit, like she won’t slide his credit card out of his wallet when he isn’t looking. She knows what he expects out of the evening—but he won’t get it. It wouldn’t be a party if he didn’t end up sorely disappointed and thoroughly vexed.

“Euphemia,” Santino repeats, looking more than pleased to savor her name. “That’s Greek, isn’t it? And your last name is...”

“Volpe,” she supplies, despite the warning bells going off in her head. She immediately regrets it. Idiot, she thinks to herself viciously, monsters love to know your name.

Santino’s expression warms. “Italian, then.”

“Yes,” Euphie replies, even though it’s not a question. She’s unaccustomed to being the center of attention at these things. “My parents have a taste for elaborate, long-winded names that people are prone to stumbling over and mispronouncing.”

A smile—one that does not look strained in the least—drags the corners of his mouth upward. He says, “It suits you,” his eyes flickering over her admiringly before he looks back to her date, feigning a grin at a joke that he makes.

They begin discussing niceties that Euphemia doesn’t care about; business, that which goes on under the Table, and yes, Euphemia is there too, but not really. She belongs to no organization, no man. She doesn’t contract work, necessarily—she gets picked up by mafiosos and gangsters that want a pretty slice of arm candy, finds ways to bleed them out just enough that they consider her an inconvenience and not a threat, and gets on with it. She’s selected by word of mouth alone, which means she has spent more time with the regulars of the underworld more than she would like.

As the old adage went, if it’s not broke...

And because she does not care about what they’re discussing—this and that, him or her, the gossip and annoyances of life under the Table—and desperately wants to get out of this dragging social obligation, Euphemia exhales a little sigh and sets her empty champagne flute on a passing tray and says, “Excuse me, I’m going to go freshen up.”

Santino’s gaze lands on her, heavy. There is something sly in his voice when he says, “Let me show you where to go, bella. It’s easy to get lost if you’ve never been here before.”

She knows where the restrooms are, because she has been here before; Santino must know this, she thinks, must be aware that this is not the same man she was with the last time they met in passing (although last time, her date had hardly deigned to introduce her, instead bustling right on to the business portion of it).

Her date is look at her expectantly, displeased that Santino has taken an interest in her but insistent that she not embarrass him by refusing a polite offer. She cannot afford to say, it’s fine, I know where to go, because men don’t like to acknowledge that Their Girl might have also been courted to attend an event with another man, once. The Russian will be in a bad mood all evening if she says that. Unfortunately for her, her particular brand of clientele are especially tedious when they’re in bad moods.

Euphemia stifles a sigh. “That’s very nice, thank you,” she murmurs, wishing desperately that she could just leave. It’s almost not worth it anymore to keep going. It would be a net loss; maybe she would be better off just eating crow and taking it.

Santino plants a hand on the small of her back and guides her out of the conversation, through the crowd of people and toward the back of the room. The low, scooping back of her dress allows him purchase to the skin there, and he takes a lot of care in guiding her—one hand on her back, the other occasionally taking her hand to wind her through the crowd, almost in a sort of waltz. Any excuse to be close to her, he takes, and even if he stops to talk to someone, his hand stays on her. A permanent fixture.

A marking of territory.

It’s always a pissing contest, with men.

She knows that the restrooms are, in fact, not this way, and for a second, she thinks about saying so—but what would be the point? To kick up a fuss now would be almost worse than breaking the magical illusion that she is there for her companion and not for his money.

“You can imagine my surprise to find you here again,” Santino says when the sounds of the party are drowned out by a closed door behind them. The quiet stillness of the hall seems to enshroud them, almost womblike; dulling out the roar of incessant chatter and elbow-rubbing and peacocking.

She keeps walking down the hall despite knowing that it’s not the direction of the restroom. A part of her hopes that if she continues to play dumb, Santino will tire of her more quickly.

And then he prompts, from behind her, “It is again, isn’t it? I could have sworn I saw you here just a few weeks ago, but you were here with...Abarca, wasn’t it?”

“Is there a point to the little thesis you’re writing out loud?” Euphemia asks coolly, not bothering to hide her irritation. She stops walking and turns to face the man, who seems quite pleased with himself; it’s his turn to move, an attempt at closing the gap between them, and each step he takes forward is a step that Euphemia inches backwards until her back hits the wall.

“My point is, Euphemia Volpe,” he rumbles, “that you might be breaking my poor friend’s heart. Can’t I be concerned about that?”

Her eyes narrow. “Your dear friend? Do you know his name?”

“Do you?” Santino replies evenly. He props a hand up on the wall beside her head, blocking her in—but while Euphie’s knee-jerk reaction is to throw up a red flag and bolt, there is something lovely about the gesture, as though he’s made their conversation that much more intimate by one single movement.

It’s dark in the hallway, dimly effused in an amber glow from lowered lights. They cast eerie, handsome shadows across Santino D’Antonio’s face. Absently, Euphie wishes she was more drunk, but she’d been taking the evening slow in preparation of disappearing from her Russian benefactor.

And no. She doesn't remember his name.

Santino seems to take her silence as affirmation, and he grins.

“Don’t worry, I won’t spill your secret,” he purrs. “If you do something for me.”

Euphemia’s mind races. She jumps to the worst case scenario immediately; but she can’t afford to think like that, can’t afford to sweat in front of the man who leans into her with all of the deadliness of a jungle cat. He’ll eat her up if she does, gnash his teeth and sink his claws in and grind her up between his molars. She’s sure of it.

Her predatory conversation partner arches a dark brow at her. He is handsome, Euphie thinks—pretty, the way an oil slick is, dark and iridescent.

“Do you agree?” he prompts. She stifles a grimace.

“Tell me what the favor is first.”

This drags a laugh out of him. “Sei una piccola volpe, aren’t you? Let loose in a hen house of idiot men.” He sounds particularly delighted by this revelation, like maybe he was worried she wouldn’t live up to his expectations. “The favor is just your favor.” He pauses and tilts his head, gauging her. “Go to dinner with me.”

It feels like a trick. It probably is a trick. She’s thinking of all the way that she can turn him down, squirm her way out of this trap that Santino—because she’s not stupid; she knows who and what he is—has laid out for her.

She’s trying to, anyway, but then Santino’s hand comes up to cradle her jaw, fingers slotting through the hair at the base of her skull, and he brushes their noses together.

“Gorgeous little fox,” Santino murmurs, his voice a pleasant rumble, crushed velvet and the sticky, dark-wet of blood. The air bubbles with a strange, hypnotic emotion, lulling her. “I think that I just have to have you. Say that you’ll come to dinner with me.”

The words send her heart fluttering. This is not the first time that a man has said such a thing to her, but it is the first time a man has said it to her this way—as though he is swallowed by his want of her.

Euphemia impulsively says, “Yes,” before she can turn the acquiescence over in her head forty times and smooth the edges down. The second the word comes out of her mouth, Santino is kissing her—electric, demanding, impatient. She’s been kissed by men many times before, and none of them like this; starved for her. She has never known she wanted someone to be driven insatiable by her presence until Santino D’Antonio is kissing her like a man incensed in a dark hallway.

I am always hungry for someone else, she has thought time and time before. I want someone to be hungry for me.

Satino bunches a fistful of velvet in his hand, gathering the fabric between his fingers at her hip and sighing, almost ruefully, like he wants to do more but he won't.

“I should take you from the idiot right now,” he says against her mouth, and he sounds almost breathless. “But I imagine you’re not through with him yet.”

It’s funny to hear him say it like that. When people look at Euphie on the arm of a Russian gangster, they think, he’s not done yet with that poor girl, but unsurprisingly, Santino sees right through it. He pulls back and gives her a half-cocked grin that’s only a little wicked.

Oh, she thinks, feeling a little more than desperate for another kiss, this was a mistake. But though a mistake he may be, Santino D’Antonio is adept at dressing himself up as a delicious one.

“No,” Euphemia replies. Her chest tightens when the warmth of his body leaves hers, pulling back, hand letting loose the fabric. “I don’t suppose that I am.”

“Then I’ll pick you up tomorrow,” Santi replies, that grin on his face not once faltering. He seems very assured that he’s going to sweep her off her feet. Absently, he reaches up and presses the pad of his thumb against her lower lip, dragging it across the skin still tender from the bruising of his kiss. “And what will you say, Euphemia Volpe, when you go back to your Russian friend and he asks you what you think of Santino D’Antonio?”

What could she say? That she wishes that he would kiss her again, the way that he just had, with longing?

“That I don’t,” Euphemia replies, her voice coming out of her silky. The words darken Santino’s gaze; he looks amused and ruffled, all at the same time. “Think of you at all.”

“Oh, that won’t do.” Santino is leaning in close again, the smell of his cologne washing over her, their lips so close they might as well be kissing. “How can I endear myself to you, belladonna?”

Euphemia knows who he is; she knows exactly the kind of man he plays at, at least in public. Even still, she wants to say something reckless, like, you could kiss me again; but she knows better than that, for now. It’s always ‘for now’, with fools.

“Don’t take me out to dinner,” she says after a heartbeat. “Cook it for me.”

Santino pauses and leans back, like maybe he was thinking she would have just asked him for another kiss, and then he laughs.

“Of course, how could I be such a fool?” He grins at her, wide and pearly-white. “Then I will pick you up tomorrow, and cook you dinner.” He starts walking down the hall, and Euphemia can’t help the disappointment that blooms warm and red in her chest, the petals unfurling and reaching each edge of her rib cage.

“You don’t have my address,” she calls after him, still leaned against the wall. Santino turns. His smile has not dimmed in the least.

“I don’t need it,” he replies back casually. “I can find you just fine.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━

Santino is a fine cook. By most standards, he is probably even an excellent cook, but he is a fine cook to a woman who has grown up with traditional Italian recipes that she has made most every day since she was trusted in front of the stove.

Euphie tries not to micromanage as he cooks, but it’s difficult. The man is wearing an apron over his five thousand dollar suit—probably more; she’s shooting low when she estimates that—and he lets the sauce that’s meant to simmer start boiling before he turns the heat down, and he doesn’t season his water with anything when he starts heating it up for the pasta, and Euphie just can’t stand it.

“Santino, have you ever made dinner for your family in your entire life?” she demands, nudging him out of the way and empty out half of the semi-hot water to replace it with chicken stock, setting the burner up again.

“No, darling,” he replies amusedly, watching her fuss over the sauce. “Just you.”

She stops. It shouldn’t be sweet—it is Santino, after all—but it is. He does a very good job of being the unassuming viper in this situation, she thinks. So she continues what she’s doing, keeping her hands and her eyes and mouth busy because if she doesn’t, they’ll find ways to busy themselves.

“This was supposed to be you making me dinner,” she chides, “not me teaching you how to cook. I think that it will take a lot of making up for me to—”

Santino’s hand tilts her face to him, and he leans down and kisses her. It’s softer than how he’d kissed her in the hallway, but it doesn’t lack the urgency. He still feels hungry.

She’s dreadfully caught up in it, letting him come back a second and then a third time, letting the flicker of his tongue against her lips part them obediently, letting the gentle reprimand of his teeth in her lower lip inspire a little noise out of her. It’s somehow too long and not enough, and when Euphemia drops the spoon on the counter to grip the front of Santino’s shirt (apron), his hands go to her hips.

“Sit down,” he orders playfully against her mouth, “and let me cook for you. And then we will see who will be doing the making-up, won’t we?”

Euphemia has half a mind to tell him to forget dinner—turn the burners off, she wants to say, and kiss me like that again, but more, and everywhere, and and and—but the competitor in her won’t let go. She exhales a short, impatient breath and says, “Fine, but you are on thin ice, amico.”

He laughs and shuffles her away from the stove to a stool at the kitchen island. In what can only be an effort to properly shmooze her, he follows it up with a glass of wine presented neatly in front of her, glittering-ruby, before returning to his half-done dinner on the stove.

“Amico, huh?” The dark-honey blonde glances over his shoulder at her. “Do you kiss all of your friends like that, Euphemia Volpe?”

The words send a pleased little flurry through her chest. As she watches him over her glass of wine, she replies, “Only the very handsome ones.”

When the food is served up, they don't bother going to the dining table. In Santino's loft, it appears that the dining table likely goes without much use, despite it being seated for a full party of people; instead, they stay at the kitchen island, and Santino deposits the apron on the counter before he leans against the edge of the island.

“You are a hard woman to track down, Euphemia,” Santino says, reaching over and scooping and olive off of her plate for himself. She makes an affronted noise.

“I thought you would have no trouble finding me?”

“I did not anticipate you were so efficient at covering your tracks.” He smiles, watching her across the countertop. “No family in New York. No employment history. Rent paid in cash. Most frequently spotted at the Continental, too, but otherwise your recreational hours are spent entertaining influential figureheads. If I did not know any better, I would think you were preparing to disappear.”

Euphemia shrugs. It would be unsettling, that he went digging on her, but she supposes that's life under the Table. It's not as though she anticipated he wouldn't, anyway.

“You are obsessed with me, Santi, it's alright, you can say,” she demurs. It's easier than saying I never want to have to try very hard to disappear.

He grins at her. “Maybe I am just offended that you never offered me your services.” And then, as though to be a good sport: “Because I am obsessed with you, Euphemia Volpe.”

She takes a sip of her wine, sets the glass down on the countertop, and plants her chin in her hand to regard him. His gaze is playful; he looks almost earnest about his words, even though she'd said them in jest. At any rate, it's a relief to have navigated the prying, for the moment.

Euphemia says, “How were you able to focus on cooking when you have me here, then?”

There is a crooked little smile on his face at her words, a smile that she can only see for half of a moment before he says, “Don’t you know the saying?” He leans in and tilts her chin up with his fingers, his gaze sweeping her, as though to admire the most opulent work of art.

“Senza tentazioni, senza onore.”

#f: where there is no temptation there is no glory #john wick fic #john wick oc #santino d'antonio/oc #santino d'antonio x oc #c: euphemia volpe #c: santino d'antonio #spilled ink #i love these two idiots #and i love pretending like nothing bad is going to happen #by putting off editing the end #: ))))

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zoey-wades · 3 years

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Get You (Fluff-ish)

Pairing: Bryce Lahela x Aurora Emery

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: A little flirting and swearing, dassit.

Summary: Bryce and Aurora get to know one another, which pushes our boy into unknown, cavity-inducing territory.

A/N: My number one rarepair that no one else ships. I wrote this because I was bullied by @thecapturedafrique into writing something. I haven't written anything for choices in quite some time, so this is... that something.

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To Be Alone (Part One)

Bryce always believed that fawning--real, genuine, starry-eyed awe--was goofy. He could count on one hand the number of times a partner left him speechless, which was quite a feat. It wasn’t that he believed he was above it; he could never quite understand the position someone would have to be in to feel that way about someone else. But that damn Aurora Emery and her silent but deadly studious stare could bring any man to his knees. He told her as much. Multiple times, in fact. She’d laugh it off as just a huge joke, but Bryce needed her to know that he was being legit. It was important to him that she knew that about herself. Maybe she could reel it in and let him have control over himself for once.

There wasn’t a name for what they were--a fact that Bryce was okay with. At least he thought. Right now they were just comfortable in one another’s company. It’s not that he didn’t want more...the question crossed his mind more than once. But Aurora never once hinted at the fact that she was looking for anything more than companionship. She was blunt. If she wanted something serious, she definitely would’ve said so. Unfortunately, Edenbrook was filled to the brim with nosy fucks. And though he wasn’t necessarily one for hiding his attraction, he knew for a fact that the attention made Aurora uncomfortable. On more than one occasion, he had to tell people to back off when they made comments about “thawing the ice princess.” He would do anything in his power to protect her, if he could. He spent two months of Fridays with her, a ritual that just kind of happened without much planning. They’d talk for hours, and more than once he’d woken up in her bed, with his arms wrapped around her and her head on his chest.

So when Aurora texted him that Friday afternoon about a change of plans, curiosity plagued him.

Bryce: Change of plans, huh? What’s up?

Three bubbles popped up. And then:

Aurora: I wanted to do something different. Same meeting place?

Bryce: Always.

Bryce: Am I allowed to know what that something different is? Or is it a surprise?

Aurora: It wasn’t a surprise.

Aurora: But now I think it is.

Bryce: You’re killin me. Do you know what you do to me, Rory?

There was a long pause as she typed. And then stopped. And then typed again.

Aurora: Where have I heard that before? ;)

And there it was. That boldness that seemed to show up at the most inopportune times and sent a rushing wave of warmth through him. It climbed up the back of his neck and made him huff out a sigh in the middle of the cafeteria.

Bryce: Careful, I might have to take you for a ride in the parking lot. Again.

Aurora: Don’t make threats you can’t follow through with, daddy.

Despite the bravado, Bryce was clearly flustered. He didn’t know it was possible for someone to out-Bryce him. But here he was: red faced and shifty-eyed in the middle of a crowded room. He placed his phone face-down and took a long sip from his water bottle, willing his blood to return to his brain and away from his head. When he was sure that he could resume the conversation without hunting Aurora down for sport, he picked the phone back up.

Bryce: Alright, Miss Emery. I’ll play your games. See you later?

Aurora: xxoo

It was all so corny, he thought to himself. Reading and re-reading her texts, or scrolling through her Instagram to see her even when she wasn’t around...these were actions that he had NEVER considered remotely Bryce-like. Yet there he was, spending his free time thinking about what he’d say to her when he saw her at the end of the day. Thoughts of her were interrupted only when he needed all of his attention to keep people’s organs in place. Or when he needed to write a report. But when all was said and done, his thoughts drifted right back to her. He blinked, and it was the end of the day. He felt his hands shake, and wondered what the fuck he had to be nervous about.

They’d spent so much time together. They were practically together. Weren’t they?

“God damn it,” he muttered to himself, as he ran his fingers through his hair and stared at himself in the bathroom mirror. It always looked good, but for some reason--today of all days--it wouldn’t cooperate, “You are Bryce Fucking Lahela. You don’t get flustered. Jesus.”

He shook his arms out, rolled his shoulders, and took a deep breath.

“Alright,” he sighed, “Let’s go see our woman.”

Aurora looked amazing leaning against the hood of his car. She was dressed in black jeans and a simple tee shirt, with her hair in a bun. But he wanted to kiss her right there in front of everyone, PDA be damned. Her face lit up when she noticed him, and he nearly tripped over his feet as he walked across the parking lot, causing him to pause his steps. Her brows furrowed in concern.

God she was so cute.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and kept walking in an attempt to save face. Because of course he did.

“Are you alright, Lahela?” She asked, raising a hand to his forehead, “You’re clammy.” Bryce gently grabbed her hand and kissed the back of it absentmindedly, resulting in a slow grin gracing her pretty features.

“I’m good. I just showered, so my hair is a little wet,” her fingers intertwined with his, and his voice caught in his chest. He cleared his throat, “I-uh...I didn’t want to smell like...well you know.”

“Yeah, I know.”

She bit her lower lip and glanced over his shoulder before leaning up to place a small peck on his lips. It’d been something she’d done numerous times before. But today it felt different. He couldn’t place what the difference was, but as she pulled back from him, he leaned forward to kiss her again. She smiled against his lips, and placed a hand on his chest.

“Down boy,” she laughed, “save some of that energy for later on.”

His first thought was to say “fuck later on” and take her on the hood of his car. The louder second thought reminded him that she wasn’t going anywhere. That this was different. And he nodded, taking a mental step back.

“So what’s the surprise?”

“If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise.”

His hands snaked around her and he rested his forehead on her shoulder. The action was surprisingly intimate, all things considered, “I hate when people say that.”

“You’d think it’d make you ask the question less, then.”

“Hardy-har, smartass.” When she reached up to scratch the back of his head with her nails, he groaned involuntarily and squeezed her, lifting his head to look up at her, “We need to get out of here, and fast.”

Something flashed across her features, and she raised a brow.

“Alright.”

The drive to this supposed secret was a long one. Using Aurora’s GPS directions, the trip led them down numerous winding roads, across a bridge, and through some trees. If he didn’t know any better, he’d guess she was leading him to his own demise. Maybe she was softening up by holding his hand while he steered. And badly singing along to some 90s pop song was just a plot to let his guard down. It was working. She could brandish a knife, and he wouldn’t even notice.

The final destination was a large clearing filled with parked cars, and a large screen projecting some early 00s movie trailers. People milled around, drinking and eating large buckets of popcorn.

“Well shit,” Bryce grinned as he pulled up to an empty spot between two standing speakers, “You brought me to a drive-in?”

Aurora was already unbuckling her seatbelt, “You said you never got to have a normal high school experience. So, I figured we’d make up for lost time. Only if you want to. If you think this is corny, we can do something else.” She paused and turned to him with wide eyes, “You don’t think this is lame, do you?”

Bryce cupped her face in his hands and pressed a loud smack of a kiss on her lips, “Rory, this is perfect.”

As they stood in line waiting to order movie snacks, he looked over at Aurora to find her deep in thought. Her brows were furrowed as she read the menu, and her lips were slightly pursed just begging to be kissed. She muttered something about the prices staying the same for 10 years, completely unaware of the effect she had on him just by existing. Knowing he had a preference for slashers, Aurora brought him to see a double-feature of Scream and I Know What You Did Last Summer which were both favorites of his. He was surprisingly touched that she remembered. He assumed that she may have forgotten those throwaway comments he made. After all, he wasn’t used to people remembering the small details of his life, and he didn’t mention them often. He’d been working so hard for her trust that he didn’t even realize she’d been working to earn his as well, in her own Emery kind of way.

“Caramel corn?” She suddenly said, and he blinked at her in confusion.

“What?”

“Do you want caramel corn? Or kettle corn? I know you like mixing the salty and the sweet. So I’ll get cheddar,” she pointed at the menu, “And you can get the caramel. And we’ll just…” She made a weird gesture, insinuating mixing the two in a bucket. He randomly felt a pang in his stomach and he had to stop himself from doubling over.

Oh.

“Caramel is perfect,” Bryce said, throwing an arm around her shoulder and pulling her closer, “We can do whatever you want.”

Oh no.

She threw him a funny look, but shook her head and chuckled softly, “Okay then.”

Bryce followed her back to the car like a lost puppy, carrying the popcorn while she carried the slurpees, and he felt the pang in his stomach turn into a dull flutter. Seeing Aurora out of her element was something he had to learn to get used to. Within the walls of Edenbrook, she was perpetually serious. You’d be hard pressed to find her laughing or shaking from nerves. She remained calm and level-headed, always logical, and rarely sentimental unless she was with a patient. The first time he saw Aurora lighten up was when she was among their friend group. Though she seemed partially guarded, in hindsight, it was the first time Bryce saw her fully smile. He recognized that she was beautiful, even then. But there was something about the way that she had a smile reserved especially for him that made that smile pale in comparison. There, in the car, she shook the popcorn in a bag vigorously with the dorkiest grin on her face. He wondered if anyone else ever had the chance to see her like this, and he hoped to God they hadn’t.

“You’re gonna tear the bag, Rory,” he said, laughing along with her, “I’ve never seen someone so violent with popcorn. You should’ve just let me do it. With these arms,” he flexed and she rolled her eyes, “It would’ve taken a lot less time.”

“There’s a method to this,” she shook it one last time for good measure, “You don’t want a pile of one flavor at the bottom. It has to be evenly distributed, come on. You should know this.”

She unrolled the bag opening and tilted it in his direction, “See. I know what I’m doing.”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re the genius here.”

“Thank you.” She popped a piece of caramel corn in her mouth.

One thing Aurora failed to share with him was that she was afraid of slashers. She clung to his arm during the tense scenes, hiding her face in his shoulder and jumping when people were killed. During the low moments, Bryce would pull her close and whisper film facts to her, hoping that the realism would make the movies a little more palatable. As the time passed, she relaxed, leaning back into the seat and only slightly jumping when someone died. Her hand slipped into his, and he could feel her pulse race. By the time I Know What You Did Last Summer was over, and Scream was about to begin, half of the popcorn was on the floor from Aurora constantly jumping.

“Why didn’t you tell me you didn’t like these? We could’ve seen something else, Aurora,” Bryce asked.

She shrugged, scooping small handfuls of popcorn and throwing them out of the open window, “I work in a hospital. I thought I could handle it. Plus, I know you like them...I just wanted to do something fun.”

“I don’t think watching you freak out over a killer in a fishing village is fun,” Bryce half-joked, “Even though I did like having you curled up under me. That was a plus.”

She playfully hit him on his arm.

“I’m serious though,” Bryce said, turning to her, “next time, we can do something we both like.”

“I promise, it’s not that serious,” she shrugged, “I did this all the time in high school. It’s par for the course.”

He felt the uncharacteristic sting of minor jealousy, but quickly pushed the feeling away.

“So you just brought cute guys to the drive-in all the time? I didn’t know teen Aurora was such a player.”

She snorted and shook her head, taking a large sip from her slurpee, “Never that. I was in the science club and boys scared me. I came here with my friends. Maybe my parents.” There was a moment of pause and she swirled the straw around in her cup, “You’re the first guy I’ve ever been here with. So I guess this is like a high school redo for me, too. So...thanks for coming here with me.”

Her voice sounded so soft, and he realized she was sharing more about herself without him having to reassure her that it was safe to do it. Without thinking, Bryce leaned across the passenger seat and kissed her, pulling a soft gasp from her lips. His large hand cupped her chin, and she walked her fingers around the back of his neck. She tasted like Blue Raspberry syrup and smelled like sweet coconut and vanilla shampoo. When she pulled away and rested her forehead against his, she smiled at him and pushed some loose hair away from his face.

“What was that for?”

“I just felt like it. I don’t know. I…” he swallowed hard and shut his eyes, “I think…”

Fuck.

He opened his eyes to see her watching him with a concerned expression on her face, “You think…? Did I do something--”

“I think I love you, Aurora.”

#playchoices #bryce lahela #aurora emery #bryce x aurora #naja writes #get into it (yuh) or whatever Doja said

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spydcrbyte · 3 years

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*taps mic* This thing on? Probably not, but I’m gone speak anyway. Uh, so yeah. I’m looking for new partners, hopefully. I write in both discord and on dash so I’m with either. I write all types of muses, and just want the chance to world build and develop some new things. I have a list of muses that could use some development, but I also don’t mind making some up on the fly, highkey I’m with whatever. Just need the folks to write with, feel me? Anyways, if interested... You can hit me up on here or in discord DATPIFF EXCLUSIVE#8595 so yeah. Dassit.

#urban rp #urban 1x1 #discord 1x1 #discord rp #mumu rp #one thing about my brand.. it's music related lmfao #urban rpg #i legit have like two partners right now i would love more #i know they're tired of me lmfao.

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princessyennenga · 3 years

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Grateful for 'Black Lightining,' But Sometimes ...

While it's a let down to see a Black-led superhero show get cancelled, there were a number of things about "Black Lightning" that put the writing on the wall almost from the start for me. Meaning the Akils' heavy handed creative choices.

1) An exhausting hyper self-awareness. Yes, the titular hero is Black and so are most of the people in his world. A lot can be communicated visually, musically, directorally and with skillful, subtle acting. But the writers apparently didn't trust in the other parts of the ecosystem to portray Blackness. The dialogue just had to make constant and sneering references to Black skin, lips, hair, slavery, Jim Crown or Black Jesus, and on and on. Here's my far out theory: This is Peak TV, supposedly, and we have different attitudes about casting. Did the writers double down on affirming the characters darker tones to preempt extreme colorism if there is ever a movie or reboot? (The mom from Raising Dion, anyone? Aunt Viv? The history of television, except the Bow's mom from Black-ish.) It leads me to point #2:

2) THE VITRIOL around Blackness!! OMG I hated Tobias Whale for his villainy, but his incessant invectives about Black skin, Black lips, Black hair and Black life in general?? And how was he like that when his sister was a dark-skinned Black woman? He wasn't the only one, but he was THE WORST. How does this show go out of its way to highlight dark-skinned Blackness and then constantly insult that?

3) Constant name dropping as a way to set up context around a character. I'm no siddity, so I got tired of Googling high-end name brands every time the writers wanted to tell us that Tobias is a criminal with 'refined taste'. We know he got money, he's a gangster and his place is sick!! Unless those brands paid for content sponsorship, I was over it.

4) Some of these plots were so convoluted and GRITTY! Yes, the Akils brought their own spin to a superhero show to the CW. But sometimes the stories and the violence were so raw, and the stories moved at a hyper speed, that it weighed the show down. Tobias Whale literally ripping out Khalil's spine, and it twitching and crawling on the floor next to him?? Beyond way too much. So much unnecessary explicitness, and my finger was on the remote trigger to flip away when that weird guard was strip searching Lynn and told her to open her legs. Nah son! Were the comics like this?

5) The episode names. I guess it was based on the graphic novel concept? Cool. But was there a way to condense the episodes into fewer books? At some point, I just wanted to know the episode number and title to refer to it on streaming in an instant. Dassit!

But here's my biggest: Why Jefferson and Lynn had to squabble for practically the entire run of the show? It was plain annoying. And what does it say about the portrayal of marriage on TV? That if you're not separated and arguing you're boring?

It's a shame because I liked the show for a number of reasons. The music slapped. The fight scenes were superb. The Jefferson home was elegant and Annessa's loft looked good. I loved a world-class scientist named Lynn!!! And the show was woke.

But a lot of those other issues did weigh down the show. This is also the second show from the Akils that I got into and they botched the ending. They just didn't stick the landing and there was ultimately no good reason for the writing and the mouthful dialogue to go this way.

#black lightning #thundergrace #BlackLightning lightning #BlackLightning Thunder #TheAkils

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odinsblog · 2 years

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I just wanna say something about a thing I’ve seen a million times before (and twice now, recently here), and I’ve never really fully appreciated just how pernicious it can be; how much it can sometimes gnaw away at a woman’s confidence and play on a woman’s insecurities. I’ve seen some of the most drop dead gorgeous women have thee most average looking dude basically tell them that they aren’t really that pretty. I’ve seen men who aren’t even a 5 on their best day, tell women who are 10s on their worst day, things like, “you need to wear makeup,” or even, “you’re too pretty to wear any makeup,” but even that backhanded “compliment” is bs. I’ve met people on here (and irl too) who could very easily be runway models, and they get tripped up by some basic ass guy telling them they have some microscopic, imperceptible imperfection. I know and understand that everyone has insecurities, but …. damn

Thing is, I’ve always pretty much assumed that, “well, that stunning ass girl isn’t going to pay him any mind” …….. but I was so very wrong. I saw someone on here say a guy told her she needed to wear less makeup, and I was like, are you fucking kidding me? Some of you are straight up stallions who are equally beautiful with and without any makeup. Don’t let some buster convince you otherwise. Guys who can’t see that a girl is pretty unless she’s wearing makeup remind me of comic book characters who can’t tell that Clark Kent is Superman. Eyeglasses and a red cape aren’t what make the hero, a hero. Similarly, makeup, or lack of makeup, is not what makes a girl pretty

Look, I’m really not tryna write a novel here, and I am absolutely positive that many others have said what I’m trying to say far more eloquently than I ever could, but women please don’t let anyone—especially some dude—convince you that you look anything less than worthy. Of everything

And yes, I know that “looks aren’t everything” and “beauty is only skin deep,” but however you might feel about it, just know that any man who feels comfortable enough to disparage your physical appearance truly is NOT worth a second thought, and definitely not worth your time or consideration

It’s power. Don’t let anyone exercise that power over you

And, because I understand just how much our patriarchal societies places value on everyone’s appearance, but ESPECIALLY women, I know that a lot of you reading this may be thinking, “yeah, Odin, easier said than done.” Yup. It’s definitely a whole lot to unlearn and a constant unending battle. And noap, it ain’t easy. But you can. You absolutely can

Oh and, I really shoulda said this from the jump, but please don’t anyone add a, “well actually, men have it hard too” bullshit comment to this post, okay?? I’m talking about women right now. If you got something to say about men, then go make your own damn post

Know your worth, women. Idgaf if you have to psych yourself out and say, “Imma bad bitch” every time you look in a mirror, but please please please trust me on this—any buster who denigrates your looks is doing it for power for themselves and for power over you. Even if it hurts your feelings, or especially if it hurts your feelings, please try not to let anyone other than you be the gatekeeper of how you view yourself and feel about yourself

I still haven’t cracked the riddle of why sooo many drop dead gorgeous women pair up with the most basic ass dudes—basic on the inside and on the outside—but when I solve the riddle, I’ll revisit this post. (SN: yes, Imma guy, no, im not superficial , and yes, I understand that love isn’t all about looks, but sometimes that shit truly be baffling af)

Anyway, there is sO much more I could say and want to say, but I guess dassit for now ✌🏿

#odin rants #advice #self worth #pls dont anybody make me regret posting this #i am very specifically addressing two people ive recently t/w #and the person i dm’d today?? you are stunning #try to get that thru your skull #pls dont let anyone convince you otherwise

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streetsofsecrets · 2 years

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@isolctions asked : the way that you literally BREATHE LIFE into all of your characters throughout every stage of their life — not even in the sense of zipping through childhood to get to their adult stages, but you LITERALLY have a verse for almost every stage of your muses' lives + details on how similar/differently they act in their verses! AND not even just your main muses but the important side muses in their lives have so much detail & background that they all feel like very real people rather than characters; but you also don't take everything EXTREMELY seriously, you still allow them to do stupid shit & have fun/be absolute menaces and i just 🥺 love seeing u write + writing with u omg!!! okay dassit. 🥰

Sometimes, I feel like I’m being too much with the amount I think about my muse’s histories and talk about them on here. To be honest, when I began rping it wasn’t super common for my mutuals to address the way families influenced the way their muse interacted with the world. Like maybe the mom or dad would be mentioned, or siblings, but people weren’t thorough with it. Not that this was a bad thing, but it was definitely something that made me think am I doing too much? am I being excessive thinking about these Family Members and Friend/Enemies NPCs? To be honest, a big reason why I’ve been refraining from making NPC posts is because I KNOW I’m going to overthink the person and get attached and then they’ll be on my blog. 😔 I also definitely feel like you gotta have a balance between the serious and comedic when it comes to personalities. Like my thought process has always been...if I can’t laugh at this oc a little, how am I going to like them in the long-term? But we really need to write more!! I really love how you whip out long elaborate headcanons about your muses and I read them whenever I have the chance!

Please come to my ask and tell me a reason you ENJOY RPing with me.

#answers.#isolctions

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storiesbyjes2g · 3 years

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Try this again...

OK, so, it’s been a week since I changed my post rules(?), and I’ve gotta say...I hate it. 😂 The pace feels super slow now with just one post per story, so let’s double it! Two posts, two stories. Amina in the morning and the other things in the afternoon with reblogs at night.

Speaking of the other things...

(Those who find my whining about my stories entertaining, continue reading. Everyone else, spare yourself lol. It’s for the best.)

Between the aforementioned change and the current topic, I feel really erratic right now. 😂 I keep bouncing back and forth between ideas. I blame @ladybugsimblr. 😛 So, here’s what’s happening.

1. I’m still doing rotations but I’m not gonna stick to the one week per house thing. I’m also going to allow myself to play the rotations in whatever order I need them to be. Yeah, so pretty much I’m going back to what I was doing before...but with a little more wisdom lol.

2. I’m not gonna do the Franklin house in full rotations anymore. The reason they don’t get as much screen time as everyone else anymore is because I reeeeeeally struggle to connect with them. The main reason for that is because, in my head, that story is done. When I brought Bryce into this save, I had two goals: find him a wife and have some babies. When JT was born, I checked the boxes and considered Bryce’s journey a success. But I kept playing--or tried to. I like Bryce and Kenya as characters, but the sims just don’t do it for me. Although this save contains many story arcs, I like to keep them to a minimum so I can still enjoy a bit of gameplay and let it shake up the story from time to time. I’ve had ideas for Bryce and Kenya before, but when it comes down to playing it out, I’m just not interested. I’d have to create a whole subplot for them in order to keep it going. Hard no. SO, Bryce will still be around because everyone in this story is connected, but I see him more as a supporting character not a main. He’ll show up in Rodney and the Piersons’ rotations and occasionally on his own, but I won’t do whole rotations with them anymore. This last one was quite painful for me, sad to say. I know the Franklins have some fans out there and you’ll hate hearing this. But one thing I’m not going to compromise is my own entertainment. That may sound selfish, but I think it’s necessary. I write these stories because they are entertaining to me. You all have the luxury of benefiting from my joy. But because I do make these public, they have to be good quality. If I am not entertained, the story suffers and we can’t have that.

3. Finally, on a happier note, I’ve finally figured out an idea I’ve been toiling with all year! The solution is simple and should have been obvious, but my brain just doesn’t work that way lol. You all have seen me say a few times that I see The Piersons, Life After the BC, and Misadventures of Rodney Eason as one story and wish I had the foresight to make them rotations of the same story from the jump. I’ve been trying to figure out how to do that without retagging everything and/or disrupting the flow of things, and by golly I’ve done it! First, I need a name. Then, I need a common tag to add to all the posts. Dassit. lol Seriously! I will keep the banners and continuing tagging them as I am now to keep everything organized so you guys know what rotation we’re on. The main issue has been how my brain accepts or rejects this information, and my brain accepts this lol. Once I figure out what this tag is going to be, I’ll update my pinned post to reflect the unified nature of the story, and that will make my brain accept this as one story. Bonus points for making this a seamless, invisible transaction for you guys!

If you’ve made it to the end of this madness, I want you to know I really really really appreciate your support and interest in my shenanigans lol. It means the world to me! THANK YOU.

#announcements #story stuff #again

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