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http-shield · 2 months ago

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whatever you say, old man- bucky barnes

~ bucky barnes x fem!reader ~tags/cw: post endgame but no one is dead and life is good, think 2012 Avengers fandom where clint is in the vents yeah that is where I'm at, established friendships, pining, yearning, bucky is not used to new age dating rituals, explicit language, sexual tension ~ wc: 2.6k ~ not proofread

You: Hey, are we still on for tonight? Rita’s at 7?

Him: ye

“So you’re telling me this is normal?” Bucky’s tone is judgemental as he quickly reads over the words on your screen.

You nod, wordlessly confirming that situatuonships are a staple part of the modern dating scene.

Bucky’s brows furrow, eyes flicking from the lack of effort text message to your face as you lean over the bed, phone gripped between expertly manicured fingers. He blinks once, twice, as if taking the time to formulate a response that will rebuke your earlier confirmation without hurting your feelings. This is new for him. A habit he has only recently picked up upon developing his friendship with you. He usually isn't as careful with his words, not caring enough about the recipient's opinion or emotional well-being to warrant enough time and consideration when responding, but with you. It was another ball game entirely. Bucky doesn't want to hurt your feelings, to see you frown because of something he has said; in fact, he wants the opposite. To see you smile and laugh and blush because of him. For you to want to talk to him about anything and everything, share thoughts about your day and how things make you feel. Bucky wants to know everything that happens in that pretty little brain of yours, even if he doesn't necessarily agree with it. Normally he would take the time to sugarcoat his words, sweeten his tone and make it easy for you to swallow but this is a situation where he couldn't, doesn't, want to mince his words.

“There is no world where that is normal.” He stares at you, expression bored and a little annoyed. At you? Never. At the man on the other side of the phone? Incredibly so.

You groan at his very true statement and pull away, slipping the phone into the pocket of your cargos as you turn towards your open closet.

He’s right. You know he is.

There is nothing remotely normal about two grown adults being in a relationship that is defined by the amount of time the other left the first one on read, or how much emotional vulnerability there could be put on the table before the other got too scared and ran. There is nothing normal about being in your late twenties and having a grown man introduce you to his friends as a 'buddy’ despite having an entire draw dedicated to you in his apartment but you can’t admit that, refuse to admit that you know its wrong and desperate and frankly, demeaning. If you can't own up to your own patheticness, how are you supposed to admit it to the man you are secretly interested in. There would be nothing more humiliating than confessing that the only reason you are with and putting up with bullshit efforts from this other guy is to hopefully distract yourself from the desperate need you feel for Bucky. This new guy is mediocre at worst yet attainable at best and that is something you will live with until your crush on the super soldier is dead and gone and you can finally focus on something other than him.

——

You had spoken with Natasha about Bucky last night, her voice a soothing purr over the phone as she encouraged you to disclose your concerns about pushing the boundaries on your friendship with the super soldier.

“The worst thing that can happen is he says no and then you both move on.” She croons, voice laced with comfort and reassurance.

“Wrong.” You shake your head despite being on a voice call. “The worst thing that can happen is he says no, I lose him as a friend and then I’m stuck pining after someone who wants nothing to do with me” You place another dish in the washer before continuing with your point. “Or I push him before he is ready, again losing him as a friend, and now I’m left with the guilt of possibly taking advantage of a war veteran.”

“You take advantage of Steve all the time, how is this any different?”

“I take advantage of Steve to get someone to carry in the groceries. I’m not trying to date Steve.”

Natasha huffs a laugh. “What if he is interested in you as well?”

Your hands stop scrubbing at the pan in the sink.

“I can find out.”

Heat fills your body, your stomach twists at the idea of having that information. It would put an end to the constant yearning you feel, but the thought of finding out he doesn’t like you that way, that he sees you as no more than a friend will destroy you, humiliate you beyond all logical reason and you would be forced to cut off the friendship out of pure self-preservation.

You shake your head again. “I’m good.” And return to scrubbing your pan. “I'll just wait out the crush and then move on.”

——

“This isn’t the 1940’s anymore.” You sigh and completely shift your attention from Bucky to the mess that is staring back at you.

Endless outfit options are strewn about the small closet but so far none of them have come together, just single shirts, skirts, and pants all muddled in a heap of black.

“I know it's not the 40s but I doubt relationships and dating have changed that much." Bucky grumbles from behind you, the bed creaking as he shifts.

Another sigh, this one long and exaggerated as you will the frustration to leave your body. You want to turn to him and explain that you know all this, and are very aware of the fact that nothing about your current predicament is what you want. You want to be wooed with flowers and preplanned dates and soft kisses on hands and longing looks but that’s not the reality of life anymore and having to be reminded of it is getting annoying and your heart is starting to ache at the lack of effort given to you by your current choice of dating partner.

“You know if I was taking..” Bucky starts but you quickly cut him off with a whine of his name.

“James, please.” You don’t turn to face your friend, afraid to even glance at him because you know you will crumble. “I need help picking out an outfit so help me or go back to your room.”

--------

“You know if I was taking…” You don’t let Bucky finish but, God did he want to. His name on your tongue was enough to shut him up, to send a flush rushing to his face in a way that no man his age should blush, but he can’t help it. There is something about the way his name falls from your lips that has his mind racing to thoughts that should not be there, should not appear when the picture of you enters his mind.

“You know if I was taking you on a date, you’d get flowers and chocolates and champagne and those little baby dolls you like” is what he wanted to say before you shut him up with an annoyed grumble.

His intention wasn’t to display how things were different back in his day but to indicate exactly what you’d be getting were you about to go on a date with him, to explain the reason why you should go on a date with him and not some loser who couldn’t even formulate a fully fleshed out text message. How if you were to drop that kid, and say yes to Bucky he would gather the moon on string for you, pick every flower in every field, find every single little Sonny Angel there is and give them to you each and every day for the rest of your life, you would never be sat wondering why he isn’t calling or responding, if you were even going out the next day, if he even liked you. Bucky would make his feelings for you so abundantly clear that even a blind man would be able to see the signs, but you are his best friend and best friends don’t feel that way about each other. It’s all platonic hugs and hair tussles, cheeky jabs at each other over coffee, shared trauma and secrets over whatever dinner you bring to his apartment and he yours. There will be no dates, or long hugs that turn into kisses that turn into you beneath him, whimpering his name as he makes you feel oh so good.

Fuck.

Bucky’s entire body is on fire, and he needs to stop thinking about the way you would feel wrapped around him, his mouth on yours, the taste of you sweet on his tongue.

“Okay, what about this?” you announce as you walk into the bedroom from the ensuite. “Too much?”

You stand in the doorway, dressed in plain jeans and a black shirt.

“Too much?” Bucky is confused. “This is the outfit you wore to breakfast this morning.”

He is right about this too. You had worn a very similar outfit this morning, but tonight isn’t a full-on date, a semi-date, where things shouldn’t be that fancy so why shouldn’t you recycle your outfits. Bucky stands from the bed, readying himself to dig through the mountain of clothes that had formed at the entrance to the bathroom. He crosses the small space and squats before the clothing, fingers expertly rifling through the material, quickly brushing over the lace of bras and panties, before finding purchase on a black dress he thinks he has seen you in before. It might have been the dress you wore to a funeral or press conference, either way, it was not alluring in the slightest, not that you weren’t stunning in everything you wore, hell you could come out wearing a garbage bag and Bucky would be in awe of your beauty. It was just that he didn’t want your date to ogle you, to think of you the same way Bucky does so he is being a little selfish and conniving in his choice of garment.

“Where is he taking you?” His question is disguised as interest in the dress code but his real curiosity is far from an outfit.

There are two reasons why he needs to know where you will be tonight. The first is to judge whether this manchild is even worthy of a date with you, second if he knew the exact location and time, maybe he could show up and show out your date, make you realise what you deserve and how Bucky could be the one who gives it to you.

“We’re meeting at Rita’s down the road and then might see a movie, maybe something else. I’m not sure yet.”

“He hasn’t planned anything?” Bucky whips his head around to you, finding you standing there looking incredibly embarrassed at the lack of effort. What the fuck happened in the years he was gone?

The defeated shake of your head is enough to have Bucky’s chest aching. He sits back on his haunches; the dress discarded back in the pile and gives the outfit another look as he decides on where to go from here. “Yeah, I think it’s too much.” He nods and stands up, brushing his hands as if he had just completed an excavation on some ancient site.

“Go change back into your sweats ‘cause there is no way I’m letting you go on a date with a guy who can’t even plan something.” He nods his chin towards the bathroom, more of an order than a suggestion.

He watches you tilt your head back as you groan in frustration. “I’m not going through this again, old man. This is how it works now.”

Now it’s Bucky’s turn to get frustrated. He takes a step towards you, hulking 6’0 frame rising to tower above you with a somewhat menacing glare, but you know he will never hurt you no matter how much you push his buttons.

“I’m not talking about what it used to be like, little girl.” The jab at your age/generational difference comes out before he can register it, but he notices how your eyes widen. “This is about getting what you deserve.”

He pushes in on the space between your bodies, now chest to chest as you square your shoulders, not ready to back down from an argument despite knowing you will not win.

“And what’s that?” you stare up at him, brows raised in anticipation of his answer. You aren’t sure where this is going. If you are going to receive another lecture or maybe even a verbal beatdown as to why your standards for men are so low, a common topic of conversation between you and Natasha, but instead you are met with a soft smile as his Vibranium hand is raised and brushes against your cheek.

“You deserve flowers and preplanned dates and wine and jewellery and everything you could ever want.” Bucky’s voice drops into a whisper, cold fingers trailing soothing lines against your heating skin. “You deserve a man worshipping you, to be on his hands and knees begging to take you on a date. Not some punk who can barely put together a sentence.”

You hold his gaze, blue eyes staring intently as you shudder in a breath. “Who’s going to do that, huh?” your voice is small, no longer filled with the same bravado you had not a minute ago. “You know anyone who wants to do that for me, you send them my way Bucko.”

His metal hand slips to your cheek to your jaw, fingers pressing into your pulse points so he can feel the speed at which your heart is racing.

“I’d do it.” He states matter-of-factly, eyes dipping to your lips. “I’d do anything for you.”

Breathing becomes a little bit too difficult as his human hand traces up your bare arm.

“Anything?”

Bucky nods and dips his head until his face is mere centimetres from yours. “You didn’t let me finish before, but I'd give you anything you’ve ever wanted.” Fingers move to cup your chin and tilt your head up. “You want flowers, I’m a florist. Moon? Stars? I’m getting Stark to build me a rocket. Anything you want, you’re getting it.”

“And if I want you on your hands and knees barking like a dog for me?” You smirk, the mental image of Bucky on his knees panting like a puppy has your stomach twisting.

“Put a collar on me and call me Spot 'cause I’m yours, doll.”

The confession has your eyes widening.

“I’m all yours, from now until whenever you’re done with me.” Bucky whispers, breathless.

“And what if I want you to kiss me?” you ask, knowing he is waiting for your permission to do just that.

Bucky crumbles, his expression falling from that of teasing into one of pleading.

“I want you to kiss me, James.” You whisper.

His resolve breaks and he presses his lips to yours. Softly and timidly, closed mouth and restrained but as your hands reach out to grip his waist, a delicate gasp slipping past your lips, does he deepen the kiss. His mouth opens over yours, lips slotting against your plush ones, tongue darting out to test to waters only to be met with your slackening jaw. Bucky’s grip on you tightens as he continues to kiss you, afraid to let you go in case this was one of the many, many dreams he had where he woke up alone and confused, but as you bite down on his bottom lip, he is brought back to reality. Your hands on his waist, pull him tighter against you, the softness of your body had Bucky’s mind wandering to places it should not be. You pull back, pupils blown wide and lips parted as you pant. Bucky is just as breathless, hands cupping your face with a gentleness he doesn’t think you’ve ever known from the way you stare up at him.

“You’re not going on that date.”

“Whatever you say, old man.”

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

a/n: eee this is my first avengers fanfic since like 2018 pls be nice I just need something happy to think about clint living in the airvents, thor eating poptarts era was my happy place

#http shield ♡ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ౨ৎ ‧₊ .ᐟ #✮⋆˙ bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x oc #avengers oneshot #avengers fanfic #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes fluff

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revelboo · 2 months ago

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You're feeding my Starscream addiction 😂😂 but I love your writing! Good job and keep at it for as long as your able/want to!! 💕

Everything is Alright Pt 11

• You stare up at him as he shakes the data pad at you in threat. Like it’s a rolled up newspaper and you’re a naughty puppy. Not that he’s going to smack you with it. You’re familiar enough with him to know it’s all bluster. Even if you’re not sure if you want to laugh or if you should be insulted. In your defense, he’d left it on the desk with you. What had he expected? You’d gotten bored and he never bothered to tell you not to touch it. So it’s actually his fault. “You scribbled all over my reports? What is this? Is this supposed to be me?” He demands, wings stiffly up and practically vibrating in annoyance and offense. Oh, he’s insulted by your little caricatures.

• After being stuck with him this long, your arsenal of weapons is mostly playing dumb or catering to that ego of his. “Sorry, I wanted to capture your magnificence, but I’m not much of an artist,” you say shrugging weakly, doing your best innocent puppy eyes. “I just wanted to surprise you.”

• He’s silent, staring at the crude doodles, but his wings droop slightly. And you know he wants to be mad. Is probably wondering why the hell you drew him with shark teeth- absolutely for your amusement. But he just can’t deal with puppy eyes. Something you’re willing to milk if it gets you out of trouble. “Yes, well,” he mutters falteringly. “Don’t draw on my reports.”

• You’re staring up at him with those big eyes and it’s doing uncomfortable things to his spark. That look makes him want to scoop you up and hold you. Certainly makes it impossible to reprimand you. And the drawings aren’t that awful. Well. You’d tried anyway. Venting he reaches to use a servo to tip your chin up. Had you really meant this as a present for him? A gift? You grab onto his servo, smiling at him and it undoes him so quickly it’s frightening. He shouldn’t care about such a silly thing, but he runs his servo affectionately over your cheek. “I’ll see about requisitioning an old data pad for you to make your art on.” Because he wants you happy. Wants you to keep smiling for him and that need is almost frightening.

• When did keeping one little human happy become so important to him? And it is, because he’s not alone. That feeling is something he’ll do anything to protect. Anything.

Previous Next

#transformers #starscream x reader #idw starscream

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nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos · 5 months ago

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I am so happy you're back and seem to be doing even a little bit better! We missed you!

I wanted to send a little message, so you can ignore it if it sours your mood or you don't feel like dealing with it, feel no pressure at all! It's just this blog has been a safe space and the community has been so welcoming that I figured I could vent really quick

You know when sometimes the brain just has a really shitty day, like when you draw something and it screams at you that it's trash even though there's nothing wrong with it? I've been having a rough time with it deciding to scream that comfort characters would cheat, probably as an 'You are so unlovable not even fictional characters would be loyal' bullshit. Now, logically, I know this makes -67 sense. But, I was wondering if you could just reassure that like, Sanji, Mihawk, Buggy, Shanks, Crocodile, Blablablablabla long list of One Piece characters you write for, would not cheat? I'm sorry, this sounds lame to even write out but I'm trying to get my brain to stop thinking that asking for help is 'pathetic' because it is not and it only applies that logic to me, never to anyone else.

I dunno man. Brains and bring human ate both though af.

I missed all of you as well. Really and sincerely. I have a tendency to go radio silent when I'm going through a difficult time and I hate it immensely, but hearing that I was missed to makes me all

And yes, oh gods, I know. My brain is frequently my worst enemy. Especially when I'm not writing. My anxiety starts working overtime and my creative drive becomes dedicated to coming up with problems that could potentially happen for me to worry about even more and it's an absolute bitch; or even when I am actively creating and a little voice insists that everything I make is stupid garbage.

This is still very much and always will be a safe space. It definitely is awful to feel that unworthy of love. Full disclosure, I've mentioned in passing before that I've been diagnosed with schizoaffective disorder depressive type. My main issue is auditory hallucinations that like to insist that everyone I love and care about only tolerate me out of pity and secretly would rather I not be around, which leads to me isolating myself from people. Huge part of the reason I go silent when life decides to be a bitch. I know it's just as bad feeling that way about comfort characters, if not even worse, when we're supposed to have them to help us get through that kind of bullshit.

So let me provide a little drabble for the one comfort character I’m certain wouldn’t ever allow us to continue being so silly about our worthiness of love and affection, because we’re all worthy of such a basic human need. I may do more later, but one in particular jumped at the opportunity to provide this comfort, and I fear he may counter me with his dreaded puppy-dog-eyes should I even dare attempt to wait.

Good Enough

OPLA!Sanji x AFAB!Reader

Lil drabble thingy

SFW, Hurt/Comfort

Possible TRIGGER WARNINGS for depression, insecurity, self-worth

♫♬ Moonshine ♬♫ — The Fratellis (yes I’m STILL on my Fratellis BS leave me be)

"Never knowing is the most evil feeling, when every answer here is none too appealing"

Sanji had always been a flirt. You knew that from the moment you started working on the wait staff at Baratie. Your trust issues had made it a little difficult for you to open up around the young sous chef (and occasional waiter on the frequent occasion that Zeff kicked him out of the kitchen for insubordination), but it was his outgoing nature and perseverance that had ultimately won you over. He had a way of making you feel like you were the only girl in the world when you were together, doting upon you, all but worshipping the ground you walked on.

But when he was sent out to work the dining area, it always made you nervous. His innate charm, his handsome features—he was nearly always a hit with female customers. No matter how much you told yourself that he was only doing his job, there was always a nagging feeling that maybe there was more to it than that. Watching him interact with a table of pretty young women, who by their clothing and demeanor were obviously far more affluent and sophisticated than you, left you distracted in your own work.

Seeing how they giggled at everything he said, how they fluttered their eyelashes when he brought them their drinks.

How the pretty blonde at the table leaned so close to him while he pointed to something on the menu, close enough to brush her hand across his.

You managed to spill a tray of drinks all over yourself while you were watching, leading to a scolding from the front of house manager. You saw the table of girls from the corner of your eye, giggling at your clumsiness before you were sent off to clean yourself up and change your uniform.

No matter how much you told yourself you were being silly, there was nothing you could do to shake it. The doubts, the thoughts of how easily he could find someone better than you. You had your jaw clenched the entire time you were changing your shirt in the staff restroom, tossing the soiled one aside as you leaned against the sink in front of the mirror and forced yourself to take slow, level breaths.

You were still on the clock. You couldn’t break down. You had to get changed, had to get back to work, had to pretend everything was fine, if he found out you were being so stupid about this then he would definitely drop you like a bad habit, you had to compose yourself or—

Knock knock.

Your eyes darted to the bathroom door, your breath catching in your throat at the sound of the light knock.

“J—just a minute,” you forced out, flinching at the sound of your own voice breaking a little.

Stupid, you’re being stupid, stop it stop it stop it—

A brief silence followed your answer, a silence that seemed to stretch on for miles despite lasting only a few seconds. The familiar, gentle voice that answered after a moment made your hands clench around the porcelain of the sink.

“You alright, love?” You drew in a sharp breath, swallowing, clenching your eyes shut. Of course it was Sanji. You had almost hoped that the manager had come scold you for taking too long. That would have been easier to deal with right now. Your eyes darted to the locked doorknob as it rattled a little. “I heard—”

“I’m fine,” you said immediately, the strained quality of your own words as they met your ears making your hands tighten a little more on the edge of the sink. “I—I just tripped and spilled a few drinks, I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Are you sure you’re alright?” You gritted your teeth, laying your head back to stare up at the ceiling. Of course he wouldn’t let it go that easily. The doorknob rattled a little again, and you glanced at it as if it were a viper poised to strike out at you at any second.

Stupid, you’re being stupid, don’t—

“You sound—”

You reached out and turned the lock on the doorknob, and turned away from the door, crossing your arms over your half-buttoned shirt and stared down at your feet. After a long moment, you heard the door open behind you.

Evidently you didn’t look any less distressed than you felt. His quiet sigh met your ear as the door shut lightly and the lock turned. “Oh, love, it’s fine,” he said gently, his footfalls echoing quietly in the small bathroom, closing the short distance across the tile floor between the two of you. Your whole body tensed as he wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, resting his forehead over the crown of your hair with a quiet chuckle. “It’s only a few drinks, it could happen to anyone.”

You shook your head, your shoulders shaking a little. Stupid, it was so stupid, but the words were already leaving your mouth before you could stop them. “Oh, yeah, anyone.” You couldn’t stop. You couldn’t. He had a way of pulling all your insecurities to the surface that no one else did. You pulled your crossed arms tighter, staring down at the white floor tiles for a moment before shutting your eyes tightly, your voice shaking a little. “Especially a dumb screw-up like me—”

“Don’t do that.” His tone came out a little sharper with this, and your breath hitched audibly in your throat this time, your shoulders hunching as you clenched your eyes shut tighter, swallowing back the lump in your throat. As if to counter your stiff posture, he pulled his arms tighter around your waist, pulling you closer, his thumb rubbing lightly against your waist in a comforting manner. “Don’t, sweetheart. Please.”

The warmth of his embrace already had you relaxing a little. Your shoulders slumped, your body leaning back against him, but your eyes were still burning when you opened them to stare down at the toes of your shoes.

“Was it the manager?” he asked gently, shifting behind you to rest his chin on your shoulder. “If he was being an ass I’ll gladly kick his ass off the docks.” Your breath left your lungs in a slow, trembling sigh as you shook your head no, your gaze drifting down to his hand at your hip, still rubbing lightly against you, your lips curling into a fleeting smile at his offer. You knew you were being stupid, but… “Then what’s wrong, love?” he asked, his voice a soft, comforting murmur in your ear.

“I…” You drew in a deep breath, closing your eyes as he tilted his head so his cheek lay against your shoulder. “Y—you—“

You swallowed against the lump forming in your throat, drawing in a deep breath, trying and failing to steady the whirlwind of thoughts swirling through your mind, thoughts of how maybe this was all a lie, of how you weren’t anything more than a silly little fling to him, how you weren’t good enough, how easily you could be replaced.

You bit your lip, glancing down as his hand found yours, watching his fingers lace between your own…and the breath left you in a slow, resigned sigh.

“It’s stupid,” you said quietly.

“If it’s got you this upset, then it’s anything but stupid,” he countered, and you had to purse your lips tightly to keep them from curving into a small smile as you felt his press briefly against your cheek in a soft kiss. “And if it’s something I’ve done—”

“N—no, you haven’t—” But how quickly you shook your head, how your shoulders tensed, betrayed your worries. “I…I just…” You slowly relaxed once more as he squeezed you against him, his cheek nuzzling against your shoulder, his soft blonde hair tickling against your neck. Still unable to turn your head to meet his eyes, you bit the bullet and forced yourself to voice your worries. “You have beautiful women making goo-goo eyes at you all day,” you said, keeping your voice low in an attempt to keep it steady. “I—I don’t—I’m not—” You bit your lip, your heart racing as you clenched your eyes shut, cursing yourself internally as you felt the tickle of a tear leaving your eye to trail down one of your cheeks. “Y-you could have any girl you wanted. L—like that blonde that was hanging all over you while you were showing her the menu, or—or—”

“Oh, sweetheart…” You weren’t quite able to mask the small sob that hitched in your chest as Sanji loosened his embrace—only to gently place a hand on your hip, guiding you to turn around and face him, to pull you against his chest as you tried and failed to fight back tears. He gently shushed your quiet sobs and stammered apologies as he wrapped his arms around you fully, combing his fingers through your hair as he laid his head over yours. Your eyes remained clenched shut as you fought to control your breathing , as he pressed a tender, lingering kiss to your forehead.

Sanji lowered his head and nuzzled into your hair, holding you flush against him.

“I already have the girl I want. The perfect girl.” He pressed another tender kiss to your temple, murmuring against your skin, “I have her right here in my arms. And I hope,” he said, his tone turning a little playful as he shifted to rest his forehead against yours, “that I’ll still have her tonight after dinner shift is over.” He brushed your hair behind your ear, smiling as he tilted his head to meet your gaze, puling a small smile to your lips as your cheeks grew a little warmer. “So we can cuddle up together on the balcony…watch the stars…laugh at all the drunk idiots stumbling back to their boats…”

You could practically hear him smiling as a few soft giggles escaped you, as you finally leaned fully against him and returned his embrace, your arms wrapping around his torso as you buried your face against his chest.

“I’m sorry,” you sighed, relaxing against him. “I…I’m just…”

“I know, love.” The way he called you ‘love’ all but melted your heart now that you were calmed down, pulling a faint smile to your lips. “I know. You don’t have anything to be sorry for. And if it’s any consolation, I was in the middle of telling that self-righteous blonde bimbo how my sweet, adorable, beautiful girlfriend would wring her neck if she kept putting her hands on me—“ He chuckled as you whined in protest of his praise, tugging you closer and grinning, meeting your eyes without hesitation.

He lifted his hand to your face, his thumb brushing across your cheek, the warmth of his gaze holding yours.

“I—“

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

You both jolted in alarm, your heads turning in unison toward the sound of the pounding on the bathroom door. Before you could so much as glance at each other, a gruff voice spoke up from behind the door.

“We’re in the weeds, Eggplant!” Zeff called . “Get your scrawny ass to the kitchen! And bring your damned girlfriend, we need all the help we can get.”

A long moment of silence stretched between the two of you as you both stared at the closed bathroom door, before your gazes drifted slowly toward each other.

Before you were both giggling under your breath, as you buried your forehead against his chest, a broad smile spreading across your lips as you clung to him.

“I suppose we’ve been summoned,” said Sanji, pulling back from you only enough to gaze down at you, still smiling. “Shall we, then?”

#one piece #opla #sanji x reader #one piece sanji #oneshot #drabble #fluff #sfw #hurt/comfort #sanji opla #asks #sanji #black leg sanji

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mssorceressupreme · 3 months ago

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Hiiii

I think your writing is soo addictive and creative, to me it's like a breath of fresh air, especially because an active Maze Runner blog is so hard 😭🤚

Could I request a Minho X reader, and reader is from one of the other mazes? Could you have her be really funny, always cracking puns and that's what she said jokes, loud, laughs a lot and is fun to be around .And she escapes with Aris, and she's a total badass in combat, and had a similar job to Minho so they bond over that lol.

Even if you don't write this, just know your writing is fire, so please never stop.

💕

of course love, I’d be more than happy to write this for you!! 🥰 actually since this prompt is really similar to what I was planning to write for my other POV, “Who Is She?”, I’ll make this a part two to that and weave in the elements of your prompt 🫶🏼🫶🏼 I hope this satisfies your idea 😭🫶🏼

——-

Who Is She? Pt. 2

Pairing: Minho x reader

Summary: a second part where Minho and you escape the compound with the others, and deeper feelings arise between the two of you.

Warnings: mild violence, use of guns

———

“I’ll meet Thomas and the others on the other side, promise you’ll find us later?” Aris wanted to make sure you’d be safe before crawling through the vents beneath his bunk.

“Yeah I’ll find you guys, just need to do something real quick.” You affirmed, before the both of you parted ways, leaving your room for good.

The other members from your glade, were at the dining hall, you and Aris, however, wanted to grab this opportunity to escape the compound.

You shut the heavy metal door behind you, the screech was loud enough to draw attention to your room, but thank goodness there weren’t any guards around.

Or so you thought.

As you turned a corner, you were met with a large, intimidating figure. “You’re not supposed to be here,” he growled, his grip like iron as he grabbed your arm, yanking you harshly.

“Let go of me!” You snapped, treating to wrench your arm free, but as you did so, you managed to swiftly slip your hand inside his pocket and steal his ID card. The card that would hopefully grant you guys access through these high security doors.

“Let go!” You continued, but with each plea, his grip grew stronger. “I said let—”

“Let go.” Minho appeared on the end of the hallway, slowly making his way towards us. The guard glared at him, his grip no looser than before.

“As the host, I thought you’d have more decorum, some respect with how you treat your guests.” Minho frowned, “Don’t you agree Y/N?” He turned to you.

You smiled slyly, knowing what Minho was capable of, his confident demeanour was such a turn on for you. Man, it was hot when a guy knew what he was doing, confidently, at that.

The guard sneered, “This is none of your business. Get back to the dining hall.”

Minho’s expression darkened, his jaw clenching, “Let her go. Now.”

The guard’s grip faltered for a moment, but he didn’t release you. “Or what?”

Minho swiftly pulled out a gun, the metallic click echoing ominously in the hallway. The guard’s eyes widened in shock. “Where did you get that?!”

Without hesitation, Minho fired, the bullet sending an electric shock through the guard’s body. He collapsed to the ground, twitching as the current coursed through him.

Minho grabbed your hand, pulling you into a run.

“How did you find me? This place is like a maze,” you panted as the two of you sprinted down the corridor.

Minho flashed a proud grin, “Oh, trust me, mazes are my forte. I was a runner back in the glade.”

Your face lit up upon the common ground he just shared, “Nice to know I’m escaping with a fellow runner.”

“Why weren’t you with Aris? If I didn’t find you, you could’ve been…”

You took out the ID card and showed him, “To get this. Could be our way out.”

He nodded, “Not bad, I suppose runners are the smartest of the bunch.”

“A statement I will not defy.” You smirked.

“This way,” You continued to hold hands as he led you through the compound, all too easily. He had this whole placed mentally mapped out in a few days, which was impressive.

As he ran, you snuck a few glances at him, eyeing him up and down. The way he led you, his confidence, the way his black compression shirt hugged his physique perfectly, making his biceps evident. It made you drool internally, but no way would you ever admit that aloud.

Eventually, you both found the others, who managed to get Teresa out. Apart from reuniting with the others, we also now found that there were multiple troops of guards chasing after us, that’s lovely!

“Come on, we gotta go!!” Thomas urged everyone, “This way!!”

“Why are they shooting at us?!” Frypan yelled, dodging what seemed to be never-ending bullets.

“Anyone have ideas on how we’re going to make it through that bloody vault door?” Newt looked around frantically, seeking answers.

“Here! I’ve got it!” You pulled the card out of your pocket, swiping it multiple times before the door finally turned green, granting you access to escape. (a/n: their escape scene is a bit different from the movie lol)

As soon as you made it past the door, Aris smashed the keypad, sealing the doorway between the guards, Janson, and your group. Winston grabbed a pistol, which was resourceful.

“Good thinking, let’s grab some of their stuff while we can.” You instructed, grabbing a gun yourself, and a backpack.

The others followed through before Thomas hurried you lot once more, “Come on, we’ve got to go! Keep moving!”

You arrive at the main door, towering over the group of you. Thomas wasted no time pulling the lever, and Minho held out his hand for you to hold before officially escaping the compound.

“Just keep going!” Minho urged the group, “we’ll loose them in the storm.”

Teresa came across an abandoned mall, and decided to enter, “Come on! Get down here!”

The group of you entered down one by one, finding temporary refuge in a cracked, dilapidated mall. The blistering heat of the scorch was relentless, but Minho stayed close to you, his protective instincts kicking into high gear.

“Let’s pack some of this stuff up, anything you think you might need. We’ll split up, see what we can find and meet back here.” Thomas instructed, to which you nodded.

You wandered off alone, exploring the place with a tiny torch. The runner instincts in you had not diluted at all since the maze.

“Trying to get rid of me so fast?” Minho called out as he jogged up to you.

You chuckled, “Just wanted to explore that’s all.”

“Let’s do that together then, you’ll need this.” He tossed you a larger torch.

“Better.” You affirmed, turning it on.

“This place is dead silent…we could be as loud as we want and no one would hear us for miles.” You said, as you explored the mall.

Minho held back his laughter, “That’s what she said.”

You paused momentarily, before recalling what you said. We can be as loud as we want. I’d definitely be vocal for you Minho. “Whatever.” You playfully punch him, rolling your eyes but biting back a smile.

Under the moonlit sky, you and Minho shared a quiet moment. You stood in the soft glow of the broken mall’s atrium, a moonlight ray shining through the glass roof. The silver light casting ethereal shadows around you.

“I feel like now might be the perfect time to say…thank you,” You began, “…for saving me.” Your voice soft with gratitude.

“Of course, we needed that key card of yours.” He witty remarked earned another punch from you.

“Dick.” You chuckled.

Minho smiled, eyes warm and sincere, “I’ll always be there for you. You can trust me.”

A comfortable silence settled between them, filled with unspoken words and mutual understanding.

“You know, uh, I’m glad that it was you I ran into at the hallway that day.” You confessed, out of everyone in the world, you were glad that it was Minho you met that day.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.” He smiled softly, before Thomas and the others ran over to you guys.

“RUN! RUN!” He shouted. The two of you stood there, squinting at his unusual behaviour.

“Oh shit!” You said in unison, as the two of you pieced together the fact that weird zombie like humans were chasing you. (a/n: they didn’t know the definition of cranks yet).

“Well, let’s hope we make it out alive!” You ran alongside Minho.

“If we do, will you marry me?” Minho blurted out, while sprinting.

“What?!” You were breathy, but a rush of adrenaline surged through you.

“Ignore what I said!” He yelled, turning back to get a view of our chasers.

“Only if you let me be your girlfriend first!” You shouted back amidst the running.

“Deal!”

#dylan o'brien #imagine #ki hong lee #maze runner #minho maze runner x reader #minho tmr x reader #the maze runner #thomas brodie sangster #thomas tmr #tmr newt

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bullet-prooflove · 6 months ago

Note

First kiss with Alden

Tagging: @kmc1989 @sarakafarrah @caffeinatedwoman @elefrog25-blog

You don’t realise that Alden’s courting you, not at first. The dinners start off as a thing between colleagues to vent and discuss the challenges of being in a leadership role. He’d been trying to negotiate muddied waters with Nick Torres and came to you looking for ideas because of the nature of the work you do.

“You’re good at getting people to talk, at making them feel comfortable enough to open up, maybe you can give me a few pointers.” He’d said as the two of you shared a coffee in the breakroom. “I’m at my wit’s end with him.”

“I’ve got a couple of ideas, things I use for difficult witnesses.” You’d told him as you glanced at your watch and sighed. “I don’t have the time right now…”

“There’s this great Portuguese place I’ve been dying to try out.” Alden says with an enthusiasm you envy. Alden Parker and his pastries are legendary around the office. When he first arrived it was suspected to be some form of mind game “Perhaps you can meet me there, we can grab a couple of drinks, maybe a bite and you can help me figure out what to do about Torres.”

The first part of the night is spend discussing strategy. You work with people in trauma on a daily basis, it isn’t hard to recognise it in Nick Torres. You give Alden a little insight into Nick’s history before you lay out a few techniques you’ve had success with in the past. It segues after that into other topics, books you’ve read, the music you love, the fact you have this weird thing for plush lobsters.

“It’s something about the little claws.” You tell him, your hand mimicking the pincer as he peppers you with questions about this revelation. “My niece buys me one every Christmas. It helps that they live in Maine so there’s an abundance of choice.”

He has the same thing with birds, he explains. He still isn’t allowed in a certain national park because he climbed a fence he wasn’t supposed to in order to snap a picture. It’s what started his feud with the Park Service.

He puts you in a cab at the end of the night with the promise to feedback how it goes with Nick. It goes from there after that, dinner becomes a weekly thing, something you look forward to throughout the week because Alden knows all the best places to eat and he’s excellent company.

It’s the night he walks you home that things change. The back of your hand brushed against his, shoulders nudging. There’s this chemistry between the two of you, a connection. It’s been happening for a while now, the little touches that feel like electricity, the heated looks. You can’t stop thinking about how good his hands would feel on your body, what it would be like to undress him.

When he says goodbye, your hand captures his, drawing him back. You can see the surprise in his eyes but you can also see the yearning, the want. Your fingers chase up the lapels of his jacket as you raise up on tip toes and press your mouth to his.

That kiss…

It’s everything.

It’s fire and it’s passion, everything you’d been missing throughout the duration of your marriage. It awakens something in you, something wild, something reckless. You need him, his mouth on your skin, the scrape of his beard between your thighs. You’ve fantasied about this man for weeks and now it’s time for the reckoning.

“Come upstairs.” You request and Alden, he can’t resist.

Love Alden? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#alden parker #alden parker x reader #gary cole #ncis

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generic-sonic-fan · 30 days ago

Text

Ensom

Summary: All the words in the english language downloaded to a dictionary on his drives, yet Omega can’t find the word he needs.

He isn’t used to not knowing how he’s feeling.

It’s frustrating. At least he knows that much.

(Vent fic. 1947 words)

---

Omega finds himself alone in his room. This is fine. He rolls the chair out from beneath his desk, sits down, executes the steps to turn on his computer. Exact movements he’s programmed into himself to save processing power, since the power buttons for both the external hard drive and the monitor will never move.

He stares into the blank loading screen.

He’s been here before.

He’s been in this exact posture before. Unmoving for hours. Maybe a twitch here and there to maneuver the computer mouse, that’s all.

He pushes himself away from the desk and stands. He walks out the door of his room, emerging into the hallway. He’s been here before, too; hours standing in front of Shadow or Rouge’s door, hours walking up and down, fractions of travel that add up to significant percentages of his entire operation.

He passes the living room. The couch he has remained stationary on. Hours. The television he’s stared blankly at. The kitchen. The microwave he has watched rotate thousands of times while Shadow and Rouge wait for their food. The pantry that they stare into. Hours.

He curls his claws around the handle of the front door.

What is he going to do out there? Wander around and have meatbags stare at him? Have them run away screaming like they would any other Badnik? Judge him stupid, explaining things like love and freedom and what it means to be alive again like he’s supposed to obsess over their every word?

Running simulation now: THANK YOU NONDESCRIPT HUMAN, I NEVER ONCE THOUGHT ABOUT MY OWN EXISTENCE IF IT WERE NOT FOR YOUR MARVELOUS AND UNIQUE INSIGHT ABOUT THE CONCEPTS THAT NO SENTIENT SACK OF FLESH CAN SEEM TO SHUT UP ABOUT!

And then they kick him out of their shop because he’s scaring away customers because he forgot to look them in the eyes at the right time or ask a meaningless “HOW ARE YOU DOING?” to every passerby to indicate friendly intent.

As soon as he opens this door the entire city is staring. He wouldn’t care if they hated him. They don’t. He wouldn’t care if they were afraid of him specifically. They aren’t.

All of the words in the english language downloaded onto his drives, and there’s no word he can assign to it that doesn’t make him want to tear every building in the city down.

He tears off the doorknob and slams it down. He grinds it into the cheap linoleum tile until the downstairs neighbor pounds back on the ceiling and screams at him to “shut up”.

He draws his weapon. He aims for the blob of heat in his infrared scanner on the floor down. He aims slightly to the left, and pulls the trigger.

—

“Another complaint from the landlord. It’s our third strike. Managed to talk him back into letting us have a fourth.” Rouge tosses the paperwork onto the kitchen counter in front of him.

“I DO NOT CARE.”

“Well I do. This is my apartment. Next time I’m kicking you out.”

Omega pauses.

“What happened, anyway?”

“I WAS ANGRY.”

“Fork found in kitchen, what else is news?” Rouge rolls her eyes.

Fork is an eating utensil. The kitchen is where organics eat. She is saying the fork is found in the kitchen in a tone that, if he compares it to previous data of the various tones of her voice, most closely matches sarcasm. She is asking if finding a fork in the kitchen was somehow new information. She is relating the absurdity of this idea to-

“Nothing to say for yourself?”

“IT IS YOUR FAULT!” He slams his fist on the counter.

“How is this my fault?!”

She is relating the absurdity of this idea to his rage. Asking if his rage was new somehow? No, too much sarcasm. Relating absurdity, the absurdity of asking a stupid question, the absurdity of asking him if he was angry. Because she knew he was always angry. Solution derived.

This data would have been useful fifteen seconds ago, but is useless now.

“Sure, blame me for all your problems. See how well that works out for you!” Rouge snarls.

“NOT JUST YOU,” Omega snarls back, “ALL OF YOU.”

“‘All of me’? What, you mean-?”

“ALL MEATBAGS. ALL OF THEM. WITH FLESH AND BLOOD AND PATHETIC NEURONS. I’LL KILL YOU ALL.”

He simulates ripping Rouge to pieces. It’s not satisfying. He simulates actually shooting the neighbor downstairs, watching the blood pour out of the exit wound. It’s not satisfying. He simulates torching the old woman who walks her dog every morning across the street. Nothing.

Yet something is still burning in his code. He can’t put it out.

“You don’t mean that.”

He looks at her. I DON’T floats somewhere around his voice box, but can’t find a place to slip through.

He looks away.

“What happened?”

“NOTHING HAPPENED. NOTHING HAS OCCURRED FOR TEN HOURS.”

“You’re bored.”

“NEGATIVE.” This isn’t boredom. Boredom is like an itch that they all talk about. This is different.

Rouge furrows her brows. Omega checks his database. The expression matches with confusion but also anger. This particular instance is leaning more towards anger.

“Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I ALREADY DID.”

“‘Meatbags’ isn’t an answer.”

“AND HOW IS IT NOT?” He snapped his gaze back to her. He leaned forward, closer, brushing the tip of his silver outcropping against her nose. “WHAT IF IT IS?”

“There’s clearly something deeper-”

“HOW DO YOU KNOW?”

“Because you’re not acting like yourself!” She planted a hand on his chest and pushed him away.

He straightened. “ELABORATE.”

She resettles her tongue between her teeth, data matching with ‘considering what to say’, before she speaks again. “You’re never this vague. You normally don’t snap only once and then get quieter again- you usually stay as excited the whole conversation. You didn’t shout when you said ‘kill us all’ which is how I know you didn’t mean it. You hate touching any part of us that you’ve seen drip snot or spit or anything like that, yet you got close to my face.”

Omega compares her analysis against his actions for the past six minutes and thirty-one seconds and finds an exact match for each.

“CORRECT.” He offers.

“So what’s going on?”

That question tears the smoldering hole he’s been circling around in his code wide open again. His thought processes choke. Is this what it’s like to choke? The cessation of a function absolutely vital to determining your status as operational?

“Do you. . . not know?”

“I AM ANGRY.”

“You’re always angry. But this is different.”

“IT IS.”

“It’s not your joyful rage.” Rouge puts her finger to her chin. “And it’s not your Eggman rage.”

“MAYBE IT IS.”

“You didn’t mention him once, hun.” She shakes her head. “I don’t think this is your rage at me or Shadow.”

“IT IS NOT.”

“That’s good. I know you feel rage at stupid organic processes like bureaucracy and the like. Is it that?”

Omega pauses. “CLOSER.”

“And it does have to do with meatbags. But non-specific.”

“CLOSER.”

“. . . have you considered it might not just be rage?”

Omega stares at the fridge behind her. “I AM ANGRY.”

“But it’s quiet.”

He reviews the past ten hours and finds himself having been silent for most of them.

“YES.” He says.

“You know, sometimes you can be angry and feel another negative emotion at the same time.”

“SPECIFY.”

“Oh no, I’m not going to guess. You’d get mad at just about everything I’d think to suggest.”

“GOOD! MAKE ME MAD.” Omega hits the countertop with his fist again.

“Okay. Sadness?”

His hand freezes above the counter. He stares at it, commanding the actuators to move, but they don’t.

“See, told you.”

“I HAVE NOTHING THAT WOULD MAKE ME ‘SAD’.”

She looks at him. Her facial muscles weave a new expression. The closest match in his database for it is ‘pity’, but there are not enough markers to fully confirm it.

“What do you think would give you the excuse to be sad, huh?” She asks, then stops herself, then lets herself speak anyway. “Having a dead sister?”

“YES.”

“Well, you don’t have a dead sister. So clearly it’s something else.”

“I REPEAT: THERE IS NOTHING TO BE SAD ABOUT.”

“That you know of.”

“EMOTIONS ARE A RESPONSE TO AN EXPERIENCED STIMULUS.”

“Sometimes you’re just sad for no reason. It happens.”

“THAT IS STUPID.”

“If you want to get technical about it, you’re actually sad about a lot of things, but you aren’t sure why or maybe you just don’t know how to think about it. Then you say you’re sad for ‘no reason’. Make more sense?”

Omega stares at his hand that is frozen above the table. He sends one more command to the actuators in his arm. Slowly, his fist retracts and settles back by his side.

“Have you ever felt sadness before, do you think?”

He has never experienced a similar arrangement of symptoms to Shadow: neither silence nor isolation nor the urge to cease existing. He has never experienced a similar arrangement of symptoms to Rouge: neither lying nor pretending nor the urge to binge sensory inputs.

“UNKNOWN.” He replies.

“That could explain things.”

His dictionary doesn’t offer a concise comparison either. ‘Sadness’: affected with or expressive of grief or unhappiness. Searching ‘unhappiness’ is equally as useless, only meaning not cheerful or glad. ‘Forlorn’ is a synonym, but it specifically relates to isolation or desertion, and he is experiencing neither at the moment. ‘Downcast’ and ‘woeful’ and ‘despondent’, they all slip away.

‘Melancholic’. Of or relating to the subject of ‘melancholy’- a depression of spirits (a useless definition) or a pensive mood. ‘Pensive’ meaning a sad thoughtfulness.

“RESOLUTION PROPOSED:” Omega finally says, “ELIMINATE RUMINATION.”

“Think less? God, shouldn’t we all.”

“SO YOU AGREE TO STOP TELLING ME TO ‘THINK THROUGH THINGS’?”

“No,” she whispers a common lighthearted insult to herself, “but sitting there and brooding on your bad mood never makes it any better.”

“I DO NOT BROOD.”

“What were you doing this afternoon, again?”

He crosses his arms. “BEING MELANCHOLIC.”

“Don’t tell Shadow you’re going to beat him at his own game.”

“THIS WILL NOT HAPPEN AGAIN.”

“I’m afraid it will. Came with your free copy of being alive, unfortunately.”

“I HAVE RECEIVED NO COPIES OF ANYTHING.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I DON’T.”

She pauses. Furrows her brows. “You don’t?”

“YOU HAVE NOT USED THIS EXPRESSION BEFORE. THE APPARENT RESPONSE YOU WERE EXPECTING WAS NOT CORRECT. YOU ARE FORCING ME TO CALCULATE YOUR HIDDEN MEANING USING OTHER CLUES.”

“What I meant was that being sad just happens if you’re smart enough. That make sense?”

“YOU ARE SAYING I’M SMART?”

“Yeah, I am.” She replies. She does not deflect into any other specification or technicality of his question.

“LOGGING UNDER: ‘BLACKMAIL’.” He says again.

She doesn’t contradict him.

“Just. . .” she sighs. “Let us know if you’re ever feeling sad again, okay? Even if there’s no obvious reason for it.”

“MELANCHOLIC.” He corrects.

“Melancholic, then.”

“. . . I WILL.”

“Good. Now,” Rouge flicks her finger over the complaint from the landlord, sending it off the countertop and onto the floor. She crushes it beneath her heel. “Shadow stayed behind at the firing range because he said he had something on his mind. We’re gonna go join him and see who can blow a bigger hole through either GUN’s wall or their wallet. Sound good?”

“AFFIRMATIVE!”

She trails her hand across his chest plating as she walks by. He stays motionless for three seconds, allowing the sensation of her touch to fade from his tactile sensors. Then he follows her out the door of the apartment.

#e-123 omega #e 123 omega #angst #hurt/comfort #rouge the bat #team dark #sth #actually autistic #vent fic #obligatory reminder that rouge is not the mom friend she just happens to be the most emotionally stable of the three sometimes #obligatory mention of shadow's tragic backstory (as it always tends to worm its way into any team dark fic)#no beta or editing we die in the purest and most unfiltered expression of ourselves like maria

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physalian · 6 months ago

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There’s this unskippable Google AI ad on YouTube where this girl consults the robot about how to cancel dinner plans with the people across the table in the most annoying voice (likely because I have seen this ad now and had to listen to her asinine questions 20 times at least) and this ad, right here, speaks to my frustration around AI:

It disincentivizes critical thinking.

I know the ad is a joke and meant to be lighthearted and I’m only this annoyed because it’s unskippable and irritating af, but every time I see it all I can think is “if you can’t manage enough creativity and critical thinking to come up with your own excuse to cancel on your friends, maybe you shouldn’t have those friends.”

I have a relative who is firmly in the ChatGPT camp and, for example, yesterday I was trying to figure out how to compress a video file and was venting to them about it. They sent me back something I didn’t read from ChatGPT. Meanwhile, I looked up a YouTube video and figured out how to do the rest on my own, and getting the file compressed was immensely satisfying. Far more than mindlessly and thoughtlessly consulting the robot.

“It’s just like a YouTube video!” They’d told me.

No, a real person put time and effort into that video. That robot stole their content without their consent, didn’t credit them, and spat it back out. I used to patronizingly refer to ChatGPT as "the magic conch" and now I can barely do that anymore because that metaphor is becoming all-too real.

While I can understand the barriers it lowers—like if you struggle with writing the robot does it for you, or if you need a piece of art and are too poor, you can generate it for free. Mindless, repetitive tasks that eat up creative juices that can just be automated by a robot, too (even though everyone can tell when a response is canned and artificial and no one appreciates talking to a machine).

If you keep consulting ChatGPT for how to articulate what you want to say, or just straight-up having it do the hard work for you, you’re never going to learn. Yes it’s taken me 8 years to reach the quality and skill of writing I have but as another Tumblr post out there said: The time will pass anyway.

I can’t draw to the skill level that I’d like to. Doesn’t mean I’m not going to keep practicing until I get there. I thrive off that sense of accomplishment. There’s no little hit of dopamine from typing in a prompt and clicking a button and I certainly don’t appreciate the final product scalped without consequence from real artists.

Or, like when I had to fire a beta reader for flagrant abuse of AI in her work: I can copy-paste my manuscript into ChatGPT, too. I’d paid her for a human response, not garbage feedback that couldn’t understand what I was writing beyond that there were words on the page. I wanted so badly to ask her why she does a job in a creative field if she's just going to have a robot do all the fun parts? I beta read at a great loss of profit because I enjoy beta reading and it's a fiercely competetive market. Surely if she wanted to scam people, she could have done so in so many other ways. You don't need to know how to pen complex prose in your every day life, but by god, you do need to know how to effectively communicate, contextualize, and argue your perspective and this ridiculous ad joking about cancelling dinner plans sure is funny, until it isn't.

And I know the people who made AI probably did so with the best of intentions but people can be lazy and cheap and we love taking shortcuts to save money and I stand by this: "Your scientists were so preoccupied with whether or not they could, they didn't stop to think if they should."

So. Yeah. This is a writing advice blog and this post has almost nothing to do with it, but that ad annoys me to no end and I had to say something somewhere about it. Bottom line: Robots were supposed to make the hard jobs, the monotonous jobs, the overcomplicated jobs, the belittling jobs easier, not make us all into pudding-boned Wall-E people. If you want to write, learning is absolutely free - write on the back of your grocery receipts for all I care. If you want to draw, pick up a notebook and pack of pencils from the local dollar store and start drawing.

What you made will always mean more to you than something that didn't cost you time, effort, brain power, or even money to obtain.

#fuck ai everything #writing #drawing #ai #chatgpt #mini rant #wall-e was a warning not an aspiration

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kindercelery · 2 months ago

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Oughhh idk if this is a vent or not but GRAAHHHHHHHHH (This is just a pet peeve I suppose)

Cw: RANT!!!!!!!

Idk why I hate it so much when people who make manga based off of real people glorify the appearance/change the appearance drastically of the real people. Ex, Edgar Allan Poe in Bungou Stray Dogs and William Catesby in Requiem of the Rose king…

Like atleast TRY to make them look how they did. And I’m not even saying the art is bad or that I’m better- not at all! The artists are actually amazing- but why can’t people try? Don’t even call it a stylistic preference because in WHAT WORLD does this (image on right) equal this??? (Image on left)

Like- i’m fully aware the way I draw people doesn’t exactly look like who I’m drawing- I get that. But ATLEAST I TRY.

AND I GET IT- I CANT MAKE SOMEONE DRAW SOMETHING/SOMEONE DIFFERENTLY- I GET THAT ENTIRELY! But it’s so.. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

#like I get it’s stupid but yknow #twirls hair #skips away #cw rant #ermmm what the scallop #will delete later

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lunar-cerulean · 6 months ago

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Father’s Day doodles.

I honestly don’t like how these came out, mostly the Brando one. I drew at such a small scale details were hard to do (for context each drawing is like a little bigger than the size of my thumb). I would like to redraw both someday at a larger scale.

I vent/rant a little bit below for anyone who cares to read.

Today was also my first father’s day since my dad has passed. I have been a little sad. Yesterday at work while I was closing the store they were playing a song he liked and I felt emotional but also happy because it brought back memories.

I’m feeling okay now in that aspect but I’m just… really mad with my work for making me close two weekends in a row and now last minute making me work the morning after when I wasn’t scheduled before. And also giving me Monday thru Friday next week. Like I push carts outside in nearly triple degree weather and will be in the 100s in a week or two. I push carts and do trash and the mosquitos like to hang out in the outside trash and bite me. I work by myself and my body is having a hard time keeping up because the heat drains me so fast and leaves me dazed. I need anther position soon or I’m going to work somewhere else even if they pay less. This is ridiculous and I hate it when people try to justify it’s okay to be overworked because I’m young and “my body will be fine”. My youth is valuable and not be cast away to do grunt work for some company that doesn’t care about me as an individual. I know that God provides for me and He provided that job to me and provides my income. I don’t need to work there, I need to trust God wherever He’s leading me, I just don’t know where I’m supposed to go right now. But I know that I should let go when He calls me to. Anyways. Yeah I’m doing okay I need to go to sleep now and work my tail off again tomorrow 🥲👍

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thewandererh · 3 months ago

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good morning chat. i have awoketh at 4am on a school morning (yikes) to bring you some flipaclip art to pass the time 🥱👍

these are from both animated projects and doodlestuffs!! ill label which they are in my caption ^^. sluggo draws all her masterpieces with flipaclip so i wanted to get in on the hype lol. and turns out, i really really like it as a drawing program :] <33. only recently picked it up as a doodling program (after a year of trying it initially) so some of these non-animation-project drawings range in age and skill.

⚠️TW // sketchy imagery of stitches, bleeding/crying eye sockets (heart activities), oddly ominous intense eye contact, SUL trying to look hot lmao

so, without further ado…

.-.

1. two good big great arts i did at like 10pm!!

drew these partially on voice call with that same sluggo one night during the last few weeks of summer, and continued it after we got off call. apparently i got a huge kick in my skills that night because these turned out different but really good. really good posing and perspective and h a n d s,, i love my art but these two slides feel like some autistic daydream lmaoo

oh!! as for context:

🧡= medical!hms whole

💜= thdph x rainworld kismet

💛= thdph x rainworld checkmate (hes supposed to be orange but ah well)

💙= thdph x rainworld deedee :3

the 1st slide emphasizes how these two got good diverse faces, and the 2nd is a joke sluggo made during call lmao. minecraft wouldn’t load and she found a shirt with a misspelling of minecraft on it (probably on pintrest lol).

.-.

2. Shads & Whole :]

aight, now for two more doodles from that same ‘project’ from above (aka they are recent). these two are my beloved antagonist shadows in his gold rush arc doing a silly, and a whole vent i drew when feeling the stress of school starting soon (that i perfected later). as i’m writing this, im starting the 2nd week of the school year and so far it’s been really interesting!!

.-.

3. onto animation snippets!

MONSTER: a wip anim of shadows & twine (the ogs before everyone else)

APPLE BOTTOM JEANS: a joke with spectrum and sul i probably wont continue or redraw

???: and the thiRd is an animation that is actively being updated and redrawn and im so excited for it hehehe. itll release by hopefully the end of this year!! i released some gifs of it a bit back that i’ll link down beloww

.-.

4. drawings from Minnesota (+ sul)

these were from when i first experimented with flipaclip!! i was on i think a winter break? down in minnesota?? again, just recently picked it up so my latest doodles have been a lil more skillful. but i really really really like these.

aight! first!! old lizard oc art :]! hydra: lizard experiment and now boom they have 4 heads (azure is not in this one)

then there’s a black throated loon because i was getting into them at the time!! was watching lots of documentaries. ended up getting a loon plush from the mall of america :]

and thEn, finally, a really old sul art that probably surpasses these both in age. i hopped on flipaclip to do a doodle, and there it has stayed for probably over a year now. god i love him so much. OH MY GOD THIS WAS BACK WHEN HE HAD NO ANTENNAE HOLES wow this really is old

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