#maybe if this gains enough traction? idk

[eddiemunsonsmum]

Just saw this comment on a story posted a month ago.

*cries in Eddie Munson Solo Series no one wanted to read, interact with or request for*

No shade to the person that commented this on their own fic if you recognize it. It's not their fault. I'm not mad at them. More crying in the tags.

[jujutsubaby]

🍒 only fans boyfriend!toji headcanons 🍒

☆ pairing: toji fushiguro x afab!reader ☆ summary: blurb in which toji is your bf who helps you take your photos and videos for your onlyfans ☆ warnings: 18+ !! MINORS DNI !! dirty talking, nudes, sex work, penetrative sex, idk what else lol ☆ a/n: i'm having some serious toji brain rot send help

bf!toji who first thinks of the idea of you doing an only fans after taking his millionth video of him pounding into you. he won’t lie, initially it was because he was tight on some cash and didn’t wanna borrow from you again, but he was convinced you could be some insane OF celebrity. “i’m not sure about it, toji. i don’t want randos to see my face…” you surmise. “c’mon, we’ll cover your face, doll, if that’s what you’re worried about. i swear, we could be raking in thousands from this.” the prospect of coming across a large amount of money like that was enticing…

bf!toji who suggests that you start out simple. “maybe just a shot of you wearing somethin’ cute for the camera, i dunno.” after work one day, you both go to a lingerie store and pick out a sheer pink babydoll slip on, with silky bows on the shoulders. at home, you fish out an old mid 2000s digital camera from the garage and present it to toji. “you’re gonna be my sexy photographer, right?” you tease, as you change into the babydoll slip dress. 

bf!toji who totally sucks at taking photos at first, but is a quick learner as he learns all your best angles and poses. turns out when money is on the line, he’s a hard worker after all. pictures of you sluttily sticking out your tongue, and the dress straps falling off your shoulders send toji into a frenzy, and you both take a quick sex break before going back to taking the photos.

bf!toji doesn’t know how to edit photos for shit so you use the minimal photoshop you know to spruce up your makeshift boudoir shoot. not to toot your own horn, but you kinda ate those pics up, and toji can’t get enough of it. at work, he’s partially distracted, fighting off enemies with half a brain as the other half is trying not to get turned on (one time, he did get turned on while fighting and it was awkward to say the least. the guy’s dead now so toji doesn’t really care). 

bf!toji who creates the OF account for you because you’re feeling too shy to do so. the interface is confusing for both of you at first, but you guys get the hang of it pretty easily. you post the boudoir photoshoot and immediately close the laptop because you’re terrified of it flopping. “the damage of no one subscribing to me, toji, i would die,” you say earnestly, feeling nauseous. “if no one subscribes to you, i’ll fuck the memory out of you, don’t worry,” he says nonchalantly as he picks a random show on netflix to watch. he’s not bothered by this even one bit and you think it’s because he doesn’t care but really, it’s because he’s that confident.

bf!toji who wakes up before you the next morning for work and quickly checks to see if your photos gained any traction. “holy shit, doll, wake up!” he practically pushes you off the bed as he shakes you and you groggily wake up, irked at the intrusion of your slumber. “toji, i swear to god i’ll kill y-” “you just got 300 subscribers overnight, shut up.” he says, cutting you off and meeting your lips with a tender kiss. you quickly pull back, eyes widening at the news. 

bf!toji who reassures you that you’re only gonna blow up more, and that’s why you need to post more photos and videos. it starts off small: simple photoshoots and more slutty lingerie. you arch your back as toji gets an ass shot with your camera. he slaps it hard, leaving a red handprint mark and snaps a couple more photos. 

bf!toji who encourages you to start doing videos after reaching over 1k subscribers. you do a little strip tease/dance while toji films, but the first time you do it, toji folds almost immediately and has you pinned under him. you try again the next day, and graduate to longer more explicit videos – fingering yourself, using toys, and live streaming. toji buys you a couple cute masquerade masks to use, too. 

bf!toji who loves it when you get donations during streams. he ends up creating an amazon wishlist for you of things you guys could really use around the house. he can’t remember the last time he bought you lingerie anymore because your donations would usually cover that cost. that being said, he always chooses lingerie for you. he knows exactly what other horny guys are looking for on girls. “doll, i know crotchless panties are awful but i know the male gaze – they don’t give a fuck. look, okay, i’ll buy you that one piece too, don’t give me that look.” he says to you as you throw in a bunch of lingerie of your liking in the cart. 

bf!toji who finally decides to join you in front of the camera, giving your fans what they wanted. the way he sees it, he fucks you senseless for free every night anyway, might as well get paid for it. toji makes a show to tear your nice lingerie off you and leaves visible marks in your skin from his touch as he pounds into you or bites your neck. 

bf!toji who joins you on your livestreams, and they usually end with you bent over a desk, skirt hiked up, and his arousal deep inside you. “you guys think she deserves to cum?” he asks the chat, feeling you clench against him. he knows you're close, and it turns you on knowing it’s out of your control on whether or not you get to feel a release. your fans love your pornographic and lewd moans, but with toji fucking you, you don’t even have to act for them to come out of your mouth naturally. speaking of your mouth, toji especially loves when you have a masquerade mask on while he makes your little throat gag. you love it when he tests your gag reflex on camera in front of an audience, and everyone can tell when they see you soaked through your panties.

bf!toji who surprises you by taking you on a lavish vacation to bora bora when you reach over 10k subscribers. “we built this shit together,” he says, talking about your OF fame and money. you can’t remember the last time you guys worried about paying rent, and he wanted to do something special for his slutty little doll. he got one of those seaside huts surrounded by a private deck. your breath is taken away by the surprise, and toji wastes no time getting all your clothes off and getting you into the water. the makeout session turns into him fingering you underwater as he pushes your bikini to the side. after coming all over his fingers, you give him a handjob under the water, and toji has to quickly climb out of the pool so he doesn’t cum inside it and has to request a clean up on the very first day. 

bf!toji who fucks you more times than you can count in the water, on the bed, in the infinity pool, that one time super discretely under the blanket in the beach. you bring up the idea of filming a little here and there on vacation. “what? the grind never stops,” you say jokingly as you set up the camera on the tripod in front of the bed. he surprises you by using some silk ribbons to tie your hands back while he licks and kisses every inch of your body, focusing especially on your sensitive nipples erect for the camera. he blindfolds you, hands still tied back while he eats you out. the electrifying sensations are amplified in the darkness of the blindfold, and you make an absolute mess on the sheets and his mouth. 

bf!toji who uses the last night of your trip there to convince you to film one more video, this time on the private infinity pool outside your hut. you come out with a black strappy bikini with a sheer babydoll cover up. “don’t take off your clothes just yet, doll. just come in the water.” he commands, and you slowly get into the water. his silhouette looks ethereal in the golden hour of the sunset as you approach him. he cradles your jaw and kisses you deeply and passionately.  

bf!toji pulls away from you and guides you to the edge of the pool that stares out to the pink sunset and the turquoise ocean. “what? gonna fuck me while looking at the sunset like a stupid romantic?” you jeer, poking his chest. he chuckles nervously. “eventually…”

bf!toji who pulls a small black box from behind him and opens it to reveal a big shiny diamond ring. tears start freely falling down your cheeks and you don’t even hear what toji is saying (you feel a little bad – he must’ve prepped this speech for a while but you were far too emotional to process anything). all you do is nod your head vigorously as he gently puts the ring on finger. a perfect fit. and it glistens just perfectly in the dimming sun.

fiance!toji who then fucks you into the sunset like a stupid romantic.

[pedropascallme]

u said u are always looking for a reason to write jim smut so let me deliver bc i’m actually so fixated on this movie it’s CRAZYYY!!!!! anyways i would like like a build up to a confession kind of? like there’s so so much romantic and sexual tension and it just like breaks and yeah😭😭 idk if that makes any sense but yk!! ok thank u so much!!! you are amazing dude

In Our Perfect Present Tense

Pairing: Jim x f!Reader

Summary: "And where had this sudden, deep infatuation with Jim come into play? Was it sudden?"

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI), p in v, fingering, praise kink, Jim can be soft!dom if I say so!! Allusions to canon typical violence, I know Cillian Murphy is 5'8 but Jim is 6'2 in my mind, if I missed anything please let me know!!

AN: Max you make my heart go badumbadumbadumbadum (good) I hope this is to your liking <3 Also continuing to cross tag my Cillian fics because my Jim fics rarely gain traction so we are trying some METHODS.

The cottage was so quiet.

You could hear Hannah shift under the blanket and sigh in her sleep, and though seeing her so peaceful made you feel a pang of protectiveness, watching her chest rise and fall, your mind was elsewhere. Maybe you were still in London, or Manchester, or anywhere else; maybe this was all fake and you had died somewhere along the way. Was this Heaven? Or maybe Purgatory, given that nothing seemed to have changed much.

And where had this sudden, deep infatuation with Jim come into play? Was it sudden?

No. You closed your eyes and his face flashed across your mind; eyes you wanted to drown in and cheekbones sharp enough to make you bleed. Maybe that’s why you kept him around in the first place. You’d never had to help him, save him from the congregation that chased him down the road; never had to take him to your hideout in the underground. At first, (and you knew this for a fact, at least) it was simply because Mark…bored you. He was cheesy and had a chip on his shoulder, and you didn’t like how he looked at you—didn’t like that he seemed to expect you to fall in love with him. Jim made a good buffer. And it helped that he had such kind eyes that seemed to be full of fear and morbid curiosity, and that he was, in every sense of the word, pretty.

You hadn’t been sad when you’d had to kill Mark.

But once you had made it clear to Jim that you didn’t want to fall in love with him, either, your snap judgement fogging your mind, you thought that was the end of it. Thought maybe he would go out like Mark did. And was it really your fault that Jim assumed you didn’t care about him? You didn’t. You wanted him to think you didn’t. Wanted him to think that he was essentially on his own when you ran up the stairs to the top floor, with his head splitting in pain and your legs going as fast as they could carry you. But when he came up to you that night to apologize to you, thank you, hold out an olive branch, it was then you realized that you felt isolated. And, yes, doomsday will do that to you, but it wasn’t just that. It was that even when humanity was rearing its ugly head, Jim still had the time to recognize and respect you; he was willing to put you first in a way nobody would’ve done even if their life didn’t depend on it.

You felt so guilty that night, touching yourself under the covers with everybody else just a few rooms over.

It was one thing to be wandering around the desolate city with him as your only company, but once you had Frank and Hannah (and a car) you felt like maybe, just maybe, there was hope. There was a glimmer of something behind Jim’s eye when you were eating out on the countryside after ransacking the supermarket—and it could’ve been the way the light was hitting him, or the way he laughed with Hannah, or the fact that he was eating fruit for the first time in weeks, but you thought maybe it had something to do with you. Maybe he had figured out that you did care. About him and about the state of things and about what the hell you would do if there was any sort of relief from running away. You thought about kissing him then, and he might’ve, too. There was a certain tenderness in the way he curled up next to you that night, under the stars.

In another life, he might’ve done it for reasons other than keeping warm.

And then, of course, that all came crashing down. It had been too good to be true, and in retrospect you hated yourself for allowing any harm to come to your small posse. You got out alive, but the hope you had was minimal, at best. Was alive good enough anymore? Was alive good enough when you’d fought off every evil you could think of in the span of 12 hours?

No. It wasn’t until Jim turned around, soaking wet and bleeding, that you realized that being alive was no good if he wasn’t there with you to enjoy it. You’d wanted to wrap yourself in him, to feel the sweat and blood caked on his chest and kiss him until you lost consciousness. Instead, you crumpled to the floor in the red dress that had been forced upon you, hugging yourself to his shins and begging him to tell you he was ok. It was mortifying, only made slightly more bearable when Hannah lobbed a bottle over his head. At least you knew there was still humor to be found in the worst of situations.

Shortly thereafter, when Jim got shot, you were certain that it was all over; you might as well follow him out. Maybe you would’ve if it hadn’t been for Hannah crying silently next to you as she floored the gas and begged you to stay. To do something. For once you felt like you had people worth fighting for other than yourself. It made you dizzy.

Which brought you back to the present.

There were two rooms in the cottage; both were damp and smelled like the lint from a dryer, but having a bed was enough. You had discussed the sleeping situation the night of your arrival, and there had only been some mild bickering.

“I’ll sleep on the floor. S’ok.” Jim remained gentlemanly throughout, but it was apparent, to you, at least, that the person with the bullet hole through their stomach should be able to sleep comfortably.  

“Hannah and I will take one, you’ll take the other.” You were blunt, dancing around the subject of who would end up sharing by deciding then and there to divide it based on sex.

“Wha—” Hannah began to protest before deciding to shut her mouth.

“It’s really not that big a deal,” Jim stood his ground, “I’ll find something to rest on.”

“Absolutely not.” And that’s where you ended it. Saving face, dismissing any deeper urges, leaving no time for Hannah or Jim to propose a different arrangement.  

But now that you were somewhat settled, it felt wrong to be in this room. The wallpaper was a reflective pink, and it felt too bright even in the pitch-black night. You couldn’t get comfortable, and all you could do was mull over every past interaction you’d had with Jim. Every interaction, and the way his mouth moved when he spoke, and the way he smiled at you, and the way he had quite literally killed for you—nearly been killed for you.

You felt hot. Nauseous, even, to the point where you felt that you had to move around or take a walk or do anything to feel more at ease. But it just so happened that you felt the most at ease around Jim.

You tiptoed across the floor and into the hallway. You almost didn’t bother knocking on the door, but felt that you at least owed him that decency.

“C’m’in.”

You peered into the room, allowing yourself a small view of Jim’s shirtless figure splayed out on the bed. You smiled, feeling shy out of nowhere.

“Just wanted to check on you.” You excused yourself, not wanting him to think it any more odd than it already was for you to be in his doorway at midnight. “You feeling ok?”

“Better than ever.” Jim crossed his arms behind his head, sitting up against the pillows. You could see the bandage on his abdomen, and his skin covered in a ray of moonlight.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He smiled, patting the mattress to encourage you to sit with him. You closed the door behind you. “Why’re you really up?”

“Honestly?” You paused to build tension, leaning in slightly, “Hannah snores.” Jim chuckled under his breath. “And…and I don’t really feel at home in that room.”

“Would you feel more at home in this one?”

“Maybe…”

“’Cause if you’d like it, you and Hannah could have it. ‘V’always wanted pink wallpaper, anyway.”

You rolled your eyes, “No, that’s—it’s not that.”

“Then…?” Jim tilted his head slightly, and you looked down and away from him, inhaling deeply.

“Can I stay in here tonight? With—with you?” You could feel your pulse in your throat and though he responded almost immediately, you felt as though hours were passing.

“Sure, f’course.” Jim nodded; eyes wide with eager bewilderment. You swing your legs over the mattress, straightening yourself out beside him. You looked up at the ceiling, lying on your back and waiting to fall asleep.

“Closer.” Jim whispered.

“Hm?”

“Y’can come closer. If you want, I mean.”

“Oh…yeah.” You shuffled closer to him. Somehow you ended up spooning, his hand draped hesitantly over your waist. You could feel the heat radiating off his body, and his breath blowing against the hairs on the back of your neck.

“Comfortable?” He was still whispering, as if he would wake the crickets if he spoke any louder.

“Yeah. You?”

“Yeah…” You both fell silent again, and you wondered if he could feel the tension, too, or if it was something you had just made up. You turned over to face him.

“I’m sorry.” You spoke, though his eyes were closed, and you thought maybe he had already fallen asleep.

“For what?” His eyes were still closed when he responded.

“For—you know…” You reached out to graze your fingertips over his bandages, withdrawing it just as quickly when you realized that what you were doing was so forward.

“You didn’t shoot me.”

“I didn’t stop you from getting shot.”

“Not much you could’ve done. Three of us and more of them.” He opened his eyes, “Plus, you drugged Hannah, so just the two of us, really.”

You buried your face into the pillow, “Was trying to help.”

“You did.” Jim reached out to goad you from your hiding spot. “Been nothing but helpful since I met you. Consider this me returning the favor.” You managed to peek an eye out from the pillow to look at him smiling at you. He was so gentle. How could a man who had been comatose while the world was thrown into shambles remain so empathetic?

“Didn’t want you to get hurt.” You mumbled, barely audible when the words came out through the pillow.

“Didn’t want you to get hurt, either. Think I went to all that trouble for myself?”

“No.” You brought your head up to fully look at him.

“Exactly. You would’ve done the same for me.”

“You say that with so much confidence.”

“Cause it’s true. Cocky, but it’s true.”

“It is.”

“True?”

“Cocky,” you smiled when he feigned defeat, “but also true.” You quieted again, keeping eye contact with one another. Jim’s smile faded slightly.

“Why did you help me?” He asked.

“Hm?”

“In the first place, by the gas station—why did you help me?”

You didn’t know how to answer. “I needed the company.”

“You had company.”

“I needed company I would enjoy.”

“What if I wasn’t enjoyable?” He raised an eyebrow.

“I was willing to take that risk.” You raised an eyebrow back at him, mocking his curiosity and his pushback. “And…I mean, plus, you were…I d’know. Tragic. And pretty.”

“Pretty?” His other eyebrow shot up.

“And tragic.” You giggled. “It’s not like I saw you tearing down the street screaming and thought that you only deserved help ‘cause you were good looking, it was just—it’s why I kept you around.” You rolled your eyes, trying to stop yourself from sounding too sincere, unsure if Jim was willing to recognize the attraction you had toward him. Unsure of whether or not you were willing to admit it right here, right now.

“You liked me.” Jim teased.

“I like you,” you clarified, “Present tense.” You averted your eyes from his gaze, opting instead to look down at his wound once more. He gawked at you, grinning. Placing a hand on your chin, he redirected your gaze to his face.

“How long have you been holding out on me?”

“What?”

“How long’ve you been wanting to say that? Not since day one, hm? Since we went to my parents’ house?”

“Didn’t want to say it,” you huffed, “wanted to help you stay alive.”

“C’mon, all that talk about how you didn’t care if I fell in love with you? Cared more than you let on, I knew it. Could’ve saved us so much time if you just came out with it.”

“Shush.” You tried not to dwell on his words, the realization that, this whole time, he was waiting for you.

“Say it again.” He gleamed, “say it again.”

You took his hand from your face, holding it in your own. “Jim,” you brought his hand to your chest, “I like you.”

You couldn’t take a breath before he was on you. You felt his lips first, plush against your own, and then his hands over your waist and his legs tangling with yours. For someone who had almost bled out less than a week ago, he was shockingly quick on his feet. You wrapped your arms around his neck, feeling the release of weeks’ worth of tension that had been festering inside of you when his tongue slipped between your lips. You moaned, hands grabbing at any part of him you could reach: You felt his chest against your own and ran a trail down his spine with a finger, feeling him shiver at your touch. He ground his hips into you slightly and you reached for his arms, pulling him in as close as you possibly could.

“Knew it.” He whispered when you pulled away for air. “Knew it.” He began sucking on your neck, running his tongue over your pulse point and licking stripes down your throat. You gasped at the feeling, still trying to touch him wherever you could. You found yourself stroking his jawline while he sucked bruises onto your chest, feeling the way his cheeks hollowed when he made an especially strong mark.

“Jim—” You pleaded, trying to touch him, feel him, all around needing him. It was almost all too much.

He returned to eye level. “Mm?” He kissed your neck again, soothing over the fresh hickeys. “Tell me what you need.”

“You—need you.”

“C’mon,” his grin returned, “specifics.”

“Please,” you needed to feel everything, everywhere, “fuck me.”

“God, sounds so pretty coming out of that mouth.” He stood up from the mattress, pulling you up slightly to allow him to disrobe you. It didn’t take much effort; the threadbare clothes you were trying to pass off as pajamas had already practically disintegrated the moment you had put them on. He shucked his bottoms off before retaking his place on top of you in bed.

“So fucking beautiful,” he kissed you again, “so, so pretty. Wanted to make you feel so good f’so long.”

Feeling confident, you cupped his cheek in your palm, “touched myself thinking about this.”

“F—when? Thought about me while you touched yourself? Tell me.” It was a breathless demand, and you could feel his erection throbbing above you.

“The night in the apartment. Came on my fingers, came so hard while I thought of how good you’d fuck me—oh!” Your sexy display was cut short when you felt his fingers brush your clit.

“Yeah? Touched right here and thought of how nice I’d fuck this pussy?” You whimpered at the way he massaged you just right, and his words only added fuel to the fire. “Should’ve just asked me to take care of you, baby, would’ve helped.” God, he was wicked. Such a good man, and so, so wicked for speaking to you like this. You arched your back, and he took the opportunity to slide two fingers into your cunt. “Fuck,” he huffed, delighted by how wet you were for him, and your eyes rolled back, “get yourself this wet? Or is it just me?”

“You, fuck, Jim—it’s you.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Cocky bastard.” You managed between whines and gasps.

“You love it.”  He continued to push his fingers in and out of you, and a delightful squelching noise filled the bedroom. “Fucking beautiful.” He kept at it for a while longer, enjoying the noises you made for him and the way your face contorted when he hit an especially sensitive spot. When he pulled his fingers from you, you sighed, feeling the low of being empty, until he brought the wet digits to your mouth and encouraged you to clean them off for him. He let out a low groan when you began sucking, using your tongue to gather your slick off from in between them. “Yeah, good girl.”

He slotted himself between your thighs, and you could feel the drag of his cock over your stomach. You looked down, wrapping a hand around him and ogling him; so long, so beautifully outlined by thick veins. He gently grasped your wrist, pushing your hand back onto the mattress.

“Wanna make this last.” He half-joked. He kept your arm pinned under him, and you could feel his tip exploring your folds, until finally he pushed himself into you. You let out a shaky, breathless moan as he shallowly thrusted into you, working you open to take him as deep as you could. When he bottomed out, he leaned his forehead against yours, and you could feel the stickiness of sex and sweat on your skin.

“Good, yeah?” He was still being smug, though ensuring you were comfortable. You felt devious, rolling your hips against him and grinning in response, earning a choked “fuck” from him. “Dirty fucking girl.” He pulled out almost entirely before thrusting back into you, forcefully enough that you felt your back drag against the bed. Your tits bounced as he rocked his hips into you, and he took the opportunity to grab one in his hand, taking the other in his mouth.

“Jim!” You couldn’t remember your own name, could barely remember who you were or how you got here; all you could think was Jim, Jim, Jim. “Fu—uck, oh my god, Jim!”

“Gonna wake up the whole neighborhood?” He was incapable of being serious even in the most intimate of moments, knowing full well that the people in this house were the only living souls for miles. “Gonna make sure everybody knows who’s fucking you?” Your lips parted, letting out small moans and whimpers of his name with every thrust.

You could feel his fingers on your clit again, and the feeling was electric; maybe it was because you had wanted him for so long, and tried to deny it for almost as long, but you’d never felt this good—never felt this perfectly sated. The way he kneaded your swollen bud while pounding into you hard enough to make the bedframe shake, the way he whispered such filthy things into the skin of your breasts, the way he wanted you too.

“Gonna—Jim, I’m gonna cum!” You tried to move in sync with him, but it was all too much; he was everywhere, and it was going to be your undoing. You wrapped your legs around his waist, urging him to fuck you deeper. He leaned over you, tracing his fingers down your cheek before grabbing your face in one hand.

“Cum for me, baby. So good, my perfect girl, cum on my cock like this.” You were as good as gone. You felt your legs tighten around his body at the same time as your cunt clenched around his length. You dug your nails into the skin of his arm, and he growled at the way your body responded to him. “Yeah, like that—just like that, sweetheart.”

You were trembling, dripping down his cock and unsure of how to rationalize this amount of pleasure in the midst of end times. Who cared, anyway? You felt fuzzy, barely registering Jim’s words as his strokes became messier and rushed, catching up to you with his own high.

“Want it inside,” you mumbled through your haze, “please, inside.”

“Can’t fucki—can’t say that baby, can’t risk it.”

“Please…” You knew how stupid it was, knew that he would have to say no, but you’d be damned if you didn’t at least try.

“When we get out of England—when we get out of England, I’ll fill you up as much as you want. Yeah?” He slammed himself into you, and his words bounced around inside of your head: “When we get out,” “as much as you want.” If you weren’t so spent, you’d cum for him again from that statement alone. “Promise I will, whenever you want it, baby.”

“Mm.” You sighed contentedly at his assurance. “Tummy.”

“Yeah, good girl, gonna paint you with my cum.” He groaned when you reached up to brush your fingers down his happy trail.

“Give it to me. Please, Jim. Needed it f’so long.” Your mouth hung open, sensitive and sore from his cock and his hands, and somehow still so needy for him, desperate to see him to completion. He buried his face in your neck, breathing in your scent and letting your moans fill his ears as his hips stuttered and he pulled out. You felt his knuckles against your stomach as he stroked himself, finally feeling the warmth of his spend land and spread across your abdomen with a long moan of your name. You stayed like that, both of you breathing heavily, Jim lying on top of you. The gluey feeling of his cum on your stomach and your own between your thighs only heightened when he sat up on his elbow, looking down at you to appreciate how pretty you looked after being fucked out, and you could see the strands of cum dripping between your bodies.

“So beautiful.” He kissed you again, and despite the passion from the last kisses still being present, he was significantly gentler with you in your bleary state.

You blinked up at him, smiling through the fog in your brain, and hugging him close to you. “Gonna have to change your bandages. Covered in your own cum.”

“But what a way to go, right?” He laughed, and you buried your face into him further. “Tomorrow,” he promised. “Need a towel?”

“Would it be gross to sleep like this?”

“Gross? No. Uncomfortable? Maybe.”

“I’ll take my chances. Too tired to wash off.”

“As long as you’re alright.” He brushed your hair away from your eyes, maneuvering himself to look down at you while you were pressed to his chest.

“Feel amazing.” You reassured him. “Should’ve said something earlier.”

“No,” Jim pet your hair, smoothing it down over the back of your head, “this was perfect timing.”

“Perfect timing.” You murmured his words back to him in agreement.

[eluxcastar]

The One and Only

── ୨୧：arlecchino x reader

୨୧﹑synopsis :: a collection of moments from Arlecchino's recollections of the former Harbinger

୨୧﹑genre :: Idk actually

୨୧﹑content :: fem reader, reader is a harbinger, not proofread

୨୧﹑words :: 2.8k

threw this together on a whim because I missed these two I realised it's been like nine months since I wrote one of repetition I was like I wanna play around with these people in their dynamic. you don't have to necessarily have read one of repetition for it to make sense I don't think but I have a bad habit of assuming people know things they don't so take that with a grain of salt

one of repetition

Snezhnaya has never been immune to the curse of rumours that run rampant among its people. Some spread like wildfire and others die out before they gain enough traction to matter. When they somehow manage to make their way to the House of the Hearth, it matters—Mother is liable to find out, and that's when it's revealed whether or not she spread them herself.

There have never been more rumours about anyone but the first Harbinger. Arlecchino realised that when she was young.

They tell the daring tales of a tyrant decorated in well-worn armour able to bring the nation to its knees at their feet with nothing more than a pyro vision and a claymore.

Many of the kids at the House share the same sentiment. Brighella is terrifying, and though they'd like their approval, they never want to meet them. The few who have met them say they're weird.

Supposedly the child of the Tsaritsa, you have been tainted by the ever-waining loveless God of Snezhnaya and become little more than a heartless warmonger seeking absolution. You have not even removed your helmet in three centuries nor shown your face. You are fussy, childish, impulsive and arrogant like your whole reign of tyranny is a giant temper tantrum, and you'll only stop once you've realised the nation that has been dwindling ever so gradually will one day be reduced to a wasteland.

Maybe then, the ashes left behind by the fire you let tear apart this icy world will be your single lesson.

Arlecchino meets you for the first time at the celebrations for her ascendance to her Mother's position. Every Harbinger gathers at the behest of the Tsaritsa, an important event demanding their presence. All nine others and the Director are called to return, and along with them, you appear clad in armour, even on a formal occasion. You are feared, yes, but undoubtedly lavished in praise and feigned respect meant only to appease you. People seek to impress you because you are the first, an immortal Harbinger with the nation under their thumb.

Though foolish, she finds she cannot help but be swept up in the glory of it all, the appeal of having a warmonger's approval if only because it feels like the only good sign she'd ever get. Her ascendence is not born of admiration, merely convenience, a way to escape her Father and gain power. She is young and inexperienced and fills the shoes of her Mother with the grace of a newborn fawn. For just a moment, she could revel in receiving your praise, then go right back to indulging the bitterness she associates so heavily with your name. Whatever you have that sends shivers to the very core of grown men, she wants it, and having you pay some attention to her feels right. It cannot keep her from detesting you for possessing it.

You touched her shoulder once with an unnaturally warm gloved hand—a silent congratulations, she tells herself—it is the only way to justify her racing heart as you lean down and speak barely above a whisper. "Do no disappoint me, Arlecchino."

Everything takes a backseat as a fire is lit in the pit of her stomach, the drive to wipe that infuriating smirk she knows is hidden beneath your mask off your face. If she didn't know better, she could almost convince herself you thought you owned her.

For all her staring, however, she can't recall another moment of that night you spared her more than a single glance in her direction before turning away. It was Pierro who pinned Arlecchino's delusion to her chest and welcomed her, the Director, not the Tsaritsa's child. You merely took it upon yourself to congratulate her— professionally— as any colleague would.

The first time Arlecchino saw your face, she could not believe her eyes. You lack the odd companion she has long grown used to seeing by your side. She does not even recognise you at first, sitting in a chair in Pierro's quarters in plain clothes, your helmet discarded at your feet. In your hand is a glass, the liquid inside sloshing as you motion with your hand in some general direction amid your conversation.

It almost makes her uncomfortable to see, like staring down at your severed head pathetically rolling back and forth under the sole of your boot as you entertain yourself with it. It does not roll far before the adornments resist, and you don't fight them, instead rolling it back. Your only response to her gawking is to quirk your eyebrow at her.

You regard her with curiosity, though she would be remiss not to notice the glint in your eyes. "Arlecchino," you say, perhaps some mockery of greeting her.

Since she met you, her poker face has only gotten better, though her short pause is a dead giveaway that she has to think to recall your title. She still does not quite believe the woman she sees is you. "Brighella."

A smile tugs at your lips, and another sip of the drink in your glass marks your second pause. "Are you lost, or did I interrupt something?" you ask, though you turn to Pierro for the answer to the question.

Arlecchino takes a breath, determined not to let you get away with speaking to her that way without seeing any bite— "I called her," Pierro interrupts her before she can even say a word, and your eyes flicker back to her.

"I'll take my leave then," you say, gathering your things. You hook your fingers under your helmet and pick it up like nothing is wrong, as if you don't notice how Arlecchino stares and tries to remind herself that it should be obvious someone was under there. 

The only thing that helps her remind herself nobody else could sport that cocky smirk in Pierro's office without receiving a cold glare. He merely watches as you down the rest of your drink in one mouthful and leave the glass for him on his desk before stalking off. You stop only to put your helmet back on.

There's a sigh once you leave the room, and Pierro silently collects the glass.

The second time Arlecchino meets you, it is more arranged: a trip down the halls leads her to a stray fatuu bearing a message for her. You want to see Arlecchino in your chambers. There's no indication of why, and the man delivering the message had no inclination to ask before scurrying off. She cannot even say she blames him. She's seen the way you speak to the lesser fatuus before.

Arlecchino arrives in the corridor to hear the unusual noises in your room. It is like someone is rummaging through your belongings with reckless abandon and tossing whatever is in their way aside. 

She eyes the door with particularly harsh scrutiny. If there is an intruder, rifling through your room is the most effective way to get things they might want, and she can't allow them an opportunity to escape.

That is until Arlecchino hears your voice from inside, and you exaggerate a frustrated groan. You sound on the verge of tearing your hair out.

Then she braces herself to knock, and the room falls starkly silent as you register someone is standing outside.

"Who's there?" You pose the question like an accusation despite having to know you would have guests. You invited her, after all— demanded her, really.

Through gritting teeth, she finds the will to bite her tongue and say nothing about your attitude rearing its ugly head again. You find a way to always be like this. The moment she gains some semblance of understanding of your motives, you screw it up by acting superior again, like you genuinely believe the world should fall helplessly at the mercy of your whims and run as you will it to. 

"It's Arlecchino," she responds, the animosity she wishes to show neatly tucked away beneath a layer of barely cordial stoicism.

"Oh," is the only sound from inside, followed by footsteps and a light thud as if you place something down, perhaps one of the things it sounded like you were moving. "Are you alone?" 

For a moment, she almost began to wonder if you had forgotten her.

The question confuses her. "Yes."

"You may enter. The door is unlocked."

Arlecchino does not waste another moment before she opens the door to greet your unmasked face. This time, she recognises you from the pattern of your scars to the odd look on your face, though the off feeling staring into your eyes gives her strikes immediately with the same confusing force. 

It should be less jarring the second time, and yet, as she slowly closes the door behind her, she cannot help but scan the room in search of your helmet.

Your room is a damn mess, probably because you just tore it apart for reasons beyond her. She spies your helmet discarded by the bed on its side, hollow and lifeless and so unlike she usually sees it perched atop a suit of armour brimming with self-assured grandiose.

"I was worried he'd followed you all the way here."

She grasps at who you're implying almost immediately, yet can't say she understands why. It can't be anyone but the man in armour you brought back from the abyss who follows you around like a stray puppy. 

"Are you referring to the—" she also realises she has no idea what it is that follows you around— "man you took in...?"

"Yes." You answer without notice for her apprehension, or perhaps so used to it that it no longer seems worth commenting on. "He has a habit of stealing faces, and though I already told him he can't have mine, he's determined to get it."

Stealing...faces...?

"You're probably wondering why I wanted to speak with you." All too quickly, you change the subject, jumping from whatever you just said to a completely different train of thought as you turn away from her to find something amidst the clutter on your dresser. Your body obscures her view, unable to see what you're doing.

She saves you the discomfort of having a hole burned into your back from her gaze, instead taking the opportunity to look around. Do you always live in this dump? In a way, it's not hard to believe; your behaviour is reminiscent of a spoiled child who never learned to clean up their messes, yet she expected you would treat your living space with the same methodical attention as your subordinates.

"It wasn't included alongside your message," she responds absently, merely engaging because she must. Her mind is occupied, overlooking the pile of armour dumped on the floor like junk metal.

You place a glass down behind her as you speak, the sound unmistakable to her ears, compounded by the sound of something pouring. "Intentionally. You would never have come if you knew why I wanted to see you."

She cannot help but glare at the back of your head. "Is that so?"

"Indeed."

When you turn to her, she cannot help the way her attention draws to the two glasses in your hands—glasses you have no doubt filled with alcohol. Pantalone taught her such a trick not long after he became a Harbinger, and she has not a single doubt that you learned it from him as well.

While your company isn't paying attention, fill a glass and offer it to them. It's rude to refuse once it's been poured. It'll keep them put.

It didn't occur to her until after you extended the glass in your left hand to her that she realised you had trapped her in the conversation should she strive to maintain her pleasant façade. Her fist clenches tightly at her side, nails digging into her palm with a sharp pain.

Arlecchino takes the glass with a tight smile, a wordless exchange. The look in your eyes tells her you know it, too.

"I hope you didn't bring me here for a frivolous venture." Her own warning, one she feels she has earned over the past few minutes.

"No," you say, swirling the liquid in your glass as a means of entertaining yourself. "I simply wanted to observe you."

"How forward." She cannot help it by the time she realises she's said it. There is obviously disapproval in her voice.

Despite her venom, you only smile at her dumbly as if you don't notice the tone of her voice or the furrow of her brows. "Isn't it?" a rhetorical question. You let out a light chuckle at yourself. "It's strange, I thought the one to overtake the Knave would be a little more like that old hag, but it turns out you couldn't be more different if you tried."

This is what you wanted to say?

Arlecchino's eyes narrow. "What do you mean by that?" 

"Oh, come on, are you blind?" Your penchant for mockery shines through your words whether you meant it to or not. "Surely you've noticed by now."

"I don't aspire to become my mother," she retorts just a touch more harshly than she meant to.

"I meant it as a compliment, don't you realise?" you question, "The House has run this way for years because she made it that way. I'm sure many of the children she bought are itching to go home." Your musings lead somewhere—they must—and yet you insist on meandering your way there at a leisurely pace to draw it out. It's as if you wait and watch with eyes filled with curiosity for her to guess, but she makes no attempt to. "Will you return them to their families?"

Arlecchino considered it many times. The thought is appealing. It would be like setting her siblings—now her children—free. She grew up alongside them, played with them as a child and now presides over them.

Wanting to stall, Arlecchino takes a sip from the glass before speaking.

"No," she answers. 

It's not possible. 

If not a monetary figure or tangible reason, it quickly became a stark impossibility when she considered that someone would have to explain why the orphans the Knave had acquired carefully raised were being returned. 

Many would live in harsh conditions, some would die or merely be sold again, and some were too broken down by motherly love to find their peace in the common world again. 

It's not worth the pain of trying.

Something in her answer piques your interest, and she notices your hardly disguised intrigue almost immediately. Years of wearing a helmet to hide your emotions have certainly done a number on how much you are able to hide them naturally. 

"I thought for certain you would say yes."

"You were incorrect."

You quirk an eyebrow at her as if to challenge that idea. "Was I?" you question.

Were you?

"Yes," she says before she can think of anything to disprove that. Time made her aware of the many impossibilities she had spent years fantasising about, but she would not share that with you.

"You're certainly gentler than her," you remark, almost a passing comment as it's quickly overshadowed, "Less of a pain in the ass to talk to as well. I'd have to chase her for days to get her to come talk to me."

Arlecchino suddenly understands why the room is in such a state of disarray—you hadn't expected her. Instead, you were tearing your room apart under the impression you would have days to clean it up before she found her way to you. It seems that punctuality is a burden to you. If nothing else, it's motivation to never be late.

She finds herself aimlessly staring into the glass in her hand, a lesser part of her mind trying to determine what's in it, though too clouded by conflict to place an answer anytime soon. Instead, she stands and listens to whatever you insist on saying, lost in your words and the musings of the past, your unique knowledge of what came before her.

The observations of now the piercing gaze that threatens to spill her soul out before the two of you and dissect it as you please while she watches at the mercy of your rank, the lingering respect that refuses to leave her from years of seeing you as an ideal.

Talking to you is something quite bizarre; knowing you is something even stranger. 

She may never forget the time you spent intrigued by the young orphan who overthrew her mother to take her place at your side as your colleague.

CROSSPOSTED ON AO3

[tewwor]

general wishlist & interaction kickoff .

* will be adding / rbing this as i go — yes, i know this is an extensive list ( thank you for taking the time to glance over it! ) likes will be taken as interest for me to jingle my way over and yap about what specific point(s) interest you!

MINSOO .

more undercover plots and/or situations where he has to actively work with someone ( he may not initially like ) to achieve a common goal.

hey, someone talk to him about why he's so into folks that are mean. maybe even ... break through his constant observation of another's intentions and have him trust fully — idk i just think it'd be good for him maybe.

instances where he intercepts and takes a devastating blow that should've been for your muse. he shouldn't transmute himself anymore to heal either, so ...

situationships / one night stands that turn into something more :o)

alternatively, enemies to friends and/or lovers :o) he can be narsty when he wants to be

NANA .

someone take care of him. be it when he's sick or anytime post-canon where he has a long road of recovery ahead of him.

more threads in his villain verse. i know i'm a bit slower with these, but i promise the plots will be juicy.

i also need more threads in his vampire verse. if you want some tension — look no further. also all of my vampires default to a numbing / paralytic venom / able to be out in the sun / has magical attributes that align with their main canon power(s) / has both top and bottom fangs .

run normal, every day errands with him. go grocery shopping. cook with him. sort laundry. pick out new plants for him to buy and care for.

get him to retire post-canon. he's going to try and continue to work as a sorcerer. while it is possible for him to reach the same level of efficiency as before, the learning curve is steep and who knows if he'll be able to get the hang of things before being met with another untimely demise. also, he'd do very well as an assistant manager or teacher.

threads that revolve around him dabbling in being a food content creator. while he debates what path to go in life, he starts to make cooking videos — mostly to help keep his mind off of things. his face is never shown and he doesn't talk, but his videos gain a lot of traction. the option to go full time that way is also present.

SUHYEON .

detectives / private eyes: could be one of the few that were involved in his murder. it's been closed for a few years, but maybe it left an impact with how harrowing the details were. could be interesting if suhyeon learned about their involvement and see how he reacts.

crime aligned muses: supernatural themes or not, there's a very real possibility that your muse might know / still be in contact with suhyeon's brother, kyong ( who now leads the byun jopok ). this could even open up some avenues pre-death where suhyeon was aligned to inherit everything instead of kyong. also, it's important to note that suhyeon does not harbor any ill will towards his brother despite knowing how his murder had been orchestrated by him. so revenge plots aren't his schtick unless someone else he cares about is involved.

aslan vc 'ride me' except it's 'wield me'. someone form a contract with this goober so he can shut up and quit eating other blades out of spite.

USAMI .

requesting someone stubborn enough to stick around despite how god awful he is during the binding vow or implanted tracker/trigger days. doesn't even have to be an active thing either. just knowing / occasionally interacting with him to then contrast how he acts once the higher ups are killed ... i just need folks to understand the burden of his suffering and maybe offer a hand when he's convinced he needs to shoulder everything himself.

more mission threads. doesn't matter the timeline, i love writing action and the nuances of his technique.

more threads in his uwabami verse. he's just a giant snake yokai that likes to eat ( and gets wrongfully pinned for causing so much chaos when it's really not his fault ). totally cool and normal and fine — you get to interact with a lil' snake?

crime muses: haven't written anything in this verse yet! there's a lot of potential for usami to work against other orgs, though. perhaps even work together under a strained alliance.

more interactions in his curse verse. either as someone that actually helps him grow past being a curse womb ( just a tiny snake that eats a bunch of people ), or general interactions of seeing a once sorcerer & potentially hearing his truth for once.

[syndrossi]

Are there any characters you're excited about introducing or writing later in the story? Are there any non-spoilery scenes you're excited to eventually write for the story? What do you think is the closest equivalent they might have to Halloween in Westeros? Harvest festivals? Days to worship the stranger, maybe? Would they carve pumpkins, do you think?

There are three characters I'm excited about who will make an appearance much further down the line (I wrote a scene with two of them but opted to exclude it from chapter twenty-three). On the more obvious side, definitely looking forward to Corlys and Laena, and eventually bringing poor Rhaenyra back to King's Landing. (She's been in the character tags since the beginning of the story and has had one scene, and we very well might not have her join the fray until we hit 200K words... 😂)

I'm also looking forward to writing some of the various Lord Paramounts (and family) once we make it out of King's Landing. Larys is due to arrive in King's Landing within just a few days. I'm looking less forward to him, because he's a thorny fellow to figure out--I'm going with his book characterization rather than the show, because we have enough "this character loves Alicent" motivations for various other characters.

Non-spoilery scenes I'm excited about writing:

going to Runestone

Ser Perkins's eventual arrival and, uh, interrogation by Daemon

when the boys' belongings (which were left behind and discovered by men of the Bloody Gate) arrive

winter in either the Riverlands or the Vale!

the boys meeting Rhaenyra, Corlys, Laena, etc

the hatchlings' first dragonflame (and flame color reveal)

Rhaegar playing legos and Viserys

Jon recovering from his injuries and getting to show off for real this time

lots of gift-giving! but especially Daemon's name day

secret passage shenanigans

Spoilery scenes I'm excited about writing:

Tarth

when Laena asks [redacted] for [redacted] after [redacted] (this may or may not happen, still musing upon it)

when the cousins [redacted]

when Laenor [redacted]

the [redacted] tourney and later the [redacted] tourney

when Daemon [redacted] and the boys are terrified

Lots of stuff I'm forgetting, but those are what come to mind!

It's interesting if they are harvest festivals, because I want to know how the heck the growing/harvesting seasons work with the fucked up seasons of this world. Like. It seems that on average, each season lasts a year-ish. So you have a "harvest" season (aka before winter when crops die out) once every three years at a minimum. So I feel like when autumn does come around, there are festivities of some kind! The idea of something Stranger-related is also a neat one.

Pumpking carving must be a thing, since Cersei snarks at one point in the books about someone looking like a harvest-day pumpkin! And in Resonant, one of the knights Jon interrogates mentions placing in one of the melees of the Harvest Tourney some years before.

I guess if I have to write something into existence right here and now I would do:

A month-long period of festivities, kicked off by a festival and closing generally with a tourney in Viserys's time (he loves an excuse for a tourney)

Pumpkin dishes are a main feature of this time, since pumpkin carving is an event that children take part in to celebrate. Pumpkin soup, pastries, seasoning, cooked pumpkin on the side, etc.

There is, apparently, a specific harvest-day--perhaps one concluding the festivities. On this day, nobles who make the trek to King's Landing for an audience with the king engage in an exchange of gifts/favors.

Some symbolic gift from the Crown to the smallfolk of the city.

I like the idea of a masquerade, but it's an "exotic" practice that hasn't gained traction. Perhaps popular in Dorne?

Probably more! IDK if anyone else has a neat idea!

[silvermeww]

I see you tag a lot of things as 'kalosian woods', what does it mean??? is it like a project or a fic or something? 👀

Hey there anon! Yah, it’s a massive AU/rewrite thing I have for the XY anime (and maybe games??) that I’ve been planning for a while now. The name is short for ‘beware of kalosian woods; lovely, dark and deep’ and it’s up on AO3 at currently idk 6 fics?? Which is super funny since so far I’ve managed to plan out 60 fics for it and the numbers are getting higher as I go on lol. Anyways, this all happened when I got inspired by a friend to rewrite some scenes of the anime and then welp, it snowballed into a project of massive proportions that should, if I’m motivated enough, keep me occupied for a year at least ^^’

I guess I should say some things about it since I’ve been rambling on for so long, huh? Well, in my watch of XY (and many future ruminations afterwards) I guess my biggest problem was that almost everyone but Ash and Greninja got their narrative presence and story potential whittled down to almost nothing (if not downright nothing) as the series went on. The start had promise but afterwards? Straight off the series itself I can’t tell you much about anyone in any real deep capacity (and the sad thing is that I do care about at least some of them, but they end up getting the shortest stick ever :/). So, in this rewrite I’m shaking things up and giving everyone opportunities to develop and grow, try out new things and new bonds, let the Pokémon play around with each other and their Trainers (Chespin my beloved, why did you never exist beyond the butt if the joke when you used to have a Reason for Being in your origin ep?? ;w;), all that jazz. Also including some game plots and characters (AZ should’ve been there and in my essay), more fleshed out Team Flare, maybe Southern Kalos??? Still thinking on that. More dramatic and honestly more cooler Kalos Crisis where we don’t just have two 50% Zygarde and then Zygarde Rock, changing up the way Showcases are done (letting them be their own thing seperate from Contests while also having that creative flare), more lore for that Bond Phenomenon, etc. Basically I’m going to have fun with the playground of Kalos lore/locations and letting any character that was a character have their time to shine, so if there are any backgrounders that you may have taken a shine to, there’s probably a chance that I’ve written them in this big thing heh.

(My second problem is the lack of Legendary Death Bird and Life Deer in the series that introduces them—wdym the only time I can see them is in one movie for 5 minutes? And don’t get me started on the cameo in the camp arc.

So naturally I’m going to have them play a role throughout the series as well, down to the Crisis itself. Can’t have Squishy have all the fun :3)

So, I’m not sure if I truly grasped what this project is about, tbf I’m still planning it out as I go since I’ve always been a pantser, but it’s something fun for me and I hope that more people will come to enjoy it too! A mix of every genre, some crack interspersed within the fluff and angst, Sycamore adopting way too many children while placing himself in a self-made love triangle, lore and deep connections, history and its effects, life and death and order.

And being the best version of yourself. That too.

PS I forgot to add, my tag is basically a really funny spoilers-no-spoilers compilation of posts that fit the vibe of the whole series. Like the posts just resonates with a certain part of the series and represents it and I thought that hey, might as well make a tag that would make no sense to anyone until the series is finished while also giving myself inspiration and motivation. I should probably make a side blog for the project but that’s if it gains enough traction I think, like an askblog or compilation thing. Anyways lmk if there’s anything unclear in my massive ramble or if you want to know something more/else, I’ve really enjoyed this ask if you can tell heh :D <33

[heartnosekid]

I started making stimboards a while ago, granted I'm not the most frequently active even with a queue, but I greatly enjoy carefully crafting a board, digging up sources for gifs, ... still, I cant stop feeling a bit hurt that I get next to no notes on them. A single board easily takes me 30 minutes to 1 hour, and a recent one got 1 note. That's all. I was so proud of it, and now it feels like it was all in vain, despite the fun it was to assemble. I love seeing you on my dash btw, I love your gifs and boards. But yeah. Did it take you a while too to get a decent amount of notes / followers ? I try my best to use appropriate tags for reach. I dont even do super niche themes. And I tell myself to just keep at it, with enough time and effort I'll have some more followers too. Idk. I was just hoping for some words of encouragement if you can spare some lol

i 100% understand this frustration and i have a few questions for you.

firstly, is there any way you could send me a board of yours so i can see the tags and potentially give some advice about that? it's okay if you would rather not, i understand wanting to maintain anonymity.

secondly, if you did want to send your blog my way, i could potentially reblog some of your stuff and help you gain some traction.

now for some encouragement, i promise your work matters regardless of followers or notes or anything like that. the internet has a sinister way of making us feel as if the only way our work is important, even to ourselves, is if it gets lots of recognition and interactions and clicks. this is wholly false, and a dangerous mindset to get stuck in. (i'm still in it and i hate it. i work so hard to not care about notes but it is so hard, especially when you're raised by a critical voice when it comes to your art.)

i will always encourage you and anyone else to ignore the numbers. i know this is extremely hard to do, especially when you're just starting out and you want to make your work seen and be praised, but i promise it will help build healthy habits in regards to posting your work and not taking the fun or meaning out of it for yourself, because at the end of the day, making art should be for you and satisfy you first and foremost. i made the huge mistake of getting into the numbers game in regards to my work and i regret it every day, quite literally. and yes, it did take a long time for my boards and gifs to start gaining traction. i've had this blog since 2017, i have been making boards since...2019 i think, maybe 2018, and gifs since either late 2019 or 2020, i think, and i didn't start seeing major interactions (1k+ notes) for about two to three years.

if your work is fun and fulfilling to you; if it satisfies your creative nature in a way other things can't, please keep doing it. i promise it is worth it to make the art 100000% self indulgently rather than to rely on attention from others to progress.

much love and support to you, anon. i hope to see some cool stuff from you in the community. <3

[nectaric]

🌻

sometimes i get. Sad. because i've noticed this a lot throughout the years, but wlw ships rarely seem to get much traction compared to other alternatives in rp (and elsewhere ofc, but i'm talking about rpc). and i don't mean that people won't ship - i've had many people in all my years roleplaying reach out to me excitedly to ship their lady muses with mine, but i find that it rarely gains any traction. i get a couple messages in talking about the ship, and then it dies out. but if the ship was mlm for example, then there's a lot more willingness to keep going forward with it.

idk, it feels a little bit .. performative, maybe? and i don't mean to throw out any accusations of course, and i definitely don't mean this about any current partners because they're all lovely, but i've definitely felt before that the people who express interest in shipping female muses do so really enthusiastic at first, but then there's zero follow through. ships don't always work out and people move on but it's consistent enough that i'm like... why even say it if you don't mean it?

maybe there's something else i'm not seeing, but it makes me sad because it feels like unless a ship is centered around a man, it always fizzles out and i ain't about that!

[mor-goo]

AU MK1 where the two main protagonists are Li Mei and Havik and it gets crackshippy

So this AU was borne of me having recently started playing MK1, and only just learning that the two characters I thought looked most interesting apparently have next to no real impact on the story.

I don't know if anyone even cares about this game anymore, let alone the story, but here's my dumb AU re-write and crackship on the vaguest, most conceptual level.

Very obvious law-and-order-vs-unrestrained-chaos conflict. No way these two would work together of their own volition, so something drastic would present both with no other choice.

Buddy cop movie but they just stay hating each other the whole way through.

Havik's tower ending where he floods Seido, and both characters' stubborn natures also present inevitable conflict when Li Mei is naturally all like 'hey, maybe don't'. No matter how well they work together over the course of the story, you know it'll go awry by the end.

Why do they team up? What do they accomplish by the end of the MK1 story? I'll be damned if I know. Maybe if this gains any traction, I'll think about it more.

Havik works with Quan Chi, but grows to believe that he has promised too much to too many people. He brings back memories of the leadership of Seido.

One form of motivation for Li Mei to finally join him is the hope of redeeming herself in the eyes of Sindel and the royal family. Naturally, she doesn't tell them about their partnership. Tanya's role as the new head of the Umgadi, as well as her suspicions of Li Mei in relation to Jerrek's death, means Li Mei has to constantly check over her shoulder.

Neither of them are happy about having to partner with the other, but recognise it as a necessity.

Maybe their partnership would be found out later. Sindel sees it as the final straw after the death of Jerrek, and threatens her execution for working with a known terrorist (at least in Edenia's eyes). Li Mei perhaps has to make a choice between disowning the travelling partner who she's come to respect tolerate, or staying with him for the greater good of defeating Quan Chi and Shang Tsung.

The dynamic

Li Mei is about 90% of Havik's impulse control. He looks forward to seeing her losing her cool, just so he has something that he can hold over her.

Havik is naturally pretty ACAB (you go, Havik!).

They take turns interrogating people. Havik tends to be more physical with it. I'd say 'good cop, bad cop', except Li Mei would also start beating them if a) they annoyed her enough, or b) Havik's form was off. She's a stickler for fighting technique.

You're a fool if you don't think Havik pulls the most juvenile pranks on her. When they first meet, he pretends to suffer a grievous injury, pulling off his own arm or something just to be a dick.

The arm acts as a Chekov's gun and he gives it to her as an impromptu weapon in act 3 or something, idk.

Li Mei is a smooth talker with some surprisingly witty reparte when she wants to use it. Havik is not. I imagine it like James Bond suave vs Sergeant Hartman from Full Metal Jacket. ('You'd better un-f**k yourself or I will rip off your head and check down your neck!')

It'd probably end with Li Mei accepting her role as head of Imperial Police, as she does in the tower ending, and she'd be willing to let Havik go, with a days' head start or something like that. Yeah it's tropey as hell, but I love said trope.

Y'know how Darrius just hangs out with Havik in the story mode and has no dialogue at all? I imagine him as also occassionally being there in this AU, and still also not saying anything. Havik is just like 'this is Darrius, he's coming with' and Li Mei, too exhausted to question it anymore, just thinks 'yeah, that tracks, whatever'. Darrius just sometimes nods or shakes his head.

Remember that meme where the person asks out his crush and makes it a group chat that also includes his friend? And the friend is like 'dw bro I'm here for you?' That'd be Darrius.

('Why does Li Mei call you baby girl?' 'Let's change the subject.') Would it get ship-y?

For some reason they could meet with the canon group (ie Raiden, Johnny Cage, etc) and Cage would be all 'I ship it'. Mileena, having to hide her own relationship with Tanya, is surprised, but doesn't consider it her place to judge. Even Lui Kang could be sporting one of those sly, subtle smiles he sometimes gives.

No clue what would happen after the events of the story for now, but would be left open-ended in an eternal state of chase. A sort of grudging level of mutual respect. ('I hate this person, but I'd be damned if I'm going to be chased by / chasing someone else')

OR it's a more tragic ending where he and Rain do flood Seido and we get a somewhat tragic ending between the two where Li Mei reverts back to hating him, and also herself for thinking he had any humanity to him.

In other words, you're damn right it gets ship-y. They're called crackships for a reason and I've caught the bug.

What shall we call it? Law and Havoc?

Anyway, verbal spray over. Maybe when I see more of the story I'll come up with more ideas. Sorry for any repeated points, I was desperate to get this all down. I'm off to stew over this some more for now.

[spacebeyonce]

hello, I wrote a fic for the first time! but I am also very ao3 critical (esp after reading your posts!) I don't really want to upload on the site, but I would still would like my fic to be viewed by people, what other options are there? and is uploading without donating ok, or would that still support the site. (it has several chapters, so idk if tumblr is a good option).

hi! I'm planning on uploading future fics to squidgeworld first, and then maybe cross posting them to ao3 at a later date. squidgeworld has ao3's layout but you don't need to wait for an invite to set up an account, so hopefully that gains more traction because I am SO tired of ao3 being a monopoly.

since ao3 relies on their donations, I think it's perfectly fine to withhold from donating until they get their shit together. they've got enough funds on standby that they can run the site without extra donations for a couple years.

I've never posted fic chapters on my tumblr, so idk how folk would feel about that...if anyone has an opinion on that feel free to chime in.

I hope these help!! and happy for you posting your first fic! the first one is always the most nerve-wracking lmao.

[woozisguitar]

Another day, another block for writers who tag every member on their single member centric fic for NO REASON other attempting to gain views when no one wants the search feeds of other members clogged with stories not about them… 😔

woah my first anon hate but sure PLEASE feel free to block me :)

but because this is technically an 'ask' let me respond to it accordingly! I tagged all the members on the SIXTH chapter of glitch (9th if you consider the prologue and profiles) and with a pretty valid reason too. glitch gets an average of 50-60 interactions by the time we hit the 48 hours mark (that's an average of 15-25 when we hit the 24 hours mark ) and I decided to change the tags and give it a shot to see if there's any change (see: trail and error method). I AM an ot13 blog after all and not just dedicated to one member. Plus you can check all the other parts of glitch, they've all been tagged for ONE member. (I'll even add a screenshot from my word file with the tags). Now idk where or what or rather HOW i've clogged the tags of other members when almost all tags have pictures of every other member.

as for gaining views, I think its valid enough when a fanfic writer wants people to read their fics. most of us spend a lot of time plotting, planning and writing fics (some of us even have full time jobs) but we do this because we simply enjoy this art and sharing it with others. and when the same fic writer who spends DAYS writing a fic gets maybe 30 likes, its a little heartbreaking. and im pretty sure if you ask anyone on this app they will agree that some fics of some members get more traction as compared to others (which is completely fine! everyone has their own taste and preferences). also, reach on Tumblr is based on tags; this is not an archive like AO3.

also! I use the 'keep reading' cut thing for glitch so you may have seen maybe 4-5 lines before the story even starts AND again it was chapter six so if you WERE curious who its about you could've checked the masterlist or scrolled past it but no you decided to come on my blog and hide behind the anon button to send me that :)

anyways, these are the tags that I usually use for glitch. you can find them on the other chapters as well

PS: I had anyways planned on updating the tags for chapter 6 once I hit the 48 hours mark so I could get solid comparative data for my fics. but instead I got this in less than 24 hours from uploading :)

[kradogsrats]

Do you think that Lissa hates elves and dragons?

This is an interesting question! Since the narrative goes so hard on hate being bad, understandably, what we see of the cultural animosity between humans and elves really leans toward the wacky--like Rayla's relatable jokes about humans--except when it's positioned as a threat to the main characters. Like, we're told that humans and elves hate each other and haven't mixed peacefully in centuries, and then two years after "surprise, we're all friends now!" everyone's somehow hanging out having cultural misunderstandings rather than hate-criming each other. Maybe there just hasn't been enough time for a counter-movement to gain any traction? Whatever.

Anyway, what we have in canon indicates that Callum has almost definitely never even seen an elf until Rayla. He's grown up with things like the wooden figurine showing a monstrous Moonshadow elf. Thunder killed his mother, and his aunt channeled all her grief into hating elves. Like, he literally believes Moonshadow elves drink blood, or at least believes it enough to assume that's what Rayla's red juice is. I think this is hard for most of us to relate to, like in order to wrap my mind around that kind of dehumanization I have to imagine a scenario like some kind of space alien invasion, where the enemy is literally inhuman and their hostility completely beyond understanding. It's not super surprising that the story doesn't want to dwell on it, because the more you dwell on it, the more people will draw parallels to real-world racism, xenophobia, and groups that are marginalized in ways that are really not comparable at all.

Katolis in particular (and possibly also Duren, idk I don't think about Duren a lot tbh) probably has a weird curve of resentment toward elves because on the one hand, they're a heavily militarized society specifically against Xadia--depending on how active that conflict is, there are a lot of people who have lost friends or family to it, or know someone who has. On the other hand, we straight-up have from ToX materials that humans and elves mingle fairly freely in areas near the border, crossing to trade without consequence. So outside of the military, it's actually the people further from the border who are going to hold more hatred and prejudice. They will also be the least likely to have actually encountered an elf, dead or alive, while someone living near the border may be like "oh yeah Moonshadow elves are the worst, except that guy who grows the most amazing moonberries, seriously you've gotta try these things, anyway he's a good one and we'll run anyone who gives him trouble out of town." Living in Del Bar (which shares no border with Xadia) and then in urban Katolis, I would guess Lissa's experience is much more similar to Callum's as far as experience with actual elves.

I also personally headcanon Lissa as a sort of historian-bard, so she's very familiar with both how humanity suffered after being expelled from Xadia and the atrocities humans committed against each other in the aftermath. She's trained to think critically, specifically regarding the stories humans tell themselves about the world. Like most people, I doubt she's ever seen an elf in real life. So while she's definitely not immune to the cultural bias she's steeped in, and would probably be distrustful/defensive with an elf, I think she's also a compassionate person who isn't going to kill first and ask questions later.

As for dragons... well, I imagine that Soren's whole thing with dragons and dragon-slaying comes from Lissa telling him stories, just because that strikes me as very Del Barian. But really, probably everyone is afraid of a full-grown dragon? Like, it's not clear that humans are even aware that dragons other than Archdragons are sentient? So that's like kind of like asking if you're afraid of a bear with a grenade launcher pointed at you--it's not one of my top ten daily anxieties, but it's absolutely gonna take up my entire brain if I happen to encounter it. So like... "hate" in the sense of "please stay far away and I don't want it in my proximity unless it's 110% dead" seems pretty normal.

[zephyrrydrake]

Vent post. Move on if you don't want to read.

I feel like I'm failing Palestine. Idk, I just feel like I'm not doing enough. I know the world sucks, I know that it's broken and that people are dying and suffering and being tortured. I feel like I can't do enough. Like what I'm doing isn't enough.

121. That's how many asks I've let sit in my inbox for over a month. They piled up. They've just gone unanswered. I don't feel like I can delete them because I feel like I need to help them. I have a platform. It's basically a raft compared to the giant boats that are some other people's platforms, but it's still a platform. Since I was younger, the whole reason why I wanted a big platform in the first place, was so that I could use it to help people. My motivations have kind of shifted cause now I just wanna make stuff, but still.

I can't donate any money. I don't usually see a lot of these people's fundraisers getting reblogged. I think a part of me doesn't even want to do this. I know it's selfish and I should be spending my time helping people, but it's hard to care. And I hate that it's hard to care. Because I want to care. I want to want to help these people. But I'm just apathetic. I mean, I'm happy when I see their GoFundMes gaining traction and I'm happy seeing that someone met their goal. I cheered when I saw that someone got enough funds to get out of Gaza. But I just can't always psych myself up to care about all this stuff the way these people deserve to be cared about.

My feelings are complicated. I kind of feel this way towards other aspects of my life too. Honestly, it might just be an autism thing. Doesn't make me feel less guilty about it though. Or more, pseudo guilt? Because sometimes I can't even really bring myself to feel guilty. My emotions are fucked.

And then of course those two fucking gimmick blogs came out and attacked some of the people who verify fundraisers. And I decided to hear them out. And now I'm questioning if maybe these may or may not be scams. Fuck, man. Like I said in my pinned on @rydrake6 I just need a break.

I already know that my "activism" is mediocre at best. I know that I'm probably barely even doing the bare minimum. I know that I need to rethink my methods. Right now I'm just questioning whether I should even keep doing this. As I'm writing this I'm drafting a post in my head that's like "I'm sorry to say, but I'm going to make the unethical decision to stop talking about Palestine."

I don't want to. Or I don't want to want to. But it's not like I'm doing much now anyways. I'm boycotting. I'm staying away from the big corporations and I've been in multiple fights with my parents over this stuff. I've been doing clicks on that one website, even though I might have missed some days. I've been reblogging Gofundmes even though there's not a lot of people who donate because of me to my knowledge.

I just don't know what to do. That's exactly why I need time to think about this shit and get it sorted out. I wonder if it might be better for me to just step away. Just do my own thing. Figure this whole thing out. I know tumblr has a scammer problem, but I don't think that's what's going on with the majority of these gofundmes.

I'll figure something out. But for now I'm just going to keep to myself. Probably try to stay off Tumblr more. Actually, yeah. I think I'm gonna try to stay off Tumblr more. I thought this place was gonna be better than twitter but shit. Everything is falling apart. I think I'm gonna lower my scroll limit. It might just be temporary but I really need to get off of social media. It's bad for me no matter what website I use.

[meeda]

long ramble about idk.. politics?

re: that last post, it got me thinking about the evolution of my own beliefs overtime, starting from maybe 2012 ish when I was a teenager and a pretty stereotypical left liberal sjw type. I mean most of it is still the same shit I believe today, if not a little more naive and annoying about it. I was also a raging “feminazi”, as it was called back in the day, and as many a teenage boy on the internet would label me as because I had the radical notion that women are people

I think the turning point in 2014 (if you know you know) happened as a result of overcorrecting my sjw-ness. Thinking that I was somehow “cringe” for believing in the things I did, in the manner of which I did. Thinking hey, maybe social justice and feminism has gone too far actually. Thinking hmm, maybe men have it rough too actually, and it’s all feminism’s fault. then discovering other people that thought the way I did.

Despite being knee deep in anti sjw, anti feminism, mra nonsense, I still retained most of my core beliefs. I never actually called myself anti feminist because I knew that in my heart I still supported “real feminism” (which ironically enough included men’s issues). I didn’t fall for the alt right pipeline because i have always supported lgbtq rights and racial equality. I’ve always been religiously agnostic, and I never cared for religious extremism.

Turning point #2 happened shortly after the blm movement started gaining traction. It kinda snapped me out of everything and brought me back to reality, and it also showed me the true colors of many of the anti sjw bloggers i followed. because now the mask was off, and they started becoming full on racist. It was embarrassing and I started to become ashamed that I ever associated myself with people like that.

enter the trump era. by this point i was already out of the anti sjw echo chamber and boy oh boy was i glad because this mask off moment just became a whole face transplant. no emotion could compare to what i felt seeing the beliefs I once entertained suddenly morph into the alt right movement and qanon. It felt like i dodged a bullet.

my relationship with feminism was and is complicated. I was born, raised, and socialized as female. i think it’s only natural that i feel very strongly about female centered issues. Like I mentioned before i was a naive but staunch feminist as a teenager. I remember the teacher asking a show of hands who here identifies as a feminist. I was only one of three people, in a class of majority females, that raised their hand. I remember telling my friend at the time (who, in retrospect, was probably a closeted transwoman) that they’re a fool for wishing they were born female because why on earth would you ever want to be a woman in a violently patriarchal society.

to me, the allure of anti feminism was the chance to redeem myself for harboring misandrist beliefs and not seeing things from a male perspective. but it was also the opportunity to question my own beliefs instead of blindly believing what i, as an afab, am “supposed” to believe. This overcorrection, years later, swung to the other end of the horseshoe when i rediscovered radical feminism in 2021. Prior to that moment I’ve always looked at rad feminism with disdain, even when i was still a so called “feminazi”. They were too extreme for me. It didn’t help when things like gender critical and trans exclusionary feminism were on the rise as well, which contradict not only my core beliefs but my existence. but there was something about it, something that reminded me of the same feeling i had when i discovered anti feminism. Like i was discovering forbidden knowledge. It was time to dip my toes in.

I orbited radfem circles for awhile to try to enlighten myself but it didn’t take long for me to realize that something felt wrong. It felt less like I was trying to “see other perspectives” and more like I was doomscrolling. Bad news after bad news after bad news. It almost felt like they were having a competition for who could share the worst injustices towards women. I did learn some actually useful things, like the detriments of the adult entertainment and sex industry. How “choice feminism” only benefits the patriarchy. The evolution of contraceptives. But the bitterness, the lack of empathy, the tone deafness. The last straw for me was when i saw a terf gleefully express their joy about the murder of brianna ghey, and said they wished it happened more often. It was time to get out of there.

This decade has been a roller coaster for my personal beliefs, but I think for the most part, my core beliefs have stayed the same. I still care about humanity deeply. As juvenile as it feels to say, I do just want things to be better for everyone. None of us asked to be born. Not one of us. Literally we’re all here against our will and we had 0 say on the circumstances of our birth. But we’re here, and we’re here together. The least we can do is help one another.

[dnalkaline]

I don't even know why the fuck I try anymore.

It feels like everything important to me always feels the need to be ripped out in the worst way possible.

Every time I try saving up for a vacation or to go to an event I've always wanted to go to, I end up having some kind of freak accident or health issue that makes me pay out the ass from the money I saved up and then if I can still go I basically have to walk around broke.

And the worst part is, after I nearly died because my dad refuses to ever do checkups on his car and assured me the brakes etc. were completely fine (despite that thing being a death trap), he keeps refusing responsibility and keeps going "it was fine :/// idk what happened" despite literally everyone who looked at the car report said that if I tried to drive home that night, my car WOULD have had the tie rod snap and the rusted breaks would have immediately caused me to spin out of control on the highway and probably kill me. It's like he doesn't even care. He didn't have any reaction when he was told about this. I almost started crying because he's supposed to be the "good" parent but... idk. It always feels like people SAY they care about me just to make themselves feel better but people rarely actually SHOW they do.

Being in poverty would be enough but my life just feels the need to be gut punch after gut punch. I lose inheritance that was promised to me that would immediately make my life insanely easier at the drop of a hat just bc the person (has repeatedly) decided to change their mind and sell it for themself or give it to someone else. Everyone I've ever truly loved IRL as family has been taken from me and released from this mortal coil. And now with my brain disease I'm starting to lose the only thing I ever really prided myself on- my mind.

After the pandemic made everyone's finances eat shit, nobody wants my art anymore (right when I was starting to gain some traction!) and I have to spend my time bending over backwards for a bunch of really demanding gig work that I didn't even really have a choice in doing.

I'm too disabled to work a "real" job but too mentally competent that I got denied and even if I do EVENTUALLY win it could take years to get SSI and my rights as a human being will be limited. I used to try to put my foot in the door for like webcomic startups and shit like that as a contracted worker and every single time I get hired the company goes under and I barely have anything to show for it. I want to submit to the local art gallery to maybe get my works out there and possibly find someone who wants to buy them but there's a fee to it and I just. idk.

I keep trying to make myself feel better and less "useless" by donating old stuff or giving it to friends who might need it. And usually this helps but. I don't know. I don't even know how to talk to people about this because to be honest my therapist is kind of stumped on how to help me now. Like she's trying her best and she does have good advice it's just there's only so much you can do when there are circumstances out of your control beating the shit out of you constantly. And I can't afford to be sent to the mental hospital and even if I WAS, the last time I was there was so traumatizing due to the racism and negligence that I don't want to go back.

Maybe it would be better if I had some IRL friends to hang out with more but most of the guys I would hang out with either committed suicide or I stopped talking to them because I realized that I wasn't being treated very well. I don't know what to do. My therapist assures me I'm constantly just being dealt a bad hand of cards and I'm doing my best but I don't care anymore. I hate being alive. I hate my life so much.

I don't even know why the fuck I'm writing this. I guess I just want it to be known *somewhere* that I haven't been very well for a very long time and if I just randomly disappear one day you can all probably guess what happened. I'm not going to do anything stupid tonight but I've been fighting the urge near-daily for the past few months while trying to pretend I can keep making it through. I don't know. I just want everything to stop I wish miracles were real. I hate how you can fight depression and suicide ideation for over a decade and it feels like it's never gets much better.

It doesn't help I keep having this OCD fear that I'm going to die before my next birthday and all the stuff lately is freaking me out.

I'm crying too hard to keep typing and looking at what im typing so idk if you read all this thanks ill probably feel better after a nap or something but everything just feles so fucking exhausting