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charliemwrites · 3 months ago

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Greater Bad - Part 5!

This is the final chapter of this series. I had so much fun working on it, making myself write a character that was genuinely just really mean most of the time and not chickening out by softening him (mostly).

Again, a gigantic, smooch-filled thank you to ceilidho for letting me write this based off her drabble/concept.

(The concept comes from @ceilidho’s concept/drabble of “military asset Soap” and heavily inspired also by @391780’s Nikto version. Please go check out theirs because they’re brilliantly written.)

Content: Dub-Con/Non-Con Elements, Unreliable Narrator, Semi-Safe/Not-Sane/Dub-Con Intimacy

You still smell the same.

Clean water, soap and skin. It saturates the back of his tongue when he inhales deep. The sharp, cloying scent of printer ink has been replaced by the buttery aroma of bread and sugar. It’s better. His mouth waters, canines too big and sharp in his mouth, jawing aching to bite down until he’s teething on bone. Scrape his imprint into marrow.

Some shrink mentioned it in those first sessions, before Laswell and Price realized their precious Johnny wasn’t lost in the hole in his temple.

The human olfactory sense is strongly associated with our memory. What smells like home to you, Soap?

The jagged puzzle of his mind didn’t have a piece for home. But it had one for his – you – and that’s just as good.

The humidity in the shower leaves him drowning in the scent of you, lungs heaving. If they’d waterboarded him with your perfume, he wouldn’t have struggled at all.

“Easy, easy,” your voice derails him.

Velvet and smooth, purring in the bottom of your throat. It bounces off the walls and cracks across his skull, a concussive force, disorients him. He grips tighter to keep his balance, swaying into you. You’re all slick and soft, caught between his body and the wall, nothing but naked skin and those big eyes that drive him more mad.

His face is still buried in the vulnerable curve of your neck; you taste just as good as you smell. You jump when he nips, a high noise caught on your clumsy tongue. He growls, wants to hear it. Wants to be overwhelmed by you until all his senses are blown out.

“I’m not saying no,” you soothe, hands skittering down his biceps.

Of course you’re not, not his girl. It’s not a matter of yes or no, not for the two of you. The moon doesn’t agree to orbit the Earth, the sun doesn’t choose to shine. You’re the gravity keeping his feet on the ground.

“Slow down a bit,” you murmur, “We’re not in a rush, are we?”

Just hearing you say “we” sends his heart thundering double-time and euphoria flooding his poisoned veins. “We” - you and him. You squeak as he thrusts hard against your lower stomach, where you’re pillowy and perfect from a life of plenty.

He doesn’t even process what you’ve said for a few moments, too busy nibbling “we” into your shoulder. Only when you thread shaky fingers into his hair – too excited to keep them steady, sweet thing – does his head surface over the swelling waves of desire to hear you properly.

“Missed you,” he explains, raking fingers over your thigh in hopes it’ll bruise. Your mouth parts on a gasp, inviting him in. He ravages your mouth, teeth snagging your plush lips. Needs to leave his mark everywhere for always. Don’t you get that? How could you ask him to slow down when your skin is still pristine, your cunt all tight and unspoiled – a fucking tragedy that.

“Ye missed me too, aye?” he asks. Of course you did, of course. Made this pretty little cottage for the two of you, filled it with so many things that he could never forget where he is again.

“I ken ye did.” He does you the favor of answering, since you’re too busy with his fingers in your mouth. You’ve gotten better with your priorities since that first reunion, laving your tongue over and between his digits rather than waste it on idle chatter. “Can go slow once I show yer mine. Been too fuckin’ long they kept us apart, little bird.”

Your fingers curl around his wrist. Must be satisfied with how wet they are, then. He presses down on your tongue one last time before pulling away.

“B-but you took care of them… we don’t need to—ah!”

He smirks as your entire body jolts. You’re already starting to warm up, but your saliva makes the slide between your delicate folds even easier. You’re just as silky as last time, clit shy at the top of your slit. He coos in your ear, gets you flushing and hot from filthy promises.

“Ye wan’ this just as much as I do,” he growls. Poor thing, he knows you like your little games and he’s being impatient. But it’s been too long and you’re playing with fire. “I ken ye do. Tell me ye do.”

You stutter in shock – if he still felt guilt, he’d feel bad for doubting you – and stumble over your words. He stills his hand to help you, bracing his arm over your head. The stretch of his body seems to distract you, mouth parted but frustratingly quiet as your round eyes roam scars and muscle.

He clicks his tongue and pinches your clit to catch your attention. You yelp, little nails sinking into his chest. He rumbles. It feels good, but he’s on a mission.

“Tell me,” he repeats when you blink up at him. “Tell me.”

“I-I just want to be able to go again,” you babble. “If I’m too sore…”

He chuckles. Is that all? “That won’ stop me, love. We’ll go plenty.”

You whine as he draws tight circles over your clit, coaxing it hard and swollen.

“I d-don’ wanna be t-too… sore! Christ!”

He huffs, caught between amusement and exasperation. Voice of reason you are, he knows you’ve got a point. Big as he is, and he knows he’ll lose any sense of restraint once he’s inside.

“I’ll make it good, bonnie,” he promises, biting kisses along your trembling jaw. “You’ll cum crying if tha’s what it takes.”

With that matter settled, he drops his head to your pretty tits. Water has beaded all over them and he jealously licks paths between each drop, flattening his tongue over your hard nipples. You moan and squeal as he sucks and nips, teasing them sensitive and achy. One of your hands tangles in his hair and tugs. Tingles race down his spine, scattering any sweet thoughts of going slow or gentle or with restraint.

You’re babbling at him but nothing could be more important than the rosettes he’s biting into your breasts. And you must agree because you’re getting so wet, leaking all over his rough palm, bucking your hips. He tilts the heel of his hand for you to grind against while he prods at your slick little hole.

You really have been good, somehow even tighter than he remembers. Of course, you were; he never doubted you. No wonder you were so insistent on prepping. He’d split you in half as you are now – fuck but that’s tempting.

“S-Soap – John. Please don’t… stop.”

“I won’ stop, birdie,” he soothes. Nothing could make him stop now.

Two is probably too much for you, but he loves the punched out little noise you make when he forces them in. The way your entrance clings and squeezes around his knuckles. How your spine goes tight and stiff, tilting your head back so that he has access to your singing throat. Pretty face all scrunched up as you struggle to adjust, stinging too much to even squirm. A flighty little bird right in the palm of his hand.

You’re so hot and wet inside. Feel fucking heavenly. Coating him in arousal, in need. His cock is aching to replace his fingers, feel you strangling him down to the base. Grinding against your thigh isn’t tiding him over anymore.

“Yer hand,” he grits out, “on my cock. Now.”

You shudder and circle the head, fingers tentative. Little tease.

He thrusts his fingers into you hard in retaliation, hips driving into the loose tunnel you’ve made. You must know what you’re doing, goading him on like this, plucking at his fraying patience.

“More,” he snarls, “or I’m going to use you like a fleshlight.” (Sooner than he was planning, anyway.)

You whimper and close your hand tighter, rubbing your thumb just under the head. Relief makes him generous, scissoring those two fingers inside you, easing you open. Lets you grind your clit on the meat of his thumb.

He crooks his fingers and finds a spot that has you mewling all sweet and precious. Does it over and over just to get your hand squeezing rhythmically around his shaft, precum dribbling over the back of your knuckles.

Christ, it’s been so long that he thinks he could blow just from this. Your voice in his ear, drooling pussy wrapped around his fingers, grinding into the open circle of your hand. But he needs to be inside you when he cums, he has to.

You don’t even seem to notice the third finger until it’s halfway inside, prying you open. Your legs buckle, knees shaking. He catches you with an arm around your waist, but it squishes you against his chest, the arm you’ve been stroking him with nearly immobilized. He can only stand the lack of stimulation for a few moments, occupying himself with his tongue down your throat.

“Enough,” he rasps, kicking the shower off.

Dazed, you blink at him in confusion, half-lidded and guileless, panting. He wants to fucking ruin you.

You yelp as he scoops you up, fingers still slippery where they grip your thigh. He croons as you cling, asking in a high, nervous voice where he’s going.

“Poor thing, dick’s not even in yet ‘n yer all addled.”

The dripping head of his cock grinds against your sopping slit as he carries you back to the bedroom. He remembers how much you liked it before – and you still do, your blunt little teeth buried in your bottom lip as you whimper.

It’s still dark, the crescent moon no use to your weak eyes. Like hell you won’t look at him when he finally claims you proper.

He slaps at the wall switch, a tiny lamp flicking to life across the room. You’re bathed in soft golden light, deep shadows swimming where it doesn’t reach. You and him, gold and black, light and dark.

He eagerly lays you out on the blanket, drinking in the marks decorating your upper body. You even have teeth prints on your arm that he doesn’t remember putting there – fetching, though.

You wiggle further up the mattress, and he follows, flashing a grin as he plants his hands on either side of you. The size difference is stark like this, the breadth of him subsuming you. Safe, tucked away, all his. Your breathing is loud as he bullies his way between your plush thighs again. You have to spread them so wide just to accommodate.

“Lemme see,” he says, voice barely leaving his chest. “Lemme see her. It’s been so long, baby.”

He can already tell you’re about to start up the fussing again – so shy, his little bird, but he’ll get you singing nice and loud now. No more of this demure chirping facade. You both know what you really are.

You squeal as he forces your thighs up, far enough apart that you babble that you don’t bend that way. Of course you do, though, you’ve just done it. Not that he really hears you by that point.

No, all his attention is on that gleaming, puffy pussy. So fucking pretty. Sticky and throbbing, your hole hardly showing the stretch of three fingers. Dripping as he watches, a dewy glob of arousal sliding down the seam of your cunt, towards your ass.

Just the slightest shift and his cock is nestled between your folds, the glans chafing against your hot clit. He measures the depth of it against your abdomen, head cloudy on the nervous whine that eeks from your throat.

Even with prep, he might break you anyway.

He hopes he does. Break you around him, shape you to him so that no one else will fit – not that anyone else will ever get the chance.

It’s not a conscious thought that gathers saliva on his tongue, purses his lips. You jump when he spits, rubbing the head of his cock through your combined fluids. Your cunt looks good in white. Like a bride.

You’re too needy, wiggling with nervous anticipation. He has to hold you down while he sinks into you – poor thing too blissed out to control yourself. One hand around your wrists above your head, the other pinning your hips at an angle to drive in as easily as possible.

One snap of his hips, and he’s buried to the hilt. You cry out, shuddering and dry sobbing. His vision goes spotty with the pleasure of it, your little pussy squeezing. You’re so…

“Fucking perfect.”

He shushes you, unable to bend to kiss you without making the stretch worse. Settles for rubbing circles into your hip, twisting to lace your fingers together. Now that he’s finally, finally where he belongs, it doesn’t seem such a monumental task to muster some patience.

“B-big,” you whimper. “You’re t-too big. I d-don’t – I can’t…!”

“You already are,” he coos, “little girl taking this fat cock, I’m so proud. My girl is so brave, my little bird. Bonnie lass.”

He’s rambling now, a dirty stream of consciousness. But that primal urge to fuck you open and loose and stupid is already clawing at him again. The tight clutch of your cunt calls for him to break you in, mark you up on the inside. Claim you as his irrevocably.

You feel him drawing back, eyes flying open wide. Writhing, half-formed protests on your tongue - that you’re not ready, that he’s too big, that it still hurts.

As if that’s any reason to stop, when anything needs to sting a bit to leave a lasting mark.

“Only way to make it hurt less,” he reminds, burying inside again. This time he rolls his hips, grinding the head of his cock along your satiny walls, against the hard barrier of your cervix.

Whatever you’re about to say is swept off in a wave of moans, washing over your wet tongue and down the back of your too-empty throat. Every time you try to gather them, he fucks back into you, hard enough to bounce you up the bed before he tugs you right back down.

Eventually you give up on doing anything but keening for him, massaging his cock from root to tip in those twitching walls. You loop your legs around his waist, ankles locked at the small of his back, knees squeezing against his ribs.

“Tha’s it, love,” he slurs, “jus’ take it.”

He lets your wrists go to clutch at both of your hips, angling them as he straightens his back. On the next thrust you scream, curse, throw your hands up to brace against the headboard. Smart girl.

His restraint unravels with each thrust until he’s pounding into you, slamming the bedframe into the wall. Your eyes are rolling into the back of your skull, jaw loose, spilling pathetic, weepy “ah, ah, ah” noises in time with his hips. He’s not going to last long at all. Not when you feel so goddamn good, finally claimed.

He presses his thumb against your clit and grins wickedly as you thrash. Tears leak from your unfocused eyes. You babble incoherently as he rubs a little rougher than he should, but your walls are sucking and clutching at every centimeter of him, so he doesn’t stop.

Even when you seize up, back bent into a sharp arch, clamping down so tight that he goes lightheaded.

“Soap! John… John it’s too much,” you sob. “John – Johnny!”

His orgasm blindsides him, makes him fuck you so hard that something in the bed cracks. In the haze, he flattens you to the mattress while bucking into you, not taking any chance of coming unseated. You whine in his ear but go limp, resigned to his cock spurting at the entrance to your womb – as deep as he can get – your cunt milking him for every drop.

He comes back to himself when you tap weakly at his hip, uncoordinated.

“Hm?” he asks, a little miffed that you’re disturbing his afterglow already.

“Hard to breathe,” you squeak.

He huffs. Alright, suppose he can understand that. Besides, he wants to see you.

And what a sight you make, splayed out and shaky on pleasure. Sweat at your hairline, lips swollen and bitten. He can still feel your pulse against his cock.

He sits himself up, eyes trailing down to the place where you’re joined. His cum is already seeping out a bit at a time, a thin creamy ring around his still half-hard cock. You keen a bit when it twitches.

“Pretty girl,” he coos.

You groan softly, flopping an arm over your glassy eyes as he pulls out – slow because he’s reluctant to leave.

But the sight of your slick diluting the milky white of his cum is too much to resist. You jolt at the first swipe of his tongue, react much faster than he’s expecting. Flip onto your front and try to scramble away. He growls at his stolen prize and pounces.

Under normal circumstances, you’re no match for him. Trembling and spent like this, you don’t stand a chance.

He grabs your calf and yanks you back, chuckling at the helpless stretch of your arms. You try to plead your case, but he’s hearing none of it. Plants his hand against your back as he shuffles onto his stomach, your thighs over his shoulders, knees digging into muscle. He tilts your hips with his other hand, thumb fitted in the crease of your pelvis, and brings you to his mouth.

Your struggling has made more spend leak out, and he laps it all up hungrily, tongue flat and ravenous. Sweeping from clit to hole to gather any stray droplets, even skimming over the tight furl of your ass. He licks into your loosened hole, high on pride at the difference he can feel his cock has made.

“’S too much,” you wail, “J-Johnny, please. I-I can’t, it’s…”

In retaliation, he slurps loudly at the fresh arousal blooming across his tongue. You hiccup, try one last time to wriggle away. He can’t have that.

You shriek as he fucks two fingers into you, voice thick with a fresh wave of tears. But you stop trying to escape. He doesn’t show mercy now that you’re behaving, coaxing more out, licking around his own knuckles. When he sucks at your overstimulated clit, you jerk and whine.

“I’m – I’m gonna… feels… w-wait, wait!”

It’s too late. He’s already laved his tongue over your trapped clit, crooked his fingers. You cum again with a shout, wetness splashing across his mouth, chin, down his neck. He groans, deep and rough in his chest. Doesn’t even give you a moment to recover before he pulls away, licking his lips.

“Do tha’ again on my cock.”

You’ve learned better now though – you lay there like a good girl as he stuffs you full again. Even better, you keep rewarding him with your soft cries of pleasure.

You really are made for him.

He likes the couch you picked. Not very big, but cushy. Besides, the two of you don’t need a lot of room anyway. Not when his lap makes a perfectly good seat for you.

You’ve been quiet all morning – probably still waking up from the coma he fucked you into. Eating babka from his fingers, licking them clean between bites. Docile and sweet, melting against his chest with your face tucked against his collarbone.

“Sore?” he asks.

“Mhmm.”

Your sweet little voice is all hoarse and soft. He’d coo if he didn’t think he’d be pushing his luck with skin so close to your teeth.

“Maybe I’ll massage you later,” he offers, smirking at the grumpy little “hmph” he gets in response.

He encourages you to sip a bit of water before your voice emerges again.

“What happens now?”

He doesn’t pretend to misunderstand the question.

“Now I get the life I’m owed,” he answers. All that fighting, suffering, bleeding, dying – and for what? A hole in his skull and his own goddamn people thinking he’s a monster. Even you, at first. You’ve learned, though. He’s sure of it. The rest can swallow bullets for all he cares.

“What if they come back?” you ask.

He hums. “Might contract with someone. Not opposed to killin’ on principle – just sick of doin’ it to someone else’s tune, aye?”

“Wh-what… what about…”

What about you. Poor thing, afraid Laswell and her ilk will snatch you up and dangle you in front of him again. Or worse – some other sod drooling for a slice of heaven in the pits of hell.

He doesn’t loosen his grip even when you shift a bit – needs to feel you in his hands.

“Got a plan for that, don’ you fret, little bird,” he soothes. “Still got one friend, I think. Jus’ gotta find ‘im.”

You exhale slowly, accept another piece of babka. “We’re stayin’ here, though?” you mumble around the mouthful.

He chuckles. Sweet little thing.

“Worked so hard on the place, might as well. Don’ care so long as I’ve got my bird, aye?”

“Mm.”

“How ‘bout a kitty, eh? Get ya somethin’ to keep ye company when I’m away.”

You swallow audibly. “I wan’ a dog. Big one.”

He chuckles. “’Course ye do. Aye, love, a big fuck-off dog to keep ya safe.”

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Masterlist

#cod #my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #dark fic #government asset!Soap #asset soap #heavy kink #mind the tags #john soap mactavish #john mactavish x reader

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jennifer-jeong · 5 months ago

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Fluff + Suggestive | JJK x GN!Reader How Do They Love?

Gojo Satoru, Nanami Kento, Ryomen Sukuna

SUMMARY Headcanons on how they'd be as your loving boyfriend

CONTENT NSFW, 18+, suggestive, fluff, nothing explicit but lots of suggestive content, mentions their past traumas, ALL CHARACTERS ARE 18+

AUTHOR NOTES I originally started to work on this just as general headcanons or character sheets/notes but I figured I’d share them as my personal takes on their characters and how they’d be as your partner :) ALSO I will probably post the prompts in a separate post sometime!

WORD COUNT: 1498

GOJO SATORU

One sentence to sum them up Absolutely adores you.

Some adjectives/descriptors Clingy, teasing, bubbly, a little whiny, devoted, genius, cutie patootie

Typa guy/gal/person to… Typa guy to try to lean on a door frame, miss, fall, get back up, and play it off like nothing happened. Bro doesn’t even seem phased, he’s genuinely too silly to feel embarrassed in that situation. He probably gets really flustered about it later once you leave though and then worries that he’s scared you off so he has to hype himself up to talk to you again.

How do they react to your firsts? (kisses, dates, etc.) He’s a bit shy and unsure when it comes to firsts with you because he doesn’t really have a lot of experience, but his desperation for you always overpowers it. He has to fight himself to not come off as too clingy at first because he literally always wants to hang out with you.

NSFW dynamic? Definitely a switch, a power bottom but also a subby top. He worships you and your body so pardon if he comes off a bit strong. Honestly he’s just open to anything as long as it’s with you. He’s so down bad for you and you’re the same for him.

How do they take care of you? He’s overprotective because he’s lost too many of his loved ones, he’s the strongest so he’s always a target, he just doesn’t want to accidentally make you one too. If anything ever did try to harm you, the sweet Satoru you know would turn into a killing machine whose rage would know no bounds. He’s not amazing with his words but he’ll always be by your side no matter what, always putting in his best to treat you the way you deserve.

How do you take care of them? Satoru is always hiding emotions underneath and you take care of him by giving him such a safe space to express them. He confides in you and you never fail to make him feel better. He’s never really had someone like this before and so you adore being able to show him just how loved he is by both you and his loved ones. When he’s with you, he’s not the strongest, he’s just Satoru, just how he likes it. (You also always make him his favourite kikufuku especially when he’s feeling down)

How do they view you? You’re his one and only. You’re his best friend and a goddess in his eyes and he’d stop at nothing to protect you. Even if you’re strong yourself, he’s always going to be stronger than you so he's a bit scared he’ll lose you sometimes. Overall, he thinks of you as someone who stands strongly beside him, not behind.

Something random they do Will fart into a little sphere of infinity, and then send the bubble towards you, popping it nearby you while you yell. He’ll also send over other random things like snacks, bugs, leaves, and flowers <3

NANAMI KENTO

One sentence to sum them up The epitome of “written by a woman”

Some adjectives/descriptors Respectful, caring, empathetic, giving, honorable, does what’s right

Typa guy/gal/person to… Typa guy to never let you open a door, pull out a chair, or lift something by yourself. He will sprint, face completely serious (trying not to laugh), just to make sure he can do it for you. You always reward him with lots of kisses of course.

How do they react to your firsts? (kisses, dates, etc.) He’s definitely quite shy about things like this but knows what he wants. He’s a gentleman through and through so he’ll always be very respectful and calm even while his heart is beating out of his chest and his face is flushed red.

NSFW dynamic? Service dom. That’s all I have to say. He’s also open to trying things with you, especially when it comes to dom and sub dynamics and especially switching. Your pleasure and comfort always come first for him

How do they take care of you? Kento is such a sweet and observant person that he always just knows what you need, sometimes before you even know it. He’s always calm to help you stay calm and adores providing you with acts of service when his words fail him. Despite his own doubts in his communication skills, he is still very good and mature with his words when he does use them.

How do you take care of them? You take care of him by making sure he knows he’s loved and by making sure he doesn’t work too hard. The man is a workaholic and functions off of doing what’s right, even to his own detriment. So you make it your job to make sure he learns when to rest and to accept that he is loved and that he’s doing good for the world. He also tends to blame himself a lot for the past and you ensure he knows it’s not his fault.

How do they view you? Nanami views you as the embodiment of beauty. He thinks you’re gorgeous inside and out, and that you just exude such a warm energy that never fails to comfort him. You fill his heart in ways that he didn’t know was possible and he’s so happy to have you.

Something random they do Hits the standing person emoji pose unintentionally. Don't get me wrong he's very elegant still, but when he spaces out a bit, he just puts his hands at his side. When you start laughing at him for it, telling him he looks like the emoji, he stands even more aggressively straight, making you copy him and laugh harder while he tries not to laugh as well.

RYOMEN SUKUNA

One sentence to sum them up Edgelord with a good heart (NOT CANON)

Some adjectives/descriptors Stoic, possessive, grumpy, loving, soft only for loved ones

Typa guy/gal/person to… Typa guy to get mildly annoyed with you when you try to tie up his hair into pigtails, put stickers on him, do his nails, or do his skincare. BUT, will always let you do it and will always keep it the way you’ve done it, he actually quite likes when you clean up his nails and paint them black. He also keeps all the stickers you give him on his laptop and enjoys doing face masks with you.

How do they react to your firsts? (kisses, dates, etc.) Interestingly, Sukuna probably seems like he’s not even interested in you when you first start dating, but he keeps asking to meet you. You’ll definitely see him blush and freeze up when you hold hands or kiss because he wants you so badly but doesn’t know what to do.

NSFW dynamic? Soft dom but has hard kinks. He would never hurt you so he makes sure to check what you like before you do anything. If you’re also into doing it rough though… He’ll show you a glorious time.

How do they take care of you? Sukuna knows he doesn’t come off as the most doting and outwardly kind person and he doesn’t think it’s something that will change. But, he does know that if he’s not putting energy into doing all that, he’s putting 100% of his energy into showing you how much he loves you. He’s always trying to help you how he knows best. He’ll always run errands for you, pay for things, gives you lots of cuddles and massages, and he’ll never ever be late.

How do you take care of them? You take care of him by really targeting that soft spot he has for you, hoping that you can continue to soften up the tough man. He definitely represses his emotions a lot since he feels the expectation to always be strong, and in classic man-fashion, decides to bottle things up. You ensure he has a space to be himself around you and to learn and test how to communicate and accept that he’s loved.

How do they view you? Sukuna tends to look down on humans most of the time and you can’t deny that a lot of humans are quite stupid. But, with you and only a handful of others, he feels a different energy. You feel so whole to him, you’re well rounded and just so perfect. You’re smart, funny, and so loving to everyone around you.

Something random they do Most definitely punches and beefs your plushies on your shared bed. Most of the time he doesn’t even say anything as he does it. Just gives them a solid punch, maybe even grabs it and slams it into the bed a few times, leaving the filling inside the plush a little deformed. You always just ask him “why” and most of the time he responds with a last little punch to it, but sometimes he’ll say “cause they get to sleep with you when I’m not home.”

|| MASTERLIST ♡ || Thank you for reading! ||

#jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #gojo x reader #gojo fluff #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru fluff #nanami x reader #nanami fluff #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento fluff #sukuna x reader #sukuna fluff #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna fluff #j's silly ramblings

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rdr2gifs · 10 months ago

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''the morning light, when it comes to me, it was there but I could not see''

Arthur’s life was profoundly shaped by his self-hatred, lack of self-worth and disbelief in the existence of kindness in a seemingly dark and cruel world.

I strongly disagree with the statement that Arthur only became a ‘’better’’ man after being diagnosed with tb. His struggle with his true/inner self is apparent as early as chapter one. ‘’You are not who you think you are, sir… which is lucky’’

He has lived a rough life, raised by criminals and surrounded by violence ever since he was born. It was installed in him early that his value lied within being a violent enforcer and he has lived this life since, knowing nothing else. As a highly aware person, Arthur's actions weight heavy on his soul. He accepts that his actions have consequences. He knows that a person who has caused so much suffering is not meant to have happiness in life. His way of life has caused him to believe that he is not worthy of love or redemption. He doesn’t want to believe that a person like him could be capable of any good. (a thing to note here is that imo, Arthur’s actions near his death weren’t attempts at redemption but rather a strong desire to do right and possibly be his true self.) This is why he keeps living as he does as it’s the only thing he’s ever known, it’s the thing that brings him profit, praise from the person he looks up to and he is already damned so he might as well continue living this life anyway.

The internal problem Arthur faces is that this violent, cruel way of life doesn’t align with what I’d call his true self/ideals. He is torn between the harsh reality he has known and an unconscious yearning for righteousness/love. To be able to carry on with his actions he must enforce certain ideals within himself, such as: I am bad, ugly, nasty, ignorant, mean etc. He also decides to see the dark side of reality, telling himself that the world is a grim dark place and this is just as things were meant to be. This is why he feels so uncomfortable being complimented for his good deeds, because a bad rotten person like him should not be able to do good. It breaks the image he has built for himself and he doesn’t want that happening. This can be seen a lot during the ‘’Money Lending and Other Sins’’ missions where he is unusually mean (even for his standards) to each of the debtors. Imo, he acts this way because he must truly convince himself of being a terrible man to be able to carry out a job which revolts him so badly. In the last debt collecting mission with J. John Weathers, it can be seen in his face/expressions how much he is struggling to put on a tough, uncaring, heartless act. He needs to maintain a ruthless persona to survive in the world he knows. He must convince himself of his own cruelty.

''Forgive me, but that's the problem. You don't know you.''

Contrary to Arthur’s beliefs, he is a naturally kind-hearted person who is unconsciously drawn towards kindness. And yes, even before he was diagnosed with tb. This can be seen in the people he respects the most and, in his willingness to help strangers (notice how he often does unnecessary acts of service for total strangers such as: carrying their things, holding out hands etc. even though they had already troubled him). Despite the life he has lived, Arthur does not enjoy violence, he does not enjoy hurting people. He doesn’t want to dominate over others. He thinks mostly about others and not about himself. This fact alone is very telling of his character.

He writes about Charles, a man who he truly respects: ‘’He’s a better man than me. He does not need to think to be good. It comes naturally to him, like right is deep within as opposed to this conflict between GOOD↔EVIL that rages within me.’’ A man who is not struggling with his inner self would not have written this. To me this clearly implies an inner desire to be a better man. He writes about his mentors: ‘’I love Dutch like a father, but in many ways, I love Hosea even more. He’s kind and fair and like a human being. Dutch is something else.’’ Clearly showing a preference for Hosea who is of a more gentle nature and shows genuine kindness. Unsurprisingly, these are the people who see through his dumb/though act and encourage him to drop it.

When he comes across Brother Dorkins for the first time, he writes: ‘’(he)was one of those innocent people who make you feel better about human beings and about yourself a little. Must be odd to see all that goodness in the world. Place always seemed dark and brutal to me.’’ Expressing how he does not see goodness in the world, implying lack of good examples/kindness/good experiences in his life. Yet, the monk leaves an impression and imo, this encounter (seeing genuine goodness) disrupts Arthur’s perception of what the world truly is. ‘’Just as evil begat evil your whole life long, so good may begat good’’ (what strengthens my belief in this, is the following, symbolic scene of Arthur realising the consequences of his actions right after picking up a crucifix. He was aware of them before sure, but is unable to truly ignore them now having seen it right in front of his eyes). If only Arthur was presented with more examples of goodness in his life.

''You have it in you... I can tell!''

His desire to do as much good as possible after realising he won’t live long is instant. This would not be the mindset of someone who did not already possess kindness in his heart. ‘’Know glory and forget about shame.’’ Arthur’s shame and self-loathing caused by his previous actions were what was holding him back from allowing kindness into his life. Knowing that he has limited time left has not made him into someone he wasn’t before. The diagnosis was a catalyst, allowing him to embrace that love/goodness truly does exist and accelerate the process of chipping away from the persona he has made for himself. This was a newfound understanding for him as in the past he was rejecting any notion of kindess. In himself and perhaps the whole existence of it. ‘’You keep hidden all that matters, even from yourself.’’

After being diagnosed, he writes: ‘’What kind of a man have I been? What kind of a man am I? What world is this we live in? A land of fury or a place of love? Am I being prepared for eternal damnation? Am I past any kind of saving? Is that all fairytales? Man ain’t got much good in him. I ain’t got no good in me… I don’t think and yet I see goodness. I see it. If not in me, in good folk. In Abigail and her love for Jack. In that silly monk. In Downes, I guess. Begging not for himself but for the poor, even though he was near starving himself. Maybe I don’t want salvation. Part of me has always longed for death.’’ This entry perfectly shows how deep Arthur’s self-loathing goes and just how much it has damaged him. As his journal allows a look into his true feelings, he truly does not see a single good thing about himself. He knew for a long time that the way he lives is detestable but he could not let go of it. Not because he didn’t want to, but because it’s all that he has ever known. He didn’t believe in anything else. This sudden acceptance of goodness has allowed him to see clearly, which was obscured from him before, and for the first time, enabled him to act free of past regrets for what is right.

⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪

Arthur’s redemption is not about becoming a good man. It is about finding the strength to change and recognise your true self despite a lifetime of self-loathing and breaking free from destructive beliefs of the past.

In Arthurian legends a stag is a symbol of the unending quest of spiritual knowledge/enligtenment

#this is my own personal interpretation of arthur's redemption #i could expand so much more on this #the orange quotes are by blind man cassidy #please don’t even interact if you think arthur was just a killer incapable of goodness before he was diagnosed #the ironic thing is that so many people could see behind arthur’s front but he was blind to it #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #this analysis is based purely on high-honor choices #i don't care if your arthur shoots up entire towns this analysis does not take individual open-world gameplay decisions into account #i did almost cry thinking about this #text post

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rachelzeglertruther · 1 year ago

Text

Why You're Wrong About Rachel Zegler

This is a long post, but there's a lot of context missing from the Rachel Zegler "discourse" that I thought I could add with my history of watching this unfold from the beginning.

The Snow White Thing

You probably know this part. There's a curated video of Rachel going viral, framed to make her seem like she's never seen Snow White, she hates the story, she hates the character, she's ungrateful, and single-handedly ruined Disney's brand. The clips from these videos are not new— they were released nearly a year ago in September 2022 and nobody cared about them at the time. Why? Because all the full interviews she did that day at the Disney Exo in 2022 showed a young, charming woman who was excited and proud to be cast in an iconic role. The interviews were very well received and it was a non story. Now that it's been edited down and cut together in a malicious way, and the people sharing them are purposefully misquoting her, they've twisted the context. Normally, this would be a non controversy. Even if that video wasn't taken out of context and spliced together to make her seem like she hates the film, most people wouldn't care. The issue is the response to the video.

Let's get this out of the way: Rachel Zegler doesn't hate Snow White. She relayed that she was afraid of the forest scene as a child and didn't revisit it again until after she was cast in the role. She has since then watched it several times and has expressed for YEARS before that interview came out that she was incredibly honored and grateful to be playing such an iconic Disney princess. If you watch the full videos that those clips came from, this comes across immediately to anyone with their own mind. If you hate someone for being scared of something as a child, I don't know what to tell you. If the role was being given to the biggest Snow White fan, you would be correct that she doesn't deserve it. Unfortunately for you, this role requires talent and Rachel has the Golden Globe and critical acclaim from people who matter within the industry (her peers and critics).

You know who does hate their beloved characters in beloved franchises but the general public still applauds them? Harrison Ford, Sean Connery, Daniel Craig, and Robert Pattinson. They've all expressed outright contempt for the roles and the films they were part of, but nobody cared. People had fun with their quotes but they still respected them. Rachel said nothing even closely resembling their remarks, but she's being torn to shreds. Are we seeing a pattern here?

Rachel never said a single bad thing about the character or the animated film— she said that it was outdated and that set people over the edge, foaming at the mouth to have her burned at the stake. If you think it would be perfectly fine to have a movie about an abused 14 year old girl run away to play housemaid for a bunch of men, get kissed in her sleep/death by an adult man, and then wake up to fall into his arms in 2024, that's certainly a hot take. If you're against remakes, direct your ire at Disney. But if you truly think that plot would work with young girls today, you're the one who's out of touch. It would do far more harm than good to portray a young woman in that light.

She also never said that there was anything wrong with romance or love. She said that the new Snow White wasn't only dreaming of that. I can't stress enough that this wasn't her decision… she was describing the plot of the new film that was written by Greta Gerwig and approved by Disney. There's a prince in the film and he will also have a more developed personality and storyline. If you have a problem with the writing, wait until it comes out so you can write your strongly worded letter to Greta. If you have a problem with the concept in general, take it up with Disney. There's no need for you to be defensive over hurting the legacy of a multi-billion dollar company or a 87 year old cartoon written by a proud racist antisemite. This is the most confusing part of the hate campaign to me because it wasn't even her opinion— she was literally describing the plot of the film she had nothing to do with. It also isn't a new thing. Disney actors have been promoting their newer films this way for years.

It's perfectly okay to like things that are problematic. It's becoming an issue that we refuse to acknowledge that maybe some things we love are harmful. What we can't do is justify why it's not problematic, and in fact everyone who calls it out is the problem and NOT their precious cartoon. The 1937 Snow White was an amazing feat of animation. It's a classic for a reason. But it was also Hitler's favorite film and was directed by a white supremacist (the one who is "rolling in his grave" due to Rachel's existence, according to his son). Things don't exist in a vacuum and we can't ignore the bad parts.

How We Got Here:

The thing that everyone is missing is the source of this campaign. This started in September of 2020 when transphobic actor Gina Carano made fun of trans people by changing her pronouns to beep/bop.boop. Rachel indirectly called her out by coming to the defense of the trans community.

She never called out Gina by name (though she rightfully could have). Mind you, Rachel's first film hadn't come out yet. Nobody knew who she was outside of those of us who were anticipating West Side Story and were fans of her covers on YouTube. She was a "nobody" in the industry. Take this part with a grain of salt because I can't confirm it, but Gina and her fans directly blame Rachel for her being banned from Twitter. Again, I really don't think that matters as she's harmful to the trans community and shouldn't have a platform. What does matter is that fans of Gina (which, let's be real, are just fans of transphobia) have been stalking Rachel's every move since then. Unfortunately for them, there wasn't much they could use against her other than to call her woke and #snowbrown when she was cast a year later as the Disney princess. The noise has always been there, but unless you were a fan of hers, you probably didn't hear about it. It wasn't until two years after this that they had something else against her.

If you've recently seen a video of Rachel crying circulating that claims to be her reaction to the recent Snow White backlash, it's an old video. It's from a vlog from her youtube channel posted in June 2022. It was in response to these exact same transphobic anti-woke conservatives who thought that they had something when she did an interview on the red carpet of the Shazam premiere. When asked why she joined the DC universe, she responded "I needed a job." It was generally well received by most people who thought it was cute and funny, but those who were waiting in the shadows latched onto it as an excuse to send her death threats.

The video was also about a month after she was invited to present at the 2022 Oscars and was made to seem like she bullied the Academy (as a no name newcomer, mind you) into letting her attend. In reality, a fan left a comment on her Instagram asking what she was wearing to the event. She responded that she wasn't invited but would be rooting for everyone from her couch in her boyfriend's pajamas. It was the public who demanded she get an invite and the Oscar's must have agreed that it was very odd that the lead actress of a film that was nominated for Best Film wouldn't get an invite. Whether it was an oversight on their part or a scheduling issue with Rachel's filming, I truly think there was no malicious intent from either party. Keep in mind, she used to be very active with her fans (she's a huge fangirl of things herself and has always had a strong relationship with her fans) and she wasn't used to her comments becoming articles and national tv segments. This was the first time it happened to her. It appears she learned that she's not just a girl who posts on YouTube anymore and she's going to be put under a microscope for every move she makes. She has since shut down her Instagram comments and rarely interacts with fans outside of liking comments these days because of this.

I know this is long, but I need people to understand where this is all coming from. It didn't just happen out of nowhere. It's an orchestrated campaign built by violent conservatives, and thousands of women who saw Barbie this summer are hopping on the bandwagon to beat another woman into submission because they have a lot of internalized misogyny to deal with. She's not smug, you just hate women. It's okay to find people annoying, but it's valuable to look into why you think that. If you see a confident young woman expressing views that don't actually harm anyone and you think she needs to be "humbled" and "put in her place" by the entire internet dogpiling her, you've lost your mind. Using "body language experts" (fake job) to diagnose her as a psychopath is so vile. Everytime someone mentions her name online, the comments beneath it are full of the most violent, misogynistic, racist things I've ever seen. If you're contributing to that, you've chosen your side. Reevaluate or seek help.

I'm tired of seeing this happen to young women. We let this happen to Jennifer Lawrence, Brie Larson, Millie Bobby Brown, Halle Bailey, and Jenna Ortega. It's one thing to call out celebrities and hold them accountable when they're doing something actively harmful, but that's not what this is about. That's never been what this is about. We pick these girls to pieces and examine them and pull them apart to justify our hatred of young women who rise to success too quickly for our liking. We dogpile and try to stamp out the flame before they burn too bright. Barbie is still in theaters and you all loved it, yet you're demanding that a bright girl with a big future be small and submissive and humbled because you have issues. That's not feminism. You're just the girls who would have bullied Weird Barbie for using her hands too much when she talks.

#rachel zegler #snow white #disney #barbie #rachelzegler #there's also misinformation about her standing up for ansel elgort which isn't true #sorry but she hates that man #you're thinking about ariana debose who defended him #we'll get into that later

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sweet-as-an-angel · 2 years ago

Note

I may or may not have written a love poem about a COD character and I was wondering how the ones you write for would react to getting love poem from their s/o? Thank you :3

MW2 Reaction to Receiving a Love Poem from their S/O

Warnings: Pure Fluff <3, Just Big Military Men™ in Love, No Pronouns used for Reader Except 'You'.

Ghost

Dies on impact.

Will seize up like a mannequin for a solid three hours before he can even open the darn thing.

And when he does, with twitching hands and a flinching heart, the stiffness plaguing his body evaporates.

His heart leaps out of his chest with each passing word, and the world around him grows into blended shades of red and pink.

His skin is prickling, though not with injury, but abashment.

Love.

He’s sweating so much that, by the time he’s finished reading the poem, some of the letters where his fingers have been are smudged.

He panics, tears his hands off the scene as quickly and as delicately as he can before placing the poem somewhere safe.

From that day forward, he can’t seem to keep eye contact for as long as he usually could.

Or remain in as close proximity to you as he would like to.

One may take Ghost’s behaviour as stand-offish, perhaps even rude.

But you know otherwise. Especially when you see the corner of your love note peeking out from the pocket of his tactical vest, knowing that Ghost knows there is no place safer in all the world for it to be kept; the same reason he keeps you by his side. Because you both know that nothing short of an act from God can harm you when he’s there.

König

Regardless of how long you’ve been dating, König will always have to sit down for half an hour or so with your note across from him on the table before he can even bring himself to open it.

Why, you ask ?

Well, when you’ve gone without love for as long as König has, one typically becomes…unaccustomed to such grandiose acts of selflessness.

Especially ones as strong as love.

So, with the contents of your heart bursting onto the paper that König can so easily hold, crumble,tear in his hand, he wants to be extra careful.

To him, you are that paper. And he would rather face Hell and fury than let it get damaged in any way, shape or form.

When he eventually does pluck up the courage to read it, he’s never been so grateful for his veil.

His face blooms a deep red, burning his skin.

He’s certain it would show even beneath the war paint.

He doesn’t want to rush, to take anything you’ve written for granted, so he reads every word twice.

Sure, it takes longer to read your poem, but that isn’t a disadvantage to König.

That’s a bonus.

And he carries your words with him wherever he goes – memorises them like the holy scripture they are.

He doesn’t want to risk your note getting hurt or lost while he’s out at work, so whenever you visit his apartment when he’s away, you see it framed and hung up in his bedroom, right where it will be the last thing he sees as he falls asleep and the first thing he sees when he wakes up.

Soap

Though he won’t show it, he’s a bag of nerves.

But, he’s the type to deal with his anxieties as quickly as possible.

He’ll tear through your note like a summer wolf, thin and growling and restless as he obtains the general vibe of your poem.

But, even with a passing glance, he can feel how strongly you mean them.

When he’s prepared himself for the onslaught of feels your note is going to impart on him, he starts from the beginning.

And takes his time.

He wants to savour every word, every letter and syllable.

And he does.

Believe me, he does.

And when he’s finished reading it over for the eighth time, he folds the paper – carefully – and holds it to his chest.

He can feel his heart thrumming through the paper, feel it in his head like church bells.

And he remembers that feeling.

Whenever he’s scared, doubtful, alone or anxious, he remembers not only the poem, bu the feeling of it.

Your skin palpable in his hands, your spirit watching over him like Heaven’s Phoenix.

And the world isn’t so scary anymore.

Valeria

Don’t tell anyone, but she can feel her whole chest flutter when that slip of paper is pressed between her fingers.

She shuts herself off in a quiet room, unwilling to share your light with anybody else.

She wastes no time in uncrafting the lithe swan you’ve fashioned the paper into, deconstructing it like an anti-god and reducing it to its most basic form.

But that makes it no less beautiful.

Now, your love has nowhere to hide, not between the illusory feathers or the cracks in the body.

And Valeria, her heart stammering, reads your poem.

For a time, she forgets where she is – who she is – as her world is brought into focus with yours, two moons passing in a fleeting eclipse.

And in these twilight moments of you, Valeria feels what no amount of money, work, or euphoria can bring her.

Joy.

She can feel her cheeks lifting the deeper into this Aphroditecal fantasy she descends, for this feels more of a work of fiction than real life.

Caleria brings the paper to her nose when she’s done, her eyes close and in the darkness of her mind forms a likeness of you.

A crude recreation compared to your beauty, but a monument all the same.

And there, Valeria holds you, looks upon you, feels you, knowing that, even though she’s not with you, you can feel her and all the love that weighs her heart and keeps her human.

Price

In all his years of service, he’s seen terrible things, as well as the piques of human selflessness.

Sacrifices for the greater good, for love, the destruction of cities and lives.

But, as he sits at his desk, his cigar extinguished as he gives all his attention to the fragile poem in his hands, his eye twitches.

His heart pounds, spinning an orchestra of drums and nothing else.

Even in his infinite wisdom, his intellect and intuition, Price knows there is nothing in all the world that can prepare him for this.

He knows that, in his hands, he holds art.

In its purest and most innocent form, he holds a sliver of you, a wraith.

He unfurls the paper as if handling the gossamer threads of a spider’s web, the paper reclining into his touch.

And he reads.

He consumes every morsel of amour you’ve packed into the letters of your most soulful confession, that being the most universal phrase there is.

I love you.

Price is glad for his hat for, as he reaches your signature at the bottom of the note, he can feel his throat burning, his eyes stinging and straining.

A tear, mythical in its nature, a family of one in a species thought extinct, takes to the table. Makes it its home.

Price’s fist clenches, your note remaining uncastracted in his other hand.

He needs to be with you. Now.

And he does everything in his power to make it home to you.

Horangi

Considering how bare his existence once was – owing money to some very choice individuals, making poor choices, living a bleak existence – Horangi feels nothing short of overwhelmed when your poem sits in his hands.

His heart throbs and he can barely keep still as your love lies between a folded page.

And, excavating it, reading of its expanse and extent, Horangi’s throat goes dry.

All he can think, wonder, is what he did to receive such unconditional, unfathomable love.

And from you, of all people !

Horangi reads, re-reads, re-re-reads that poem every day, regardless of the time or how exhausted he is.

When he’s away from you, settling into bed for the night, he likes to imagine you there with him, laying at his side, your head on his chest.

And you recite the song of your undying love for him.

“I love you more,” he says to the darkness.

His words don’t carry to you, but he hopes beyond hope that the feeling, the sincerity, does.

In a world where hate is the greatest weapon, love is Horangi’s greatest defence.

Truly, with your letter nestled into the wristband of his uniform, right where his pulse is, Horangi knows there is nothing in the world that can hurt him.

Alejandro

He already knows what your poem is going to say.

How can he not ?

You’ve both already said all that can be said to each other a million times.

Every form and configuration of love is no mystery to the pair of you, having found and documented and catalogued each one.

Nevertheless, there is a harpstring thrum in Alejandro’s chest as he unravel your note, merely a bundle of thin strips of paper fashioned into an iridescent, gift-topping mass of brightly-coloured ribbon.

Each sentence could be read in any way, any order, any direction, and still make sense.

And Alejandro smiled, widely and unabashedly, for he knew the world that went into it. Felt the love, joy and logic that was demanded by your unique form of love.

And Alejandro read each strand.

For hours, he read each sentence backwards, forwards, in different orders, until every combination had been discovered. Found.

And, despite his preconceived notion that every form of love had already been ventured by you and him, he found excitement and gratitude for his incorrect assumption spark in his centre.

Much of the poem was familiar to Alejandro, yet the sentiment was…different.

It was not spoken in neither the dark hours of the night, nor the morn, but laid bare on paper in pen and ink.

Tangible.

Alejandro kept the bundle in a locked box in the wardrobe, covered by blankets.

And on missions where the hours gruel and the light never comes, he walks through his house, a phantom, brushes past you while you sleep.

He sees into the wardrobe, into the box, and reads your poem.

And he can feel the sun flicker against his eyelids.

Rodolfo

Giddy.

Does a little twitching dance and a squeal when he receives your poem.

And he squirrels himself away into another room, away from where anybody could see him and judge him, to read your note.

The love and effort you put into it is palpable in his hands, a live, beating heart.

And when he reads, he does not look upon your creation as literature, but as a painting.

He watches the shape of the words, a bobbing, oceanic rhythm, a tide lunging and baying.

When this planet is mapped, every continent, country, county and city, Rodolfo allows himself to read.

And he is lost to this familiar terrain, this best-selling concept which all artists mimic in some proportion or another, yet all fail exceedingly in their lack of experience.

And Rodolfo knows that you are writing from experience.

His experience.

Your tale of adoration is so distinctly and universally that of love that it could not be construed as anything but.

Love in both its simplest and most intricate form; to weave the fabric of your consciousness into the incomparably simple and cognitive language of humans.

Rudy doesn’t even let Alejandro see the letter.

To him, it is his slice of Heaven, a page from a human Bible, a declaration of epic proportions.

And the blanket warmth that overcomes him whenever he thinks of that poem – of you – fends off all manner of nature, of destruction and callousness.

Because, at the end of it all, no matter how dire the circumstances seem, Rodolfo can remember that, even if he dies, or succumbs to a medical sleep from which he will not wake, he was closer to Heaven alive than he is then for he, if only for a second, had you.

And you have him.

Graves

Just because he’s Graves doesn’t mean he can’t appreciate art.

On the contrary; he’s so rich that he studies it in his spare time for fun.

And not just your Michaelangelos or your Klimts or your O’Keefes.

This man knows art as if he’s created it.

And all that knowledge, that recognition and appreciation for art and artists either forgotten or rewarded by time is nothing compared to the overwhelming sense of uh-oh he gets when he receives your letter.

At first, he’s unsure as to what it is. But, inspecting your handwriting, the neat folds in the letter, he’s calmed by the fact that you did not write it in a hurry, nor did you seem panicked or hastened to get it to him.

But that begged the question…what were the contents ?

And, with neither caution, nor trepidation, he tore open your letter.

The desire to be patient has never haunted Graves more than it did in this moment.

The content of your letter didn’t sink in, even as he skimmed over it like blades across ice.

It was only after he’d finished it, laid it on the table, that his understanding unfurled.

Realisation dawning on him, he snatched the note back up, eyes softening as he noticed a crinkle along the edge, and re-read it.

It felt as if the words which were invisible to him before suddenly seeped through the paper, the letter feeling longer now yet not long enough.

Graves’ heart fluttered.

For the first time in…his entire life, Graves’ chest tightened with the feeling of crawling.

Restlessness.

He sucked the inside of his cheek between his teeth, his gaze settling on nothing in particular, only the off-white of your note and its incantations legible to him.

He knew the tune of this mood, heard it, saw it in other people, yet never recognised it in himself.

Until today.

A distant song, a relic of a time passed, he thought and thought, in his desolate office, for its title, its origin.

And it hit him.

The artist was you – your soundtrack to love.

And Graves was simply one of your instruments.

Leaning back in his chair, his discovery urging a smile onto his face, Graves looked back to the poem.

He knew all that you displayed so plainly for him to see was, in no uncertain terms, love.

However, what he didn’t expect, what had knocked him so far back that he was now staring at the dimly lit ceiling, the constellation of you appearing in his mind’s eye, was for it to afflict him, too.

Something that, until you, had never happened before.

Gaz

War is exhausting. Especially on someone as young as Gaz.

That’s why, when that little note with your handwriting emblazoned across the front lands in his hands, the weight of the world is lifted from his shoulders.

And your poem is nothing short of tranquilising as Gaz soaks the love poured into them, basking in a warm glow of a man-made sun.

He holds your poem to his lips and presses a spectral kiss to the letters, able to feel, just for a second, your lips doing the same.

Your letter is kept stored away safely with others you’ve sent over the past few weeks, in a padlocked box beneath Gaz’s bed which, occasionally, even he can’t access because he’s hidden the key so well.

He never takes your poems for granted, often reading them to help him get to sleep on the nights where work is particularly taxing.

And when he comes home, he plans on returning the favour tenfold.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

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grandeoatmilklatte · 16 days ago

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Kinktober Day 28 🎃

Regulus Black x Hate Sex (687 words)

Warnings: || NSFW || MDNI || 18+ characters || a little dub-con maybe? || choking || fingering || p in v ||

Group projects were normally fun for you, an opportunity to work with your peers that you may not otherwise interact with. But this time around you found yourself partnered with the worst classmate you could have asked for - Regulus Black.

You didn’t have anything against the Slytherin boy, but he seemed to have a bone to pick with you, likely due to your half-blood status and better grades than his own. Every interaction with him was always met with a death glare and annoyed tone, an unfortunate normality as you found him quite attractive, and certainly would have pursued him had he had a better attitude.

Your working session tonight went similarly to your previous interactions - the two of you sitting across from each other in the library, Regulus refusing to make eye contact with you and only giving you curt responses when required. After a failed attempt to get his attention to ask his opinion on some lines you had written, you were fed up, slamming your book shut and calling him a prick before walking over to a bookshelf to look for a new book.

Annoyance occupied your brain so strongly that you didn’t hear Regulus approach. Before you could finish letting out a gasp at how close he was when you turned around, he slammed your back into the bookshelf, causing the entire fixture to shake. Your eyes darted frantically around your space, realizing that no one was witnessing this, the approaching Christmas holiday leaving the library empty.

“Regulus, what the fuck?!”

He got closer to you as his hand came up to wrap around your neck, growling something in response. A response that your brain never actually registered, as the feeling of Regulus’s hand around your neck sent a shockwave of arousal pooling between your thighs. A squeeze of your throat drew a choked moan out of you, followed by a squeal when Regulus’ other hand shot up your skirt, cupping the damp gusset of your underwear.

“Are you actually wet from this?” There was slight intrigue laced in his disgusted tone. His intrigue seemed to get the better of him as he slipped a finger under the waistband of your underwear, gathering some of your wetness on his finger before he pushed it inside.

You started to let out a moan again, but the sound was quickly silenced by Regulus’ lips crashing into yours, his hand finally coming off of your neck to rest at your side. The kiss was soft, despite how violent everything up until this moment had been, almost as if you were seeing another side to him that he kept trapped under a stone cold, mean exterior. You kissed him back, parting your lips to allow his tongue to slip inside. The action earning what you could swear was a soft moan from the boy.

You continued to moan against his lips as he pumped his finger, just about ready to orgasm when he abruptly pulled out of you, scoffing at you.

“Must be the muggle side of you making you so horny. Ridiculous.”

Before your face could form the annoyed look you intended to shoot his way, you were flipped around and slammed back into the bookshelf face first this time. Regulus wasted no time ripping down your bottoms as well as his own, easily sliding into you. His pace was violent as he finished what he started, a symphony of moans and a shaking bookshelf echoing through the empty library. Your orgasm crashed over you at lightning speed, his own following close behind.

You were still trying to get your bearings when Regulus walked back over to the desk, picking up his book and resuming his work as if nothing had happened. He sat reading his book for several minutes while you stood dumbfounded, refusing to look up at you until you finally sat back down.

“This…” Regulus motioned between your two bodies with his finger. “...didn’t happen. Got it?”

You nodded, locking eyes with him as his lips formed a smile. The first smile he had ever given you in all your time as classmates.

#regulus black x you #regulus black smut #regulus black x reader #regulus black

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izzyhandslightofmylife · 11 months ago

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Official statement on why Izzy's death affected me so much

Our Flag Means Death, is, at it’s core, is a show that focuses on queer joy- a form of therapy for those that have been raised on queerbaiting, shipping minor side characters, or watching, when nothing else is available, queer tragedies. You know how it goes- the two main characters, both male, have chemistry. They say things to each other that seem weirdly like declarations of love. They look at each other with love in their eyes. You see these things and the main man gets married off to a badly written, unfinished female character and is left feeling empty. The best friend dies for the main character to live. When everyone talks about how cute the main couple are, you want to scream all of a sudden, because nobody can see this love story play out except you. It’s queer, it’s tragic, and nobody else can understand it.

Not Our Flag Means Death. From the moment it aired, it was praised as a show with unabashed queer joy, which means more than I can possibly say. The two main male characters meet, they have chemistry, and they fall in love. It’s not implied, or hinted at, but blatantly obvious. Their romances and the queer romances around them attracted so many queer fans who felt that after so many years, this type of show was a vindication for what they had been through with other media.

In this show, piracy itself was that of a found family. Though Stede Bonnet and the crew of the Revenge start off with many differences, the core of the show centers around a theme that many queer audiences are attracted to: found family. The Revenge was depicted as a safe space, where everyone could express themselves freely, a refuge from a world of judgment. Queerness was not only accepted but normalized on The Revenge. No homophobia, no coming out, no typical complications of queer romance. Just love and safety. Warmth, which was Ed Teach wished for in purgatory. Which was what he found on the Revenge. The ship was a safe space that so many queer audiences had dreamed of.

Well, a safe space except for one person: Izzy Hands, Blackbeard’s First Mate, who was a man painfully stuck in the wrong genre. This is the general consensus by both fans and the cast: Izzy, Edward and their crew had been in a gritty action movie, whereas Stede and his crew were in a muppet movie of sorts. While the majority of Blackbeard’s crew quickly acclimates to and celebrates the change, Izzy doesn’t.

And right away, many fans felt a deep attraction to Izzy. The reason that Izzy couldn’t get Edward to love him was because, in the end, the only way that Izzy knew how to love was through blood. To give and receive pain in an action movie is one of the greatest forms of love, but Izzy fails to realize that Ed is not in an action movie anymore. He is happy with this stability, and the reason that so many people felt Izzy’s presence so was strongly was that he wasn’t.

So many queer people are, in a way, addicted to tragedy. Tragedy is all that is represented in queer media for the most part, or was until very recently. Take Achilles and Patroclus, one of the most celebrated and recognized queer love stories of both ancient and modern times. Why that one? There are other greek love stories, many of them queer. The tragedy of it- Patroclus’ death and Achilles’ rage- made it all the more appealing. Many in the audience of Our Flag Means Death were not comedy fans, they were horror or drama fans, attracted to a comedy because of the love story. But Izzy, to them, was a physical representation of who they were, carrying an awareness of homophobia, of blood and pain that so many queer relationships had previously been illustrated by (i.e. Hannibal). Though Ed may not have understand this type of affection, the audience did- Izzy’s Otherness from the crew despite it’s safety, his expressions of love and his unrequited love story were all things that the audience were familiar with feeling.

If Ed and Stede were good queer representation, Ed and Izzy, for example, were a foil of that. They were evil, messed up, and fed into the worst parts of each other because it brought them closer. This is a theme present in a lot of queer media, and by extension, queer lives: “if you love me, Henry, you don’t love me in a way I understand”, is an excerpt classic queer poem about unrequited love that fits the situation. The very reason Izzy stuck in people’s heads because he was of a different genre. His grittiness and bitterness made sense to the audience. They saw Izzy and saw what was familiar. He was exquisitely written, simultaneously making even casual audiences both hate him, and against all odds, find him oddly endearing. The idea of this man sacrificing every inch of himself for an unrequited love was a concept of tragedy, leaking into a comedic show.

So fans projected onto Izzy. He was a catalyst for the heartache, for the audience’s sheer inability to have a happy show. For one reason or another, some of the audience simply couldn’t live with a show that was all fantastical, which I theorize is because they couldn’t see themselves in it. So Izzy became the epitome of queer suffering: pining longingly after another man that couldn’t understand him. This projection of suffering, however, led to a new wish: happiness for Izzy. If Izzy in Season 1 was a tragedy, assimilating him into the found family in Season 2 would have elevated the safe sense of the ship all the more. It would have proved to so many of these Izzy Fans that yes, even though you view yourself as unloveable, even though you see yourself as Israel Hands, Villain, even he can be loved too. Why can’t you be?

And Season 2, for the most part, delivered beyond our wildest dreams. Izzy had people who cared about him. And though the genre shifted into the darker, Izzy himself shifted slightly to the comedic side as well. His life, which had been centered for so long around a man that didn’t reciprocate his feelings, was gone. He started a new life, and this life, again, focused on queer joy. The queer joy from Season 1 was suddenly for everyone, even those like Izzy that couldn’t have understood it. He sang, he whittled, he talked about feelings, he dressed in drag. Many elder queer fans also saw Izzy as another metaphor, too: that queer joy can be attained overtime. You don’t have to have had it the whole time, but you can accept yourself even when you are older. The message of Izzy was one of resilience and stubbornness, one that the queer community needed to hear: that you don’t have to be like this, you don’t have to create pain for yourself. You don’t need to watch tragedies all the time. You, too, can heal from the past.

And then, the season finale happened. By this point, many argued that Izzy had stolen the show. Con O’Neil’s acting mixed with his general arc of self acceptance had made him a fan favorite. In the last episode, it is Izzy himself who sums it up perfectly, accepting that he belongs somewhere despite his pain and flaws. Despite the darkness within him, he was still accepted and loved. He says it right to the face of Prince Ricky, who thinks himself above it all. That piracy, a metaphor for otherness, wasn’t actually about being alone; it was about finding others that understood you when nobody else could.

Listen, this show is known for it’s nonsensicality. In the finale of Season 1, Lucius is thrown overboard by Ed and survives by simply swimming to another ship. Stede reunites with his crew by sailing a rowboat. Buttons turns into a seagull. Stede stabs Ed for a comedic bit. Earlier in the season, Izzy himself gets shot and survives. This queer joy show was celebrated for being, well, joyful. Even when things like getting thrown overboard did happen, they were, ultimately, a blip in the character’s journey towards acceptance, healing, etc, which was what made the show unique. Our Flag Means Death, whose audience had been living for years off of the “Bury your gays” trope, was adored because it illustrated a world where things didn’t have to be that way. A place where the impossible, such as Izzy Hands being loved, could happen. This show was one of survival.

But not for the one person that was seen to struggle with this concept the most. Not for the one person that was a metaphor for belonging in this place, who became, over the course of a season, the embodiment of the message itself. Not for the Unicorn, the very symbol of this magical, nonsensical ship. Not for the most stubborn, most indestructible, most enduring (queer) person in the show. Not for Izzy Hands.

This trope, honestly, was one that many have seen before, both in mainstream and queer media. A character, previously shown to be a villain or else to have gone through a lot of pain, is shown to heal, to get better, and then to die in order to “complete their arc”. This trope is common: Loki, Cas. even Ted Lasso, who doesn’t die but goes back to the very place that broke him in the first place. But the reason that Izzy’s death, while it might have been expected in another show, felt like a betrayal in this one is because it was known for subverting those tropes. From the “Bury Your Gays” to the “Up For Interpretation”, it was known to look those tropes in the eyes and say “fuck you, these people deserve to be happy”. And this did happen! Except for the one character who’s healing journey was one of the most relatable, at least to queer audiences.

What also made it so jarring was that all the other characters got to be happy, except for the one that had struggled with the idea of happiness the most. In the scene immediately after Izzy is buried, Lucius and Pete get married. In the scene after, a montage of queer joy and found family is shown amongst the whole crew. In the final scene, Ed and Stede, our main queer couple, are shown healing themselves and starting a new life together. The last shot, however, showed Izzy’s grave, visited by Buttons the seagull while Ed and Stede had dinner. A tragedy in it’s finest. It wouldn’t have been difficult for Izzy to live. Because, in the end, his death meant nothing. His healing meant nothing. He died and was moved on from in a matter of seconds. He was, as I mentioned, the catalyst for tragedy, more specifically, queer tragedy. But because of this, of his genre, Izzy didn’t get to live. He had to die in order for the rest of the characters to keep living in this fantasy world. This death was, in a way, a preservation of these other love stories.

I maintain, however, that it would have meant more if Izzy had lived. If he had been able to show to us that yes, despite what you have been through, despite what you may have inflicted upon yourself, you can switch genres. It’s possible. Izzy’s survival up until that point had been a profound testament to many that it is possible to heal, that queerness does not have to mean sadness. It would have continued to be a testament to that if only Izzy had lived. And so, this pirate that we latched onto, not in spite of his darkness but because of it, was buried on land on the side of the road.

As a side note, many previous incidences in the story point to the idea even though Ed and Stede will definitely stay together, it’s uncertain if the inn would have worked out. It’s likely that, being a whim, those two might have chosen to move, or go back to the sea, or sail to China. If this is true, they would have left Izzy’s grave by itself, like a family pet buried in the yard. If this is true, Izzy Hands, a metaphor for belonging, would rot alone.

Long live the tragedy addicts. Long live the Richard Siken poems. Long live Izzy Hands.

*When I talk about the "fandom" I am referring to the canyon.

#izzy hands #izzy hands apologist #izzy canyon #our flag means death #ofmd finale #ofmd #izzy hands death #izzy deserved better #ofmd fanfic #i guess #ofmd canyon #con o'neill #tragedy #oh uh happy new year #ofmd meta

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rollforgaslight · 7 months ago

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I know kipper cunt is a fictional character but I want y'all to keep something in mind:

fantasy high specifically is a coming of age story that has acknowledged the teen villains are children at the end of the day and should not be written off as evil and nothing else.

romanticizing trauma is a very complicated issue and indicative of deeper psychological problems. Hell, the bad kids only found out she felt this way because they read a file she thought would remain UNSEEN by her peers. As far as we know she has only told Jawbone about this. This is a young girl that is reported to have anger issues before she even went to the mountains of chaos so we can clearly see she isn't well or in a good headspace.

maybe I feel so strongly about this because I in my past romanticized other peoples trauma and I know what its like to be in that mindset. and looking back I can see why I felt that way. I had a complicated life like everyone else but because my life was good on paper I thought I needed something worse to happen to me so my psychological and emotional issues would be valid. I thought I wasn't valid in having issues because in theory I shouldn't have a reason to. I know thats a shitty thing to do which is why I never told anyone about it. its a very frustrating experience to have because you know its wrong but for the life of you, you cannot figure out why you desperately want something bad to happen to you.

I also wanna say this is an experience that is different from Dream Tannaka. Dream is a caricature of this issue but what Dreams character does not cover is how it truly feels to have this issue. you feel like a fucking asshole because you know at the end of the day you dont truly want someone else's trauma but you can't help but crave it for some reason. and you feel like you can't tell anyone about it because you know it will make you look like an asshole. Its very similar to the experience of having taboo intrusive thoughts that horrify you.

I will reiterate that I know kipperlilly is a fictional character but this show is no stranger to discussing complicated topics--especially through villains. ESPECIALLY child villains.

#kipperlilly copperkettle #d20 #dimension 20 #fantasy high junior year #fantasy high #fhjy

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fantasywater · 20 days ago

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Stolitz Writing Fumble

Blitz:

She went to long with him exhibiting disinterest,annoyance and hate toward Stolas i.e. the character that is supposed to be his love interest. Plus it's odd how she seemed to have the animators go out of their way to show it too. Blitz interactions with Stolas are extremely negative with no positive balance.It's not until the last few minutes of apology tour that this negative writing lets up after two seasons of Blitz barely tolerating Stolas.

Blitz has been so consistently animated and written(one of the few consistent bits in the show) of barely holding in how much he hates Stolas that a good chuck of the fandom, damn even a lot of shippers, were all pretty strongly pointing out that this romance is extremely one-sided for something we should be rooting for.

Stolas:

She went to long making him heavily sexualize Blitz with nothing else going on that showed positive interest. So when Stolas drops this sexualization in Oz it seemed like it came out of nowhere. However, she then makes him go back to harassment like Ozzie's didn't happen. It's not until OPPS that she truly cuts Stolas sexual obsession with Blitz off for good. Even then why does Stolas love Blitz? Instead of showing an in depth answer, for a ship we're supposed to want to see together, she thinks giving him such a lambasted trope as baby's love at first sight is good enough.

She also writes Stolas ignoring every single blatant sign that Blitz can't stand him. How much unawareness does a character get to have before we can deem it a mental handicap?

When your love interest is constantly showing strong dislike towards you and giving verbal putdowns to your face, but you still have feelings for him and also think he wants you too, there is more than a lack of self-awareness going on here.

Another example is his music video Look My Way. Sure, it's beautifully sung and animated. However, once the appreciation of that fades a dark truth comes forth. Who the hell was Stolas singing about because it's definitely not canon Blitz? The canon version has shown way to many times barely contained disgust and disregard toward Stolas for him to be having any hope that Blitz might want him romantically in the first place.

Conclusion:

Furthermore both characters lack softness toward each other. The fandom shouldn't be still asking the question, three episodes before they look like they will become canon, where the hell is the love? Hell where is the like? Even in the official art and merch there's an insistence on selling a romance that doesn't exist in the canon that's been airing for two seasons.

All they do to each other is argue, ramp up negative coping mechanisms because of the pain and anger they're causing each other, and make one another feel bad about themselves rinse and repeat for two freaking seasons. When the love interests are so toxic for one another that's it's killing them bit by bit they should be running away from each other not being rooted for. However, by Sinmas there's every hint that they're probably about to be made official even though the romantic buildup has been nonexistent.

When a a sizable portion of the fandom is begging for your endgame ship to be put out to pasture, and to find someone else for both of them, then something has heavily gone wrong in the writing room.

The story she has actually written is an animated thesis on why these two need to permanently part ways not why they should be in a romantic relationship with each other.

#helluva boss critical #anti stolitz #anti stolas #helluva boss blitzo #helluva boss

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hannie-dul-set · 11 months ago

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six quick and easy hacks to 🆙 the quality of your fanfiction!

as promised, here it is! i’m not here to tell you how to plot out your story, or how to write your characters’ personalities. the tips i’m sharing are more on formatting and structure, secret (not really) cheat codes to instantaneously make your already written work even better!

my qualifications? being a tumblr hag for over five years (my even more embarrassing pre k-pop writeblr included!) so i’ve unlocked quite a bit of secrets and discovered some eurekas throughout my time here HAHAHAH. anyway, let’s start!

#1 VARIETY IN PARAGRAPH LENGTHS, SENTENCE LENGTHS, AND SENTENCE STARTERS.

nothing turns me off more than seeing paragraph blocks after paragraph blocks when looking for some new fics to read, especially when you’re reading from a cramped up device such as your phone.

when i write a lengthy paragraph, i try to follow it up with a one-liner, or a mid-sized one. but it’s something i consciously keep track of— when i noticed that, “oh, this gdoc is getting a little too wordy, a little too chunky,” i make sure that my next paragraph is significantly shorter than the current one because it keeps the entire page interesting. one to two sentences of lines of paragraphs after another and another doesn’t look pretty. chunks of paragraphs after paragraphs is boring.

make your pages visually dynamic by ensuring variety.

like this, for example.

→ fic: home for the bitchless.

seeing a large chunk of text and a singular line immediately after also sort of forces your reader to stick around and read an otherwise intimidating lengthy paragraph because— oh! what could have possibly led to that singular like of dialogue or thought! #subtlemanipulation you get me? 😔🤙

this rule of mine applies to sentences and phrases within the paragraph as well!

→ fic: love vomit.

and as a bonus, you can use paragraph breaks and cuts to your advantage! manipulating the way a sentence or paragraph ends in a certain way makes your works more rhythmic! and, when you play it around the right way, abrupt cuts and breaks also add the right mood and drama to your work!

→ drabble: the boy who cried wolf.

part three of tip number one (one…we’re still at number one…) is on sentence and paragraph starters. i keep it as a rule of thumb that if i start a paragraph with “you,” or with someones name, i don’t use it again in the next one to avoid monotony. it’s a very miniscule thing really, and i doubt that people notice this HAHAHA but this is something i religiously swear by because repetitions like this are visually boring.

→ wip: sunwater.

of course, this can’t be avoided all the time, and repeating the sentence starter “You” or any other pronoun, word, or phrase can be intentionally utilized to strongly drive a point. just don’t overdo it!

→ drabble: patience, patience.

→ blurb: monsters don’t hide under the bed.

→ fic: the psychology of strawberries.

there are other good and strategic uses for repetitions as well! we’ll get to that later.

lastly, variety in sentence and paragraph starters doesn’t simply mean changing up the first word. things can still get really boring even if you use “you” or a character’s name interchangeably if your sentence structure remains the same.

this, for example, is monotonous.

the structure (and length) of all three sentences are the same. A does this. B does this. A does this. and even if you switch things up but still use the same sentence structure, it still falls flat. case in point, below, a structure i often see in a lot of fics i stumble across.

those are flat. those are boring. they don’t…you know…make you feel something, even when you follow the rule of not using the same starter twice. let me try improving it by adding more variety in the sentences (+ adding a tip that i’ll be discussing right after!)

the word “He” here is used twice to create a rhythm and draw emphasis, but the rest of the excerpt maintains a sense of variety to make the narrative more interesting and compelling to read.

#2 PICK A POV AND STICK WITH IT.

before i start a scene, a drabble, or blurb, the first question i ask myself is, “whose point of view do i want it to be in?”

one, it’s a lot neater, more organized, than omniscient point of views in my opinion (unless you’re like a super fucking skilled writer of course HAHAHHA). two, it allows for a bit of mystery, suspense, and engagement because you don’t have access to what other people are thinking about, and three— in line with the first tip— when you know whose brain you’re in when writing, it allows for more dynamic narrations, gives you an excuse to be messy because our internal thoughts are messy as well, and makes the writing a hell of a lot easier when you’re focused on monologuing one person alone!

when writing shorter fics, drabbles, or blurbs, i swear by this rule, no excuses HAHAHAH but when writing longer fics, sometimes i switch around the point of views per scene, just to make a more well rounded story.

sometimes, the point of view doesn’t even have to be any of the main character’s! writing from an external POV is also really fun and adds another layer of interest. see example below, a Jeonghan breakup fic written exclusively from the perspective of the outsiders. very fun idea!

breakup scene written in Seungcheol’s POV.

another squabble written in Seungkwan’s POV.

→ wip: the breakup soup.

#3 REPETITIONS AND THEMES = COHESIVENESS.

this section contains tricks on how to wrap up your fics into one cohesive little present with a pretty ribbon on top!

first is the use of repetition. use a cool funky line at the beginning of your story, and reuse/rehash/revise it at the end for a neat finish, especially when you have trouble figuring out a way to end your story (lifesaving hack! trust me!)

i use this mostly in my shorter works—

→ drabble: you’re my bucket list.

→ blurb: louder.

—but it works just as well with longer fics, especially when the repetition is all throughout, and not just at the start and finish.

→ fic: mogi.

sometimes, it doesn’t even have to be a repeated phrase or line! it can be a little gimmick and it’d still work to make your fic cohesive! for example, in the fic below, i use the giving of strawberry candy/strawberry kisses to tie all the different scenes together because this was initially a set of separate drabble ideas wrapped into one long fic.

→ fic: the psychology of strawberries.

and for this one (another ricky fic….yes…..) i use the whole cat metaphor to do the same.

→ drabble: yours to keep.

the next tip to make your work cohesive is to grab a singular theme, object, whatever, and take advantage of it for your narration HAHAHAHHA this can be better explained by looking at the examples below.

theme: citrus.

→ drabble: citrus in the morning.

theme: storm.

→ blurb: blizzard.

the above examples are my shorter works, but it can work for longer fics as well! just check out this 36k word monster HAHAHAHHA.

theme: seasons.

→ fic: love vomit.

these are very simple ways to make your fic more put together! even if it’s just a simply blurb about a confession, adding a theme to aid the imagery bumps your fic quality to a +++++

#4 THROW AWAY THE Y/N’S!

now this one is quite honestly just a personal nitpick HAHAHHAHA but seeing the word Y/N when i’m reading something really pulls me out of my immersion. (and i only stopped using Y/N’s in my fics at the start of my 2023 comeback….so if you see my older works still using it…hahahha please don’t prosecute me).

anyway, you can do this either by embedding it in the narration—

→ fic: star studded baggage.

—or by using nicknames and titles instead!

→ wip: the breakup soup.

→ fic: can’t handle this.

#5 GET INTO THE (UN)NECESSARY SPECIFICS.

instead of just saying “Your professor called you,” grab a random last name and say “Prof Yoon asked to see you in his office.” instead of saying you went to the cafe, the mall, the store, grab an actual place or make one up because no one in the world says “they’re going to the cafe to grab a frappe,” (unless the store’s name is actually The Cafe). people say they’re going to Dunkin Donuts or Coffeebreak or wherever.

sure it’s not plot relevant, sure it’s not integral, but little things like this make your narrative and dialogue a lot more realistic and less awkward. it makes it seem like your characters are actually living inside a world of their own.

#6 GRAMMAR AND FORMATTING.

these are given HAHA but when i talk about grammar, i mean making sure that the commas and periods are consistently inside the quotation marks when writing dialogue. i mean minimizing the use of italics because overusing it can ruin the reading experience of a good piece (i was guilty of this too!) and i mean making sure that the use of tenses are consistent all throughout (unless if it’s a creative and plot choice), because all these things really matter if you want your fic, drabble, or blurb to be of overall high quality.

and that’s basically it! hope these tips help somehow...hope i’m not revealing my secrets for naught and someone can actually put them to good use HHAHAHHA what’s most important obviously is that you’re having fun with what you’re writing…etc. etc. insert inspirational you can do it speech here.

anyway, happy new year! and happy reading and writing<33

#writing hacks ft. my self promos HAHAHAHHAHA #tomorrow x together x reader #enhypen x reader #nct x reader #seventeeen x reader #zerobaseone x reader #riize x reader

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thewebcomicsreview · 5 months ago

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So, Gunwild, the writer of Cassiopeia Quinn, made a comment on that post about webcomics turning into illustrated prose

gunwildversuseverything said: I was hoping this would prompt a discussion about formats and expression, but no, it’s about artist versus writer workloads and “amount of story” being reduced to equations and word counts and update schedules. Figures.

And you know what, it's a good point. So instead of getting into the Artist vs Writers debate for the millionth time, let's take a look at how you, and artist and/or writer, can get a story told on the internet. For the sake of this discussion, lets assume you don't have any actual preference for a given medium that might influence you, you just want to know what's right for your story and will learn whatever skills you need.

TRADITIONAL WEBCOMIC

Comics are the most visual-heavy medium that a solo project can realistically do. This has several business advantages (pictures do better on social media), but it's also a good fit for stories with a bunch of things that are interesting to look at. Cassiopeia Quinn is a story heavily featuring weird alien races, cool spaceships, and attractive young women with extraordinarily casual dress codes. These are visual things! And visual things can be conveyed super quickly and subtly using visuals. Imagine just the "Cassiopeia doesn't wear pants" gimmick, if this was written out. If Cassiopeia gets a description of her appearance the first time she shows up in chapter one and then it's kind of glossed over, the reader would forget. If every time Cassiopeia entered a scene Gunwild had to go

Cassiopeia sauntered up to the motorcycle rack. Her own rack was barely contained by a dangling strip of black fabric, visible through an open orange jacket. Black elbow-high sleeves, covering her hands, matched her thigh-high stockings, separated from her black panties by her thigh pouch.

Somehow it's a lot less cute when it's written out like this, huh? And it also takes way longer to read that then it does to just look at her on the page, which increases the chance your readers might get bored. Comics are the medium that takes the most time to make and also the least time to read, which makes readers a lot more likely to put up with exposition or a plot tangent that doesn't really connect with them. Even if your comic has bits that don't grip your readers, they can grip themselves if you show them interesting bits.

The main downside of comics is the "equations and update schedules" part. They take a looooooong time to make, even compared to everything else. It's also got issues with how people read it. A comic that looks good on a desktop often looks too small on a phone.

TEXT UNDER A PANEL

This style is so strongly associated with Homestuck that a lot of people who weren't making explicitly Homestuck-themed comics seem to have been scared off it. But it's a perfectly cromulent format. It reads well on both desktop and mobile, and lets you use art for all your visuals while using text for dialogue and character thoughts. It's not, however, the best fit for every story. Because each panel is separate, it can be hard to make an exciting action scene this way, which is part of why this format is also associated with special animated pages (I mean, besides "Homestuck did it"). The panels don't really flow into each other, and there's a constant switching between looking and reading.

ILLUSTRATED PROSE

Distinguished from the Text Under a Panel Style mostly by the ratio of text to art, without a hard line demarcating the distinction between them. This style also reads well in desktop and mobile. Well, it should, but a lot of webcomics who switch to this style tend to stay in their webcomic format, meaning it's a picture of text that doesn't resize legibly, grumble grumble. I don't....I don't know if I need to explain the concept of "text" to people. You know what words are, and if you don't there's nothing I can say to explain it.

VISUAL NOVEL

I'm not going to claim to be a visual novel expert, but the main advantages are that it's the most art-efficient medium of any of these (because you can flat-out reuse art), the main disadvantages are that you'll usually need music, it's maybe not as well suited to long monologues, and most importantly that it's not a good method for drip-feed three-day-a-week updates. You kind of have to release the entire thing all at once, or at least in large episodes.

ALL OF THE ABOVE

A comic like Out-of-Placers is mostly traditional, but uses illustrated prose for lore updates. Prequel is text-under-a-panel but not always, and of course Homestuck is the absolute king of format switching, even ignoring the animations. The upside is that you can use the best format for any given scene, and that you're constantly keeping your readers on their toes. The downside (besides having to learn to do all this shit) is that you kind of have to commit to the bit and get your readers on board early with the idea that you're going to just be doing whatever this week. It's also harder to take full advantage of any one medium if you're constantly switching them up

I'm sure I'm forgetting about two hundred formats, but what are the biggest ones I'm missing?

#Cassiopeia Quinn #Prequel Adventure #Coquette Dragoon #Homestuck #Paranatural

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azullumi · 1 year ago

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“are we…” ; kazuha, ayato, alhaitham, & tartaglia

details — here on another agenda of listening to songs, reading the lyrics, realizes how it would sound so good on a fic, and boom! slapping it on a character i think would suit it; basically, songs and tropes as some genshin men

characters — alhaitham, ayato, kazuha, tartaglia (w/gender-neutral reader)

tags — a sprinkle of angst, some of them are out of character, nothing happy is going on (my life relates to it) ; headcanons/scenario

words — 1558

note — getting back to writing so sorry if this fic seems shitty, i’m trying to get my style back by reading the fics i wrote. also i’ll be mostly writing in lowercase now bcs i’m typing on my phone

waiting ; unrequited love — kazuha (bags by clairo)

“can you see me? i’m waiting for the right time.”

kazuha settles on a boundary between you two, standing close behind it, afraid to take a step and cross. and though he was a man who had no fears and wouldn’t let anything hold him back from attaining what he wants, he was scared of going past the boundary as if he would be treading the path of misery once he chooses to do so.

there is always the urge to touch you, the desire to feel your skin underneath his fingertips and unbeknownst to him, his hand would act on its own—he would reach out, his fingers stopping close to your skin before immediately taking his hand back once the realization of his actions had sunk inside his head: “what is it?” you have asked him upon noticing his actions and he could only shake his head before saying, “there’s something on your hair.”

he has this strong sense of denial whenever he does something for you or says something to you, reasoning the flowers that he gives from time to time as an act of friendship and appreciation or the poetry that he creates with you in mindbut he keeps hidden was just because you were too beautiful to not have your being expressed in words and written in poems—

—and every single day, in each morning that he wakes up, he strongly believes that his feelings for you had already dissipated into thin air as if it never existed in the place but only to see your stupid smile and mesmerizing eyes and having himself fall in love again. oh, the amount of times he convinces and tells himself that he’ll avoid you from then on only to have himself basking in your presence later on: “this is the last time,” he tells himself.

there are only two states he would end up in if he decides to go further the line, without you and with you, and he wasn’t stupid to not know that he’ll only have the former happen to him.

he would rather have you close to him and yearn for you despite being so near than the heartbreak and admiring you afar.

“it’s not like you’re in love with me or anything, right?”

toxic ; unhealthy relationships — alhaitham (cry by cigarettes after sex)

“saying you’d wait for me to stay, i know it hurts you.”

you don’t have a toxic relationship with alhaitham nor did you have a healthy one but instead it was miserable, simply one-sided. however, it wasn’t like that at first, he wasn’t like this at first when you two would decide to start over again and create a fresh new page of your love story only for it to end in the same way.

he was good, was great, was wonderful—was. you don’t even know how it got to this point. how did the gentle and sweet murmurs of love and compliments turn to endless shouting and fights at every chance you two get? alhaitham, despite already having raised his voice at you on several occasions, had never raised his hand at you but nevertheless, it doesn’t make anything less hurtful.

“let’s just stop this, i’m tired,” it was clear, it was obvious that the only solution for this wretchedness was to simply just stop and end everything, to cut yourself off him but it doesn’t seem to happen. alhaitham, who possesses such great knowledge and intelligence to know the answer to nearly every problem, never seems to understand that. moments of begging, of asking for forgiveness, for a chance that you always give him, that you always provide him outright, seemingly served and topped with the syrup of your tears and blood.

he only loves you when he’s about to lose you, you know that. you weren’t blind but perhaps you were dumb with that but he loves you then, right? if he really does love you at those moments, then perhaps he did love you right from the start and he just never realized it—it was an endless cycle of gaslighting and making a fool of yourself, finding the reason and making logic out of his actions and words.

it was hard to lose him, you were too used to his presence always guiding you, helping you, and encouraging you that the moment you lost him, you just never seemed to know anything—like a child that was just taken out of the womb, you knew nothing, even yourself. it was a clear fact that you were nothing without him and without you, he was nothing.

“what happened to us, alhaitham?”

convenience ; arranged marriage w/ one-sided feelings — ayato (you’re losing me by taylor swift)

“i wouldn’t marry me either, a pathological people pleaser.”

it was a marriage of convenience—oh, how you hated the word itself. it feels like a painful slap on your face whenever you hear it being used along with the word marriage, one that would leave a burning mark on your skin.

ayato tried to be a good husband, he tried, really. even when he would come home late, he would always have something to give you. despite not having that many conversations and seldomly seeing each other outside the dining room and bedroom, he would still treat you rather kindly and gently, even when you spend most of your nights alone in a bed that was too large for one, you never felt lonely (perhaps you do, you just don’t want to face it because then you’ll realize that your good husband wasn’t good at all); “i apologize, my dear. here, i bought you something on the way back.”

perhaps all of those acts of kindness and sweetness are his way of saying sorry but what’s there to say sorry for even? was it because he failed to arrive for dinner every time or was it just the whole marriage experience overall?

everything was built on convenience, the only time you two would talk to each other is when it’s needed and the conversation you two will have would end rather shortly and the only time he would touch you in a way that makes you feel loved and cherish—making love—is when it’s convenient for him; you were just never a priority, not anything of importance in his life.

what hurts even more is that ayato isn’t even doing any of this because of a boundary that you two had made but rather there was really nothing in between you two, nothing, not even a speck of dust could be found in the distance you two had.

ayato wasn’t even in a state of turmoil, he wasn’t in a position wherein he had to choose something, to sacrifice, to risk something, it’s just that you were there—you were convenient and not because he chose to choose you over anything else. you were easy to woo, easy to hold, easy to fool.

did he really lose you when he never even wanted you to be his in the first place?

“isn’t this convenient for the both of us?”

pleasure ; one-night stand turned to friends w/ benefits— childe/tartaglia (k. by cigarettes after sex)

“we had made love earlier that day with no strings attached, but i could tell that something had changed how you looked at me then.”

it was simply a relationship that was born out of pleasure; created with the foundation of desire, lust, and need. formed in a single night to escape the reality of the misery of your own lives and consistently being nurtured like a seed that was dropped into the soil and naturally taken care of by the rain and sun—it all seemed natural, him inviting you out for dinner, enjoying your time with his stupid jokes and flirty remarks that is luring you to another night of passion just to wake up with a note and a cold bed the next morning.

and there are times you wish to disappear from his life, to stop whatever you two have, and simply just release yourself from his grasp and though he also wishes for the same, childe always holds onto you so tightly as if he never wants you to leave, as if he always want you to stay even if he knows that he’s hurting you, even if you’re just hurting each other; somewhere deep inside his bones, in the crevices of his mind, he doesn’t wish to see you with someone else other than him despite the fact that he wants you to be happy; “stay with me,” he had told you as he kissed and held you.

but childe was a romantic, he always shower you praised in and out of the bed, he was sweet to you; a gentleman with his words and actions. he was lovely, so breathtaking, so poisonous and it wasn’t hard to love him. and he was well-aware of how your gaze seems to linger at him, how there’s something swirling and drowning in the depths of your eyes, and he was well-aware of what it was. and yet, he chooses to ignore it—was it for the good of himself? for you? either way, he can’t have himself falling.

had you known that night with him would end up in this way, you wouldn’t have taken his rough yet gentle hand on that night.

“what’s there for me to stay for?”

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