#oh reader don't even know

[nenoname]

It's still interesting that TBoB called more attention to Stan's control over his mindscape (And if you go with the interpretation that the lost pages are partial truths that are heavily influenced by Bill, then he's the one insisting that only someone with training should be able to have that much control over the mind.)

Meanwhile we have a memory!Stan. Someone who apparently knows too much and is rather aware for being a simple memory.

From the Wheel of Shame, we know Bill was able dig up all kinds of dirt on Stan but... that wasn't why he was there in the first place, was it?

Bill couldn't find the code immediately despite a memory of Stan opening the safe being a few hours old at most and decided to have Mabel try find it for him (The original concept of the ep had it far more hidden but this was likely cut because of time constraints)

Ford did experiments on Stan's mind which likely meant using Project Mentem and actually looking around his mindscape, and his only reaction was to comment on his jokes-- despite what little we the audience know being enough to render us sobbing wrecks

(yes I refuse to shut up about this part cos the book's intro is extremely underrated)

Stan was able to replace his memories of Ford with the swingset instead and managed to hide Ford in his Bar Mitzvah memory. And that's not even mentioning the lack of visible Portal and Stan o' War which noticeably show up in Ford's dreamscape (the broken swingset manifesting anyway pains me tho)

He subconsciously has misdirects for his secrets that are both silly and manages to disturb everyone too

And while Bill-as-Soos being bored by the vending machine memory is a joke that's basically the crew's way of going "hey remember the thing way back in the first ep that's going to show up in the next one?" and in-universe appears to be Stan slipping up, it's interesting that they had Stan input the wrong code when it's consistent literally every other time its inputted (especially when it shows up correctly in the very next episode)

It's even possible that the safe code that Bill found could have been a misdirect too but we'll never know since the safe got blown open by dynamite.

Stan was able to buy time by making his mind blank despite being genuinely terrified when Bill enters his mind (to the point that he breaks character and uses his own voice to yell), and could conjure up his living room (in colour opposed to his mind's regular greyscale) to make sure Bill didn't have enough room to flee, slamming the door in his face before the effects of the memory gun kicked in.

(EDIT: Random door analysis here)

And maybe the twins eventually told him that Bill had already been inside his mind after their W3 reunion, but all we know was that his conscious self was left in the dark for ages and wasn't really aware of Bill until Weirdmageddon.

TBoB showing McGucket's dreamscape also brings up the idea of the effects of the memory gun manifesting differently to each person. To Stan's mindscape, the memory wipe manifests as blue flames which immediately brings to mind Bill's powers but it's a far lighter shade (maybe to more closely match the memory gun and its eventual fade to white?)

The end of TBoB and the website poem also firmly reminds us about Stan's connection to fire but there's also the question if Stan himself is actually aware of it...

[buttercupshands]

can you even call it a warm up if I'm going to bed without drawing anything big

and a sketch I made while sitting in the park today

[hoffmansgirl]

what the fuck he's actually insane?????!!!!!! my god

[yayll]

~ a little something about Beast Dazai and his coveting for you ~

If you were a burning car, he'd call shotgun. Not that he needs another reason to crash and burn, but it would be nice for him to indulge just a little for once. He watches the fireworks from the port, a contrast to his usual prison in his high rise office back at Mafia headquarters. Where you are. He can't even handle being in the same building as you anymore, not when he gets like this. He should be getting back to work, solving bigger problems that torment him on a daily basis, but you take priority Every. Single. Time. Oh, this isn't supposed to be this way.

He sent you on your way earlier after you stupidly worried about his sleep schedule, or rather his lack of one.

"... I still don't know how you manage to keep us afloat, sir."

He almost cracks a smile at that. You little idiot.

"Because I have to, of course. You all make it easier on me in your own way, the mafia supports one another. It's all one grand effort, no?"

You tilt your head, your eyes full of dreams and promise. He wishes he could take the stars out of your eyes and keep them in his pocket for a rainy day. Everyday.

"You think so? I'm not too terrible of a subordinate?"

Hmm, you want reassurance. Cute. It's not in his nature to beg, but in that moment he wants to drop to his knees, wrap himself around your legs and praise the absolute shit out of you until you kick him away like the stray dog he is.

Instead, Dazai just exhales deeply, and clears his throat. His eyes are solemn, yet solely focused on you. His voice betrays the coldness he's trying to exude, it's too soft... too reminiscent of kindness.

"... You're not terrible at all."

He holds your gaze quietly for a long moment, and he can see the way you struggle to move on from that sentiment. For a brief shining moment, you can almost see Osamu Dazai, not this pathetic void he presents everyday. He wants to lean over and hold you, to beg you to tell him that he's real and so are you, and that he's sick and tired of feeling half alive.

You end up nagging him to promise he'll get some sleep tonight, and he lies to you, a small smirk curling on his lips. It's as cruel as he can be right now. Once you're gone, he simply looks down at the mess of paperwork on his desk, and he whispers to himself, a silent mantra on his quivering lips, his face between his hands

"... I promise, I promise, I promise."

He watches the fireworks come to an end, and he thinks about himself in the context of it all, dying to find absurdity in the mundane to match his own mental state. He tugs at the frayed bandages that stick out of the cuff of his suit, he has a nasty habit of picking them every time he sees you, as if he could ever afford the luxury of having a ridiculous schoolboy crush. It's time to change them, and it's time for him to go back home. He doesn't mean his office, not his pitiful empty bed, but you. You make it anywhere home. But you are not his, and he is unfortunately yours, so maybe he will go home and sleep. You would like that, and he really likes you.

The man in black begins to walk into the night, whistling a tune as his maroon scarf billows in the wind, a faint smile appearing on his lips.

[wildsaltair]

Sunrise Smiles

Pairing: Maximus Decimus Meridius x reader

Rating: T (fluff, with a few tiny hints of spice)

Word Count: 2.5k

Tag List: @enjisbf, @nasatshirts, @empressenchanted, @streets-in-paradise, @xiscamoony, @yourloverslost, @russtybird, @saltwaterburns, @dovellici, @ay0nha, @bat-gwuck, @melintowriting, @nananyang, @enhydralutris-t, @aelondrias

Author’s Note: I'm back with more obsessive tenderness and passion for my beloved husband Maximus :) I've been looking forward to sharing this one — it's short but really sweet. This one takes place sort of after "Tender Fires," in which Maximus escapes the execution attempt and ends up at reader's farm, where they fall in love and after much mutual pining finally become lovers. This is another favorite of mine, and I hope y'all enjoy <3

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

You have been lovers for exactly one week now, and still you are shy waking up with him in the mornings.

The first rays of dawn wake you both at the same time, cascading over the bed and illuminating Maximus' fine features as if he were a god. You are still amazed at the feeling of waking to find this man beside you, his arms wrapped around you and his skin wonderfully warm against yours.

This morning, you wake with your back pressed against his front, one of his arms thrown across your waist and his face buried in your hair. You can tell he is awake by the way he shifts you to fit against him more easily, but he seems content to lie still for a few moments while you wake up.

This entire arrangement is so new, so foreign to you. During the day when you go about your chores, you can’t help blushing when your mind returns to the night before, remembering the passionate way he makes love to you. Even now, enveloped in the warmth of your bed, the idea that this is real life almost seems impossible.

Once he has shifted you where he wants you, he inclines his head to one side, just far enough that he can kiss the side of your neck tenderly. You can feel him smiling against your skin, pulling you infinitesimally closer to his body.

And this is the most unfamiliar aspect of it all: this next-morning affection. There is no embarrassed separation after you are finished, no leaving in the middle of the night to escape awkwardness. For this man, lovemaking is only one part of the way he demonstrates his affection for you.

Slowly, almost lazily, he continues to press soft kisses against the curve of your neck, following a trail down your shoulder. Your skin tingles at the sensation, and you can’t resist a smile that you try to hide in the pillow.

He must catch your amusement, because you can feel his own smile widening as he kisses the back of your shoulder. His short beard prickles against your bare skin, eliciting a giggle from you that prompts him to tighten his arms around you and bury his face in the crook of your neck, laughing with you.

Neither of you is laughing at anything in particular — just giddy at being able to demonstrate your love for each other — and he lifts his head enough so he can pull you onto your back. You link both arms around his neck, dragging him back down to your level, and he kisses your lips in a way that is somehow both stirring and soothing.

In the next few moments, he takes the time to kiss a trail down your neck, your collarbone, and lower. The same early-morning shyness strikes you, even in its irrationality. There is nothing he can see or do that he has not already seen or done in the last week, but the sheer intimacy of him seeing you this way, with the first rays of the sun dancing through your bedroom, makes you bashful.

Once he is satisfied that he has covered you in kisses, he props himself up on one arm to gaze into your eyes and stroke his fingertips through your hair. You can see nothing but absolute fondness in the way he looks at you.

“As lovely as you are at night,” he says in the deep, raspy morning voice that sends an instant shiver down your spine, “I think you are even lovelier in the morning.”

You can only smile at his words, still a bit overwhelmed by the entire situation. You would have thought that after a week of being lovers, you would be a bit more confident and articulate the morning after, but this man still knocks you speechless with the passion in his eyes. Especially when your body is remembering the way the night before was spent.

He tilts his head to one side as he looks at you curiously, eyes darting across your face. With a mischievous smile, he traces the back of his knuckles down your cheek. “Is that a blush?” he asks softly, fingertips trailing over your face.

You can only grin and look away in response, feeling your cheeks burning. You can’t explain why you are so overcome with shyness, but he just smiles wider at your reaction.

“Why do you blush?” he whispers, leaning forward to kiss you again between sentences. “What do you think I will see that I have not already admired?”

Your blush only deepens at his question, and both of you are smiling into the next kiss. You reach up both hands to cradle the back of his head, fingers tangling in his dark hair and earning a soft sound from him in response. He lowers himself down onto his elbows over you and deepens the kiss, his tongue stealing past your lips.

This is yet another thing that thrills and dazes you: the way he pours every bit of his intense focus onto you, exploring your mouth as if he is kissing you for the last time and trying to commit each detail to memory.

In the brief moment when he pulls away to take a breath, you reply to the question that he has probably forgotten. “If I blush,” you tell him coyly, “it is only because the memory of last night is still so fresh.”

“Is it?” he asks, clearly pleased with that answer. “Would you be interested in refreshing that memory again?”

You shiver again at the delicious promise in his words, and he wraps you snugly in his arms again, his warmth washing over your skin. He tilts his head to resume his kissing on the side of your neck, right behind your ear in the spot that he knows makes you writhe.

A moment later, when you can form a coherent thought, both hands gripping his broad shoulders, you whisper in his ear, “The day will not wait for us to have our fill of each other, my love.” He smiles against your neck, and you add, “Though I will be counting the moments until night falls and we can refresh the memory more than once.”

Still cradling you in his arms, he lifts his head and gazes into your eyes tenderly. “Would that there were enough hours in the night that I could get my fill of you.”

“I would be heartbroken if I ever thought you had enough of me,” you reply softly, fingers threading through his hair.

He sighs, the heat and sincerity in his eyes transfixing you. “A thousand nights with you would never be enough,” he murmurs, fingers flexing against your waist. He kisses you again, more gently this time.

“Then I should have nothing to worry about tonight,” you tease him between kisses. “It is only the eighth night.”

Another sound from the back of his throat, one that almost sounds like a growl when paired with his intense gaze. “Worry only that I will not let you go in the morning,” he quips, eyes locked on your kiss-swollen lips.

The heat of his skin, the warmth of his embrace, and the growing knot of desire in your stomach combine to make you yearn to take him up on his offer of refreshing your memory right here and now. “This may be the first time I have ever loathed my farm,” you admit, arching your back in a stretch and tightening your hold around his neck.

He grins in response, kissing the corner of your mouth gently. “Do not loathe your farm,” he replies. “It needs you almost as much as I do.” One last kiss, one that conveys his deep affection for you, and he finally pushes himself into a sitting position, tugging you up with him by the hands.

“Come,” he instructs you softly, climbing off the bed and pulling you alongside him. Again, you feel the blush rising to your cheeks when you stand, the covers falling away to reveal your skin, but he just gives you a smile of reassurance.

At first, you aren’t sure what he plans to do, but he reaches for your tunic, which was folded on your corner chair, and lifts his eyebrows to indicate for you to hold out your arms. You do so, and he wraps the tunic around you as deftly as if he has done it a hundred times. He certainly has seen you do it enough times.

He fiddles with your belt for a moment, tying it backwards, then correctly while you watch. Occasionally, he lets his eyes flit up to yours, the corners of his lips turned up in a subtle smile.

The sheer tenderness of his action melts your heart, especially since you know he is not purposely seducing you in this moment. He is simply enjoying your presence, engaging in your normal morning routine of putting your clothes back on after a night spent otherwise.

When he finishes tugging the knot in your belt, you almost shiver remembering the way he untied it last night — carefully, methodically, but with the utmost intensity and purpose.

Now that he has finished with you, you decide to follow his lead, picking up his tunic from where he had draped it across the corner of your bedside table. He grins when he sees that you are reciprocating his actions, and he helps you shrug the tunic over his head, thoroughly tousling his hair in the process.

His tunic a simple one, the kind that is soft and comfortable and laces up at the neck. Naturally, the strings hang loose thanks to your quick untying work last night, leaving his neck exposed. With a short coy smile, one that belies the color in your cheeks, you lean forward and press a kiss to his collarbone, which is something you have quickly discovered that he likes.

Before you have even lifted your head, both his hands are on the sides of your waist, gripping you with the restrained strength that makes your blood race. You can see his chest rising and falling more rapidly, feel his fingers flexing into your ribs, but he doesn’t lose his self-control, just allows you to continue.

Carefully, you lace up the cross-ties on his tunic, your fingers brushing his chest occasionally. You are consistently amazed at how warm his skin always seems to be, no matter the temperature. And if his skin is not warm enough, then the heat in his gaze certainly is.

When you finish lacing his tunic, you again copy his actions and reach for his belt. His is more complicated than yours, with several sets of straps and buckles, but you make short work of it, standing closer than necessary just because you enjoy the way his breath catches each time you brush against him.

His hands are still pressing into your waist, and you slowly slide your own hands up his chest, eyes wandering over him ardently. He almost seems to be straining to keep from performing his usual activities in this room — sweeping you into his arms, undressing you, and setting your skin aflame with his mouth and hands — but as always, he masters his desire and lets you move your hands over him without resistance.

Sliding your hands over his skin, even through his tunic, is a continual reminder of the scars that cover his body, a constellation of marks that you have committed to memory by now.

Your hands continue their path upwards, smoothing across his broad shoulders, which tense under your touch. His dark eyes are locked on your lips now, his eyelashes a lovely contrast to the color of his skin. He swallows thickly, as if to suppress his thoughts, when your hands glide up to rest on both sides of his neck.

You can’t resist a giggle when your gaze falls on his hair, still thoroughly ruffled from the night before. He snaps out of his trance and smiles with you, not understanding what you are laughing at.

Without a word, you comb your right hand through his hair, marveling at how soft and silken it feels against your fingers. He actually closes his eyes at your touch, the softest breath escaping his lips. You can practically see the tension in his muscles relaxing, the hardened edges of his face softening.

How easy it is to forget that this man is still a stranger to a gentle touch, a tender embrace. His own touch is so light sometimes that you can almost forget his strength, that his hands are powerful enough to rip flesh from bone.

Seeing the look of utter calm on his face, you comb your fingers through his hair very slowly, dragging along his scalp in the way you know he enjoys. You thread your fingers over his temples, behind his ears, down the base of his neck, transfixed by the way he melts into your touch.

When you pause your stroking for a moment, he does not open his eyes, but rather leans forward a few inches, hands still gripping your waist. He touches his forehead softly against yours, as if he is simply breathing in your essence in this quiet moment.

“You are the first peace I have ever known,” he whispers to you in a voice that you know is reserved only for you.

And this, this, is what is most wonderful and unfamiliar of all — to have this man’s heart so completely surrendered to yours. He is not merely your lover or your bedfellow: he shares your heart, your home, your entire soul. Every night when he makes love to you, he whispers over and over that you are his saving grace, that he has waited his entire life to feel your heart beating in time with his.

This moment, feeling him quiet and still in your arms, his face touching yours, his soul laid bare before you, brings the familiar welling of tears to your eyes. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you draw him as close to you as you can and whisper the only words that come to your mind in this moment: “My love.”

His strong arms wrap around your waist a moment later, lifting you onto your toes and pressing you against his body. The morning sunlight filters through your window, sending soft beams of light to frame the two of you in your embrace. His lips touch your temple in the gentlest kiss, and you hear every unspoken word in the rhythm of his heartbeat against your chest.

The sun continues its usual climb into the sky, but neither of you takes a bit of notice. You are holding your entire world within the circle of your arms, and you are completely assured that the man you love is delighting in the same feeling.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

More of my fanfiction if you're so inclined :)

[zorrasucia]

Congrats on 300💕 & thank you for your fics

Sooo many prompts that it’s hard to choose, but these spoke to me, but whatever inspires you most:)

Carmy x reader

❛ say you want me, and i’m yours. ❜

❛ you look like you were jealous. ❜

❛ there’s so many things i wanna do to you. ❜

Hi, Anon! Thank you for reading 💜🥺

I chose ❛ there’s so many things i wanna do to you❜ for a established relationship Carmy x Reader phone sex moment 😉 I hope you like it!

"Hey."

"Carmy," you replied sweetly. You had rushed to call him as soon as you read his text. are u awake? "Can't sleep?"

He let out a sigh. "Long day."

"Bad day?" you asked.

"Busy. And everyone was acting like a fucking asshole, even me. Especially me," he confessed. In the background you could hear the tattletale crack of aluminum foil and plastic as he popped some chewing gum.

"Trying to quit smoking again?"

"Always," he mumbled.

"Are you actually trying to quit for your palate and whatever or are you avoiding Richie?"

"What do you mean?" he replied a little defensively.

"Well, you usually talk with him during your smoke breaks. And... I don't know, he understands you. Maybe you don't want that right now," you guessed.

There was a long silence as Carmy took in what you said.

"How do you do that?" he asked abruptly.

"Do what?"

"See through all my bullshit," he explained. "I didn't even- I mean holidays are the worst and he'll definitely talk about Mikey at some point and how I didn't come home enough-" he paused. "I just don't want to feel like that again, you know?"

"Maybe talking with him can help," you said. "Maybe he feels like shit about it too. You both miss him, right?"

"Yeah..."

"You can't avoid him forever, Carm."

"I know," you heard him sigh. "Fuck, I miss you."

"Miss you too, baby," you replied softly, lying back on the bed of your childhood bedroom. "It's only a few more days."

"Are you having a nice time?" he asked gently.

"Yeah, it's, uh... Holidays with family are always a little weird, right?" you shrugged. "Got you a present, by the way."

"Yeah?" you could hear his smile.

"Yeah. Top secret," you giggled. "I also bought lingerie on discount - I don't know if that counts as a present for you or for me."

"Fuck," Carmy sighed again. "I already said I miss you. You don't need to say shit like that."

"There's a long weekend coming up," you appeased him. "We can make up for lost time."

"There's so many things I wanna do to you," he rasped.

"Yeah?" you tried to hide just how flustered his voice was making you. "What kind of things?"

"Fuck, baby..."

You could picture him laying on the couch, head over the armrest, blushing.

"Come on, I want to know," you encouraged him, you could only hear static for a little while. "It'll be fun. Like a wishlist but sexy," you teased. "I can touch myself while you tell me."

He coughed - you had taken him by surprise. You had surprised yourself too to be honest, but it was exciting and oddly liberating to only listen to him, the way his voice and breathing betrayed his emotions.

"You're going to kill me one of these days," he said after he recovered from his coughing fit.

"You don't sound too upset about it," you commented. You didn't pressure him - if he wanted to forget the whole thing, you'd let him.

He took a deep inhale. "I- uh- I wanna eat you out."

You let out a shaky exhale, a familiar warmth in your belly as you thought of Carmy between your legs.

"How?"

"I want you to sit on my face..." he said.

"Fuck, Carmy," you inhaled sharply, your free hand going into your underwear, touching your folds and finding them damp already. "I would love that. Fuck. Your tongue always feels so good on me."

"The way you taste. Fuck," he panted. Was he touching himself too? "I always end up with my face covered in you. My chin, my nose..."

"I love when your nose- Fuck, I think about it for days. Just your pretty nose making me shake and moan," it was so easy to tell him embarrassing truths when your fingers were playing with your clit, making you roll your eyes.

"Jesus," Carmy groaned. Oh, he was definitely touching himself. "I'll make you cum like that. I want your thighs shaking around my face. I want to hold you with both hands while you ride me, use me."

"Fuck," you moaned, your pussy clenching once around your middle finger, the heel of your hand pressing on your clit.

"What do you want, baby? What do you want to do to me?" there was an urgency to his voice. You liked him like that, a little needy.

"I want to touch your cock, make you feel good with my hands-" you said, putting a second finger inside you and moaning.

"Yeah," he was breathing heavily into the speaker.

"I want you to beg for it, Carm," you confessed. "I want to make you feel so fucking good and stop right before you cum. Just keep going until you can't take it anymore."

"Holy shit," he gasped. "And then? After I beg?"

You started fucking into your hand, writhing on the bedsheets.

"After you beg, I'll give it to you," you said simply, hearing as Carmy groaned lewdly. "Let you fuck me however you want, as hard as you want. You can cum as long as you cum inside me."

"Shiiiiit," he keened and the sound took you right over the edge, pussy fluttering around your fingers as he let out low grunts. You pictured him, face red and hair sweaty, eyes glazed and8 breathing heavy, ropes of cum painting his stomach. You sighed, feeling electricity all over, a gentle warmth caressing your skin.

"Fuck," Carmy exhaled on the other side of the line. "You meant that?"

"Yeah," you let out a nervous laugh. "You?"

"Yeah," he replied.

"I think we have our weekend planned out, then."

[teddybeartoji]

o wait before i start posting any pics.. i was thinking that maybe.. you guys could help me liquify this gender some more by switching up what you call me.... DON'T GET ME WRONG I LOVE . LOVE LOVE LOVE WHEN YOU USE HE/HIM AND JUST OVERALL LIKE MORE MASC STUFF THAT'S SOOO MMMMMMMMMSO FUCKING GOOD like i don't get to feel that irl at all so it really does make me so happy but i've just been thinking abt TRYING to switch it up more yk? does this even make sense...... . hhhh anyway i might won't even like it and i'll want to just go back to hehim but i wanna try... JUST TO SWITCH IT UP.

[deoidesign]

Hello! I just discovered your blog and I immediately became captivated by your webcomic, but I'm unsure where to read all of it. I know it's on Webtoons, but I can see it hasn't been updated for a while, and you still post about it.

Are your physical novels just prints of the webcomic? Are they a continuation? Is the story complete? Thanks in advance!

Hi there!

Glad you found me and are enjoying my comic!

It's only on webtoons, and the story is not complete yet! We're 2/3 of the way through right now. It's currently on hiatus, and it's scheduled to come back in about 2 months!

I'll explain why it's been so long if you're curious, but also for my followers who might also be wondering about it under the cut. Sorry, it's pretty much just me complaining haha

I took a month off I took 2 months to get the books printed I took a month to prepare my next comic and I took 2 months to write the rest of the series (I knew the character arcs I wanted, but not the time periods or mysteries!!!) I've been working on actual episodes since then

I had to take some time off because of some pretty extreme burnout due to the sheer amount of work it was to draw over 800 pages and write 6 complete stories in a year and a half... I was getting sick almost weekly due to the overwork, it was really really bad honestly. I was having to work 60+ hours every week just to keep up...

The nature of the comic itself is also difficult... Each of the arcs is a complete, self contained story which can be read (ideally) without context, and my arcs need to be about 10-13 episodes each... And since I have an exact number of episodes to work with, it's even harder.

It takes a ton of planning and a ton of refinement, and working week to week with no breaks I was forced to put out second or even first drafts, so I just wasn't happy with the work I was doing... And to do that for the rest of the series? I wouldn't be proud of the work I did.

Plus... To be entirely honest, webtoon has treated me quite badly IN MY OPINION... They deprioritized me before I launched (I had to beg for more promotion, I'm not exaggerating), they outright denied me the opportunity to even ask for a raise, I don't make any money on fast pass and they pay me less than my partner makes working at trader joes. My first editor left me completely hanging, my second editor (who I loved) was fired... And they told me I wouldn't get a third season before my first season even finished. So it was just repeatedly completely demoralizing.

I'm sorry it has taken so long, it'll have been 10 months by the time I come back. But I realized... I won't get promotion either way. I won't get more episodes either way. I won't get more money either way. So to finish everything, to make it feel good, to make it something I'm proud of, I chose to take longer to make it better.

I am fully aware I will lose a significant amount of my readership for this and it might genuinely affect my career moving forward. But it's what I had to do! So I'm sticking to my guns on it, and I'm confident long term it'll be worth it. It never could have been this good if I didn't take this much time.

[fallloverfic]

I love singNsong again reminding people in Side Story that Dokja wanted other people to read TWSA (he wrote reviews and comments! It was his first wish), and he only stopped bothering because people harassed him for it. He didn't gate-keep the story. When he's avoiding talking to Sangah about it at the beginning of ORV, it's because he knows what happens when he tells people about the story, not because he's gate-keeping it from her. He notes he's not proud of his hobby (likely because he's been bullied all through his life, including for reading the thing he loves): he finds it embarrassing to talk about, and better respects her studying Spanish in her free time (learning another language is a generally accepted thing in society). He assumes she won't care or will look at him funny (or worse) for when she learns about the novel he's into.

Basically anyone writing "let's gatekeep ORV" posts because of the anime announcement or because they dislike the manhwa or some other weirdness, y'all are the villains in the scenario.

The literal climax of the story is about sharing ORV with as many people as possible. What story were y'all reading?

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

pondering my lorb

We Are All Pondering His Orbs

[nenoname]

still love how the book starts out with stan beating up the statue and taking ford's discarded one dollar bills and then ends with stan completely destroying bill and ripping up money just to spite him

[fishparasite]

i think i need to do something for my friend

[quinloki]

Canon Characters vs OC vs x Reader

Disclaimer: This is just my two cents, and my perspective on things, and I'm not trying to lay down the law for everyone. I needed to just put this to words though, in order to sleep.

I was thinking about this because of a post I saw, and some, we'll say, kind of useless comments associated with the post. Mean-spirited stuff.

Normally, in one ear and out the other, but the vibes just kicked me off down a rabbit hole of sorts an I wanted to try to put some of my thoughts to words.

First, some style vibes:

Canon x Canon Canon/Canon stories are, to me, like reading an episode of that show. I'm sitting down in front of a TV or whatever, and I'm experiencing the story As A Viewer. I like this style because I don't really have to expend much energy and I just kind of roll with whatever's happening. Generally some sort of 3rd person perspective.

OC x canon OC/Canon stories are like being on a carnival ride. I'm sitting in a car on a roller-coaster, and maybe the OC is sitting next me. I'm experiencing the story more deeply than strictly canon stories, but my connection with the OC is no deeper than say, my connection with Katniss Everdeen when I read The Hunger Games. Sometimes 3rd person, sometimes first person.

Reader x canon Reader/Canon (or Reader x/ OC) is like putting on a VR helmet. I don't get much physical input about the "Reader OC" because I'm experiencing the story through their eyes. I don't expect the reader to be me, but there's a bigger feeling of immersion to be had. Some description might happen cause it's relevant to the story, and it's still a type of ride, I can't jump the rails on the roller coaster, after all. (Even with a VN you still follow the tracks). Sometimes first person, sometimes second person (I'm partial to 2nd person perspective, but that's just me).

I love Fan Fiction, I love it. All of it, and man even more than anything, what I love is that I'm going to dislike 80% of it. Because that 80% was written for someone who is not me. (Hell, that number's probably closer to 99% if we're looking at ALL fandoms, but I digress).

Second - The VENT:

What got me the most in the post that prompted this, was someone saying "Bring back the Mary Sue OCs!" and then they went on to describe something more detailed, and I just -

Look, respectfully, fuck you.

The point is, you're not going to be happy no matter what. Whether it's "mary sue" OCs, or x readers, or alternative universes, or a ship you don't like, you're going to find something to be unhappy about.

Cause people have been bitching about all styles of fan fiction since the first "You've Got Mail" chimed in 1991. And until 1998 and ff.net you really had to hunt for it, and until 2007 and Ao3 the idea of tagging a fic for any reason wasn't really a thing. Every click was a surprise! \o/

I just have seen the same song and dance a dozen times. It's exhausting. People become okay with OCs and decide x readers are the enemy, and before that OCs were *all* Mary Sues and cringe and people who made OCs were the enemy, and before OCs people who wrote even a little OOC were the enemy, and people who wrote AUs were the enemy, and you can write fan fic but it HAS to be Canon Compliant, and everyone MUST be in-character at all times - "They would not fucking say that" was the enemy.

Look, just please - please - in any capacity, stop it with the "All X style of story telling is crap" mindset. There's over a dozen different ways to do x readers alone. I know 20 x reader writers and I don't think any of us have the same style, preferences, or vibes.

I've had a lot of comments along the lines of "I thought I hated x readers, but I really loved this." on a few different fics I've written. Sometimes it's not the style of the fic, sometimes it's the style of the writer, and my Brother In Christ - you're going to have to read some awful shit to shuffle through the thousands of writers out there to find the vibes that resonate with you.

Ostracizing entire swathes of fan fic because you need something to be "The Enemy" so you can lift up something else, and then bitching you can't find anything new to read seems like a personal problem.

And I know y'all are scrolling by TONS of posts that don't interest you, every day, as a matter of course. So don't give me that "clogging up the tag" BS, because we deserve to be here same as anyone else in the fandom.

[ravencromwell]

The poem evokes human greatness and human vulnerability. People are “godlike” in their courage and skill, but even the greatest mortals fall and clutch the dust between their bloody fingers. The beautiful word minunthadios , “short-lived,” is used of both Achilles and Hector, and applies to all of us. We die too soon, and there is no adequate recompense for the terrible, inevitable loss of life. Yet through poetry, the words, actions, and feelings of some long-ago brief lives may be remembered even three thousand years later.

--Emily Wilson's introduction to the Iliad

[not-poignant]

OMG, I literally found your Astarion/Raphael fic yesterday, desperately looking for something like it. So happy someone else had the same brain worms as me XD

I was wondering if I could pick your brain a bit about what kind of direction you think you will take the fic? I was wondering if you had any plans in your head or if you are just following the vibes so to speak.

Especially with Raphael being in the pairing, I wondered if this is more of a "It turns out they are actually good for each other" kind of thing or more of a "Astarion has to find out what his life is going to be now/get over some things and Raphael will enjoy every second of making him squirm" kind of thing.

In any case, I am looking forward to reading more, thank you :)

Hi hi,

So I guess answering this would kind of be talking about really end-game spoilers, but I also don't have a plan for this story beyond Astarion/Raphael, and 'hopeful ending.'

(I mean I do have more than that, I just don't know how much of that I want to reveal at this stage, when it's only chapter 5, and this story could easily be over 40 chapters long - there's a lot of potential for change and growth that could alter the trajectory of the relationship in a lot of different directions.'

What I will say is that:

I do not consider Astarion giving into a regular non-consensual situation and just accepting it and making painful peace with it, a hopeful ending type situation. Agency is important to me in my characters. Even if he one day decides to voluntarily submit to scenes he doesn't love - that would at least be a choice. Anything done while under contract with difficult consequences will not be where the hopeful ending happens.

It's an Astarion/Raphael story, therefore the hopeful ending will be an Astarion/Raphael ending. That's just how my brain works. It will not be a 'they break up and THAT'S why it's hopeful.' However, the end may not have a conventional looking relationship. And I've written unconventional endings in relationships before (like Stuck on the Puzzle)

For me, a hopeful ending (as opposed to a happy ending) means that we have to have confidence in the idea that Astarion's life will continue to improve and get better even after the story has ended. There's now enough evidence that he has enough enrichment and potentially for happiness in his life, that he won't downward spiral like he has in the same way again. This means he needs - more support, more healing, healthier avenues for communication even if the relationship isn't healthy overall all the time/every second, and some pretty big personal realisations about what he wants in life. Hopeful ending is both 'better than where we found him, but also genuinely, when most people think on the last chapter, they think 'he's got some ways to go in healing, but I really think he's/they're going to be okay'' not just physically, but also emotionally, spiritually, mentally.

Those are the things I'm happy to reveal because that's how I feel about almost all of my hopeful endings. That's what that means to me.

I do think Raphael and Astarion can actually be good for each other, but I think we're missing huge pieces of the puzzle as to why that's true. Because we're missing so much of Raphael's post-death story, because he's deliberately hiding it.

But we'll find out more soon. At some point, High Inquisitor Verillius Receptor will visit, and then we'll find out a lot more, lol.

(Also yeah this story will be long, easily I suspect around 150k in length as a baseline - we're on an emotional journey folks! Sometimes the growth will be healthy, sometimes it'll be negative, we're going in all the directions lmao).

[inaris-mage-of-storms]

There are a few posts floating around with lots of love and encouragement for artists and writers, but can we take a moment to say thank you to all the beta readers and editors out there? Y'all are incredible. Your services are invaluable and I love you so very much. 💙