#and that might be something for me to explore in my writing

[sterifels-blog]

warnings ⚠️

•nsfw! 🔞 please do not interact if you are not 18+ ❤️ you are not my responsibility.

creepypasta

REQUESTED: how they'd react if you ask them what their favorite (body) part of you is.

bloody painter

•he would say your hands. he's intrigued by your fingers, as odd as it may seem. not so much the looks of them; but instead the power they wield. "you have such delicate hands for someone so strong... makes me wonder what they could do if they weren't holding a brush." the implication is there— and, it's more of an invitation then a question. he knows what you're capable of- but he thinks he's being smooth about the fact he wants your hand wrapped around his cock.

•soft, but possessive touches: he'll hold your hand in his and trace the lines of your palm with his thumb, enjoying the way your skin feels against his rougher hand. he's not always filthy- infact, he washes his hands more that you're around. he knows you can't stand the feeling of blood smearing all over yours off of his.

•places gentle kisses on your knuckles. he'll press a kiss to your knuckles after you've done something for him, silently showing gratitude in his own way. alternatively; as he's bumping his hips to snap his pelvis tight against your own— more-so panting onto your fingers as he holds them to his parted lips. he's grunting at how good you feel, his brows tight-- and knitted together while placing soft kisses to your fingertips. bro loves you.

•admiring the art of your hands: if you paint (hopefully, with normal supplies), he'll watch you carefully, entranced by the way your fingers move across the canvas. "i like how you create... i like how you touch things."

•okay brother. calm down.

•handcuff scenario: if he's feeling possessive, he might tie your hands just to keep you close, though it's always with a Iight touch, as if savoring the moment. it's that, or he's got you in his lap- your back pressed to his chest as one of his hands keeps your wrists pulled together, and the other is brushing hair out of the way so he can kiss your neck.

•earning affection: "i know these hands could do so much more, if i let you." a quiet invitation to explore.

clockwork

•she'd say your eyes. clockwork has a dark fascination with them, and she isnt shy about making that clear: "your eyes... they've seen more than i can imagine, and yet they still hold something innocent about them." she has no issue with tainting that innocence- although she chooses to cherish it for herself, opting to keep your mind safe and away from others. your eyes only on her.

•intense gaze: she'll lock her eyes on yours, not breaking contact, as if studying you. it's like she's searching for something deep within, and it makes you feel exposed, yet strangely desired. she'll be kissing from your sternum down to your pelvis, her nails dragging along your bare sides as she relishes in the feeling of your fluttering skin against her lips.

•her lip gloss paints your stomach in a shimmery raspberry hue as she kisses your skin, her thumbs digging into your hips as they massage in slow circles.

•she's huge on teasing: "i could lose myself in them, but you'd never let me. you'd just pull away, wouldn't you?" she won't give you much of an option to pull away. she'll have you on your knees in front of her, her hand cupped under your chin as she admires the tremble of excitement that rushes down your spine.

•gentle, longing touches. she gently cups your face, forcing you to keep eye contact "i could make you see things- things you don't want to. but... you trust me, don't you?"

•when you inevitably agree with her— saying that you do trust her, her hands are parting your thighs, shamelessly sighing as her tongue traces lazy drags against your clit and labia. (she's definitely the type to write her name with her tongue, over and over until you're whining for her to do something other than tease. you're not talking at all after that)

•behind-the-scenes power: "if you look away, i'Il only make it worse. keep looking... you're mine, aren't you?"

eyeless jack

•thoughtful to say your throat. jack has an intense interest with your neck/throat. he can't stop staring at your throat, where he knows your pulse beats, so close to the surface- so easy to cut off if he so much as squeezed you hard enough. if he so much as twisted your head quick enough to cause dissection. not that he ever would- no, no. such horrific things are only reserved for his victims- but his medical knowledge often gets the better of him when intimate with your body.

•gentle but dangerous touch. he'll graze his fingers lightly along the curve of your throat, his thumb brushing the side of your neck as though testing your response. he'll hum— his nail digging softly into the prominent vein on the side of your neck, leaning down to nuzzle his nose against it as though smelling the metallic flow from the outer-shell of your skin. he doesn’t say anything, but the way his hand squeezes is word enough. jack loves you, he's made it clear over and over again- but often, he still finds it necessary to remind you that you both are different. un-alike.

•dangerous affection: "i know the veins here so well... it's almost like could just.." he might trail his fingers over your throat, his mind going to darker places as he tightens the grip he has on you to just beneath your chin, tilting your head back with a little groan into your ear. he brushes your baby hairs away from the base of your neck, leaning in to place a kiss against the base of your skull, panting with hearty breaths whilst his hips rut slow, sloppy grinds against the cheeks of your ass.

•alternatively, he’s got your legs kicked apart, his own feet placed between yours as to ensure that you don't try and squeeze them shut. pinned to him, your back against his chest— jack doesn't let you loose as his fingers swirled wide circles around your clit. his teeth graze at your ear, murmuring quietly about how easy you were for him. predictable. and you were.

•teasing whispers: he'll lean close to your ear and murmur, "your pulse is fast... what's got you worked up? it's just me.."

•holds your throat while he's fucking into you from behind.

hoodie

•your ass. zero shame, zero hesitation: hoodie doesn't even try to hide it, "you've got the best ass i've ever seen. why wouldn't i look? you should be flattered."

•he's hands-on at all times. whenever you walk past him, his hand is right there. sometimes, he gives it a playful squeeze, other times a sharp smack that makes you jump. "what? you're the one who walked by me like that."

•you, in fact, didn't even walk by. he's the one who walked by you. too many times, will you give him silence in return for his tomassery– and each time, he does the same thing. he'll come up behind you, apologetically (🤥) sliding his hands down your waist to cup your ass as he presses a kiss to the back of your neck. "you know i'm just teasing.."

•favorite pose? you straddling his lap. he loves when you sit on him, especially facing away so he can rest his hands on your hips— or further down. "you're making it really hard to focus, you know. not that i'm complaining.."

•and he isn't complaining, especially when he’s able to bend you over the counter later that night, groaning and grunting as he 'thanks' you for the meal you'd cooked for him after a long mission assigned by the operator. he's tired, sure; but he always has some extra stamina stored away for times like this. seeing your ass bounce on his hips as his dick bullies against your g-spot is worth every bit of energy he has left.

•constant touching: if you're lying on your stomach, he's lying next to you, his hand lazily draped over your lower back and sliding lower.

•pulling you closer: if you're standing in front of him, he'll wrap an arm around your waist and pull you back against him, hands wandering. "c'mere. you're too far away. yeah, that's better."

jason the toymaker

•your hands

•craftsman’s admiration: “your hands... so delicate, yet so full of life. they could create so much beauty... if i allowed you.” his voice carries both fascination and a subtle possessiveness, enjoying how wrapped around his fingers you were. the innuendo is there, integrated in his words. why would you need to touch yourself when he was there to do all you wished for you?

•very gentle with his touches. he loves to take your hands in his, running his fingers over the smooth skin, almost as if memorizing every line and curve. the type of guy to intertwine your fingers with his own as he keeps your wrists pinned to the bed— huffing against your neck with steady, deep thrusts. loves kissing behind your ear, grumbling about how good you take him- make him feel.

•kisses to your palms. jason has a habit of turning your hand over and pressing slow, deliberate kisses to your palm. “such beautiful hands… wasted on anything but me.” definitely prompts you into giving him a hand job, obsessive over the way your fingers feel curled around him. he thoroughly can't get enough of you, and arm wrapped lazily around your waist as he sits you in his lap for a slow makeout.

•mild.. obsession: he’ll watch you when you’re doing anything with your hands—writing, sketching, even cooking. “it’s mesmerizing, really. i could watch you all day.”

•into playful (but freaky ass) control. jason likes to guide your hands when you’re working on something, his larger hands enveloping yours. “here, let me show you how to do it properly. not that you’re bad at it… i'm just better.” this applies to the bedroom, where he's guiding your hand; curling your fingers only when he allows you to.

•possessive comments: “these hands belong to me, no? no one else gets to feel them, hold them, or be touched by them.”

jeff the killer

•dangerous attraction to your thighs: "your thighs... they look so soft. i bet they'd feel even better wrapped around me." and they do— whether they are clung at the sides of his head, or straddling his hips as he helps you ride him after a particularly high stress day. he loves them more than anything else in the world.

•gentle possessiveness.. he'll casually run his hands over your thighs, his fingers lingering just a little too long as if marking territory. does it especially when you are all sitting in a group. if given the opportunity, he'll have you tucked between him and the arm of the couch, your legs slung over his own so his hand can rub up and down yours.

•plenty of flirtatious teasing: "how tight do you think those legs could squeeze, huh? show me, and i'II make it worth your while."

•when you go about showing him- he makes it a point to keep you at his disposal until you're too satisfied to complain about anything. his tongue is useful for talking— but it is just as skillful when it's dipped between your thighs, running between your folds until you're squeezing his head so tight, he was sure his skull would crack.

•loves giving you kisses to the inner thigh. on a whim, he might press a soft kiss to the inside of your thigh, just to feel the warmth of your skin. after a particularly strenuous night of.. events, it's a subtle gesture of appreciation

•"i can't help it. your thighs are just... perfect. i think i could spend all day here, don't you?"

•mock care: if he's feeling particularly mischievous, he'll gently squeeze them and say, "relax. i'Il be gentle. for now."

jane the killer

•playfully seductive: "these hips of yours.. i could write a book about how perfect they are." she smirks as her hands glide along them, leaving goosebumps in her wake. by far, they are the most favorable thing on your body in her eyes- apart from the obvious sentiment of your breasts. she thinks the proportions of them match you perfectly.

•possessive hold. jane has a habit of gripping your hips firmly, puling you closer until there's no space between you- mainly around the others of the household. there is no denying that you're hers- but it is still in her nature to be competitive over that fact, especially with her other-sex counterpart being present. "you feel so good against me. don't think i'Il let go anytime soon."

•slow in admiration. her fingers trace the curve of your hips, almost reverently. "every inch of you is stunning, but this.. this drives me insane." you're hovered over her- sweat dripping down your spine and dampening the roots of your hair as her hands guide you in a rocking motion. they are clasped tightly to your hips, nails, digging into your flesh as she encourages you to tuck in your core. she doesn't mind doing the messy work of bouncing you on her strap, so long as numbs you into that blissful state.

•dually stimulates your clit just to see them buck.

•sultry whispers while standing behind you. she'll lean in, lips brushing against your ear as her sleek nails tickled your hips with repetitive strokes. "these hips were made for my hands, don’t you think? hm?"

•when things heat up, her focus always finds its way to your hips, her kisses trailing along the curves as her grip tightens. "you have no idea what you do to me." jane's eyes linger on your hips like they're the most captivating thing in the world.

kagekao

•your mouth and messy kisses. kagekao loves kissing you- rough, messy, and without warning. he thrives on the way he can leave you breathless and completely flustered. it comes of good use when you two are arguing. you'd been rambling about something- not that he was listening; but he captured the gist of you bitching about how he was leaving the house a mess. guilty— of course he was; but he wasn't going to acknowledge it. "can't talk now, can you?"

•shutting you up: secondary to a kiss, if you're rambling or talking back, he'll cut you off with a hand against your mouth; putting you into momentary silence. it is only when his hand moves to tug at the buckle of his belt do you understand where he is truly going with it. your mouth, around him- is as good as it is while talking. as skillful as your insults- just more quiet apart from the occasional gag to fuel his ego.

•playfully dominant. he's a master of teasing you into silence, brushing his thumb over your lips and smirking. "these lips of yours are dangerous... but i like the way they feel under mine." he's cheesy because he knows it gets you going. you'll cuss him out, commencing a back-and-forth between the two of you. and as much as he enjoys shutting you up— it is, unfortunately, your 'arguments' that get him swollen and tight in his slacks.

•messy control: if you're mid-argument, he'll pin you against a wall and kiss you hard enough to stop the words from coming. "i don't care what you were going to say." he's a bit of an asshole— and when it comes to an actual confliction, you're often pushing him away as to voice your opinion.

•obsession with your voice: he's addicted to the way your lips move when you talk (+ the sound of it), and he often stares shamelessly. "keep talking- let me watch those pretty lips of yours."

•if it's been a while since he's last seen you; and you have the chance to speak to him over the phone, he's 100% not opposed to rubbing one out with you on the line. he'll go silent, listening to you ramble on about something that seems insignificant compared to the raging throb of his erection. mindlessly hums in agreement to something he shouldn't have— and gets startled when you begin scolding him over the phone.

laughing jack

•jack has a shameless fixation on your legs, especially if you're blessed with some extra height. "your legs just go on forever, don't they? makes me want to see how far they can wrap around me." his words are said with a wicked grin, no shame in his tone. if you're smaller, no worries about it— he's still intrigued about how many positions he can wrangle you into, especially with your smaller size being an accommodation.

•loves, loves, loves having you up against the wall. it's not the most practical position- but he has the strength to pull it off. at no point in time will your feet be touching the ground. your legs are slung over his hips, and mercilessly, jack is giving you no time between breaths as he fucks in and out of you. he'd been worked up over a dress you'd worn out with jane; the gap of time from which you returned— to then being railed furiously almost nonexistent.

•the stupid cunt is constant teasing: he'll comment on how your legs look in any outfit especially if they're bare. "oh, you're just showing them off today, aren't you? that's just cruel." he especially loves seeing you in skirts or short dresses. a tight pair of pants will still do justice- outlining your figure, but seeing your skin is an entirely different experience for him.

•obsessive attention. runs his hands along your thighs and calves, almost like he's worshiping them, while making playful, almost mocking comments. "so soft.. are you sure you're strong enough to be here?" he knows you are, he has no sincere doubts that you've earned your place amongst the bunch; but it intrigues him how someone as hard working as yourself could have any aspect of a gentle physic leftover.

•payful biting: he'll nip at your legs from your calvee to your thighs, just to watch you squirm. "what? can't handle a little attention?"

•restless fascination: loves having his head in your lap, running his hands up and down your legs, letting out an exaggerated sigh. "how am i supposed to behave with these perfect legs right in front of me?"

•a good smack to the head will do it.

masky

•masky has an obvious fixation on your breasts. he won't even try to hide it. when you're in close quarters, his eyes are always drawn to your chest, and he'll casually glance at them before meeting your eyes, smirking. "could you be any less distracting?"

•shameless touching: he's the type to casually rest his hand on your chest when in private, grinning like it's the most natural thing in the world. if you're not paying attention, he'll give them a slight squeeze and say, "couldn't resist, sorry." which, is a lie. he's fully capable of resisting- but with you, he doesn't care much to.

•throughly enjoys having you ride him. if not only to see the way your face twists up in pleasure; then, to see the way your breasts bounce with each desperate thrust you chase after.

•loves seeing you in workout clothes— especially something like a workout bra that cups your breasts exceptionally. he'll come up behind you, hands wandering from your sides, and against your ribs to your breasts, his fingers fondling with the under-band of your bra appreciatively. places soft kisses on the back of your neck, humming in approval as he relishes in the sight of his palms engulfing your chest in the gym mirror.

•unapologetic flirting: "look real fucking good in that top. deserve some attention, don't you think?" he'll lean in close, just to make it clear that he's very aware of what he's doing- not that you had any doubts.

•although secondary pleasure wasn't normally accommodated on his schedule (nor does he have a high drive for it)– when you gave him a tit job for the first time; he swore he was knocking on heavens door. he could hardly keep himself from giving in too early- grunting and huffing as he dragged on his cigarette, prolonging his climax for as long as he could. cusses the entire time, groaning about how good you were.

•proximity: when he sleeps, he'll have his face tucked against your collarbone, his arms wrapped around you as his nose divets to your sternum.

slenderman

•control obsession: he’s drawn to your wrists, knowing just how delicate they are and how easily he can take control. he loves— and definitely gets off on the feeling of holding them tightly, guiding you however he sees fit. “your wrists are so fragile... better reason for you to listen"

•possessive in his grip. slenderman will sometimes just stand behind you, his long fingers brushing your wrists in a possessive, almost ritualistic manner, ensuring you feel his presence without him saying a word. he might even trace your veins as if marking them as his own— otherwise, silently reminding you of your merciless place beneath him.

•soft yet firm restraint. if you’re not paying attention, he’ll slip his tendril around your wrists with a cold, firm grip, keeping you in place. his touch is both controlling and almost comforting, as if trying to stake a claim over you that is inevitable. keeps you from moving too much, because it “makes it easier to work with you.”

•tying you up: there’s something about restraining you with ropes or simple threads that bores him. he's more into using his tentacles— wrapping them around your wrists slowly, ensuring it’s just tight enough to restrict movement. it’s a methodical and precise act. “you’ll stay still. you can handle this, can you not?"

•borderline sadistic during intercourse with you. overstimulation is a guarantee— his tentacles cuffing your wrists together as you squirm on the silk of his bedding. relentless. your breaths heave in desperation as his thumb circled your clit for what felt like hellish hours on end, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes that he brushes away with little care- only after they'd began to trail down your cheeks.

•fingers that linger: when he’s guiding you through a task, his fingers press against the soft skin of your wrist, sending shivers up your spine. it’s a constant reminder of his dominance and the way he can bend you to his will with little effort. sits you between his legs and has you ride his fingers, kissing the flat surface of your inner wrist.

•silent manipulation: whether you’re walking or sitting, his hands will often find their way to your wrists. the way his fingers curl around them feels almost hypnotic, leaving you unsure if it’s affection or an underlying threat.

ticci toby

•possessive grip: toby's hands will find their way to your chest, casually gripping them as if it's the most casual thing in the world. he's not gentle, but not rough either— just firm enough to feel like he's marking his territory. "i like having you close. ganz in der nähe" the words may seem innocent enough, but they are the furthest thing from it.

•soft, but intense. if you're in his arms, he'll keep you pressed against him, his hands roaming under your clothes to gently feel and play with you. his breaths hitch as he does, clearly enjoying the closeness more than anything. not being able to feel much- it's intriguing for him to see how you react to something he assumed would feel so insignificant.

•when he figured out you enjoy it- quite a bit, he'll find himself stroking your ribs more often, tracing over your collarbone.

•huffs of approval: when he feels the soft weight of your breasts in his hands, you'll hear him let out a pleased sigh, followed by a low chuckle. "you can't help making these noises when i touch you, hm?" he enjoys them, thoroughly. in fact, it's something he favors, doing whatever he can to pry the sweet sounds from your lips.

•missionary— classical. he's got your back pinned to the bed, one arm wrapped around your spine as he lay a series of open-mouthed kisses to your throat, trailing down to find one of the pebbled nipples of your breasts. the sound of your breathy moan is almost enough to make him brick up again, a low groan leaving his throat as his lips engulfed your tit with gluttony. he could worship you like this for hours- but not without his own share of enjoyment.

•light teasing: if you react to him touching you, even just a little, his grin widens. "i know you like it. you don't need to hide it." he'll lean in close, letting his breath ghost over your neck. there's nothing he enjoys more than getting a reaction out of you— and it severely agitates him when you silence yourself.

•insecure softness: as unhinged as he may seem, he can get a little soft about it, too. "i just... i need you close, okay? don't push me away." he's not one to beg, but there's something desperate in his voice when he holds you like this. loves having you against his chest, feeling your bare skin pressed against his own.

[jjkamochoso]

hiii

idk if u take reqs rn or not feel free to ignore this

so i was thinking abt jjk guys and how they would react if u couldn't have a baby... like you want to but can't :(

i know this is a heavy subject and super angsty so i understand if u don't wanna do it

have a great day <333

Hello☺️ thank you so much for sending in this request! I’m always up for writing super angsty/sensitive topics so thank you for trusting me with this one, I hope I did it justice! I wrote this with a cis female reader in mind and only did the older characters if that’s alright, I didn’t feel comfortable writing this for any of the under 18 students. Also, if anyone is struggling with this irl, just know my heart is with you and you’re no less of a person just because you struggle with fertility issues❤️ sending all of you lots of love!🫶❤️

JJK Men Reacting to You Unable to Have a Baby

Angst, Fluff

JJK Men x f!reader

Warnings: sensitive topic at hand! Fertility issues and mentions of doctor’s appointments (nothing graphic); slight cussing in Gojo’s

Noritoshi:

You quickly entered your residence, shutting the front door as fast as you could. You didn’t want to be noticed by anyone right now, especially not a member of the Kamo clan, which was difficult seeing as you lived with your husband Noritoshi at his family’s expansive compound. Little did you know, the Kamo you dreaded to see the most right now was already waiting for you.

“Welcome back. How was your appointment?” asked Noritoshi, pouring two cups of tea. You gulped, trying to keep your tears at bay.

“The doctor said I’m unable to have a baby,” you said in a hushed tone, the news feeling all too real now that you said it out loud. Noritoshi was by your side immediately, tea cups abandoned on the countertop.

“There’s no chance ever?” he asked in a gentle tone.

“Never.” The dam inside you broke, tears overflowing. “Oh Noritoshi, what are we going to do? I can’t give you a baby of our own! We wanted this so bad,” you sobbed. Noritoshi pulled you into his chest, holding you close as you fell apart.

“What are we going to tell your family?” you continued. “We can’t have an heir; I’m going to get you disowned. We’ll have no house, no money, no child-”

“Enough of that,” he interrupted firmly but lovingly, his eyes finding yours as he opted to hold your shaking hands. “My clan will do no such thing. And even if they did, as long as I have you, I’d still be the richest man in the world.”

“But I can’t have a baby,” you sniffled. “We can’t have a baby.”

“I know it’s what we hoped for and I can’t imagine the burden you must be feeling right now,” he said, wiping your tears with his thumb, “but none of this is your fault. You might not be able to carry a child but that doesn’t mean we can’t raise one. We can always explore options like adoption in the future if that’s something you’d like. For now, though, let us grieve this loss so when we’re ready, we can step into the future with renewed hope and optimism.”

You nodded in agreement, grateful for the tissue he provided you along with the lingering kiss pressed to your forehead. It wasn’t going to be an easy journey ahead of you, but with the level headed, caring Noritoshi by your side, you knew you would be just fine.

Todo:

Leaving your doctor’s appointment, you felt numb. It was like your mind refused to process what the doctor had told you: you were unable to have a baby. You didn’t know how to tell Aoi, your husband. You two had dreamt of having kids for a long time and you didn’t want to break his heart with this horrible revelation.

As if he had heard your thoughts, you felt your phone vibrate and saw it was him calling. You sighed, knowing it was probably better to rip off the proverbial bandaid.

“Hey, beautiful. How was everything at your appointment?” he asked.

“Truthfully? Not good.” You bit your lip to stop from crying.

“What happened? Are you alright?”

“No, I’m not alright,” you confessed, tears already starting to fall down your cheeks, “I can’t get pregnant, Aoi. I can’t have a baby.”

At that point, you were practically sobbing in the city street.

“I’m coming to pick you up, honey, don’t worry. Are you still at the hospital?”

“No, Aoi, I’m fine-” you protested through your cries, but he wasn’t having it.

“I won’t let you go through this alone. Please, let me be there for you right now.”

You heard his voice tremble the slightest bit through the phone’s receiver and you realized he needed you as much as you needed him right now.

“Okay,” you whispered.

“I’m on my way. Don’t hang up, I want to hear your gorgeous voice until I can see your gorgeous face.”

That got you to crack a smile for the first time all day.

When Aoi finally showed up, he wrapped you into a tight hug, not daring to let go or caring who sees.

“Whatever the challenge, we’re up against it as a team. I’ll always be by your side, no matter what life throws at us,” he told you, giving your lips a soft kiss before taking you in his arms once more. “We can talk about this more when we get home but right now I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

Ino:

You were grateful that Ino wanted to come with you to your doctor’s appointment since you hated going alone, especially when the nature of the appointment had to do with your reproductive health.

It was also extremely helpful to have your husband there for support when you received devastating news from your doctor.

“I’m so sorry Ms. L/n, but you’re completely unable to conceive.”

Ino anxiously grabbed onto your hand. “Do you mean right now, for the foreseeable future, or like… forever?”

“Unfortunately, Mr. Takuma, I mean forever. She will never be able to carry a baby.”

You sat there, dumbfounded, unable to create even a single thought as your world crashed down around you. Sensing your anguish, the doctor stepped out of the room to let you two have a few minutes alone.

The room was deathly quiet, the only sound being the tick of a clock on the wall and your heart pounding in your chest.

“What are we gonna do?” you eventually said, your mouth dry as a desert. You turned to look at the man next to you, tears finally filling up your eyes. “Ino?”

“I… I don’t know,” he responded with a defeated tone and tearing up as well. “I…”

You were both at a loss for words. You registered Ino’s hand leaving your own, the empty feeling mirroring how you felt inside, until he brought you into a bone crushing hug, his tears soaking your shoulder.

“We’re gonna get through this,” he said, sniffling, “we have to. This sucks now, and it’s gonna suck for a long time after this, but we still have each other which is more than I could ever hope for.”

“Are you sure?” you asked, your voice small. “You’d be alright if we didn’t have a kid?”

He gave you an adoring smile. “Of course I’d be alright. If having a baby of our own isn’t in the cards for us, that doesn’t mean we can’t raise a kid. We could look into adoption or who knows, maybe we could pull a Nanami and find ourselves mentoring our own little Ino.”

The giggle you let out was a testament to the strength of your relationship and Ino’s commitment to always keep your spirits up when times get extremely tough.

Gojo:

You finally let out the shuddered breath that you had been holding ever since you left your doctor’s appointment. You had gone in because you and Satoru had been trying for a baby for over a year now and still hadn’t made any progress. What the doctor figured out, though, was what you had been dreading this entire time but prayed wasn’t the case.

“Hey! How was it?” Satoru’s chirpy voice rang out in your apartment, causing your eyes to well with tears.

“Not good,” you called out. Satoru was in the living room with you in an instant, a frown gracing his pink lips.

“Eh? What happened?”

“The doctor said I can’t have a baby, Satoru. We can’t… we can’t start the family we always wanted.”

You sat on the couch, numbness taking over. You felt tears roll down your cheeks but you barely registered them. You could hardly acknowledge your husband wrapping his long arms around you to comfort you (and himself).

“No baby, no future heir. I’ve single-handedly ruined our chances at continuing the Gojo clan.” You looked up at the white haired man. “Satoru, I’m sorry-”

“Y/n, please. I don’t care about any of that shit. There’s, like, a million of us anyway,” he said, waving his hand nonchalantly. “I wanted to start a family with you because I love you. If we can’t do it the fun old fashioned way, I’m sure we can look into adoption if you’re up for that. If it ends up just being us two, I’m fine with that as well. As long as I have you, I’m happy.”

“Thank you,” you whispered, cuddling into his side. He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head, holding onto you a little tighter.

Geto:

“Darling, you got a letter in the mail today,” Suguru greeted as he walked inside. You took the envelope from him outstretched hand and gasped.

“It’s from my doctor,” you replied, nervously ripping it open. You had been waiting for results about the state of your fertility since you and Suguru weren’t having any luck having a baby on your own. You pulled out the paper and read through each sentence quickly, until one practically punched you in the gut.

…which indicates you are unable to carry pregnancy to term.

The paper fell gracefully from your grasp, landing on the floor, and you felt like you were about to join it with the way your knees were buckling.

“Take a seat, my love,” Suguru said worriedly, holding you up and guiding you to the nearest chair. He bent over and picked up the paper, reading it as well. Even in your despair you saw the way his expression fell, probably feeling just as crestfallen as you were.

“I’m sorry I can’t give us what we wanted,” you choked out, putting your head in your hands. He was by your side in no time, kneeling down to meet your gaze.

“Y/n, look at me.” You did so, wiping your nose with a tissue. “This isn’t an ideal situation but you’re not to blame. We’ll figure something out.”

“But the girls, they wanted a little sibling.”

“But at least we have them,” he reasoned, causing you to nod in agreement. “And I have you. That’s all I’ve ever wished to have. Anything else is a happy bonus.”

He took a handkerchief from his pocket and softly dabbed at the corners of your eyes. “I don’t want you to cry anymore, alright? We’re in this together.”

Nanami:

Your husband Kento was still gone at work by the time you had come back from your appointment with the doctor so you decided to curl up in bed. You had just received the worst news any hopeful mom-to-be could get: you could never get pregnant. You couldn’t stop replaying the words in your head, further torturing yourself. You didn’t even notice Kento coming home, calling out your name, or opening the bedroom door.

“Y/n?” he asked softly before noticing your still figure in the bed. You were facing the opposite way of the door so he treaded lightly across the room, coughing a bit so as not to scare you.

“Are you alright?” he wondered, the bed dipping as he sat next to you and stroked your hair.

“We can’t have a baby, Kento,” you blurted out. “I’m a failure.”

If he was surprised at the news, you couldn’t tell with the way his demeanor stayed calm, cool, and collected.

“First of all, that’s not even close to the truth. You’re an amazing person, a caring wife. You’re nothing close to a failure.” He brushed hair away from your forehead and placed his lips there for an elongated moment.

“Do you want to talk about it or do you want to lie here awhile? Either is understandable,” said Kento after a long bout of silence.

“I’d like to talk about it over dinner, if that’s alright. For now, I just want to lay down.”

“Of course.”

He kissed your hand and stood up, taking off his tie before cuddling up next to you.

“Having you in my life, Mrs. Nanami, is more than enough for me.”

Choso:

Choso came with you to your doctor’s appointment to help calm your nerves, his steady presence more than welcome when the future of your family was hanging in the balance.

“So I’m looking at your results, and it looks like…”

Choso squeezed your hand gently when the doctor spoke.

“…you cannot become pregnant. I’m so sorry,” your doctor told you. “This is a lot to take in, I’m sure, so I’ll give you two a moment to yourselves if you’d like.”

“Please,” Choso answered for you as you were unable to speak. You sat in the chair, emotion overwhelming your entire being. Choso held tightly to your hand as he looked deep into your glassy eyes.

“Y/n, I’m so sorry.” His big brown eyes were also wet with sorrow.

“Why are you sorry? I’m the one who can’t make our dream of having a family come true,” you cried.

“Shh, it’s not your fault,” he soothed, pressing you close to his chest as you sniffled. “You’re being way too hard on yourself. This is a horrible situation but we’ll figure it out together like we always do. You’re not alone in this, or anything else.”

You eventually separated your face from his shoulder and he wiped it softly with a tissue, clearing away your tears.

“We’re a team. We’re a family, baby or not. My love for you will never be shaken.”

He placed his hands lovingly on your cheeks and gave you a kiss on your forehead, reminding you exactly why you wanted to be with him forever.

Toji:

You had just left your doctor’s appointment, your shoulders heavy with the burden of your hopes and dreams shattered by the fact you couldn’t get pregnant. Dialing a number you knew by heart, you anxiously waited for your husband to answer his phone.

“Hey darlin’, what’s up?”

“I really need to talk to you,” you said, your voice small as you tried to not break down over the phone.

“Where are you? I’m on my way now,” Toji said without hesitation. You gave him the address of the clinic you were outside and he told you he’d be there in 10 minutes. You sat on the curb, ignoring the hollow feeling in your chest until you glanced up to see Toji; you burst into tears.

“Woah, hey, it’s okay.” He sat next to you and consoled you with a large hand on your back while the other guided you into a hug so he could shield you from any curious onlookers. “Is this about your appointment?”

You cried harder.

Toji sat with you for a long time as you sobbed. After what seemed like forever, your tears had run dry and you were hiccuping into his broad chest.

“I’m here for you. Tell me what’s going on.”

“I can’t get pregnant. Ever. We won’t be able to have a baby,” you mumbled as you stared at a crack in the sidewalk.

“Here I was, thinkin’ you only had a few days to live.”

You glared at him. “Not funny.”

“Not trying to be for once.” You were pulled in closer to his chest once more as he rested his chin on the top of your head. “I’m sorry that’s the news you got. I know we were looking forward to having a kid but if it’s not in the cards for us, I’ll be alright as long as I have you.”

“Are you sure? You would be a great dad and I don’t want to take that away from you.”

“And you’d be an amazing mom. I wouldn’t want kids with any other woman.”

“Thanks, Toji. I really love you.”

He gave you a lopsided smile. “Let’s get off this dirty ass street and go home.”

[hueningstar]

God I loved your fic!!;3 about giving a head while he plays LoL !.but I Have a request for uu can you do a dom reader and sub soob but Reader is younger than Soobin. and the rest is up to you!) Thank you and I Loooove your fics ^~^

Giving In

Summary : A younger, confident reader takes charge, exploring a playful yet dominant dynamic with a shy and submissive Soobin. The tension builds as boundaries are tested, leaving Soobin completely at the reader's mercy.

────୨ৎ────

A/N : Thank you so much for sending this request in and for loving my fics! I’m super excited to write this one because the dynamic sounds so unique and fun to explore! I’ll do my best to make it enjoyable for you (and everyone else reading)! And as always, thank you for your support—it means so much to me! 💕

────୨ৎ────

Pairing : younger dom!reader × older sub!soobin

Warnings : teasing, blowjob, kissing

MDNI

────୨ৎ────

You've known Soobin for years. He's always been the sweet, shy boy who blushes at the smallest things. But tonight, something's different. You're feeling bolder than usual, more in control.

You find Soobin in his room, bent over his desk, trying to solve math problems. His hair is slightly messy, his shirt rides up a bit, exposing his lower back. He's completely clueless to your predator-like gaze. You lick your lips, an idea forming in your mind.

You slowly walk behind him, placing your hands on his waist possessively. He tenses up, feeling your presence but not daring to turn around. 'W-what are you doing?' He whispers, his voice barely audible over the scratching of his pencil.

A wicked smile spreads across your face as you see Soobin nervously adjust his posture, sitting up straighter, his cheeks flushed. You lean in closer, your breath tickling his ear.

Soobin shivers at your warm breath, his heart racing in his chest. He tries to focus on his math problems, but your words keep distracting him. "I-I'm just having a hard time with these problems, that's all," He manages to stammer out, his voice trembling slightly.

You watch his Adam's apple bob as he swallows again. God, he's so innocent. You wonder how he'd react if you... 'Spread your legs wider,' You suddenly say, making him stiffen again.

Soobin's eyes widen at your sudden command, his immediate instinct being to obey. Slowly, he parts his legs further, his breath hitching as he feels the cool air brush against his inner thighs. He nervously glances back at you, trying to gauge your intentions. "Like this?"

Your eyes darken with lust at Soobin's obedient move. A husky chuckle escapes your lips as you admire the view. "Perfect," you murmured appreciatively. Your hands slide from his waist to his thighs, squeezing lightly. "Such a good boy, following directions so well."

His face turns bright red at your praise, ears practically glowing. A small whimper escapes his lips as your fingers trail along his thighs. "Stop it..." He says weakly, though his body betrays him, leaning back slightly into your touch. "I have... I have homework..."

A smirk plays across your lips at his cute attempt at protest. You lean in closer, your lips almost brushing against his ear. "Is that what you're really worried about? Your math homework... or what my hands might do next?" You trace patterns on his inner thigh.

Soobin's breathing grows shallow, his mind racing with thoughts he's never allowed himself to entertain before. His legs tremble slightly under your gentle touch. He swallows hard, his voice barely above a whisper, "Y-you're... making it hard to focus..."

You chuckle mischievously, your fingers inching higher up his thigh. "Is it? Or is it that my touch is distracting you from your homework?" You tease, your fingers getting closer to the hem of his shorts. "Tell me, Soobin..." You murmur,

"Would you still be struggling with math if I wasn't touching you like this?" Your fingers lightly trace the edge of his shorts, deliberately not going fully under. You want to draw out his shy responses, make him admit what your touch is doing to him.

Soobin squirms uncomfortably, his face a brilliant shade of red. He bites his lower lip, trying desperately to maintain some semblance of composure. "I-I don't... it's not..." He stammers, his words trailing off as your fingers teasingly brush against his shorts.

You watch his reaction closely. He's so innocent, so easily flustered. You decide to take it further. Your fingers slip under his shorts, touching his bare thighs. His breath hitches. You murmur, "Spread your legs wider, baby."

Soobin's legs tremble as he slowly parts them further, his face contorted with embarrassment and unspoken desire. His shorts ride up higher on his thighs, revealing more of his pale skin. You run your fingers higher, closer to his inner thighs.

His breath catches in his throat when your fingers nearly touch his most sensitive area through his shorts. He's completely vulnerable now, his body betraying every innocent thought. You can see how hard he's trying to maintain some dignity. "What... what are you doing..."

You smirk mischievously, remembering your past. "You know what?" You murmur, your fingers still teasingly close to his groin. "There was a time when I used to watch you..." You pause dramatically, watching his reaction. He swallows hard, waiting for you to continue.

You see his expression turn curious and embarrassed at the same time. He knows you're about to reveal something he wouldn't expect. You lean in closer, whispering, "Remember when we were younger and you'd sneak girls into your room?"

Soobin's eyes widen in shock and humiliation, his face turning an even deeper shade of crimson. He gulps nervously, realizing where this conversation is heading. "Y-you saw that?" he stammers, squirming uncomfortably under your piercing gaze and teasing touch. "I thought..."

You cut him off by pressing a finger to his lips, your other hand continuing to tease along his inner thigh. "Shh, you don't need to explain. I know exactly what you were doing with those girls in your room," You whisper, your voice low and sultry.

You smile knowingly, standing up and grabbing Soobin's hand to pull him up from the desk. "Come on, let's go to the bed," You instruct, leading him to the bed and pushing him down onto it.

He falls back onto the bed, heart racing as you climb onto it with him. He props himself up on his elbows, watching you intently. His thighs unconsciously fall open, revealing his obvious bulge through his shorts. You crawl between his legs, looking up at him with hooded eyes.

Soobin's breath catches as you kneel between his spread thighs, his cock visibly throbbing against the fabric of his shorts. He watches you, a flicker of nervous excitement passing through his eyes as he realizes what's about to happen. "Are you...?"

"Shh..." You hush him softly,already reaching for the waistband of his shorts "Let me..." You teasingly tug at his shorts, slowly pulling them down. His hard length springs free, already leaking precum.

Soobin bites his lip to stifle a moan as his shorts are pulled down, his hard length bobbing free. He's so turned on, he's already leaking. He watches you with heavy-lidded eyes, his chest rising and falling rapidly. "You're going to...?"

You nod, giving him a sultry smile. You lean in, wrapping your hand around the base of his thick shaft. You give it a slow pump, smearing the precum around the head. Then, without warning, you take him into your mouth, sucking him deep.

A loud, pleasured gasp escapes Soobin as you suddenly take him into your mouth. His head falls back, eyes fluttering shut. He grips the bedsheets tightly, hips bucking slightly as you start to bob your head, sucking him off. "F-fuck."

His hips start moving in rhythm with your movements, fucking your mouth slowly. He's making those adorable whimpering sounds that somehow manage to be both cute and incredibly sexy. His hands move to your hair, gently guiding you. "Jesus..." He whispers. "You're so..."

You look up at him, his cock still buried in your mouth. You gaze up at him with lust-filled eyes, sucking harder and faster. His hands tighten in your hair, fucking your face harder. "Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck!" He chants, his voice rising in pitch.

You keep sucking him off, his cock hitting the back of your throat over and over. Suddenly, he thrusts deep and holds it there, his cock pulsing as he cums hard in your mouth. You swallow every drop, continuing to suck him gently as he rides out his orgasm.

As Soobin slumps back against the bed, panting heavily, his face flushed and glistening with sweat, you gently pull away, licking your lips with a satisfied smirk. His wide, doe-like eyes meet yours, filled with a mix of awe and exhaustion.

“You did so well for me, Soobin,” you whisper, brushing your fingers against his trembling thigh. His cheeks turn an even deeper shade of red, and he hides his face behind his hands, letting out a soft whine.

“D-Don’t say that,” he mutters, his voice shaky, but the way his lips curl into a shy smile betrays his embarrassment.

You chuckle, leaning in to kiss his flushed cheek. “You’re adorable. Now, let’s clean up before you get all shy on me again.”

With a teasing grin, you stand, leaving Soobin breathless and completely at your mercy, already anticipating the next time you’d make him lose control like this.

────୨ৎ────

soobin is so breedable frfr

taglist : @soobunni

[mournwatch]

Hi again. Long post incoming and I apologize. It's just because I have a lot of thoughts about this, as a trans guy coming at this issue from another perspective. I'm not trying to fight but sort of... sing in reprisal if that makes sense lol. I think that this data could really use the context of how many AO3 authors writing sexual content about transmasc/trans man people are part of our community themselves. Knowing who is invested in writing this content is a crucial part of understanding what these statistics mean. (It's my hypothesis that the majority are trans, but this is not something I have checked.) And if it is majority trans people, I believe what we are seeing is not the sexualization of trans men by chasers or fetishists, but people exploring their own sexuality through a safe outlet in a community where they feel comfortable to do so.

I understand that the actual concern is that regardless of who is writing this content, there is a worry about harm being done by fic perpetuating trans men being burdened with feminizing/ fetishizing stereotypes. We did talk about this before and I remember. I think the perception of this harm is complicated considering that fandom spaces are by nature subcultural, and in mainstream (progressive/liberal) culture lives the inverse stereotype of trans men being held to standards of traditional masculinity. Between these two stereotypes, we are all just trying to find comfort and authenticity and somewhere to see ourselves reflected back.

I struggle to find any representation of gay trans men at all in most mainstream media content, and that is also sparse and tends to focus on adolescents anyway. Like Annie Marks' trans son Ben in the TV series Good Girls. I think the only nonhet romance with a transmasc character that I can think of in a widely viewed TV series was Jim and Oluwande in Our Flag Means Death. It's a vastly underrepresented category when you consider fiction as a whole (which does matter when talking about fandom since these source materials are the primary motivator for fan fiction to exist to begin with.) And that makes me also feel like there's plenty of space for people to fill that void with their own creations and experiences. Especially original content! Something I absolutely love to see.

With this in mind, this is just speculation based on my own experiences, but I don't think this stereotype would be so prevalent if it didn't resonate with people on a deeper level. There is an allure to being irrefutably trans in every way, but still a valued and active player in the fields of romance and sex. And to simultaneously break down the way people need men in society to be but still be seen and respected as a man/transmasc regardless of how many of these signifiers get eroded away. Because in fiction, you can do that, and having that escape is powerful. But yeah, it's worth asking these authors directly about their own thoughts on it. I personally completely understand the demand for this, because the kind of characters that I would make to represent myself and my sexuality almost never make it to TV, film, or games.

It truly is a stressful position to be in to hear about how the very thing that helped me be more comfortable with myself, my body, and my sexuality is the site of pain for other people in the community that I love. And I think a lot of others dont mean to be a source of anguish either. I'm speaking up partially even because I want to soothe some anxieties that might exist about the intentions of the people who write this sort of content who are similar to myself, and put a friendly face to it in a way. I don't know if any of this helped because I know big walls of text are intimidating, but I hope something here was meaningful. Thank you for looking into this data in the first place.

AO3 statistics for trans men

I looked at three main categories of ao3 stats: number of explicit fics, ratio of M/M to M/F fics, and different types of sex listed under "additional tags" (vaginal, oral, etc). There are definitely more things that could be looked at but these are what I focused on.

Explicit rating

At the time I collected these numbers (they've likely already changed, fic authors publish stuff fast) there were 14,221,609 total fics on ao3. Of those, 2,569,913 fics were rated "explicit," or 18.1% of fics. There were 91,487 fics tagged "trans male character," and of those, 43,845 were rated "explicit." That's 47.9% of fics tagged "trans male character."

Nearly half of all fics featuring trans men are explicit, compared to about a fifth of fics overall. This indicates that trans men are heavily sexualized in fandom spaces.

M/M vs M/F fics

For fics in general, there were about 2.0 times as many M/M fics as M/F fics (6,822,062 and 3,439,600, respectively). For fics tagged "trans male character," there were about 6.0 times as many M/M fics as M/F (68,507 and 11,359, respectively).

When filtering for fics rated "explicit," the difference in ratios is even more significant. Explicit fics in general had about 2.2 times as many M/M fics as M/F (1,616,555 and 743,455), while explicit fics tagged "trans male character" had 8.6 times as many M/M fics as M/F (38,490 and 4,489).

Fandoms in general tend to lean more towards M/M relationships than M/F relationships, but this discrepency is much stronger when it comes to trans men, and I'm not sure what the reason for that is. Trans men are more likely to be non-heterosexual than heterosexual, but not necessarily more likely to be attracted to men than women (a lot of trans men are bisexual, pansexual, queer, etc).

Trans male characters are more commonly shipped with men than women, to a greater extent than the overall fandom preference for M/M ships over M/F, and I'm not really sure why, but it's definitely interesting.

Additional tags

For explicit fics tagged as "trans male character," the most popular additional tag by far is "vaginal sex" at 13,685 fics (31.2% of explicit fics tagged "trans male character"). Since this tag doesn't necessarily refer to the trans male character (it could refer to a cis woman being vaginally penetrated by a trans male partner, for example), I filtered for fics tagged as M/M. That resulted in 12,504 fics tagged "vaginal sex," or 32.5% of explicit M/M fics tagged "trans male character."

Overall, for explicit fics tagged as "trans male character," the most common additional tags referring to different types of sex were:

Vaginal sex, at 13,685 fics

Vaginal fingering, at 9,908 fics

Oral sex, at 9,147 fics

Cunnilingus, at 7,712 fics

Anal sex, at 4,590 fics

There definitely are trans men out there who enjoy vaginal penetration/fingering or receiving cunnilingus, and many of the fics tagged as such might be reflective of that fairly common* experience for trans men. That being said, there is a really heavy emphasis on vaginas and vulvas in explicit fics about trans men, and I find that uncomfortable.**

*I think? Unsure how common it actually is

**BEFORE PEOPLE START MISINTERPRETING ME: I'm not saying I'm uncomfortable with trans men who enjoy using their vaginas/vulvas for sex, or the existence of that kind of fic. I'm saying that fandoms in general tend to focus on trans men having vaginas to an extent that I'm uncomfortable with.

[doumadono]

sorry if this sounds rude 😢 but you haven’t been posting a lot of stories lately and that’s like the only thing you have to do? just post something it’s not that big of a deal? dygwim? i think fanfic writers especially on the anime side like to exaggerate things too much and if you don’t post then just deactivate? there’s no point in staying if you’re not gonna do anything but reblog silly content all the time? i don't understand how so many ppl can follow you when you are not even trying to be grateful and you only write not what people request but what you find interesting (which is not, like vampier Shigaraki???? viking Dabi???? so silly stupid ideas imo 😒)? whoever finds your writing or you as a person nice is either blind or stupid. and even if you write something chaptered it takes you literally months to update which isn't fair to people?? but I guess you don't care at all. you must be a freaking entitled white woman to treat otherz the way you do.

(again sorry, didn't mean to sound rude) 😔

When I first read your message, I was completely speechless for a minute or two, anon.

Firstly, it seems there’s a misconception about what fanfiction writers, or any creative individuals for that matter, have to do. Let me clarify something important: creativity isn’t a tap that one can simply turn on and off at will. It’s a complex, often unpredictable process that cannot be rushed without compromising the integrity and quality of the work. Quality stories often require research, plotting, editing, and revising before they’re ready to share. My creative process isn’t a fast food joint, nonnie, and I'm not here to serve up reheated ideas just to fill the silence.

My blog belongs to no one but me. I post what I want, when I want. As for the content of my stories, I believe every writer has the right to explore subjects that excite them the most - even if that means delving into topics or settings others may find odd, like vampires or vikings. My goal is to write stories I’m passionate about and then offer them freely to anyone who might find them entertaining. Some people will, others won’t, and that’s absolutely okay.

Contrary to your belief, I don't exist solely to churn out stories at the speed you dictate. I write on my own time and for my own pleasure. The notion that I should be a content machine is, frankly, laughable. Writing takes time, creative energy, and often real-life circumstances can slow the process. I post when I’m ready, and if that doesn’t align with your desired schedule, you’re free to unfollow or seek out other writers who update more frequently. Suggesting I deactivate because I’m not constantly posting or because I reblog content I enjoy is dismissive at best. I'm not a streaming service like Netflix, darling🙄

Calling me an entitled white woman or implying I’m ungrateful crosses a line. You know nothing of my background or personal circumstances, and bringing race or entitlement into the conversation is neither accurate nor constructive. My ethnicity or personal identity, whatever it may be, does not diminish the value of my creative output, nor does it affect my commitment to my followers. I appreciate every person who visits my page - whether they come to enjoy what I reblog, to read stories I post or to offer critique.

It's also laughable that you think my followers are stupid. Just because their tastes don't align with yours doesn't make them any less intelligent. Diversity in fandoms exists because creativity resonates differently with everyone, something you seem incapable of recognizing.

In the end, I won’t apologize for taking the time I need to create or for following my own interests - that’s part of being a writer. I do, however, expect basic respect in return. If you can’t extend that courtesy, I hope you'll block me, step away from my blog, and never interact with any of my content again.

With all this in mind, it's precisely why I've stopped taking regular requests. Last year, I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of requests and the rudeness in many messages, pushing me to my limits. That's why I've decided to concentrate on my own projects and only accept commissioned work.

I'm taking a few days off to gather my thoughts and concentrate on my writing projects.

[silhouettecrow]

365 Days of Writing Prompts: Day 240

Adjective: Encouraging

Noun: Catastrophe

Definitions for those who need/want them:

Encouraging: giving someone support or confidence, or supportive; positive and giving hope for future success, or promising

Catastrophe: an event causing great and often sudden damage or suffering, or a disaster; the denouement of a drama, especially a classical tragedy

[polterhaze]

Jimmy and Curly from mouthwashing are unironically such important comfort characters to me as crazy as it sounds. Their human portrayal does insane things to my brain as someone struggling with severe mental health issues and trauma.

I see different ugly/scary parts of myself in both of them. Stuff from my intrusive thoughts that scares me, the way system fails mentally ill, and such. So yeah, these two and their narrative regarding mental health and accountability matters a lot to me.

Also some of you are ableist as fuck in the ways you talk about Jimmy lmao. We can absolutely talk about his wrongs and the evil he has done without punching down people that hallucinate, are delusional or suffer from personality disorders.

EDIT: adding my tags because I am deathly afraid of being misunderstood

[heartepub]

pulling a page from kae's book (ha), annotations of annotations—because every day I think about how lucky I am to know someone I can trust to handle my stories with care, unpolished as they tend to be even as they are posted :"))) I feel like I yapped way too much and this isn't even all I have to say about SITO—yikes I will be very easily tempted to do a deep dive into SITO I'm not even joking nobody test me

this is one of the best pieces of work you will find not only on svtblr, but on the internet as a whole.

cried a lil actually!!!! it's such ridiculously high praise, but I'm happy that out of all my works (including the ones I will be writing in the future), it is this one that received these words. it's probably very early to be so sure, but I'm not joking when I say I wouldn't mind SITO to be the work I will be remembered by as heartepub.

this was a stellar device used for getting into the characters' head and describing them, and the eventual payoff of it just makes the story all the more heart-wrenching.

if I think too much about this praise from a comm major I fear I will start bawling—the screenplay format was a challenge insofar as it assumes a translation into a visual format (the film itself). so there are bits where you can get into the interiority of a character, but it's not as conducive of a format as prose conventionally is (at least if u consider, for example, tolstoy explaining his characters' thoughts vs what happens on the onscreen adaptations of anna karenina). still, the screenplay format plays with exploring what is captured and shared vs what remains privy only to the characters, which you also mentioned :')

having seungkwan and the MC discussing [shotgun] marriage afterwards feels like a smoke screen. 'look, the world may be ending, but there is a young couple asking hypothetical questions and falling in love.'

the images of walks home, shaky confessions, button exchanges. and the hints of what's happening, what's to come: mild dust storms, a barren world.

this was such a lovely way to put it, and I think of the tensions between literature and history, as far as stories of ordinary people are concerned (ie pachinko with "history has failed us, but no matter.")

the blight and its effects are lifted from interstellar—the famine that eventually resulted in finding other worlds to inhabit. the shohikigen mv got me thinking about setting all the d+ scenes after sk was in a spaceship, or smth like in love wins all mv where they are targeted, but I ended up with this universe, exploring the period from the start of blight to the resource wars (ie this is pre interstellar movie, set not in america but in south korea). hence that scene w the jokes about a spaceship w funky gravity as a nod to the source material

on button exchanges—it's a thing in japan where boys can give the second button of their gakuran as a way of confessing. probably the uniforms in this universe are different, but one of the reasoning for it in its original iteration is that the second button is closest to the heart. felt apt for this couple hehe

we've been privy to their romance so far, but this moment— what might be considered A Last Good Day, even, since this is d-4— isn't even perceivable in its entirety. there is only so much that we can see about their relationship on-/off-screen, both in a literal and metaphorical sense.

oh, the last good day as something not perceivable in its entirety got me. on tears of mokpo—surprisingly the melancholy of the song in the sense that it speaks in the voice of a heartbroken lover was not the forefront of my choice, but I adore how it was what you grasped from your reading. I think it's smth that would be especially melancholic retrospectively, when sk would have been rewatching the footage and remembering what the song was about.

in another vein, though, the main reason i chose tears of mokpo was to hint at the war—jeju had been just ceded, and though I didn't say it was japan, tears of mokpo was a song that had allusions to the harsh occupation korea faced as an annexed territory. alternatively to both the lovers reading and the revival of tensions w japan, it can be read just generally as a hint on conflict and the suffering that awaits, or just sk being an boomer soul and singing a trot song about mokpo since you're in mokpo

we look, and memorize, and catalogue.

we r back at didion (chz)—lists and inventories initially had a bigger role in SITO, but I like how looking and memorizing played a role at multiple points: the looking before the joke on shotgun marriages, before leaving for the trip, when mc would look at him for longer every morning anticipating the conscription, and at the final moments in d=0

and of course seungkwan looks and catalogues as he goes through his memories—both the ones in his mind and ones on film, and their interstices

i was struck between the eyes by the violence of that act [cutting any scenes], because this very much feels like the crux of reconstruction/memory/narrative. seungkwan is in charge of what will be remembered; how the MC will be remembered. i adore the ambiguity of whether the scenes reflect a stitched-together film or whether we're following along seungkwan's review. equally, there's just something gutting about this playing out in some perverted version of what MC and seungkwan joked about i.e. a world with electricity, where seungkwan had free reign to do what he wanted with all the gathered clips.

the blurred fiction and reality was largely inspired by the manga goodbye eri, which [spoiler-free summary] follows a boy who was asked to film his mother's final moments, and how the output led him to meeting eri and filming her as she went through her final moments as well. (pls read it the twist halfway through made me gasp). the screenplay format also was a bit of a nod to fujimoto's paneling being quite cinematic, in that it wouldn't look out of place in a storyboard (true not just for GE but for chainsaw man n look back as well!)

one of the hardest parts was deciding the order of the scenes—though I was set on it being nonlinear, and that there should be a mix between screenplay formats and regular prose, the sequencing was the hardest. the only one I was really set on was that there had to be a screenplay format scene before the line "Seungkwan replays the footage again". [Actually that conversation w Vernon is my favorite scene and one of the first ones I wrote; many things were structured around that so that it could stay in the final version haha]

I chewed a lot on a lot of things as I wrote. how memory can be altered by trauma. how every time you remember something, especially a traumatic memory, small details may have changed; until at your nth recollection there is another story entirely. how there is a line between being the subject of your memory and being subject to it. how building something back implies it was lost—and isn't that us with all our memories, as there is no way to live them again?

film as narrativization, and memory as self-narrativization, to a certain extent. the intentionality that both have, and some of the unintentionality of memory as well, or the unconscious ways trauma may shape it. hence: remembrance is reconstruction, reconstruction presupposes loss.

there is so much to love here, so much to adore in the stylistic, technical sense, but what comes to fore for me is this: viv's respect for the dead/dying.

as someone who has experienced loss, it bled into my writing, and I remember seeing a lot of myself in the vulnerabilities seungkwan and wonwoo but that's neither here nor there had. how deeply personal some parts of SITO were :') as you said—"how do we even begin to prepare for loss? and how do we live with the knowledge of how much we're about to lose?". some losses you grieve for before it even happened, others hit and you're left trying to fit your arm inside the stump that was left

the initial SITO draft had the death offscreen, hinted only through d- and d+ scenes. it was a nod to the greek tragedies (I am never beating the ancient greece nerd allegations)—despite having much death, they always occur offscreen, as a way of keeping the dying moments sacred (and not a spectacle for theater). so I'm glad and comforted to know that the death here, at least, was handled well.

a heart's a heavy burden. and you were seungkwan's heart, weren't you?

see gakuran trivia :) i swear this bowled me over. what a lovely lovely way to summarize the overarching narrative of his grief

i'd skipped over seungkwan's line here. twice as many stars as usual. let's look up together.

this scene came to me last, but i do think it was the best way to end the fic—also the only scene I teared up writing :') mentioning the two headed calf wasn't even in my original outline but! here we are and I'm glad it panned out like this. the two headed calf lore—that it barely lives past 24 hours, and the part about the museum in the poem itself—are all intentional details + allude to the conversation mc and sk had on what if our story makes it to some funky museum someday.

kae is right in that it presumably happens the night before d=0—but I present one more possible interpretation for extra pain w a side of blurred fiction and reality and memory:

it's the same cornfield as where mc dies. the stars in the screenplay are described as startlingly clear, with a low POV, but there's a bit previously (their convo after the sunset) where it was mentioned that the footage becomes grainy once there's not enough light. the good night as a goodbye. you don't know if the […] before sk's reply was just by chance, or because he knows it is a goodbye and he is reliving the memory (in his narrativization, is the "let's look up together" a final entreaty, and the "I'm tired" proof that it fails?), or if it s a made up memory entirely. :)

smth smth that one quote that goes "we find ways to cope, if not heal", etc.

a discussion i've had time and time again is whether a person can be complimented on their ability to write grief. is it a insult, to be told that you write about grief well, when it takes an acute understanding of loss to be able to pull it off? i haven't figured that out yet.

I don't have an answer for it either, but trust that I am honored if you say I write grief well, at this point in time. Perhaps when my own losses were fresh, the answer would have been different. There is a lot to chew on in conversations where trauma is often squeezed out for art. If not insult, it could definitely be something a person isn't quite ready to hear yet, if grief is still fresh. I feel this dilemma is one of those questions that is something you live with than find any concrete answers to (a la rilke). yet I think that writing grief well, for me, is being told I am doing justice to the memory of a person I still cherish :')

kae ohmygod . grief's familiar rooms genuinely making me vibrate rn cos . that whole bit of seungkwan walking through his home as it exists both in memory and film? just—yeah. bachelard's the poetics of space was among the things that held my hand as I wrote this (didn't reread it per se but I did remember the gist of topoanalysis). idk, something about how the house has embedded memories and emotions, and how the house you daydream in is often the house you have lost

ily and in return have one of my favorite poems on grief (since I already quoted cold solace in lrpd HAKDSDJ), as well as probably the song that not a lot of people know but I included in the recommended listening (paris paloma nation rise pls).

once again just . so so grateful to have befriended kae—I think that in the sea of trying to navigate caratblr as a baby account, feedback and friendship like this truly keeps me going and reminds me that there are people out there who hold my writing with so much tenderness :') in awe at just seeing how stories gain new life as they are received by different people, yet the reverberations of emotions persist as they move from one heart to another.

something in the orange

summary. remembrance is also reconstruction. reconstruction presupposes loss. a meditation on memory, narrative, and grief. and, of course, love. pairing. boo seungkwan x gn!reader genre/tags. ANGST, (semi-graphic) major character death, interstellar au-ish (just the blight), non-linear narrative, blurred fiction and reality if you squint (sorry I reread goodbye eri while writing), unbeta’d (mistakes are my own) wc. 5k suggested listening. love wins all, iu // 消費期限, seventeen // triassic love song, paris paloma // eight, iu prod. & ft. suga // yawn, seventeen // something in the orange, zach bryan (or niall's cover)

notes. midnight in korea now; happy birthday kwannie! this is very experimental, and admittedly i'm not fully satisfied w it, but I didn't know how to change it atp. sorry boo, it's your birthday but i give you pain. as always, reblogs are appreciated and come say hi if you're so inclined 🫶🏼

D-17 EXT. SEOUL TRAIN STATION – KOREA – DAWN The sun rises over the ruins of Seoul Station. The air is clear of smoke and fog. A shot of the sun peeking over the heap of steel, glass, and cement that once served as the station’s framing. The train tracks run to the far horizon, to the left and right of the frame. Pan to YOU (young-looking though age is ambiguous, former writer, love of SEUNGKWAN’S life) squinting at an old, battered map of Korea’s train lines, and a compass. You’re wearing battered jeans that are slightly too big, boots, and a sturdy leather jacket. Behind the camera, SEUNGKWAN (male, young-sounding though age is ambiguous, former video producer) narrates.                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)         BOO-log number 529. We’re now figuring out how to get to Mokpo. Neither of us are any good with directions, but my partner decided that we could try following train lines since the none of them are running anyway. You look up at the sound of his voice, noticing the camera.

                YOU             (exasperated, but fond)         Kwannie, are you filming again? We have 30 batteries, but not all of them might be working. You might need to save battery and memory if you want to video the view of Jeju Island.                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)         It’s okay, I really just wanted to record us before we start. Once we’re walking, I won’t use the camera as much. And I have twenty other SD Cards!                 YOU             (not surprised)         Okay, we’ll definitely figure something out for the batteries, then.                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)         Yeah. Now— Seungkwan’s voice changes to a more formal tone, as though he were imitating a newscaster.                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S., CONT’D)         What are your thoughts as we start our newest adventure? The camera catches your grin. You follow along, changing your tone to an impression of those backpackers in TV documentaries.                  YOU         Um, I’m excited to see Jeju-do, even from afar, because it’s part of Seungkwannie, and we had our honeymoon there. As long as we’re careful, I know we can do it. If we’re lucky, we may even find someone who can bring us across. Beat. You look ever so slightly awkward in front of the camera.                 YOU (CONT’D) Wait, here, give me the camera. I’ll record you this time. The footage shakes, briefly showing a tiled floor, then train tracks, before panning to a blurry face. The camera shakes for a moment before the image comes into focus, revealing a beautiful young man with dark hair. Seungkwan does a better job at the “interviewer voice”, but you’re no slouch either.                 YOU (O.S., CONT’D)         So, Seungkwan-ssi, what are your thoughts as we embark on a new adventure?                 SEUNGKWAN             (genuine)         I think it’s about to be wonderful.

D–2183

When the Blight started, both you and Seungkwan were in high school. Though only having known you since that start of your third year, you’ve quickly wormed his way into his life—visiting his house, having dinners with your family, and he even managed to force you into joining the badminton club with him.

Bees now officially extinct, the news proclaims, an effect of the ravaging of nearly all plant life. Asia in particular has suffered; the widespread rice shortages due to it becoming impossible to grow resulted in widespread famine. The extinction of plants used for feed, made food prices across the board skyrocket. Corn, it seems, is the only crop that can resist the Blight—and the rest of the world now has to adjust its staple food to mimic the old Americas.

“Seungkwan.” You prod his ribs.

“Mm?”

“What would you do if the world ends tomorrow?”

“Marry you.” You laugh, until you realize he isn’t joking.

“What?” Your voice pitches to an incredulous squeak.

“Marry you,” he repeats.

“Why, though?”

“I always wanted to get married,” Seungkwan replies, after a moment of pondering. “And if the world ends tomorrow, as of today you’d be my best candidate for marriage.” 

For a moment, you just look at him, eyes tracing over his features. Your steady gaze makes him shift, uncomfortable, wondering if he said something wrong. Eventually, you shrug, though there’s a twinkle in your eye as you quirk a smile at him.

“While I don’t support shotgun marriages, I’d make an exception for you and the end of the world.”

His breath catches, heart stuttering as he tries to parse your answer in his head. “Wha—you—”

“Come on, Seungkwan, don’t dish it if you can’t take it,” you groan, flopping sideways to plop your head against the armrest. Your legs tilt as you do, your foot brushing against his calf. He tries not to jolt at the contact.

“I’m sorry!” He pouts, trying to calm the uneven fluttering of his heart. You laugh, shifting your lean in the opposite direction, so your head lands on his lap. Despite having done it a thousand times before, he traces softly the way your hair falls, admiring the way its color contrasts with the color of his pants.

(Looking back, he’ll think about how that day changed things, even just by a little bit; how his gazes grew longer, noticing more how the sunsets glowed against your face as you walked home together every day, painting you golden. How you’d both gotten used to creative ways of shelter when mild dust storms come, thanking your luck each time that you had gotten home before it truly began.

He’ll think about how, a year from that day, he kissed you as he walked you home for the last time before you enter your separate colleges, swallowing the teasing took you long enough from your lips as he finished his shaky confession. 

He’ll think of how you exchanged second buttons like those characters from that anime you liked did, and the quiet promises to make things work even as the world seems to turn more barren than both of you can follow.

He’ll think of how three years from then, he gets on one knee, to your tearful yes and salty kisses. Your small marriage, with just your families, batchmates, and some professors, followed by a beautiful honeymoon in Jeju. Despite it all.

None of these decisions had anything to do with the end of the world, but you and Seungkwan made them, nonetheless.)

D-9 INT. A TENT – A TRAIN STATION SOMEWHERE BETWEEN SEOUL AND MOKPO – NIGHT The footage is grainy due to the lack of proper lighting; the camera shakes as Seungkwan seems to be trying to balance it on something. The tent is quite cramped; the inside is sparse, with only two sleeping bags and your knapsacks—Seungkwan’s with two camping pans attached with a carabiner.  The leather jacket you were wearing is now resting on one of the bags. You have both swapped your sturdy day pants for more comfortable, albeit worn, sweatpants. Out of context, it looks like a vlog filmed by two campers on a hike. The camera steadies as Seungkwan moves away. He moves to sit beside you. There is an easy intimacy as you thread your fingers together, almost mindlessly.                 SEUNGKWAN         BOO-log number 531. We passed by a sign that said Nonsan. That means we’re probably halfway there.                 YOU         We made progress better than expected, didn’t we? I estimated at least two weeks.                 SEUNGKWAN             (nodding, excited)         I thought the train tracks would have been ruined, since the stations are, but they’re surprisingly reliable.                 YOU         It’s true; of course there were times when we had to find our way around the tracks, or climb above anything that fell down over it, or go through some cornfields, but mostly, it seems we’ve been lucky.                 SEUNGKWAN         By the way—everyone, it looks like we’re in a tent in the middle of nowhere, doesn’t it? Don’t be fooled, we set this up in a convenience store.                 YOU             (laughing)         You ruined it! Now we can’t be funky backpackers with a tent on the train tracks.                 SEUNGKWAN             (playfully lecturing)         It’s good to be truthful, you know. What if kids watch this someday? We have to be good moral people.                 YOU             (with the remnants of a laugh)         Okay, okay. We set this up in the Seven Eleven inside one of the train stations. Abandoned, obviously. We made it in right before the dust storm hit.                 SEUNGKWAN         Another good news today is that we managed to barter something for food.                 YOU         Yeah. This one engineer or something—I think he’s a veteran? But we saw him tinkering on his porch and offered a trade, his corn for our cables, and now we have dinner.                 SEUNGKWAN             (joking)         It’s not jokbal, but it’ll do, I suppose.                 YOU             (groaning)         Oh my God, what I’d give for some jokbal right now. With bossam. And soju. SEUNGKWAN         I’ll be dreaming of that tonight.                 YOU         Anyway, everyone, we’ll end the log here, so we have enough batteries for a nice long BOO-log at Mokpo. Both you and Seungkwan wave your corn (dinner) at the camera. You reach forward, covering the lens with your palm. The clip ends.

D–20

Seungkwan walks around the house. He’s doing his last checks, checking between what’s in his bag and what’s in the rooms to parse if he’s missed anything—batteries, your wallets, matches, passports, birth certificates, first aid kit, water bottles, toothbrushes, all the canned food in the pantry, the sturdiest kitchen knife you both owned (wrapped in two layers of cloth), the Swiss knife he was gifted a few years back, flashlights, a whistle, and all the carabiners and hard cash you had were already packed.

He finds you in your shared bedroom. There are a bunch of wires there, evidently cut from various appliances. You’ve wrapped the cables as neatly as you could manage. On the bed, you’ve laid all your dry-fit shirts and the sturdiest pairs of pants you both have. Then, from the dresser, you’ve collected the most expensive jewelry the both of you own—well, all of them, but you separated the expensive ones in another pile. He points to the latter.

“What’s that for?”

“If cash fails, maybe gold won’t. I don’t know, just in case the currency collapses. But they’re worth bringing all the same.” Also, you hold out copies of both your health insurances. He opens his knapsack and quickly stuffs them in the same place as your other documents.

“Last resort kindling?” Seungkwan offers, showing the cluster of documents in his compartment. The remark draws a quick breath of a laugh from you.

“Probably.”

“How about the wires?”

“You never know when we’ll need some emergency engineer bullshit; plus, if it comes to it, the wires will probably be better barter material. Before you ask,” you hold up one hand, “I edited a zombie novel a few years back. But if that kid was pulling out of his ass, we’re fucked.”

Despite your disclaimer, the no-nonsense, matter-of-fact way you’re handling the situation makes something settle in him, as though all he needed was an anchor amid the chaos. He pulls you close, placing a kiss to your temple. The tension in your body melts as you press against him. For a moment, Seungkwan just holds you. A temporary anchor before you need to move.

Turning to him, you offer a quick peck to his lips before holding up his trusted camera bag, worn as it is. “Bring it,” you tell him firmly. “We need a little bit of happiness. Get all the SD cards you have, too. In case we just never leave Mokpo. It’s small enough to stuff in our pockets.”

Seungkwan can’t help it; he grabs your face and kisses you. The camera bag sits between you awkwardly, but he doesn’t care. He savors this, the familiar taste of it, the contours of your face that his hands have long since memorized. You pull away, but not before kissing his lips again, then his nose. He’ll never quite get used to the way you look at him, as though there is something new to love each time.

“We’re gonna be okay, my heart.”

D-4 EXT – A LONG STRETCH OF BEACH – MOKPO, SOUTH KOREA – SUNSET The camera captures a breathtaking sunset. The sky is a wash of oranges and pinks, the clouds purple yet lined in the light of the sun. Mokpo is on the southwest side of Korea; the view of the sunset is particularly beautiful, as the sun sinks down into the sea. There are faint silhouettes of islands both near and far from the shore. The waters are tranquil, and there are no sounds except for the steady wash of the waves on the shore.

The shot slowly pans to you. Your expression is tranquil, despite the dirt and tears across your clothes.                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)             (soft, so soft you don’t hear)         Pretty.                 YOU             (clueless)         Hm?                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)         Nothing. Can you see Jeju Island from here?

He already knows where it is.                 YOU             (laughing softly, a little sad)         To be honest, I don’t know which piece of land I’m seeing is Jeju. A finger appears at the edge of the screen.                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)         There, that’s Jeju. Right behind the blob that looks like a hat.                 YOU             (squinting)         Oh! Right, that’s what it looks like. Beat.                 YOU (CONT’D) The view is beautiful. It’s been so long since I’ve seen the sea. Seungkwan hums the opening to Tears of Mokpo. You don’t recognize it until he softly begins to sing the opening lyrics.                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)             (singing)         사공의 뱃노래 가물거리면…                 YOU             (laughing outright)         That doesn’t have anything to do with Jeju! He sings louder just to spite you. You playfully roll your eyes. Bending down, you unlace your boots and take off your socks, sinking your bare feet into the sand with barely-concealed relish. Seungkwan stops singing as he knows what you’re about to do.                 SEUNGKWAN         Careful; don’t step on anything sharp. As you move forward, the camera follows you. It is revealed that the beach is not so picturesque. The sea seems to have dried up some, and even here, bits and bobs of life float on the surface and linger in the sand.

There are the usual culprits: plastic bags, empty cans of alcohol and soda, and snack wrappers. Yet visible also on the camera are the following: bullet shells, shrapnel, a chair leg, a ragged pillow, and a cracked desktop monitor. As all this is visible, the camera centers on you laughing, splashing in the saltwater and enjoying the breeze in your hair.                 YOU             (calling; audio faint)         Kwannie! Come here! A beat. The camera zooms in on your face.                 YOU         Kwannie, come on! Hurry up!                 SEUNGKWAN             (proximity makes his voice loud)         Okay! A rustle. The camera is laid down, cloth (Seungkwan’s jacket) obscuring part of the footage. After a nudge, the cloth disappears from frame. Another figure, barefoot, joins you.

D–119

Jeju has officially been declared abandoned, lost for some other country to use as farmland. The radio announced the treaty ratification today. Seungkwan is a spectre around the house, listless and heartbroken. 

Months ago, when the conflict began to escalate in earnest, he began whatever arrangements he could to ensure his family was safe, moving them as near to the farming areas as he could manage and encouraging them to share whatever techniques they knew could help former cities now learning how to farm. The news does not make the sharp pang of grief dull any less.

He is at the age when he is to receive a conscription notice; Korea has since shifted its system to split soldiers into those who will either fight on the front lines of the Resource Wars, or serve by tilling the land and ensuring that there is enough corn for the population, however dwindling. There is no guarantee on which one he is to get, even if he did register himself as head of household (and should hypothetically be assigned the latter), but he is due to receive news in a few months’ time.

The promise of the notice hangs over both your heads. In the mornings, you spend ten more minutes just looking at him, as though you were memorizing the shapes and contours of his features. At night, he curls into you more tightly than before; once you’d have complained that it was too hot, now, you simply wrap your arms around him and let him sink his face into your hair.

“Hey, Seungkwannie.”

“Mm?”

“Let’s go on a trip.” The hand mindlessly running through your hair falters. 

He pulls away, looking at you with a furrowed brow. You keep your head low, pressed against his chest. “What?”

“Let’s go south. Yeosu, Mokpo, whatever, just near the beach, as close as possible to Jeju. Just…just see it, even from afar.” At his silence, you barrel on. “If we walk enough, we can make it in two weeks—a week if we can hitch a ride with one of those crop trucks or something—and then just another two weeks back, if we don’t settle in Mokpo outright.” 

“Food—”

“I can pack us as much as I can. We’ll need to ration, and possibly trade, but we can do it. The treaty is in place, and it’s most dangerous up north right now. Going south isn’t as big of a risk, and the weather has been looking good lately.” Finally looking up, you cup his cheek, tracing the skin with your thumb. He presses his lips to your wrist.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to Kwannie. I just thought you might want to say goodbye.”

“I…” he falters. It’s tempting. Unbearably so, despite the nagging at the back of his head that it would be better to leave it at that, keep his memory limited to the days you spent there dodging dust storms and falling in love. He doesn’t know how much it’s changed. How much the ocean might have even dried up. He doesn’t know if he can stomach to see it. “Give me a few days to think about it?”

“Of course, Kwannie. All the time you need.”

D+29

Seungkwan’s life has been demarcated into two. Before, and after. He goes through the motions of the government-run fields: waking up, clocking in, eating breakfast, tilling the soil, weeding, lunch, the occasional drills in case they were still expected to fight, transporting corn from one warehouse to another, dinner, sleep. Repeat.

Not a lot of people are here; many prefer to till fields they own, or collectively own; for once, agrarian reform straightened itself out at the start of the Blight. Yet with the dwindling population—slowly withering family trees—those lands acquired by the government grew.

Sometimes, Seungkwan thinks of home. He was lucky enough that the head of the center, Seungcheol, was kind enough to register his name as part of the deployed cadets under his supervision, despite the incomplete paperwork he had when he stumbled into his field, frail and dehydrated from lack of food and water.

Home remains now only in his memory, and in every replay of the Christmases he captured on camera. The soil is more unforgiving than before; it distracts from the loneliness.

EXT. A SMALL FIELD, WEDDING VENUE – DAY The wedding is humbly decorated with dried corn leaves fashioned into flowers, as there are no real ones anymore (none within the budget, anyway). Guests came as they are, though everyone has made an effort to clean up more than usual. It is currently the reception, and the speakers are playing a quick beat. The guests are dancing, laughing, and cheering, though their movements are blurry and almost smeared onscreen (step-printing effect). In the middle of it, you stand, the only still figure in the frame. You’re smiling softly to someone behind the camera, very clearly in love. Cut to Seungkwan, in a similar position, the guests around him dancing as but blurs. He is wearing a similar expression. He begins to walk forward.

You meet in the middle, still the only clear figures to the camera, and begin to dance.  As though the dance were a spell, the surroundings cut to: INT. A MEDIUM-SIZED LIVING ROOM – NIGHT EXT. SEOUL STATION, IN RUINS – DAY INT. YOUR TENT (MAGICALLY ENLARGED) – NIGHT EXT. LONG STRETCH OF BEACH (UNPOLLUTED) – MOKPO – SUNSET Hold this image for a moment. The sea laps at your ankles. The bottom of both your garments brushes against the saltwater, but neither of you seem to notice. Both you and Seungkwan close the gap to meet in a tender kiss. Suddenly, cheers. You part, and are back to: EXT. A SMALL FIELD, WEDDING VENUE – DAY The newly-married couple smiles and waves. The bottom of their garments are damp.

D+167

It seems surreal to have all the batteries he wants, and even a computer where he can replay all his footage—more than 4000 hours’ worth of it. It took a few months of work to earn enough credits and rank to access it, but Seungkwan pursued the goal with single-minded purpose. There is enough electricity in this center to run a few computers, and Seungkwan is its most regular customer, painstakingly going through each clip on the dozens of SD cards he has.

For footage so far back, from when you had just been married, there are parts where he no longer remembers what happened after the clips end. They remain in his memory as but colored ghosts, warm-tinged with nostalgia. Cabinets that would never be opened again, now filled, in his dreams, with infinities.

The house of his memories blurs with the house of his oneirism. In both, he subsists on sleep and daydreams. But memory will betray; it won’t tell him if the house he remembers has been altered by each remembrance. So he watches his videos. He walks through his house, now only alive in video and reconstructed by memory. He sees himself and he sees you, in all the different iterations you both were. Wonders if he could stitch both into narrative. Wonders if he could even bear to cut any scenes. He’s never thought about the violence of that act until now.

Inventories do not just catalogue possession; they also measure the potential of loss. It was a quote from one of your writing workshops, discussed over a late dinner. You could still afford some meat then; Seungkwan had saved just enough for a small slab of cured pork, which you would cut tiny slabs from for both of you to enjoy before bed.

He has five minutes left of his designated slot with the computer.

Seungkwan watches, and he catalogues.

D=0

Seungkwan only remembers in flashes—a gunshot. A scream. It’s only when he replays that moment in his mind that he realizes it was his voice. Barely a thud as your body is cushioned by the corn leaves. Dark red liquid, somehow both grainy and slippery on his hands as he drags you into the thick of the field, away from the path, trying desperately to stem the blood while minimizing your trail. Until finally, he collapses, feet unable to bring him a step further.

More flashes—your eyes, only ever kind. Even at your last moments. The way you hold his hand and place it over the pocket you keep his SD cards, as though reminding him one last time. The way your eyes search his face, first desperate, and then resigned. The way he leaned in when you opened your mouth, to hear your final words, only to feel the ghost of chapped lips brush against his ear. The gush of blood that dribbles past your mouth that tells him you’re gone.

(The Resource Wars felt like more a backdrop than anything else; you had come this far without any altercation. Yet even as you screamed that you were not thieves, just travellers, the gunshot rang. 

The cornfields weep with him as he leaves you behind, SD cards clutched in his bloody hand.)

D–4

TIME CUT TO: It is twilight, now. The camera is trained on the horizon. The sun has fully set, and night is beginning to settle in the sky. Only the barest hints of orange remain. The footage has already become slightly grainy due to the lighting. Neither you nor Seungkwan are on the camera. Instead, voices are heard while the darkness arrives. It is not evident whether the footage was taken accidentally, or on purpose.                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)             (softly)         I’m glad we came. Really, even if we couldn’t get to Jeju. I’m glad. I’m glad it’s with you.                 YOU (O.S.)             (just as softly)         I’m glad too, my heart. You filmed the whole sunset, didn’t you? Start to finish?                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)         Yeah. Yesterday and today. I have so much footage that I don’t know what to do with.

Breath.                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S., CONT’D)         Actually, that goes for all the BOO-logs. Even the ones from high school and college.                 YOU (O.S.)             (surprised)         You never tried editing them?                  SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)         I have, but what then? There are hardly any theaters now. Nowhere else to post. And electricity is expensive.                 YOU (O.S.)         Okay, but if we both die, what do you think’s gonna happen to this camera? Seungkwan is many things; a prideful badminton player (before the Wars stopped sports events), a videographer, casual vlogger, and a corn field worker. You are also many things; an editor (before your company closed from too little employees), author, copywriter, and occasional tiller.

Both of you still enjoy nurturing sparks of creativity when they come.                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)         Mm. someone picks it up and it gets immortalized in a post-war museum. And our videos will be a special feature.                 YOU (O.S.)         Oooh. And the war museum would be on a spaceship, with funky gravity and new plants and meat the astronauts domesticated from a different planet.                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)         And there’s a new jokbal. Call that out of this world delicious.                 YOU         Stop! Despite the terrible joke, you both laugh, then let the conversation drift into comfortable silence. The sun has fully set. Nothing much can be discerned visually from the footage.                 YOU (O.S., CONT’D)         Hey, Seungkwannie.                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)         Mm?                 YOU (O.S.)         If you had the chance, like computers and steady electricity, would you edit all the BOO-logs into a short film?                  SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)             (skeptical, but thinks about it seriously)         What would the plot even be? A married couple traveling to Mokpo, dodging dust storms and chasing each other through cornfields? Watching the stars at night?                 YOU (O.S.)             (earnest)         Yeah! Or, y’know, make it semi-autobiographic, like two lovers wanting to visit where they first had their honeymoon. Or maybe I’m sick and you want to take me to the sea one last time? The footage earlier could fit with that storyline.                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)         Don’t even say that!                 YOU (O.S.)             (laughing softly, apologetic)         Sorry, sorry. But if you do make a short film, I want to be the first to see it. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you work.                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)         What about you, then? Would you write a book about us?                 YOU (O.S.)         Oh, definitely. And you’d be the first to read it. The footage cuts.

D+182

Seungkwan replays the footage again. Beside him, Vernon fiddles with a pen.

“What do you think about making this a short film?” Seungkwan asks. 

Vernon stops. 

Seungkwan may be their newest addition, but the rest of the crew has grown protective. He brings light to their conversations, effortless in his ability to entertain and bring laughter. Mingyu asks him of his favorite foods, especially the ones he misses from Jeju, even if recreating them is near impossible. Seungcheol reprimands anyone who tries to bully him into giving up his share of rations. Junhui has begun to joke more, noticing how Seungkwan seems to be particularly into his humor. 

Yet everyone recognizes the sadness that still clings to his heels.

Vernon looks, for a long moment, at the monitor, frozen with a picture of a smiling face he’s never known—never personally, only ever through the screen and Seungkwan’s stories, always shared in quiet whispers in the privacy of his room.

He knows, though. Knows that this person was real. They loved, and were loved. It speaks in how the camera follows whoever is in the frame. The cuts of certain clips, as though either the person behind the camera joined their partner or had a moment that could not be captured in film. Most of all, it was the way whoever was in the frame would, without fail, smile at the person behind it. 

“I think,” he replies, choosing his words deliberately, “that you are in a unique position to dictate how someone is to be remembered by those who never knew them. And…” he hesitates, wondering if two months of these quiet conversations is still too little to be so candid with his friend, especially when talking of loss.

So, so much loss.

Seungkwan answers that question for him. “It’s okay, Vernon-ah.”

“…Well, I just wanted to say that it’s a burden to bear, is all.”

EXT – A CORNFIELD UNDER THE STARS – NIGHTTIME The stars have emerged, visible in all their glory. After the start of the Blight, when the population began to dwindle, electricity and many other resources became scarce. Much of the light pollution that was once a problem has disappeared. Brilliant dots twinkle overhead. To you and Seungkwan, it could pass for the Milky Way. The POV seems to be at a low point; stalks of corn are visible at the edges of the frame. Yet the stars are bright, captured exceedingly well.

You’re softly speaking aloud Laura Gilpin’s The Two-Headed Calf. It was one of the poems you memorized in college, as a creative writing major. YOU (O.S.)             (as though from far away)         Tomorrow when the farm boys find this freak of nature, they will wrap his body in newspaper and carry him to the museum.

But tonight he is alive and in the north field with his mother. It is a perfect summer evening: the moon rising over the orchard, the wind in the grass. And as he stares into the sky, there are twice as many stars as usual. Long beat.                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)         Twice as many stars as usual…let’s look up together.                 YOU (O.S.)         I see the stars, my heart, but I’m tired…

A breath hangs in the air. Some rustle of cloth, as though someone had adjusted so you fit together. A soft sigh.                 YOU (O.S.) Good night, Kwannie.                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)         …Good night, darling. End.

note. are the screenplay bits from the short film? the raw sd card clips? his memories? distorted memories? guess we'll never know. nonlinear bc grief is nonlinear. pls tell me your thoughts (even/esp if u didn't get the story lol) take care of yourselves always <3

[corviiids]

complaining about creative writing post

[irellia]

are people aware of the fact that Mizu is not canonically in any way shape or form.............. queer....bi.....

(quick note here because reading comprehension stays dead and people may not read the tag novel: I want bi Mizu! I hc her as sapphic! I love sapphic Mizu)

[reminiscentrainclouds]

The Dragon Prince season 6 spoilers below! Just a bunch of my thoughts because boy do I have a lot of them!

I still can't believe the way that whole switcheroo trick with the pearl backfired on Callum. It was so painful to watch because I knewwww it was going to happen the minute he decided to carry the fake down there by himself. Rayla was literally offering to go down there with him!! It would have been so easy for both of them to go down there just in case! I mean, the fake and the pearl both looked exactly the same; it would be easy to make a simple mistake and confuse them, so you'd want to make extra sure you were taking the right one with you!! Callum's confidence is very admirable, but considering he was so worried about it, he really should have been more cautious!

I just really like the way that part of the plot played out. This whole season had soooo much irony in it, but especially with this whole thing. The second it was revealed to be the fake pearl, I was like, "Yippee I was right!!" But also, "They're doomed." Because!! It's left completely unattended!!

And then Sol Regem started attacking Katolis and I was like NOOO IT'S ALL COMING TOGETHER. Although at first I was thinking it was gonna get like, smashed or something in the rubble and that would release Aaravos but man. MAN. There was so much more in store, that was a wild ride... Don't even get me started on Viren's sacrifice. I hate him and I think he got what he deserved, both in terms of what he lost and the crushing guilt he felt, but man. I was really sympathizing with him ever since he got revived, and that last scene with him hurt.

But it was a satisfying and fitting conclusion for him. He had intended on swearing off dark magic and attempting to right his wrongs, but instead, after a lifetime of sacrificing other lives for magic, he ends things by sacrificing his own life, which was already stolen after being revived anyway, to help save the people of Katolis. Sucks that he ultimately was convinced to use dark magic again, as if it was something he could never really escape, as if he never really learned anything, but the big difference was that he was sacrificing no other life than his own here. And he did help people. I'm probably massively misinterpreting everything because my interpretations are always kind of off...but he's just a really interesting character.... He made a lot of bad decisions but I understand his motivations, and I feel like he was really quite Doomed By The Narrative, pushed into a corner and faced with two equally bad decisions in many cases. He's the kind of bad guy who I really wish could have had the opportunity of not being a bad guy, y'know?

Aaravos is much worse and much less redeemable to me, but I feel a similar way about him. Like I Get It. Can't relate to what appears to be his thirst for revenge but I can understand. Learning about what happened to his daughter makes me angry on his behalf! The fact that all this had to happen in the first place hurts a lot! All this could really be blamed on that council of Startouch Elves, for what seemed like an extremely unnecessary punishment for his daughter. Although I'm curious about what more information we might get on the whole cosmic order and everything, I don't know. Taking Aaravos's child like that was unnecessarily cruel though; regardless of how serious of a crime or whatever giving humans magic was, there's no way she had bad intentions, and it's not like killing her would reverse what happened. AUGH anyway. What a season.

[thewhizzyhead]

if I said eisa davis' influence in making lmm actually write something rather radically progressive has subsequently inspired me to return to my roots of actually fucking thinking of making radically progressive musicals after a 3-year long hiatus in doing so, then what-

[creativenicocorner]

“Ah,” he said, gently holding one leaf between thumb and forefinger, “I’m causing you to do extra work aren’t I?” Reigen gently tapped the cigarette against the ashtray he had placed tentatively on his chest, before taking another lazy drag, “Please bare with me a little longer.”

From my Serirei fic  Cold Green Tea and Colder Feet

[hpowellsmith]

One of the creators of The Wreck posted about the difficulty of making a game that doesn't do well commercially: Why the hell do we even bother making indie games?

Many studios don't complete their first game. If they do, many don't manage to make another one, even if it gets a lot of attention. Florent writes powerfully about the experience of making The Wreck and the personal reasons to keep going in the face of adversity.

Making games is freaking hard, you're heroes and you deserve to feel good about yourselves and your work. So my advice would be to keep a list of the reasons YOU have that feel more personal and true, and get back to them when things go south and you feel like all those efforts we put in this passion of ours might not be worth it.

I have a lot of interactive fiction mutuals on here because that's what I talk about - what makes you keep doing what you're doing?

[pastafossa]

hey pasta! I don’t know if someone has asked this already but is TRT gonna go into Born Again or end at season 3?

So that's where I'm not sure! The current outline is as such:

All Major Arcs (including Cyrus James/Project Beagle fallout arc and psychic abilities arcs): scheduled to wrap up a bit after the end of S3 so that Matt and Jane's arcs/development neatly dovetail together. This will mark the official end of TRT's main fic.

Special Additional Arcs (chaptered fics not attached to main fic but still TRT canon, taking place after end of main fic) in no particular order: Endgame/The Snap arc, Spider-Man: NWH arc, Spoiler Removed arc, tentative She Hulk Shenanigans arc.

Oneshot Arcs: various domestic fluff arcs, interactions with major MCU events, a 'What Their Life Is Like When Old Cause GD It They're Going To Live To Old Age And Will Have Rocking Chairs' arc, a SINGLE take it or leave it 'What If?' fic of something funny with a possible daughter cause damn I had this idea for a hilarious scene and it won't leave me alone

Now, those are what are planned in the outline, and the main event with Project Beagle tie-ins and plotlines and all of that is something I'm still planning to end just after S3 because I really do want to have a finish line for that, and I feel like dragging that all out for Born Again wouldn't work for the... events that are going to happen, without saying too much. Once that's wrapped up, that's when you're going to see TRT finally marked as 'complete' on AO3, though there'll be more fics set in that universe (see special additional arcs and oneshot arcs) that I'll mark as in the Devil and Hound series along with drabbles on tumblr.

Once we're past that official endpoint and those special arcs, though, things get fluid and murky since when I was outlining all the major plotlines, there was no Daredevil: Born Again, nor was Matt even in the MCU officially (which is why Spider-Man pops in way sooner in TRT than he meets Matt in the MCU) and I specifically set up Jane's plotline to bookend with Matt's so their growth twined together and they both finally found peace around the same time. Outside that, I'd planned some shorter chaptered stories in the series post-mainline TRT like the Snap arc that I may now adjust (since it sure is looking like Matt was left behind for the snap) but nothing on the level of TRT's main plotline which is absolutely massive and took me years to fully outline and construct before coming back from hiatus in 2021 and pumping out chapters (Happy six year anniversary to TRT on Sept 15!).

ALL THAT BEING SAID.

I do have plans to write stuff for TRT's take on Born Again because I'm 100% married to writing for Matt at this point and there's no possible way I won't want to do something once I'm being fed Charlie!Matt scenes again. I'm not sure what those plans are just yet - I kinda wanna wait and see what happens in Born Again in case it sparks something. But I also want to make sure that no matter what I do, there's some sort of strong original plotline so that, much like mainline TRT, we'll be able to weave in and out of canonical events (especially since things like the Snap or a wedding or Jane and Matt's friendship with Peter will alter canon). I don't think I'm going to do something quite as huge as TRT's main plotline again, mostly because it takes a TON of time and work, and I'm planning to take the original TRT elements and morph them into an original series fit for publishing (different enough that I can leave TRT up for everyone to read, cause at this point the fic's part of DD fandom culture and I have no plans to take that away) which will also take a ton of time. But I'm definitely rattling my brain around, looking at different plotlines I could do knowing what I know about the ending, hunting for loose ends or canonical threads that I can weave in with TRT's world and create something new!

Then again, I never would have said I'd make something as massive as TRT before I started, either, so who knows.

So in short: YES, there will be TRT events for Born Again even if it's not as elaborate as TRT! I just have no idea what those will be yet. Fortunately, TRT mainline's only a little over halfway done so I've got time to plan!

[eldritch-spagettios-on-horseback]

so I had an idea. And it's been at least three months since I decided to post it here so I may as well get on that.

So like

Pokemon mystery dungeon protagonist gets turned into a Zorua (partially for plot reasons and partially because they are my favorite pokemon methinks), and keeps their memories.

Now due to the innate Zorua illusion powers, keeping their memories, and knowing the back of their hand like the back of their hand (heh) (but of course, they know their whole body not just hands)

Well, they just create an illusion of their body by just expecting it to be there before even noticing anything is wrong.