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halfvalid · 1 year ago

Text

through the night

ABOUT

| 18+ | smut | explicit |

characters: live action!roronoa zoro | fem!reader

pairing: live action!roronoa zoro x fem!reader

word count: 4.2k

description: zoro comes to the reader's room during the night. sex ensues.

tags: smut, female reader, oral (receiving), fingering, vaginal sex, creampie, kissing (a lot of it), soft zoro, first time together, confessions (kinda), fluff, no use of "y/n", banter, pwp (lowkey).

author's note: consent is sexy and so is zoro

i have up to now only watched 2 episodes of OPLA and have never consumed any other type of one piece media. expect him to be ooc. also it's my first smut fic help

It was nighttime on the Going Merry, and the dull kiss of the setting horizon drifted lazily through the single window in your room. You were lying on your bed, leaning against the headboard as you flipped through a book you’d picked up the last time the ship had been docked. It wasn’t too interesting, but it was something to pass the time with, so you stifled a yawn and flipped to the next page.

There was a knock at your door, and you glanced up, watching as the shoddy metal hinges slowly creaked open. Zoro was standing in the doorway, his broad frame blocking out nearly all the light coming in from the hall. He was still dressed in his daywear, which reminded you that you needed to change—the loose shirt and trousers you wore were, although clean, nothing near sleepwear.

“Zoro?” you asked, watching as he started into the room. You clicked your tongue before he could step another foot inside, though— “If you’re going to come in, take your shoes off.”

Zoro scoffed but obeyed, pausing by the mouth of the room to slide his heavy boots off. He tread lightly to where you lay, climbing up to sit on the edge of the bed beside you. “What’s up?”

“Can’t sleep,” Zoro answered. You moved aside to allow him some more room, centering yourself on the bed. Zoro didn’t move, though.

You raised your eyebrows. “That’s possible?”

He looked unimpressed, propping his arms under his head and leaning back so his head was splayed against your thighs. His three matching earrings glinted in the light. “Luffy and Nami are being loud. Your room’s the farthest away.”

“Your elbow is digging into my gut,” you said, turning back towards your book. Zoro rolled his eyes, but readjusted his position, pulling his arms down to instead lay folded atop his stomach. “Are you just going to nap there?”

Zoro shrugged, and you had to stifle a giggle, the sensation vaguely ticklish. He’d never been a man of many words, so you lowered your book again and went back to reading. The light in the room was dim, though; after a few minutes, the glow from the light at your bedside no longer sufficed, and you were too tired to strain your eyes to squint at the page. You could, of course, just turn on the cabin lights—but Zoro was asleep by now, and you hadn’t even liked the book that much anyway.

You set it on your nightstand, gazing down at the slumbering man in your lap. Despite the glare he so often sported, Zoro looked near-angelic in his sleep, his face all smooth planes and straight lines. Those dark eyes of his were hidden like this, black lashes splayed across his cheeks as shadows emphasized the hollows of his bone structure.

He really was beautiful, an ever-comforting presence within the Straw Hats that your eyes had always strayed to. There was a certain kind of fondness you held for him that none of the other crew members could quite compare to, although if you voiced those thoughts Luffy would probably end up giving you a lighthearted scolding. You could already imagine the teasing from the other members of the crew—Usopp and Sanji particularly—making fun of your little crush, which is why you kept your lips firmly sealed. A secret was a secret, and this was yours to keep.

You finally tore your eyes away, focusing instead on getting out of the position you’d gotten stuck in. Somewhere in the back of your mind you liked the idea of Zoro sleeping in your lap, but the clothes you wore were getting increasingly uncomfortable. You carefully slipped out from under him, cradling his head so as to support him as you gently lowered him to the mattress. Thankfully, he didn’t rouse, and you slipped to the other side of the room to open up your wardrobe, satisfied knowing you weren’t disturbing him.

You made deft work, first brushing through your hair and rinsing your face with some clean water before focusing your attention on changing your clothes. You removed your trousers, instead donning a pair of shorts. You were halfway through peeling off your blouse to replace it with a softer, silk one, when Zoro coughed from behind you.

You froze, daring to glance behind you whilst still topless. Zoro had awoken, eyes having lost all trace of sleep as he slowly sat up, staring at your figure across the room. He coughed again as soon as your eyes met, dropping his gaze. “Sorry,” he said very carefully, voice hoarse and grating.

“No, it’s okay,” you managed out, but you were still frozen. Your thoughts were on the dark look that’d been in his eyes the split-second before he’d looked away—surprised but sharp, cutting like just his gaze could pierce through your soul. Gooseflesh had prickled up along your arms.

“I’ll just… go,” Zoro muttered, already having gotten up as he started shuffling towards the door. You jolted into action, nearly dropping the shirt still in your hands as you turned towards him.

“No, you can—” your words softened, seeing his gaze flicker rapidly around your figure before finally landing on some spot by your cheek. “You can stay.” You paused, hoping your words weren’t too direct. “If you want.”

“You should put your shirt on,” Zoro said, almost choking on his words, like they were too big to fit in his mouth.

Your gaze dropped down before a steady blush started climbing up the sides of your face. “Right,” you started, but it was like you’d lost control of your hands. The shirt still hung limply from your grip.

“Or you could…” Zoro paused, lips parted as he sucked in a soft breath. Carefully, he moved back towards your bed, the only sound in the room a soft thump as he sat back on it. “Not.”

You swallowed. You could barely feel the lax of grip as your fingers released the shirt, letting it fall to the floor in one pathetic heap. You took a tentative step towards Zoro, and then another, until you were right in front of him. The soft night breeze through the window caused chills to erupt down your spine. Or maybe that was Zoro’s expression—nearly studious in his attentivity, eyes grazing across your chest and torso like he was taking in information for a new, particularly high-paying bounty.

“Zoro,” you started. He finally glanced up at your face, and you shuddered, biting down hard on your tongue. “I, um—hi.”

“Hey,” he said carefully, like he was testing the word on his tongue. Your gaze flickered down to his lips. He seemed to notice, but he didn’t say anything; rather, he raised one of his hands, pressing it against your side until his fingers tightened against your waist, a present, ever-pulsing rush of warmth. “I think my chest is bigger than yours.”

You flushed, a quick rush of crimson gracing your cheeks as you turned away. Zoro’s grip on your waist tightened, and a low laugh escaped the bottom of his throat. “That was mean,” you whined. Zoro’s other hand came up to your face, fingers pressing against the underside of your chin. He carefully angled your face down, so you couldn’t look anywhere but straight at him.

“It worked to calm you down, though,” he said easily. You were about to protest against the fact that you had been calm in the first place, but then Zoro was kissing you.

Zoro was a lot less aggressive than you’d originally expected, but as you sunk deeper into the kiss, it started to make sense. Zoro was all clean lines when he fought, practiced and perfect—no space for sloppy lines or scribbles. The way he kissed was similar; he applied pressure, but not too much pressure, and his thumb traced firm circles into the skin of your waist.

He angled your head with the hand firmly propped against your jaw, so you didn’t have to do a lot of the work—just press against his lips and move against the gentle rhythm he’d set. His teeth scraped carefully against your lower lip, and he tugged, letting a soft gasp out from your throat.

Zoro took the opportunity to pry your lips apart with his tongue, the fingers splayed against your chin coaxing your jaw open until he could slide his tongue against yours. You let out a soft whimper, hands scrambling to his shoulders and running along the muscles of his back. Of course you’d known he was well-built, but the firmness of his body forced another squeak out of you—one he was more than willing to swallow up.

Eventually, Zoro’s hand dropped from your jaw, skimming along your body line before coming to rest on the underside of one of your breasts. You gasped as he started to massage the skin with his thumb, accidentally biting down on his lower lip in the process. He groaned, the sound low as his rhythm sped up, the hand cupping your waist dropping down to your hip.

And then he was hoisting you up and onto his lap. “Oh my God,” you muttered, causing him to break away, eyes glinting with amusement.

“What?”

A heady rush had blossomed along your cheeks again. “Nothing. You.” Somewhere in the back of your head, you wondered how strong Zoro had to be to lift you off the ground so easily with only one arm—granted, it hadn’t been that far of a lift, but still. “Kiss me again.”

Zoro laughed but obeyed, his hand still working at your breast as the other dropped to your thigh. Your fingers interlaced with his short hair, tangling within the moss-green locks as his tongue ran along the ivories of your teeth. His teeth scraped against your lip as he moved away, lips instead following the line of your jaw and moving down to your neck.

You dropped your arm from his hair, hand pressing flat against his upper back. Zoro’s muscles flexed as he chased down your throat, and you sighed as he pressed gentle kisses along the line of your vein.

“Been—wanting to do this for a while,” Zoro panted between kisses, placing a final one kiss at the junction of your collarbone before glancing tentatively back up at you. You met his mouth in another kiss, a smile you hadn’t felt rising bright along your cheekbones.

“Me too,” you whispered, and a look of relief flashed across his face before he was ducking his head again to press more kisses along your neck. You let out a laugh—you could feel the rumble of his lips against the sound as it left your throat. Carefully, you ran your finger along his earrings, soft clinks filling the room at the action. “What was that? Did you think I didn’t?”

“Dunno,” Zoro muttered, and you laughed again before he nipped at your skin, teeth scratching in a gentle bite. At your chest, his hand squeezed your nipple, and you gasped.

“That was mean.”

“Mhm.” Zoro didn’t seem appeased, his kisses turning sloppier—open-mouthed, full of bite. He never pressed down hard enough to hurt, but your mouth was full of soft gasps and whines, and your hand had come down to clench against his bicep. God, his arms. “I don’t hear you complaining.”

You nudged him, meaning only for it to be a slight press. But Zoro let the action guide him, falling onto his back with you pressed against him, flat against the bed. He stilled, both hands dropping to your hips as he gaze lifted to drink you in.

You were certain you were a mess—blushing, lips probably swollen, bruise blossoms that would purple by morning scattered all along your neck. But the way he looked at you made it seem like you were all dolled up—like you were outfitted in a flowing gown, eyes sparkling and hair perfect instead of the mess it most undoubtedly was.

“You’re pretty,” he murmured, almost too quiet to hear. Actually, you were certain you weren’t supposed to hear it, because before you could respond, he was pulling you across him, fluidly rolling you onto your back. His forearm pressed against the mattress beside your head, caging you in. Zoro seemed to like this angle, moving down your neck to your chest with more gentle kisses.

You were content to let him take what he wanted, eyes not moving from his face as you watched his lips brush over your breast. His tongue was hot against your skin, and you sucked in a tight breath as he swirled it along your nipple. Zoro steadied you with a firm grasp, hand pressing against your side before pushing up to attend to the breast that his mouth wasn’t. You squirmed, a soft pool of warmth sitting in your lower belly as he worked. A tight knot had formed somewhere inside, and you let out a breathy gasp.

Zoro’s gaze traced lower, hand leaving your breast in favor of skidding down your figure to rest at the hand of your shorts. He paused, eyes flickering upwards to meet yours. Hastily, you nodded, and his fingers dipped below the cloth, head lowering to press another kiss by your hip bone. Your hands clenched against the bed sheets as his fingers skimmed the rim of your shorts, coaxing them down inch by inch before they finally slid down to your knees. You kicked them off insistently, and Zoro laughed, one hand coming to stroke your thigh as if to make you stop moving.

Even though you’d partly expected it, you hadn’t been ready for the soft kiss he pressed against your inner thigh. His hand hooked around the side of your panties, dragging them down as he kissed up your skin, and you took in a sharp breath that he wholly and entirely ignored. His movements became more insistent as you squirmed, open-mouth and biting, tongue darting out from between his lips to languidly swipe up your thigh. Finally he reached the junction of your thigh and core, mouth pressing a feather-light kiss that dragged an entirely shameful sound out from your throat.

Zoro pushed your panties all the way off your hips, letting them sit by your knees even as you squirmed to kick them off. “Shh,” he murmured, and you stopped, heart pounding as the sound sunk deep into your bloodstream. The tight knot in your lower belly had only grown tighter, and your breath caught in your throat as you watched Zoro, his eyes flickering all around your exposed core.

He ran a finger along the side of your slit, and you shuddered, watching as he experimentally traced it across your folds. He lowered his head to your hips, pressing a kiss onto your clit. You were barely able to suppress the buck of your hips as Zoro’s hand came to rest on your thigh, pinning you down as his other hand worked along your core.

His finger found your vagina, carefully sinking between your folds as his tongue worked languid circles around your clit. You let out a moan, voice stuttering against your throat as his finger slipped deeper inside you. It only took him a few moments to push another one in, the soft scrape of his cut fingernails eliciting sparks that drew another breathy moan out of you.

“Isn’t it a little—unfair that I’m the only one not wearing anything?” you managed out between breaths, and Zoro stopped his motions, head lifting and eyes glancing up at you from under his lashes. One of his eyebrows arched in question, and his lips were glossy with your fluids, causing your core to squeeze around his fingers. Somehow, he didn’t even seem to notice the motion.

“Oh, that’s what you want to focus on right now?” he murmured, all low and throaty. He always spoke low-pitched, vocal chords all brash and grating from the back of his throat, but his voice hummed even deeper now, although that didn’t seem humanly possible. Your muscles clenched again, and Zoro’s gaze dipped down to where his fingers were still pushed inside of you. He fluidly pressed in deeper, fingers curling inside your body before pulling out and working back in. Your retort was lost as you moaned again, the tight feeling of your gut slowly unwinding as he moved back and forth inside of you.

His mouth lowered to lick at your clit again, and you cried out, barely suppressing a scream as his fingers dug, more insistent, inside of you. He pressed one final kiss against your clit, and then sat back, eyes fixed on working at your core instead. His fingers pumped in and out, steady and fluid. Your breaths came out breathy and broken, climbing closer and closer to your climax until he finally reached the summit inside of you.

“Come,” Zoro whispered, the hand not taking care of you running reassuringly along your thigh. You came suddenly, hips stuttering from where’d they’d lifted off the mattress, a cry ripping out of your throat. Zoro slowly slipped his fingers out of you, rubbing soothing circles into your inner thigh as you ran out your climax. Your breaths evened out, becoming less deep, less frantic; Zoro watched all the while, a glossy shine over his eyes and the faintest of smiles pressed along his lips.

You tilted your gaze down to his face, catching him just as he started to move again. The fingers drenched in your fluids came up to his mouth, and he licked them clean. Your stomach dropped, somehow already turning you on despite having come just mere seconds beforehand.

“My turn,” Zoro said softly, sitting up to start unbuttoning his shirt. You hoisted yourself up, hands skimming along the sheets beside him, uncertain of whether he wanted you to touch. You glimpsed a stiff tent in his pants as he sat up, and swallowed hard, eyeing the pull with apprehension.

“Do you want me to—” you tried gesturing down to his hips, but he caught your hand swiftly, pressing it against the buttons of his shirt. “What do you want?”

“Sex,” Zoro said. Nothing else. You held back the choke that dared to escape your throat, and a sheepish grin crossed his face. It was lopsided, nearly a smirk, if not for the genuine warmth glimmering at his eyes. “Sorry. That was vague.”

“It’s okay,” you assured, stifling a laugh. Your hands worked fastidiously at his buttons. It took far longer than you felt it should’ve, fingers all clumsy as you tugged them through their holes, unlooping them from where it fixed the cloth together. Soon enough, though, Zoro was stripping the last of the fabric off, tossing it carelessly across the room before pulling you into another kiss.

He was sloppier now that you’d come, more comfortable in his element—you could taste the tang of yourself on his lips, and you let out a sigh, hands moving down his figure to work at his belt. He had to stop kissing you to tug at his pants, pushing them down his legs before finally kicking them off fully.

You ducked your head to press a kiss at his navel, eyes tracing the length that jutted out from his hips. Your breath caught, gaze fixed to a pale vein running up the line of his length. “Up,” Zoro murmured, and you glanced up. Zoro pressed a long kiss to your mouth, one hand skimming around your butt to pull you up by the headboard. He ran a hand over your core, as if to ascertain you were relaxed enough for him.

“Do you have anything for it?” he murmured, lips sending chills down your back as he pressed a soft kiss at your jaw.

“I’m on the pill, yeah,” you huffed out, arms winding around his torso. Zoro hummed his response, fingers running up and down your thigh as he adjusted, hips sliding against yours to meet your core.

You sucked in a breath, but he was gentle with it, pushing in slowly, hand running along your lower back and coaxing you still. The sensation sparked tingles all over your body; up your spine, along your hips, down your legs like Zoro was electricity himself. You let out a little sigh as he pushed up to his hilt into you, hips stuttering against his as you both paused for breath. He brushed a ghost of a kiss along your lips. “Okay?” Zoro murmured.

“Perfect,” you answered, arms clutching tighter around him, fingers digging into his back. You hoped it wasn’t too sharp, but considering how big Zoro was, it was likely he barely felt the pressure—the crescents of your fingernails were probably just pinpricks to him.

Zoro started moving, then, his actions soft and fluid at first, fingers pressing reassuring circles into your waist and hips. He was nearly tender with it, motions languid and slow, like he had all the time in the world. Your breaths came out easy, soft and just barely edging towards gasps.

He started thrusting with more insistence soon, though; Zoro’s hips bucked against yours, and your grip tightened along his shoulder blades as he pushed in and out of you. Soft gasps and whines left your throat, in stark contrast to the heavy groans and grunts that barely stuttered past Zoro’s lips.

“Like that,” you said, barely able to let out words of encouragement as he hit your sweet spot, buried deep inside of you. You let out a throaty moan as he moved faster and faster, thrusts becoming harder and more aggressive. You knocked your head back, one of your hands reaching to grab Zoro’s from where it propped him up by your head. He welcomed the invitation quickly, fingers interlacing with yours, coaxing your palm open into a kiss of your hands. His thrusts worked harder than ever, and you stopped chasing the friction, letting your hips buck up against his as he shoved into you.

A low groan erupted from his throat as he hit your spot again, mouth coming down to bite into your shoulder as he suppressed the cry that tore from his mouth. You swallowed, gasping hard for breath as you felt him come inside you, your walls clenching tight around him before you also felt the familiar burst of pressure. You let out a gasping moan, mind buzzing with sparks and tingles. Vaguely, you felt Zoro’s hand against your hip, moving up and down in calming strokes.

It took a moment for you both to recover, coming down from the blissful high after long seconds ticked by. Zoro removed his mouth from your shoulder, carefully prying his jaw off from your skin. He scrutinized the marks he’d left—crescents of teeth, undoubtedly—before lowering his head again to press an apologetic kiss to the bite. You laughed in surprise.

“I can be a gentleman,” Zoro protested lightly, though his words didn’t hold much of a fight as he carefully slid out of you. He did it slowly, inch by inch, leaving a hollow sensation in his wake when he eventually parted from you. “You okay?”

“Lovely,” you answered honestly, eyes grazing up his chest before meeting his. “You?”

“I’m good,” Zoro answered, a vague smile on his lips. It was soft, tender; maybe not as big as ones you’d seen when he was laughing with the crew, but special nonetheless. He studied you for a moment, and you took the opportunity to trace his face with your eyes. His pupils were blown, slowly receding back into small dots of shadow, and his lips were kissed red, swollen over and glossy with your saliva. “Want me to draw a bath?”

“No,” you said, content just to watch him like this. “We can clean up in the morning, it’s getting late.” You hesitated, suddenly uncertain, teeth tugging at your lower lip. “Unless… you want to go?”

Zoro snorted. “No, I think I like it here,” he decided. He sat up, reaching to pull the blankets over your figure so the gooseflesh you hadn’t even noticed on your skin would subside. “Too tired to move, anyway. Might stay here forever.”

“Dramatic ass,” you mumbled, wrapping a hand around his wrist and tugging him closer to you. Zoro obeyed, sliding beside you, one arm moving to wrap around your waist. “Go to sleep, you big dummy.”

Zoro’s breath was light against the shell of your ear. “That was unwarranted.”

“Sleep,” you insisted, and Zoro huffed, reaching the arm that wasn’t around you to the nightstand. He flicked the lantern off, then turned back towards you, finally settling down. His lips pressed a soft kiss along your shoulder, and you smiled, your hand reaching down to meet where his was splayed along your belly.

“Good night,” you whispered.

“Night,” he mumbled back, the end of the word tapering off into a soft, tired breath. You could feel his chest move, up and down in a steady, soft rhythm. You buried your head into the crook of his arm, letting out a contented sigh before finally closing your eyes to drift off to sleep.

#opla zoro #opla roronoa zoro #roronoa zoro #roronoa zoro x reader #roronoa zoro x you #smut #reader insert #x reader #opla #one piece live action #one piece netflix #roronoa zoro smut #opla zoro x reader #opla fanfiction #opla fanfic #one piece live action x you #one piece live action x reader #kiki writes!

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 11 months ago

Text

Follow You Anywhere 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, controlling behavoiour, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You're online existence threatens to leak into your real life.

Characters: Captain Syverson

Note: I couldn't help myself.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

"So... this is what it looks like today?" You aim your camera at the sky outside your window, "sorry, the screen is kinda in the way."

You let out a nervous chuckle and flip the camera to yourself. You make a silly face. You were never overly fond of your image on the screen but the vlogs help. Like a little diary, mostly for yourself. You and your seven followers on Insta.

You bat your lashes and fix the clip in your hair, "oh, I got this free. Yeah, I bought a new hair oil and they threw this in the bag." You let your thoughts run wild from your tongue. You found a journal too daunting, the blank lines leaving you just as empty. This is easier. "Anyway, I shouldn't have spent the money to begin with."

You give another splintered laugh. The one you let out when you're anxious, or scared, or happy, or even mad. You bite your lip and catch yourself in your digitized reflection. You stop and turn your camera to your bedroom.

"Today, I'm gonna clean this mess. Me and you guys together."

You scour the room with the lens. Your laundry is piled on the floor and you have a stack of books you need to put on the shelf. It isn't the worst it's been but it's getting cluttered.

"But first, we'll have breakfast, can't start the stream on an empty stomach," you chirp and nearly drop the phone, "oops, uh..." You fix your grip and check the number in the corner. You have one viewer; on a good day, it's three, most days, it's just you talking to the void.

You go into the kitchen, just down the short hall from your bedroom, opening into your living room. You go to the counter and prop up the phone so the camera is on you again. You tap your fingers and hum.

"What should we have for breakfast?" You ask. You don't feel as crazy talking to yourself even if there's really no one watching. "Oo, French toast. Gotta use up the eggs."

You go to the fridge and pull out the eggs and the milk. You bring them back to the counter, shuffling around for a bowl, a whisk, and the cinnamon.

You mix up your ingredients and dip the bread, one piece at a time. You put on a skillet and fry up the slices, presenting a stack of three to the camera. You smile and dust some icing sugar over the top.

“Probably shouldn't have all this sugar for breakfast,” you shrug at the camera, “alright, quick break…”

You put the stream onto the ‘back soon’ page and take your plate to the small foldout table against the wall. You're not a fan of eating on camera. You finish and rinse up before snatching your phone up again.

You return to your bedroom and put the phone on a middle shelf and flip the stream back to live. Still that one viewer…

“Anyway, I'm back,” you wave at the lens.

You hesitate, looking around as you stand straight and spin. Cleaning, right. Before you can set to work, the phone dings.

A message?

You go back to your phone and squint at the chat bubble floating up.

‘Looked delicious too.’

“It was,” you agree with a grin, “thanks.”

‘Don't mean the toast.’

The next message has you blinking. Your nape burns. They can't mean… you clear your throat and giggle.

“Well, let's get started,” you back up and clap your hands, “you know, I've been so carried away with work. This place is a pigsty.”

You sit on the floor and sort through the clothes. You toss them into the basket as you sit in silence. You stop yourself and glance at the phone.

“How about some tunes?”

You walk on your knees to your bedside and turn on your bluetooth speaker. You go to your phone and find a playlist before pulling the stream back to full screen. As you do, you hear a noise you've never heard before.

‘BourbonBear has tipped.’ Huh? Really?

“Oh, thanks, er, BourbonBear,” you giggle around the name, “how nice. Maybe one day I can afford a proper camera for this, huh?”

You smile and go back to the dirty clothes. You quickly ball up a pair of panties and shove them in the basket. You carry on until they're all untangled.

You move on and tidy your desk, bending underneath to gather up a few loose pens. You make your way around the bedroom, putting away books, fixing the blankets on the bed, and straightening the little figurines on the shelf above the bed.

You grab the stick vacuum and suck up the dirt and proclaim your task done. It took a lot longer than you thought. It's after eleven. The one viewer is still there.

“Whew, okay, I'm gonna get myself washed up and go to the park. Maybe I'll post that later,” you give a thumbs up next to your head as you talk to the phone, “thank you.”

You end the stream and let out a sigh. Your videos aren't much and you doubt they're very interesting but it's like venting for you. Almost like having an invisible friend. You think you will take some pictures of the flowers to share.

🧸

You take your usual path through the park. The walks help you unwind your worries. You try to come after work at least a couple days during the week and both days on the weekend. You find the mindlessness of the routine to be calming.

The deeper you get into the wooded length of the path, you slow to admire the birds in the branches and the critters crawling in the brush. You take out your phone and snap a few photos of a blue jay before it wings away shyly. You smile and flip the cam, smiling as you take a goofy selfie. You can add that to your post.

The path winds ahead and you follow it in the din, listening to the river just down the incline to your left and the tweeting from the sky. You lift your face and inhale the woodsy scent. The sudden crack of a twig startles you and you spin to face the noise. There's no one there. Sometimes you forget other people are free to just walk on through.

You chuckle at yourself and continue on. The path leads out to a suburban street where you like to look at the houses. They're much more spacious and pretty than your grimy brick apartment building.

You come out from the shade of the trees and wander along the avenue. There's a mailbox painted to look like the house it stands before and a little nook for second hand children's books to be borrowed through the neighbourhood. Sometimes you picture yourself living in one of those houses though you don't think it could ever truly be.

As you crane your head, you sense a shadow in your peripheral. You're walking a bit slow. You sidle to the side to get out of the way of the other pedestrian. When no one passes, you look back. No one.

You must be imagining things. You shrug and plod along. You're already thinking of what kind of tea you'll have when you get in.

🧸

You sit down with your mug of ginger citrus tea and set to editing your post. You add a light filter to the photos as you shuffle through them on your laptop. The process is slow as the computer is nearly five years old now and chuffing on its 4GB drive. You get to the selfie you snapped, a stop.

You lean in to get a better glimpse of the background. It's fuzzy but there's a figure just over your shoulder. How could that be? You looked and there was no one there. That's so strange.

You stare as a chill courses through you. You're thankful you hadn't put your earphones in. You wouldn't have heard whoever it was and they may have even snuck up on you. Or maybe it's just a trick of the light.

You hit ‘post’ and try to shake off the foreboding. It's nothing. You're being silly. Besides, you're home and safe now. Next time, you'll be more alert.

A message pops up. You stare at the dot over the chat bubble. You tap with your thumb and bring up the DMs.

'Stream tonight?' BourbonBear asks.

You tilt your head. You already did some today. You're tired and want to lie down and enjoy your time off. You type back 'sorry, not tonight. tomorrow <3' and another notification vibrates. A comment on your latest post.

'Pretty sweater', also from BourbonBear. You heart their comment and leave a thanks below.

You flip back to the selfie. You can't really see your sweater in the picture, just the scalloped knitting of the collar. Well, you suppose it does look cute. You put your phone down and leave it on your desk. That's enough Insta for today.

🧸

You time your shopping trip for the least busy hour. It's early and the store is almost empty except for employees stacking bread on shelves or wandering listlessly around the deli. You have your phone in the basket of the cart, aimed at you as you roll it along slowly and check your list.

The stream is just as empty. It's only just started but you don't expect too many people to be up at this hour. You stop and grab a loaf of sourdough, checking the date before showing it to the lens and putting it in the cart. You smile and announce the next item.

"Strawberries... you know I was thinking I might get raspberries instead," you say, catching the eye of one of the yawning employees. You must seem like a weirdo. It's why you typically don't film in public.

As you roll around to the fruit, you notice the count change. One viewer. You choose a basket of raspberries and show those. You see a message float up; morning.

You smile and return the greeting softly and place the berries down carefully beside your phone. You need yogurt to go with the berries.

You work down the list, making some substitutes as you tick off each item. You linger in the ice cream section a bit too long and talk yourself out of a gallon of rocky road. You lean on the handle of the cart and smile down at the lens.

"Going to check out," you say, "see you all later."

All? There's still just the one. You end the stream and take your phone out of the basket.

You wheel around to checkout and line up at the only open till. You put your items up as you greet the cashier with a smile. She seems tired as she gives a dull response.

As you put the yogurt on the belt, you sense someone join the queue behind you. You glance over as a large man stands only feet away. He's tall and burly and staring at you. Maybe he heard you talking to your audience, or he would think, yourself. You continue to unload your groceries.

"Never tried those," he comments as you take out a box of strawberry Pocky.

You pause and hold them up, chuckling nervously, as you do.

"Pretty good," you answer, "I eat way too many."

You notice the man doesn't have a basket or a cart. That realisation needles under your skin. Maybe he's just getting lotto or smokes?

"You like sweet stuff."

"Too much," you squeak even though it doesn't sound like a question.

He just stares, not saying a word. You swallow tightly and pull the last few items out of the cart and get behind it to wheel it through the lane. As you do, he looms closely, adding to the sweat gathering on your lower back.

You roll along and wait for the cashier to ring through the rest of your things. She bags them up neatly in two large paper bags. You pay with your card and thank her as you lift the first into your cart. The man behind you moves forward and grabs the second, startling you.

"Got it," he says as he places it with the other, squeezing by you, crowding you.

"Oh, excuse me, sir," you stammer, "oh," you lean on the cart to roll it to the end of the lane as you make space between you and the stranger. "Thanks, er, uh... thanks."

You turn and grab the handle, jittering. He's really weirding you out. Especially as you realise he's walked right by the cashier. He's following you.

"I can help get ‘em in your car," he offers in a drawl.

"Oh, that's alright, I... bus," you cringe as you realise you've said too much.

"I could drive you. I have a truck."

"No thank you," you walk faster, the cart rattling with your pace.

"Why not?"

"I don't know you, erm, sorry--"

"You don't?" He catches up and shoves his phone in your face, your Insta profile glaring back at you, "I paid for the milk, maybe the berries..."

"What?" You stop, just by the door and turn to him. "I don't--"

"You haven't eaten, have you? I'll take you for French toast. That's your favourite."

"Um," you blink at him as your eyes tinge, "I don't..."

"You got me through a hard campaign, just wanna say thank you," he adjusts his cap and you notice the pin on it. He's a veteran. Oh, 'campaign'.

“Just got back home," he shifts on his feet, a meek gesture for such a large man, "and... your videos helped me remember it. Helped me hold onto it in the sh-- in the stuff."

"I... wow, okay, that's... I'm glad I could do that."

"I really don't mind giving you a ride. Lots of weirdos on the bus," he insists.

"That's nice but--"

"Please," he softens his tone, "been a while since I sat down and had breakfast without worrying about the sky falling."

You shudder and grip the cart tight. You don't know how to say no. You didn't think about who was watching. You always just assumed they were bots. Then you think of the chaching noise and the amount flashing on the screen.

"BourbonBear?" You ask.

"Yeah," he cracks a crooked smile and smooths his hand over his thick beard. "Everyone calls me Syv.”

#dark!captain syverson #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #follow you anywhere #sandcastle #captain syverson #dark captain syverson #captain syverson x reader

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dinogoofymutated · 10 days ago

Note

Okay, since requests are open, I wanted to ask for something, especially after seeing that you are comfortable with most male characters.

I present:

Scott Summers x fem!reader who's just a little too rebelious and annoying for his taste but he still can't help but love her? Like, enemies to lovers kind of style?

If you want to do a oneshot or headcanons is up to you, I'm just starving for Scott content.

Don't know, if you wanna do is, especially since he's not everyone's cup of tea, but I thought "hey, give it a try, maybe she wants to try someting different" so here I go

Anyway, love your work, you#re amazing <3

Cyclops/GN!Reader I've had this prompt saved in my drafts for SO LONG. Basically since the moment it came in!! I was so happy you sent this in bc i had been thinking about writing for Scott, but then I couldn't think of a good enough way to carry this out so I waited on it for a good bit until I had it down to a science!! Hope you enjoy!! Man, I started writing this and then realised I had to make a banner for him too 😭 I did this to myself tho Most of the characters I write for are written as combinations from different x-men media, but I'm still figuring out how I want to characterise Scott since he's a new character for me. Just wanted to put this out there in case I change how I write for him in future fics. (also, let me know how you feel about him in this one! Tell me if yall think I should tweak his attitude a bit :) ) Edit from the future: I started this draft so long ago and damn did it turn out long. TWs: Idk at the moment, will add if I think of any! Reader has a specific power that is kinda vague at first. I've written them out at the very bottom BUT if u read u will spoil the surprise of the fic so fair warning

Scott does not like you. At least, not anymore.

You've known each other for a long time, both coming to Xavier's school within weeks of each other. You used to be friends- or at least friendly. But as you both grew and learned more about yourselves and your powers, a gap began to form, and then continued to grow once both of you became members of the x-men.

It's not like he didn't notice your tendency for rebellious behavior before, but on the field? the two of you clashed more than ever. He's doing his best out here, and the last thing he needs as a leader is both you and Logan going out of your way to put yourselves in dangerous situations because you think you know better.

And the moment you get back to the mansion? You clash all over again- and over the dumbest things. You practically avoid him all of the time, refuse to spar with him unless you're forced, will scoot away from him if he has to sit next to you on game nights. It's like the very thought of brushing against him is enough to get under your skin.

The moment the blackbird lands, you should have known what to expect. But you're in such a good mood, with the mission having gone well despite all odds. Sure, you didn't exactly follow Cyclops' foolproof plan, but when did you ever?

Scott is standing at the end of the ramp when the doors open, watching with a rather sour look on his face as you laugh with Jubilee, the others trailing shortly behind. He crosses his arms, and you barely stop short of him, acting like you had never seen him in the first place as you sigh, nodding at the others to go ahead before finally turning to him and crossing your own arms.

"Go ahead. Say your piece." You say. It only stokes the irritation in him, and he scowls.

"You can't go one, single mission and actually listen to what I say, can you?" He snaps. You roll your eyes, knowing that if he had it his way, you'd never have gone on the mission at all. Still, you stand defiantly, unwilling to back down.

"Look, you weren't even there, you can't expect me to-"

"It would be different if I was there, but I wasn't." Scott interrupts you, and the aggravation it lights in you is practically all-consuming. You can't hold back your scowl. "You were the only senior member of the team on that plane, do you understand how detrimental it could have been if you had gotten hurt, or worse?!" Oh, what a load of horseshit. It's alway the boy scout schtick with him- I'm the leader, do what I say, If I was there none of this would have happened- what an asshole! Hell, in the second half you might have actually thought he was concerned for you and the team, but you knew better.

"Don't act like you actually give a damn, Summers." You snap. "Everyone is fine, no one got hurt, I don't see your problem." You're done with this. You're tired, sweaty, exhausted, and the last thing you want to be doing right now is talking with him. You knock shoulders with him as you brush past, but he reaches out and grabs you by the arm. You feel a mix of strong emotions- anger, concern, frustration- and thoughts swim in your head, before snatching your arm away from him like you'd been burned. He pauses for a second as you whip around and look at him, a rage in your eyes. He still looks at you with that stupid, stubborn look on his face.

"I get that you think I'm just some stuck-up asshole, but there's a reason I get angry when you do something reckless." His voice has lost the smallest a bit of fire. You scoff at him immediately, before turning away to storm out.

"Eat shit."

So no. things weren't exactly cool between you two.

It's not like you weren't friends at some point though, back when you were kids. You didn't know what happened to cause this rift, but he only really thought of you as some reckless idiot as of late, and you didn't care to learn anything else about what was going on in his brain.

Unfortunately, that didn't mean you could avoid him forever. Not when the both of you are on a team.

You only realise how much pain you're in when the blackbird's autopilot clicks on. Your suit was scuffed and worn in some areas, starting to burn at the edges of your sleeves as the protective coating started to wear away. You noticed it in the midst of battle, trying to focus on manipulating debri to a colder temperature rather than a hot one, but sometimes you can't afford to be picky in fights. Your suit may have been temperature resistant, but you were temperature invulnerable. Besides, heat did the most damage anyway.

You frown a bit at the sight of your burnt sleeves. Normally, you'd be worried that Hank would be mad at having to make a new suit again, but if anything you were sure he'd be grateful for the challenge of improving it. Scott was really the only one who would scold you for it, always coming back to the same arguments of being too reckless, ect, ect... and speaking of Scott, he was being awfully quiet right now.

The cockpit is empty exempt for the two of you, being the only two assigned to the mission. Scott is sat in the pilot's chair, and you can't really see much of him besides the top of his head. He's silent, and it makes you worried.

When you stand and walk. over to him, his face looks pained. You're sure his eyes are closed under his signature visor, his head leaning back limply in the chair, hair tussled. You furrow your eyebrows. You knew he'd be tired, but he's not usually this burned out.

"Scott? You alright?" You ask. he only hums in response. It's then when you realise what's wrong.

"Migraine?" You ask, and he hums in the affirmative. You wince at the thought. You knew he got migraines often, especially when using his mutation more than usual, and having migraines yourself, you knew he was hurting. You take a look at where the emergency aid box usually is, knowing it had painkillers, but the space is empty, and you sigh to yourself when you remember you used it on a local- Scott agreeing with you for once when you wanted to leave it with them for any more emergencies. You look back at Scott, and think for a moment more.

Scott jumps when you place a cold hand on his forehead, having settled your weight on the back of the chair behind him. It sparks a feeling of surprise.

"What are you doing?" Scott asks, and instead of his usual accusatory tone, he just sounds tired.

"Don't be a baby." You respond, chilling both hands and combing through his hair gently. Scott is confused as all hell. Why were you doing this? You go out of your way to avoid him at any cost, and then... this? What even was this?

But... he'd be lying if it didn't feel nice. Scott begins to relax underneath you as you continue to comb through his scalp, pressing gentle touches to his forehead as you do so. It's... it feels good.

"My mom used to do this when I was little." You say softly, after a long moment of silence. "Whenever I had a migraine, she'd run her hands under cold water for a long time, lay my head in her lap, and run her hands through my hair. The cold usually helped." Scott's shoulder's are sagging now, and he sighs every once in a while. Although he doesn't say anything, you don't need to ask. There's a question beginning to brim, but you answer it before he can even speak- saving him the effort of talking in the midst of his pain.

"...And it just felt nice to feel her play with my hair, I guess. 'figured it might help you, too."

You try not to dwell on whatever thoughts begin to swirl after that.

It's hard to tell when things shift after that. Even harder for Scott to understand why.

Eventually you go from avoiding him at any given chance, stiff and petty with your actions, to casual. Not quite friendly, but almost.

"And... Right hand red!" Jubilee calls from the couch, having entirely too much fun for someone who isn't even playing this game. Everyone who's already lost has dispersed, either playing a different game or having good conversation. The game of twister had started with four? Maybe five of you? But at the moment, it was just down to you and Scott. -The two of you being way too competitive to let the other win. At the moment, both of you were in a bit of a strange position, with Scott managing to crawl over you at some point. Aside from that, the game had been going on for uncomfortably long- long enough for the pizza to get here.

The doorbell rings and it's pretty instantaneous when people start to flock to the kitchen for the feast, Jubilee included. There's a flicker of panic in both of you as she quickly leaves.

"Hey!-"

"Jubilee! Wait!"

"You'll be fine, you big babies!" She calls out, giggling in her pursuit of the cheesy goodness. That just leaves you and Scott on the matt, pressed together in some places and a but uncomfortable, but awkwardly? Still competeting.

"God, that pizza smells good." Scott groans from above you, the smell of food becoming more and more tempting. You think about it, for a half a second maybe, but that competitive little devil on your shoulder gets to you before your stomach can.

"You know what? why don't you go ahead and grab a piece!" You say, causing Scott to cock an eyebrow at you.

"What, and let you win? Not a chance." He huffs. You shrug best you can, it was worth a shot! Neither of you were going to budge any time soon, determined not to let the other win. But the longer you stayed pressed together...

It's not like you hadn't noticed how handsome Scott was. Hell, who wouldn't? Even Logan isn't immune to his good looks, but obviously you weren't going to be... wierd, about it. You're just playing a game, right? But the sight of him above you, slightly flushed, shifting every once in a while while keeping his balance? It was... tempting.

It doesn't take long for other thoughts to begin swimming around, worming their way into your mind. The two of you in various states of undress... gasping, gripping onto one another... marks on his neck, your lips swollen and stained by the lipstick your wearing tonight.

Each and every thought leaves you more flustered than before, slipping on the plastic mat and accidentally knocking into one of Scott's weight bearing arms and sending the two of you colliding into the floor. You hear Scott let out a noise of pain and you're not down there for long before you shove him off of you, face burning as you grumble about his win. You stalk off without much fanfare, leaving Scott a bit befuddled.

"What was that all about?"

But regardless of how aggravated you made eachother sometimes, everyone has their breaking point...

You're surprised when Scott kisses you in the hall some weeks later, less than a second after a heated spat started to take a bit of a turn, but to be honest? You were into it.

His lips are soft, if a little chapped, heated kisses full of force and urgency before they soften just a little. You kiss him back in a similar manner his hands falling to your waist as you grab him by the collar and pull him even closer. You're quick to start moving the two of you backwards fumbling for a closet door you could have sworn was right... there.

As soon as the door swings open, you pull him inside, pushing him against the wall once it closes again and cupping the back of his neck as you pull him into another kiss. An unfamiliar feeling of warmth shoots through you as you do, and you almost giggle as his thoughts start to flood with more and more tempting situations for the two of you to be in.

After each and every dirty thought he has, you start to wonder if he even remembered your touch telepathy after having known you for so long- but hell, even if he didn't, you weren't complaining.

If u made it this far, I wanna give u details about the Reader's powers some more!! Specifically, the powers are temperature manipulation/temperature invulnerability/touch telepathy! They get a bit complicated bc reader can't light shit on fire or make ice out of the air, but they can melt shit and freeze existing water though! As long as reader touches it in some way! Due to this they're invulnerable to heat/cold for obvious reasons. Touch telepathy was added bc i love mutations with unnecessary layers (Emma frost) and... u really think I was gonna let scott get away without banging another telepath? wrONG

#goofyspeaks #x men #x men comics #x men 97 #x men headcannons #x men 97 x reader #x men x reader #scott summers x reader #scott summers #cyclops x reader #x men cyclops #cyclops #x men headcanons

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dr-spectre · 5 days ago

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Ok... is it safe to talk about Sonic Movie 3 spoilers yet? The movie is out on digital and it's been over a month.

Idk. Anyways.

I am both curious and utterly terrified on how they are gonna write Metal Sonic and Amy for Sonic Movie 4.

I will start off with my boy Metal first.

Metal Sonic to me is a very interesting character due to his goals and motivation. His goal to prove that he is the REAL Sonic and that he's better than the "fake" one. The way that he acts is a near perfect replication of Sonic's attitude, from the finger wagging to the poses he does in Sonic CD and the OVA, he is all about proving that he is Sonic the Hedgehog.

Metal Sonic is just not a simple robotic clone, he has depth to him and they expand upon GREATLY when he becomes Neo Metal Sonic and becomes SO OBSESSED with proving that he's the real Sonic by turning into a monster and trying to rule over everything, just so he can finally kill Sonic.

EVEN EGGMAN IS LIKE "Yeah naw dude we're fucked, we NEED the chaos emeralds to have a chance at beating him."

After his Heroes appearance, he became nothing more than a robotic clone used in spinoff games and in terrible mainline games like Sonic 4 and Forces. He only had splashes of depth to him in the IDW comics with this phenomenal scene.

So when i see Metal Sonic and a whole army of him in the post credit scene of Sonic Movie 3, i can't help but feel VERY WORRIED on what they are gonna do with him.

I mean don't get me wrong, the design is nearly on par with the game version, aside that fucking mouth piece thing, it looks AWFUL!!!! I HATE ITTTT!!

WHAT IS THIS!?!? WHY DOES HE HAVE AN ANGRY MOUTH!? ITS NOT SCARY AT ALL LMAO!

But now I'm just wondering, will they give Metal Sonic that depth he used to have? Will we actually see Neo Metal Sonic or will the main Metal Sonic be the coloured one we saw?

I don't want Metal Sonic to be like his appearances in Sonic 4 Episode 2 and Forces. I want it to rival his appearance in the OVA and Heroes dude. I want a fucking great antagonist, not a cheap robot that shoots out energy blasts.

I want a god damn intimidating robot Sonic.

Now... Amy Rose.

As some of you probably know, i like a character wrapped in pink, is hyperactive, wields a giant melee weapon and is always mischaracterized in the fandom they are from. When i was younger, i used to dismiss her or think she was just funny and move on. But as i've gotten older, i've actually grown to really like the character, especially in the older 3D games and with retranslation mods. Her story with Gamma was beautiful, her speech to Shadow, her jokes, her flirty/fangirl attitude towards Sonic. It's really fun to watch. Most media has a boy fall in love with the girl, but with Amy and Sonic, it's the opposite. Their dynamic is unique.

I also love how in some stories, Amy can get REAL PISSED OFF and have anger issues. Even roses has thorns.

However... in more recent stories like Frontiers, her personality has been mellowed out by a lot and her crush for Sonic is pretty much gone now. She's all about "sharing love with the world" now and her anger issues are gone.

Some say she's grown up and "oh she changed!" But we actually don't see this character growth at all. It's one thing to tell a story about how Amy learns that maybe her love for Sonic is too much and she learns to just be a good friend to Sonic. But it's another when the character has a MASSIVE personality change between Lost World, Forces and Frontiers. AND THEN THEY CHANGED GENERATIONS TO MAKE AMY LESS FLIRTY AND ANGRY LIKE.... HUH!?!? WHY!?!?!? THAT'S NOT HOW YOU WRITE A CHARACTER ARC!!!!! YOU GOTTA SHOW IT!!!! (A lot of Sonic characters have this issue too so it's not just an Amy problem.)

And them also doing the whole "Amy is no longer a damsel in distress anymore and her love for Sonic is over" is just... no dude. Amy was a damsel a couple of times and they never lasted that long. She's not on the same level as Peach. And the IDW comics tried to make her a Sally Acorn type character for some reason as well at first. Which was REALLY WEIRD! But maybe it's changed idk, i haven't kept up with the comics these days.

The only Amy that i really like in more modern stories is the one from The Murder of Sonic The Hedgehog. Now THAT'S how you write Amy.

So now, when i see Amy come in with a hood on and destroying Metal Sonics with ease, I'm left wondering, "oh no... how are they gonna write her?"

Will they actually show Amy's crush on Sonic? Will Amy just have Sally's personality? Will they give her some damn thorns? Will they make it to where SONIC IS THE ONE WITH THE CRUSH!?!? PLEASE DON'T DO THAT! DO NOT GO THE GENERIC ROUTE PLEASE!!

If they make it to where when Amy takes off her hood in Sonic Movie 4 and immediately falls for Sonic I'll eat all of my words, but i doubt that would happen....

Anyhow, those were my thoughts, i know that it's too early to make a definitive statement on things but i just wanna voice my concerns due to other recent Sonic stories not landing in the characterisation department for me.

#sonic the hedgehog #sonic movie #sonic movie 3 #sonic movie spoilers #sonic movie 4 #sonic 4 #sonic cd #sonic heroes #metal sonic #amy rose #rambles #ramblings #sonic ova #neo metal sonic #metal overlord

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kittenintheden · 8 months ago

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Smut Writing Tips

I could go on for 600 years on this so I cut myself off at seven basic tips for improving your smut writing. I don't know how to name this something that isn't suggestive so fuck it we ride at dawn etc. If you're having trouble writing smut/improving your smut writing, here are a few things that might help? I'm not the ultimate authority, do whatever you want, take what serves you and leave the rest, etc.

1) Get in touch with what turns you on. You can take this literally or figuratively. You don't have to be sexually active or even sexually aroused to write smut! It's not required. But you should know what gets you going, you know? Because whatever you're into, there are other people out there who are into it, too. Writing the things you're passionate about translates to the page. If you're disconnected from what you're writing, it's going to read that way.

2) Practice by translating a personal fantasy to text. THIS IS FOR YOU ONLY. Unless you like it enough to share? But this is an exercise to get you past the initial discomfort and embarrassment of writing sexy scenes. Many of us have romantic or sexual fantasies, even those on the ace/aro spectrum. When they live in our head, they feel safe. When we put them to the page, they suddenly EXIST in a space where someone else can theoretically perceive them. Getting comfortable with that takes a little bit of work/practice.

3) Try writing from the POV of the subject of the reader's desire. When I smut, I write from my OC's POV sometimes, but more often... I write from Astarion's. That's intentional. It's hot to feel DESIRED, to feel WANTED. Being in the subject's head means that the reader is experiencing that desire for themselves. There's power and sexiness in knowing you're making someone feel that way.

4) Physical description and positioning is great, but how do they FEEL? If you've ever heard the term "male gaze," you know it's frequently applied to visual media, especially where the subjects are treated as objects to be observed rather than people with interior thought and feeling. Smut WRITING gives us the opportunity to both describe the actions taking place and also the internal responses of the characters. It's not just what goes where, it's how that makes the body feel, the mind, the heart. It deepens the scene. Not everything needs to be "making love," but the tension and character interaction are still vital.

5) Realism is a fine base but it's not required. Look, there are a lot of smut tropes out there that are not REMOTELY based on reality and we love them anyway because a big part of this style of writing is the FANTASY of the thing. Like, yes, it's going to take some readers out if you're describing a position that's not physically possible. That's something that should be workshopped. But like. People come here for sex pollen and knotting. It's okay to be a little weird. Just consider the fantasy logistics.

6) Sometimes a little humor or awkwardness adds to the experience. Not everything has to be peak romance of the highest order, you know? Sex is messy and weird. If the participants can be a bit messy and weird together, it's both character-building and endearing. Don't be afraid to be like, oh this resulted in fluids and now we have to take care of that.

7) The tension is as important as the cumshot. Yeah I said that. An important piece of writing burning-hot smut is properly building tension. You can do that in a few words or many words. The ANTICIPATION, the WANTING, the not-quite-there-but-god-I-wanna-be of it all. It makes the release that much sweeter.

#writing is hard #writing advice #writing life #kitten writes #smut writing

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f0point5 · 10 months ago

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(I’m) charming and endearing, and (un)comfortable

Written companion piece to the Lando x fakegirlfriend!reader social media au

Set after Part 6, at the dinner with Lando’s dad that is mentioned.

A/N: So, those of you who were here for the Max fix know that I do long form writing exercises to get more of a feel for the characters for the smau. I didn’t share the Max ones while the fic was ongoing because my writing is not my favourite, but I do like providing more of an insight into the real life stuff that isn’t covered in the smau and especially the reader’s thoughts. And I like this is kind of needed for this smau especially. So, I’m not going to tag anyone in these so that if you’d rather just read the smau you don’t get caught up with these, but you can read them if you want more of an insight into the reader’s character. If you hate it…just pretend it never happened 🫠🫣

“You look fine,” you tell your reflection, staring at it right in the eyes.

Your gaze flits down to your simple black satin slip dress. Black Amina Muadi heels peek out from the hem. Single, but elegant, you think.

You look fine.

“You look fine.” You tell your reflection one more time, and she looks like she believes you.

Of course you look fine. You wouldn’t have a career if you didn’t. People have paid obscene amounts of money for your face and your body. You know exactly how much Lando Norris has paid. You put together something that accentuates your shape a bit but not so much that his dad would think you’re trying.

You haven’t met a parent in a while. Once you’d started shooting womenswear at 15, parents were rarely around, though occasionally you would run into an overbearing mother. You can’t remember ever meeting anyone’s father.

Your alarm rings, so it’s too late to change now. Steeling yourself with one last deep breath, you go over to the interconnecting door and knock.

On the other side of the door, something bangs, and then someone grunts, and you’re about to just give up on this whole idea before the door wings open to reveal a panting Lando Norris.

He’s dressed in beige chinos and a black polo shirt, showing off a golden tan. Okay, you’d let Twitter win this one; he’s beautiful.

“I thought you were going to-“ he starts, but then stops himself. You suppose he assumed you’d knock on the external door. “Never mind,”

“So,” you gesture to the space between you.

“Oh, yeah, come in,” he says, stepping aside to let you into his suite.

It’s huge. You survey the large living room. Several pairs of chinos sit in dry cleaning plastic on the couch. The remains of a fruit platter sits on the dining table. Two sets of golf clubs rest precariously on a wall in the corner. He’s a bit of a slob.

“What?” He asks you. You turn to him, surprised to find his cheeks slightly flushed.

“Nothing,” you shake your head and shrug, but he doesn’t stop studying you. He’s making an effort not to be obvious, but he’s assessing you from head to toe. It makes you squirm. “It’s okay? The look?”

His eyes widen. “The look’s incredible,” he says quickly, probably embarrassed you caught him looking. His cheeks turn even more red. “You’re-“

“Okay, we can go?” You cut him off, smoothing you already sleek up-do. He should turn the damn air conditioning on.

Lando motions for you to go ahead of him to the door and he trails behind you until he hurries past you to get the door. You head to the lift in silence, hair on the back of your neck prickling every time you feel his eyes linger on you.

You look fine. He would have told you if you didn’t.

“Thanks again for doing this,” he says, when you’re in the lift. You glance at him, finding him already looking at you with a shy smile that would have any woman on her knees right there.

You shrug. “It’s not a problem.”

“Probably not your idea of a fun evening,” he continues, and you wonder if he’s trying to convince you to call it off and go back upstairs.

“I was going to eat from the restaurant anyway.” You say, watching as he yawns. “You’re tired?”

“Yeah,” he nods. “Two sessions today. And quali always take a lot out of me, you know,”

You hum in response.

“I, uh,” he stops himself, and then notices you’re looking at him, so he sighs before continuing. “I actually did pretty well. At quali. Better than I thought I would, anyway. It’s…” he trails off, scratching at the back of his neck.

He looks sort of embarrassed to have even mentioned it. You almost give in and tell him you watched the qualifying live while doing your post flight skincare, but you don’t. You’re not sure why exactly, it just feels like you’d be committing to something, and don’t want to do that.

“Congratulations,” is all you end up saying, and then it’s back to silence.

When you get downstairs, three separate groups of girls ask for pictures with him. You stand aside awkwardly, watching the way these strangers lean into him and eagerly put their arms around him and stand so close. It makes your skin crawl. Lando doesn’t react to it. But then, you never do, either.

He apologises for the interruption and you wave it off, embarrassed that he might have noticed your discomfort. It’s not your business.

Inside the restaurant, Lando gently directs you towards a table by the window where his dad is waiting. You’d googled him, so you knew what he liked like, but the photos didn’t do justice to the serenity that rolls off this man in waves.

He stands when he sees you, opening his arms to his son. Lando steps into his embrace with no hesitation, and you wonder if that’s why he’s not bothered so much by the closeness of strangers. Maybe you wouldn’t mind being touched if anyone had ever touched you like that.

When they part, you pull your lips into a smile and step forward.

“Good evening, Mr. Norris. I’m Y/N,”

Adam’s wide smile falters for a second. “Of course I know that,” he says with a chuckle, beckoning you over. You oblige, and he leans in to kiss you on both cheeks. “Who wouldn’t recognise his son’s girlfriend, eh? And please, call me Adam,”

“D’accord.” When both men raise an eyebrow, you explain, “it means okay,”

“Ah,” Adam says with a sage nod, sitting down.

You startle when Lando pulls your chair out for you, flashing him what you hope is a grateful look rather than a confused one.

“I learnt French all through school but I’ve forgotten it all, unfortunately,” Adam says.

“I got the duolingo for it, but it’s harder than you think,” Lando chips in.

“Surely Y/N could teach you,”

“I’m too strict for him,” you joke, forcing yourself not to react when you feel Lando rest his arm on the back of your chair.

“Is that so,” Adam says, catching your eye.

You know the looks he’s giving you. It’s the look a casting director gets when they meet you and you aren’t quite what they asked for. That look they get in their eyes as they decide if you’re a good enough compromise is the same one Adam Norris is giving you now.

He’s the worst kind of casting director - the type that will try to make small talk as if they don’t have your life in numbers printed out in front of them; the type to make you laugh so they can judge the shade and angle of your teeth. Not content with your time, they demand a performance.

So you perform.

You order pasta instead of salad because being thin is most appreciated when it’s effortless. You tease Lando endlessly because the brits like to make fun of each other. You pretend you’re duly nervous when Adam speaks to you and not nervous every time Lando does.

You’re not sure if Adam buys into it. He and Lando have an easy and intoxicating rapport that you’re powerless to replicate. Lando’s admiration of his dad is almost palpable, and Adam’s adoration is plain to see. He loves his son so much that you think it must be clear to him that you don’t.

But he’s clever, and funny, and more gracious than you deserve. He’s so guileless that you understand why Lando would want to shield him from the truth of your situation. You feel a little guilty, being part of the lie, and even more guilty for being part of the truth, but you push that all down, reminding yourself that these people have no more to do with you than a photographer or a designer on a shoot.

By the time dinner comes to an end, you’re exhausted. You can taste blood in your mouth from chewing the inside of your cheek, and you feel sick from the Chardonnay that Adam ordered that you had to pretend to like on an empty stomach.

The knot in your chest loosens with every step the three of you take towards the lifts. Lando and Adam joke about what they’re going to eat for dinner after the race and you almost burst into tears at the thought of doing this all again tomorrow.

“I’m so glad I finally got to meet you,” Adam says with what you’ve come to believe is a trademark wide smile. “Honestly I was starting to think he’d made it up, getting the most beautiful girl in the world to go out with him,”

Ha. Most beautiful. Maybe when you were six, all lithe and pouty and innocent. Maybe when you were seventeen, no curves or dark circles or opinions. Not now.

He’s teasing you, not laughing at you, but your body can’t tell the difference.

You think you feel the bile rising up your throat but thankfully Lando cuts in before you have to.

“Dad,” he chides through clenched teeth and a pained smile. When you turn to him the blush that has become quite familiar to you is back with a vengeance, and spreading all the way to his ears.

“What? It’s not bad to say your girlfriend is beautiful,” Adam teases, turning to you. “Is it, Y/N?”

“I would be worried if he didn’t. It’s how I stay employed, after all,” you say with a smile. Your response is effortless, well rehearsed, right down to the way you lift your hand to ghost over your collarbone.

“Must be a glamorous life, being a model,” Adam says thoughtfully. You may not have any experience meeting parents, but you know well enough what he’s getting at.

You lift one shoulder in a shrug. “No more glamorous than being a formula one driver. And I’m sure you know from Lando that glamour doesn’t mean comfort. Very often the opposite, if my shoes are any indication,”

He’s taken aback by your answer, doesn’t even bother to hide his raised eyebrows. “No, that’s-“ he lets out a sigh. “That’s very true. You’ve got a wise one here, mate,”

“Yeah, she’s keeping me out of trouble,” Lando jokes, nudging you, and though it doesn’t hurt you feel a sting where his skin touched yours.

“I don’t doubt it,” Adam says, opening his arms to hug you again. “Go easy on him though, eh?” These words are half whispered as he pulls you close, squeezing you just once before he lets you go.

“I will,” you promise. It’s one you’ll try to keep.

He hugs Lando next, a tight one, cradling the back of his son’s head with a gentle tap.

“Well,” he says to both of you, “it’s been lovely to meet you, Y/N. I’m just going to check the front desk has organised my taxi to the airport on Monday, so I’ll see you both tomorrow,”

“Night, Dad,”

“Love you.”

Adam heads off to the desk just as the lift arrives and you dart into it. You’re too tired to even press the button for your floor but Lando takes care of it.

He lets out a heavy breath, looking over at you as though thinking you might do the same. He doesn’t realise your night isn’t over until he’s gone, too.

“I think that went well,” he says. It’s a confident statement said in an uncertain tone, and you can’t help but feel bad. It’s not as though he was the one who had to make a good impression.

“I’m sorry if I’m not-“ you stop yourself. It’s not your fault. “If he didn’t like me. I hope it won’t cause problems for you,”

Lando looks completely nonplussed by your comment. “Of course he liked you,” he says with reassuring scoff and a smile, as if anything else is unimaginable. “And he’s not really that kind of dad. He just cares that I like you,”

God, that smile. You’d hate yourself for the things you’d do to keep him smiling at you like that.

“I think you faked that well,” you say, smiling back at him.

He shrugs and shoves his hands in his pockets. “Thanks for doing this,” he clears his throat. “Still don’t know why you did,”

He’s expecting an answer and you struggle for something to tell him. You don’t know what answer he’s looking for.

You can feel the pressure building as he waits for you to say something. You can hear the blood rushing in your ears. Your skin bursts into flames and your palms get clammy.

Why is he even asking? He didn’t think twice about asking you for a favour and now he’s changing the rules. It was dinner, not a kidney. Does he have so many vampires around him that he thinks you need a reason to be nice? Is he so used to paying for kindness that he thinks he needs to buy you, too? Didn’t he already try?

Thankfully, mercifully, the lift stops at your floor and you waste no time stepping out even though you’re beginning to feel unsteady on your feet.

The air conditioning hits you, and you realise you don’t owe Lando an explanation.

“You can just say thank you, you know,” you tell him, striding towards your rooms with him half a step behind. “You don’t have to think so much about it.”

“I did say thank you,” he argues. You glance at him as you pull out your keycard. He’s bewildered. You’re breaking your promise to Adam already, but it’s his sanity or yours.

“De rien.” You place your key card against the censor and open the door. “Goodnight.”

Once you slip inside, the door clicks shut with no trouble, and you wait to hear Lando’s door open and shut before you make your way further into the room. You kick off your shoes and shed your dress on the way to your suitcase.

You can hear him moving around in his suite, more attuned to it now you know the layout of the room. As you rummage around for your sweatpants and hoodie, half of you wants to send an apology text. The stupid half of you. It doesn’t matter what he thinks of you. You can’t afford for it to matter. The weight of his judgement will crush you, you know it.

As you pull on the brown Quadrant hoodie, you tell yourself it’s better he doesn’t think of you at all.

#f1 #formula 1 #lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris fanfic #lando norris imagine

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underthecrosshold · 7 months ago

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Chisaki was wasted

With the MHA manga ending and getting an end to Chisaki’s story I have just a couple of things to say. Most importantly wtf was that. Fortunately in every other piece of media I chose to consume my favorite character is usually one of the main ones or at the very least they are a fan favorite, originally when I started to watch MHA I fell in love with Bakugou but then everything changed when I saw season four and laid my eyes on Mr. Evil Bird Man. I was not expecting Horikoshi to dive into characters who really despised quirks and their existence. It was a fresh perspective on the series and as we got to learn more about Chisaki I started to understand him more and more. I know fans of the show sometimes make jokes about being reincarnated into the show and being born with a hammer for a head. At first it would be fun to go into your favorite series, but the implications of that universes rules can seriously mess you up. For example Dabi’s flames burn him. Quirks are not always a blessing they can be a curse, a sickness.

I believe Chisaki was the first character to bring this up maybe besides characters like Skinner showing that he was bullied for his. Quirks are terrifying when you think about their potential effects, Eri accidentally killed her parents when she got hers and Shigaraki killed his when he manifested an altered version of overhaul. This brings up my next point. Why did nobody dwell on the fact that decay is the first half of overhaul?? Dose this not imply that Chisaki was experimented on as a kid as well? Is that why he is fine doing it to Eri since he clearly shows no remorse to her for his actions, only Pops? Is there some sort of trauma with him and that that he never addressed so he believes that what hypothetically happened to him was okay? Is that why he doesn’t care that he did the same pain onto Eri? This is where my issue lies. Chisaki was used as nothing more than a plot point to push the story further. We barley know anything about him. Why is he the way he is? There are so many unanswered questions.

Chisaki was used to introduce Nighteye, the big three and Eri’s quirk so there was a way to defeat All For One. He doesn’t get expanded on past the bare minimum which I think is insane for a show that has as many flashbacks that it has. The time line we have is that he was in one of All For Ones orphanages, he was somehow on the streets, Pops picked him up, he got into fights growing up defending his fathers honor and he was never really stopped from continuing to do so, then he’s a grown adult and we see his crazy plan being told to his father and he freaks out to then Kai needing to please and repay him so bad he did with anyway. Did Pops not give him enough love and reassurance growing up? Why did he feel the need to go out of his way to help his family. We know the Yakuza was weaker, were they being mistreated? If so why were they allowed to exist if they were just going to be mistreated?

Next thing I want to talk about is Pops and Kai’s reunion, I’m so upset that Pops was somehow woken up via technology. They should have just left him in the coma if Chisaki wasn’t going to get his quirk back. Now I like how Chisaki didn’t get his quirk back but it would have been so easy for him to with the way other characters quirks evolved, like Toga being able to use other people’s quirks of the blood she took, why couldn’t Overhaul turn into creating matter or having skin touch not just hands touch? How hard was it for Pops to be one of the civilians Shigaraki killed and Kai to go into such a panic that his quirk evolves and he helps the heros or goes after Shigaraki himself??? Which brings me to my next hot take. The only reason people hate Overhaul is because we got to meet his victim personally. Shigaraki, Dabi, Toga, all killed and hurt others but their crimes get overlooked because we never knew the names, faces, or anything really about the people who’s lives were taken. I’m not excusing Overhauls behavior whatsoever because the whole Eri thing was insane. I don’t understand why he couldn’t have just taken her hair, or sweat or something. Why blood??? If he needed her DNA it’s literally all over her, you really needed her blood? Okay crazy. ANOTHER THING THATS CRAZY IS POPS COMMENT. What do you mean Hari should have done better? This guy seems to love putting his problems onto other people, Kai is Hari’s problem, Eri was Kai’s problem. Dude you are his Dad maybe if YOU parented him he wouldn’t have turned out like this. Hari was his somewhat equal you had power not him.

Another thing people get mad about is the killing of Magne, she attacked first, just saying.

Lastly him losing his arms was beautiful irony. Yakuza getting fingers cut off for messing up in missions, him cutting off Compresses arm, him wanting to destroy Quirks. Shigaraki was a twisted genius when cutting off Overhauls arms. I’m not mad about him getting the consequences of his actions. I’m just upset he was never expanded on and the fandom collectively hating his surface level character when he had and has so much potential.

I might type more later I just wanted to get this off of my chest.

#overhaul #chisaki kai #kai chisaki #mha #shie hassaikai

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broken-risk-assessment-module · 1 year ago

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The Adaptation That Shall Not Be Named aside, I had an idea for an interesting way you could represent ART in a visual medium: it's cameras.

We know that, in any visual medium, what The Camera (be that literal in film or figurative in animation) chooses to show and focus on is important. Its the primary way the piece of media communicates to its audience, and the framing of a scene tells us a lot about how we're supposed to interpret it. What is on screen and how it's on screen convey authorial intent.

Take all that, and turn "authorial intent" into character expression (in this case, for ART). A conversation between Murderbot and ART that would traditionally be shot-reverse-shot becomes shot-ARTPOVshot, so both shots would be of Murderbot, but one would be from The Camera and one would be from ART. Even though the subject is the same, the difference between them could show us something about ART in the same way a reverse shot shows us something about any other character.

To me its like those shots from a monster's POV in horror movies, where one second you're with your protagonists, the next you're watching them from a far off angle between some blades of grass, shaky cam, ragged breathing. It's a classic, even a cliche, but it does the job of conveying the sense of unsafety, of Something Out There Watching Them, of monstrosity, of something feral and dangerous. All without needing to see the monster. What if that type of shot was all we ever got of a character?

(Also, in all honesty, some of my favourite meta about this series is how it's in conversation with the horror genre. ART and SecUnits being the type of characters that would be The Monster in another story, or from another perspective, is compelling to me, so i'm drawing on that a bit here. The idea of characterising but not visualising ART by taking pages out of horror monster cinematography? I just think it's neat.)

Anyway, you could also do all the sci-fi Augmented Vision stuff with it too. ART POV shots where we watch it pull up a feed tab over the camera feed and replay a section of audio, or check Murderbot's diagnostics, or look at Some Code Or Perhaps A Graph. ART POV shots that are broken into multiple feeds showing different things. ART POV shots that give you the sense of it being textually present without it being physically present.

You could use some of this for Murderbot itself, if you leant into how its drones are an extension of its awareness. You could even use it in a similar way to how Murderbot uses its narration, narrating less when it's upset as well as leaving out major details. What if, when Murderbot is tired of people looking at it or in a more vulnerable headspace, we get more drone POV shots without Murderbot in frame. It's still there, but present in a different way, behind The Camera rather than in front of it.

I think there's potential in using POV shots from ART's cameras to characterise it without visualising it in a traditional way. I think there's potential in using horror movie monster language on ART and Murderbot. I think there's potential in having the cinematography focus on what they're seeing in a way that emphasises the amount of Surveillance both of them are constantly doing.

I think there's potential in a show using The Camera as cleverly as the books use Narration.

#like can you IMAGINE.#“You dislike your function.” [subtle zoom on MB's face to see its reaction]#a human asking MB a person question and rather than the cut close up to see its reaction #the camera cuts away so its no longer even in frame #what does MB sending its GovernorModulePunishment.exe to ART look like from ARTs POV???#that one time MB shut down after ART probed too much and ART just waited until it woke up.#its just a ART cam timelapse of MB lying Unmoving for three hours #do you see the vision???? am i crazy????#murderbot #the murderbot diaries #art/perihelion #murderbot meta #stuff i made

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howtofightwrite · 9 months ago

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Hi fight writer! Longtime follower, I always enjoy seeing your work and the situations people put their characters in. X3 Could I ask you to look over an element of character backstory for me, to see how realistic it is?

Character is an itinerant-knight sort of fellow, fantasy setting, elven. He's missing a chunk of his ear on one side, having lost it in a fight -- but not in the usual way of getting it sliced. It's the reason he swears by using a helmet and will not let any of his students go ahead into battle without head protection. The premise I had was that somebody gave him a blow to the side of the head and the helmet he was wearing crumpled from the force, pinning the ear between skull and metal. When the helmet was peeled off, a chunk of the ear came with it, or was basically so pinched off and dead that it had to be amputated anyway. (It also gave him a whopper of a concussion, of course. ^^;) But if he hadn't been wearing the helmet? It wouldn't have just been the ear, it would have been the whole top of his head. Wear your helmets, kids.

Do you think the helmet would have had to be damaged in some way beforehand for this to happen? Or be of shoddy make? Or would the opponent have to be supernaturally strong? Thank you!

So, this question has been sitting in the inbox for a bit, and part of that is that I've had difficulty parsing the question. There's a few reasons for this, but a major element is how much of the above comment isn't part of the question.

I get that most of this is a setup for a simple, “what do you think of my idea?' and those are questions we generally avoid, simply because, “thumbs up, it works.” Or, if there are serious problems, it feels like punching down.

So, in answer, “it's fine.” You don't even really need to justify it with other factors. Someone swinging a hammer at your head can result in your head protection failing. I think we can safely scratch off the supernatural strength option, simply because that's more likely to turn the character's head into an improvised golf ball, rather than taking out an ear. This is a weirdly specific injury, but it's also the kind of injury that could, potentially, happen on the battlefield.

Ironically, the weakest part to this concept is just that a combat veteran wouldn't automatically value head protection unless they'd suffered a disfiguring injury which would have been dramatically worse if they weren't wearing a helmet.

Helmets get into a weird place for a lot of writers. A lot of visual media hates putting characters in helmets (even when they really should be wearing one), because it hides the character's face. There is a legitimate concern here (specifically in visual media), because if multiple characters are wearing uniform helmets, they will become visually interchangeable, so skipping the helmet is about keeping the characters more recognizable. This creates a situation where, in a lot of cases, a helmet is treated like an alternate haircut option, completely glazing over the part where it's extremely important safety equipment.

To a certain extent, the treatment of helmets as cosmetics also extends to the entirety of a character's armor. You see this anytime you have partially armored characters going into battle. In some cases, there may be legitimate reasons for omitting specific armor pieces, and not having the resources to be fully armored is always a real possibility, but skipping the head or torso armor are extremely questionable decisions.

The, “pinched off,” comment always struck me as a bit strange. It sounds like the ear was held away from the skull, with part of the helm inserted between the ear and skull, rather than held up against the head. This would be a bad idea, and a structural weakness, though depending on the exact physiology of your elves, it might not be possible for them to pin their ears against their skull. In which case their armor would need to be specifically designed around their physiology. That might mean a much broader helmet structure. For example similar to something like large flared guard on Japanese helmets, or even the ACH. Depending on the overall tech level, it's possible that the best solution would to simply have ear holes in the helmet, though this could result in a situation where ears could be cut off on rare occasions.

I suppose there'd also be some consideration for rigidity and how uncomfortable it would be to bind down their ears under a helmet. So there might be some kind of structural cutout to accommodate their ears, but again, you really wouldn't want your ears being encased in metal away from the head. Even in the worst case, with horizontal ear tips, you'd probably see helmet designs that fit over the ear, possibly even leaving the underside exposed for better hearing, rather than full metal encasement.

Ironically, having just brought up the ACH, the one place where fully encased ears wouldn't surprise me is with electronic headsets. Though, again, that's more likely to be plastic and softer materials, and would likely fit over the ear and seal against the scalp, rather than just encasing the ear itself.

Also, he'd be partially deaf in that ear. This is not, “deaf by human standards,” but impaired hearing by elven standards. Unless their ears really are just magical, and the tips are performative, it's extremely likely that their ear structure would result in improved hearing, and that's something he would lack if most of the external ear had been destroyed.

-Starke

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#writing reference #writing advice #writing tips #writing fantasy #howtofightwrite #Starke answers #Starke does not have an ear collection

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buggyboba · 4 months ago

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Greetings, I hope you had a great weekend. If its okay with you I was wondering if I could please request a Dhawan!Master x reader (or you can choose another master instead if you want.) The reader is at a Halloween party dressed as Christine Daaé (from Phamtom of the Opera.) The reader sees someone dressed as the Phamtom and is almost compelled to follow the person and the reader ends up alone in a locked room with this person and a mirror but by the time the reader works out that it's the master it's too late and the reader is already hypnotised/captured

(Sorry if this is too details, please feel free to ignore or feel free to alter the characters' costumes.)

I hope you have a great day

AN 𓏧 ↳ ○ Hi hello! I need you to understand the speed in which I got out of bed to write this.You just unlocked some Buggy lore~ I also need you to know I am an ex-theater kid, (big surprise there right?) Phantom Of The Opera was the second musical that I latched on to in middle school and high school, my first HUGE special interest, so much so that I consumed every poto media I could and was allowed to growing up in my strict as fuck house. I went to some weird places, some off-broadway musical simply called ‘Phantom’, the sequel Love Never Dies, the novel, and a horror film where Robert Englud, played Erik. I used to be a first soprano, and Carlotta was my dream role, I used to be able to do her part in “Notes/Prima Donna” then I bruised my vocal cords, stopped singing for a while, and yeah as I got older my voice deepened significantly, and I am an alto now…and I am so out of practice. Anyway my point is, yeah of course I’ll write this! The costume I had in mind was very specific, and absolutely foreshadowing. I also went a little hard, do you guys like the little graphic I made, should I start doing that?

Trigger warning 𓏧 ↳ ○ hypnosis, but none other than that! ayo this is a sfw drabble! ✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

The Doctor had brought you back to earth for Halloween; it was one of your favorite holidays, and you were excited. You had the perfect costume picked out, and you had been working on it for weeks, putting together pieces from the Tardis’s wardrobe to get the perfect mix to make the perfect costume. You spent countless hours finding the right references to match exactly what you wanted. You wanted Christine Daaé, but from a specific scene, you wanted the costume from the Hannibal opera, leading into the Phantom of the Opera and Music of the Night. It was a very specific costume, but the ornate gems across the chest, the reds, greens, and golds of the dancer costume in that scene—every detail recreated with love and accuracy, covered by the long-sleeved white almost lacey overrobe. It was perfect, and you looked stunning in it; even if people didn’t know who you were dressed as, you knew, and it was sure to turn heads. You had invited The Doctor and Yaz to come with you, but The Doctor opted to spend it with Yaz, wanting to go to a haunted maze or something. It was fine; you wanted them to have some alone time anyway.

You got ready, curling your hair, doing your makeup, and making sure everything was fitted properly. When you were ready, The Doctor dropped you off, telling you to be careful and to be back to the drop-off spot by midnight. You laughed and joked, "Okay, mom,” and headed off to the party. The night air was cold; you clung to the lace tighter; perhaps you should have brought a jacket, but the party wasn’t too far of a walk. When you got there, it was an old theater; how fitting. The theater put on an annual Halloween party, and it was apparently a big thing; you hadn’t recalled hearing about it before, but then again, you had been traveling sometime with The Doctor. You slipped in, and the venue was filled with people. You tried to relax some; there were definitely more people here than you were expecting; the music was loud, and there was a smokey haze from a fog machine. It was decorated, but it felt disconnected. There were some scary props and the normal fake cobwebs and fake spiders, but then there were also cheerful cut-out skeletons on some of the wall. You saw where there were drinks and some snack food, but you didn’t want to risk spilling anything on your costume, not with it being so white and how long you spent on it. Your eyes scanned the room; people were dancing and talking, enjoying merryments, and then your eyes fell on him.

Atop the staircase he stood, he wore a bone-colored skull half mask that covered the top of his face and a heavy crushed red velvet tailcoat and pants with elaborate gold and black embroidery. Over his shoulders a heavy red velvet cape with a dark orange silk lining. You blinked; you knew exactly who he was dressed as—the phantom, but the red death costume from the Masqurade scene. It was stunning, the attention to detail was so fascinating. You tried to push through the crowd, but when you got to the stairs, he was gone. You frowned, trying to ask some of the people around the stairs if they had seen where the man had gone, but no one seemed to know what you were talking about, which was frustrating because that was not an easy-to-miss costume, the reds and oranges hard to ignore, yet no one seemed to recall seeing a person like that.

You frowned and rejoined the crowd. You caught a glimpse of that red tailcoat again towards the drinks and moved to get over there as quickly as you could, but the man was gone again. Were you seeing things? You couldn’t be, he was stunning—his tanned skin, the clean-cut beard, his dark slicked-back hair, his costume. God, you wanted to meet him; talk about his costume. But he seemed to be as elusive as the opera ghost he was dressed as tonight. You sighed and looked around; your wrist was grabbed from behind, and you felt a heavy presence, but it wasn’t scary. The leather was cold against your wrist as you turned, looking over your shoulder, coming face to face with the man you had been looking for, his dark coffee brown eyes staring into yours, his movements graceful as he waltzed you through the people.

You opened your mouth to speak, feeling your cheeks burning at being this close to him. “Nice costume,” you mumbled, and then felt like dying of embarrassment. ‘Nice costume, you dumbass. You had so much to comment on, but his hand against your waist and how he was looking at you made it near impossible to think. “I, um… Red Death, Phantom… It’s a good costume...very thought out...authentic.” You said trying to regain your composure.

“And you are Miss Daaé,” he murmured into your ear as he pulled closer, dancing you closer to the stage. “How fitting… It’s a beautiful costume, accurate. You are stunning tonight, my dear,” he grinned against your ear. He pulled back to look at you again. He sounded familiar; why did he sound familiar? Maybe he just had one of those voices. He seemed to notice your thoughts and tightened his hand on your waist, bringing you back to the present. “Don’t worry, I don’t bite...hard,” he grinned that cheeky grin, but something about his voice, his look, your body started to relax. “You are a very pretty little bird,” he continued. Once he got you close enough, he pulled away, keeping his hand in yours as he pulled you towards the backstage area. You felt you should run, felt you should get away, but your body betrayed you; it was a simple suggestion, ‘Come with me’, one that your body couldn’t help but follow. “I knew you were going to be dressed like this tonight, dressed for the occasion; the red death is fitting, isn’t it?” He asked, his voice soft, whispering like if he spoke louder it would break whatever spell you were under.

“Why is... how did you know?” You asked, your eyes still locked on his as he guided you effortlessly. He chuckled like he knew something you didn't, like the choice in the red death costume was an inside joke, like it was ironic, but he didn't give an explanation; instead, when he opened his mouth to speak, he bypassed the comment all together.

“Of course I would know, you worked on it so long, didn’t you?” he said, patting your hand with his other hand, leading you into the cast wings. “You talked about it a lot, with her other human pets.” He rolled his eyes at the thought of The Doctor and her ‘fam’. He was annoyed that she managed to keep you so close, so hidden from him, but he still had his ways. He had fancied you since his Missy days; you were feisty and so unafraid of him–her–him. Still unafraid, you had willingly gone off on your own on Halloween; without The Doctor, it took a lot of work to set this up; every aspect of this was his doing; he did love the long con. “You put so much effort into it, your browser history, my my, you wanted it to be perfect, for who?” He mused, pausing at a greenroom. His hand moved to your cheek, his eyes searching yours. “Me? No, but it is for me now,” he smirked a bit. “Come with me,” he vocalized this time, his eyes burning into yours. You felt your resolve fading faster. Your mind tugged, but it was like he was surrounding you. You clued in as soon as he talked about the doctor; you knew why his voice sounded familiar—the one time you had met him in this regeneration, when he was pretending to be the m16 agent, ‘O’. The Master.

You couldn’t pull away; you wanted to, you needed to escape, but he was thick in your mind; you hung on his every word, his command. “Don’t worry, pet, I’m not going to hurt you; that would be counterproductive; I need you.” he paused. “To get to her, of course, and you need to be alive for that, don’t you?” he said, almost like he was trying to convince himself more than you. He opened the door, motioning. You walked forward and into the green room. You felt him take your hand again as he led you towards the full-length mirror.

“I’m sure you will enjoy being my companion for a while; oh, I have such things to show you.” He said, “You will love it, dying stars, burning planets, and I just know you will stay of your own free will once you see what I have in store." He said his hand pressed against the mirror; it opened to reveal the inside of his Tardis. “She doesn’t pay attention to you like I will... She has Yaz, just like she had Clara before; that one was my doing, but god, it was perfect, wasn’t it? In a way, I am saving you from the terrible things that are to come,” he mused, motioning for you to enter the Tardis. You obediently walked in.

"Oh, we will have so much fun together.” He kissed your cheek before he closed the door and walked over to the console. He had such plans and you were going to be key in some of them; he now needed to keep you away from the Doctor and her meddling until he was sure you were on his side without the need for hypnosis. He knew he could charm you to his side; he could show you he was worth it.

#doctor who #the master x reader #dhawan!master x reader #dhawan!master #dhwan!master x female reader #THE EXPAND THING WON'T WORK PROPER GOD SPEED FOR THE LONG POST

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erdariel · 5 months ago

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I hate how much of scrolling tumblr is just like. Seeing people yell about the next piece of horrible news from somewhere in the world, probably also guilt tripping you about scrolling past it/not paying attention. People begging for their lives, they need money or they and their families are going to die - money that I do not have to spare, and I wouldn't have the time or emotional energy to try and check if they're a real person in need or a scammer anyway. Oh and yet another celebrity, maybe someone I've never even heard of or maybe someone whose work I've admired for years, turns out to have done something horrible! USAmericans arguing with each other about if voting in the next elections is even worth it, and I'm once again grimly reminded that I'm not american, I don't have a vote, and yet the result of the election is likely to have consequence on life in my country (and even more consequence on many other countries out there) too. People from my country either complaining about or venting their frustration through jokes about our idiot government. The faint echoes of some stupid fandom drama. Someone telling me that if I don't pay attention to a post/do something about whichever bad thing somewhere out there is the current piece of news, I'm literally the worst person ever. And oh do you wanna hear what bigoted bullshit JKRowling is spewing this time???

And it's just. I don't even know. I'm just tired. Like I know it's the consequence of living in a world that's pretty fucked for a lot of people, but I can barely even keep my own life together and generally I already see from actual news media all the bad things that are happening currently. And just. I would like to not have to play whackamole with tag blocking and still have it only help maybe half the time. And I know it's not something I can feasibly make happen without unfollowing a lot of friends whose other posts I generally want to see, but just... I would love to have even this one place for unwinding, for seeing funny stuff and thinking and talking about my favorite characters and stories, without having to be constantly reminded of all the bad things.

Like, I already know shit's fucked. Could I not just have a break

#sometimes i consider starting to only post about finnish politics #plus i guess eu stuff that's either immediately relevant to us or possible for a random finn to affect #but i never really stick to that very long

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quibbs126 · 2 months ago

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I think I’m too influenced by other people’s opinions

I mean yeah, I know that, but I mean this specifically in the case of my current fixation, aka Transformers, and that I really don’t know what to think on it anymore

Not about whether it’s good or bad in general, but more how should the story and characters be interpreted, and what were poor decisions or not

Like for example, Megatron. I was thinking about making this its own post today, but it fits here. I feel like having my first two pieces of media I consume in this current dive into Transformers being Transformers One (where we see the tragic fall of D-16 and I’m really invested in him and Orion’s bond and just want to see them get back together, and also this version of him has done relatively very little so it’s a lot easier to redeem him) and then after that Transformers Earthspark (where we start out the series with redeemed Megatron and we almost always see him in a positive light, plus it’s the only non doomed megop) is the main reason why I’m so invested in Megatron as a character and want him to have redemption stories. Like I feel like if I started with another show, I might not feel this way. I might still appreciate him as a villain, I like him in Animated, but he would not be my (I think) assigned mess of a character I obsess over and want good things to happen to

Because it’s like, I want him to have a redemption story, I want to see him turn to the good side (and probably kiss Optimus idk. I would be open to other options if there’s others). But a part of me also recognizes that Megatron is definitely not the most deserving Decepticon of that title; Starscream at least deserves it more than him. And to top it off there’s the problem of him committing so many war crimes and atrocities that gets really hard to justify him getting any sort of happy ending that redemptions usually come with. TFOne Megs is like the one with the least amount of that problem, but it’s probably not going to become common

And also when I say this, I don’t mean I want it for every version of Megatron. I’m saying that when I try to make up stories or my own version of a continuity, this is what I want to do

Like it’s to the point where I’m trying to invent in my mind characters to be more evil than Megatron or be above him so that he can get that redemption, until I realize that what I’m doing would better fit another character. Megatron is supposed to that big bad evil, it’s literally what he’s here for

So I think that wanting this is a bad thing and I just shouldn’t do it. But then I also see other people who think the story of Megatron having a redemption is an interesting idea, meaning that it is something that has merit. So I don’t know now whether I should. Can you give Megatron a believable redemption story or not? And does it depend on whether you need to tweak him to polish out some of his big flaws?

Though it’s gotten to the point where upon reflection, I think my issue isn’t necessarily wanting it, it’s the way I want it as opposed to how it should be done. I think I’m gonna need to find more interpretations of redemption Megatron to really see how it should be done, because I know what I want probably isn’t the best for the story. As far as official media goes, I assume my best bet is IDW, since that’s the one that actually introduced the concept and showed the redemption. But even then, I wouldn’t know what’s considered a good version of this idea and what isn’t until someone tells me

Crap I spent a bit too long on this topic. I actually had a second one to mention. Well, since we’re here anyways, might as well

The other big point of contention for me is the matter of the origins of the Deception cause

Because personally, I like the idea of it starting out as a noble cause, and/or at least the idea of the Decepticons not being pure evil and more a group of Transformers with differing opinions and morals from the Autobots

But then you come to the issue that: they’re literally called Decepticons and they’re supposed to be the bad guys, no matter what sympathetic backstory you may give them. They only aren’t the bad guys when something else more evil shows up, and that’s usually only temporary

Like, to borrow words I heard elsewhere, how do you believe in your cause with a name like that? It’s so evil sounding, and how do you justify giving them a name like that? And for the second point, what does it say when these guys are ultimately supposed to be the villains?

And like I’ve seen people criticize the more modern backstories given to the Decepticons and by proxy Megatron, in part because they’re the villains. From what I understand, in Aligned, the Decepticon cause started from a genuine want by the lower class citizens for equal rights and a distaste for their genuinely absolutely corrupt government who didn’t care about them. It is essentially a worker’s revolution, and them being violent doesn’t necessarily make them evil, as we have historical proof that taking violent action has ultimately worked to change things for the better in our society (though it also isn’t always the solution, just that it has worked before). So what does it say when these people, at least later, become the objective villains of the story? And what does it say when the Autobots, the good guys of the story, weren’t largely made up of this group of people fighting for equal rights? Yes, Optimus agreed with their initial stance and worked with them because he genuinely believed in their cause, but he wasn’t a low class bot, Megatron was

Like I understand that criticism when it’s spelled out like that. And not to mention, it is a bit ridiculous trying to justify a name like Decepticons, just when you look at it on paper

If they had a more neutral sounding name, like the Autobots, we wouldn’t be in this situation. But it was the 80s and they needed an obvious bad guy name and we’re never going to get rid of it, so

But also I really think you’re losing something by just having the Decepticons be evil and nothing more, and their cause being nothing more than conquest and other evil things. But then where do you draw the line so you don’t go to the point where you’re questioning why they’re the bad guys? I just don’t know

I’m realizing now that these issues I’m bringing up are just things that probably require nuance if you want to execute them well. Maybe that’s the reason they confuse me; I have no moderation and can only go one extreme or the other, unless someone tells me what the correct balance is

But my point was, I have thoughts on how I want Transformers things to be done, but I don’t know what the correct way to do them actually is, probably because I listen to too many people with a bunch of different view points because I just want to see all sides of an argument

And now it’s left me unable to truly know what I think, because I just don’t know who’s right

I feel like maybe I just need to take a step back and just watch the shows without sticking too deep into the fandom to figure out my own personal opinions and what I’d want to do. But at the same time, I’m ass at binging these shows right now and I can’t not interact with the fandom, I need the content

#I don’t know I’m not sure I had an actual overall point to this #I think I was just complaining about my indecisiveness and all the opinions #though I suppose I did have some points sprinkled in #granted the Megatron section was more about how my brain has warped itself into wanting something I’m not sure I should #or more accurately that the character deserves and also wondering if this should be for another character #while the Decepticon section was more an actual point about the whole issue of sympathetic Decepticons #oh shit right my point I meant to add in: Shattered Glass #might as well add it in here so my point was that if you want good Decepticons we already have SG #at what point are we just turning into Shattered Glass?#and don’t get me wrong I’d love to see Shattered Glass #but it’s fundamentally an AU which makes it less interesting/impactful when it stands alone #but anyways yeah #indecision and gullibility is killing me with Transformers and what I want out of it #I don’t know what’s best and I trust every opinion until told otherwise #which means trouble #transformers #megatron #decepticons #long post #rambles

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