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asterafroditis · 3 months ago

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𐔌 . ⋮ be my valentine? ♡ .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☓┆Third Years x gn! reader

𓏵 1026 words

ᝰ.ᐟ headcanons, no pronouns used, fluff, a bit ooc(?)

First Years are done! Second Years are done, too! feel free to like, reblog, or comment!

ᝰ.ᐟ masterlist

I think Cater would act like Valentine’s Day is just another excuse to flood Magicam with cute posts and aesthetic gifts. He’d play it off like it’s all for the fun of it, saying things like “Gotta keep up with the trends, y’know?” But deep down, he actually cares a lot about making the moment special for you.

His gift would be trendy and well-presented, maybe something sweet with a cute aesthetic, but if you look closer, there’s an extra personal touch—something that shows he actually put thought into your tastes. If you bring it up, he’ll wave it off with a playful grin, but there’s a rare moment of sincerity in his eyes.

"Aww, you really think so? Heh, well, I guess I did put a little extra effort into this one. Don’t get used to it, though! You’re just lucky I’m such a generous guy—ahaha!"

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I think Trey wouldn’t make a big fuss about Valentine’s Day, but he’d definitely prepare something nice for you. He’s the type to keep things warm and genuine—no flashy gestures, just something that shows he cares.

His gift would probably be a homemade treat, something classic and comforting. He’d hand it to you with an easygoing smile, acting like it’s nothing special. But if you compliment his effort or say it means a lot to you, you might catch the faintest dusting of pink on his cheeks before he clears his throat and chuckles.

"Glad you like it. Don’t go expecting fancy things from me, though—this is just how I show appreciation. Besides, sweets always taste better when they’re shared, right?"

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I think Leona would act like he couldn’t care less about Valentine’s Day. He’d scoff at the idea, calling it a “pointless holiday for lovesick herbivores.” But despite all his complaining, he still finds a way to acknowledge it—just in his own Leona way.

His version of a gift is low-effort on the surface, like tossing a small trinket or snack your way and mumbling, “Here. Don’t ask questions.” But it’s too perfect to be a coincidence—it’s exactly what you wanted or needed. And if you press him about it, he’ll groan, pretending to be annoyed, but his tail flicks behind him in amusement.

"Tch. You’re overthinking it. Just take it and don’t make a big deal out of it… Hah? Smirking at me like that—what, you want me to spell it out for you? Keep dreaming, herbivore."

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I think Vil would treat Valentine’s Day as a day of refined elegance. He’s not interested in cheap, over-commercialized romance, but he does believe in meaningful gestures done correctly. If he gives you a gift, it’s going to be high-quality, well-thought-out, and suited perfectly to your tastes.

He presents it to you with effortless grace, watching your reaction with quiet satisfaction. If you gush over it or tell him he’s being too generous, he’ll smirk and tilt his chin up, as if to say “Well, of course.” But there’s something softer in his gaze, something unspoken yet sincere.

"Naturally, only the best will do. Did you really think I’d give you anything less? Hmph. It would be embarrassing if my significant other had poor taste, after all."

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I think Rook would treat Valentine’s Day like a grand performance. He wouldn’t just give you a gift—he’d turn the entire experience into something poetic, dramatic, and entirely him. You’d probably receive a beautifully wrapped present along with a handwritten letter overflowing with romantic prose.

His excitement is impossible to contain, and if you get flustered, he only leans in closer, drinking in your reaction with an adoring smile. There’s no need to question how much he cares—he makes it very clear.

"Ah! The look of delight upon your face is a sight more dazzling than a thousand sunsets! Mon trésor, it brings me endless joy to bestow upon you this humble offering of my affections! Ahaha! Do not look away—your blush is exquisite!"

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I think Idia would panic at the thought of Valentine’s Day. He’d overthink it so much that he’d almost consider ghosting you until it was over. But after an entire night of agonizing over what to do, he’d finally settle on something—probably an item related to your interests, carefully selected after hours of research.

Of course, he’d struggle to actually give it to you. He’d probably send it through Ortho or leave it somewhere with an awkward note. And if you dare bring up how sweet it is, he’ll go into full meltdown mode.

"I-It’s not a big deal, okay?! It’s not like I stayed up all night picking it out or anything—ahaha—oh, Great Seven, this is so cringe, I wanna bury myself alive!"

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I think Malleus would find Valentine’s Day fascinating. It’s a human tradition he’s never properly experienced, but once he learns about it, he takes it very seriously. He approaches it like an ancient ritual—deeply thoughtful, highly ceremonial, and just a little too intense.

His gift is something extravagant—maybe a rare artifact, an ornate piece of jewelry, or something imbued with a hint of his magic. He presents it with all the solemnity of a king bestowing a royal favor. If you tell him he didn’t need to go all out, he looks genuinely puzzled.

"Why would I not? This is a day to express deep affection, is it not? A mere trinket would not suffice for one as precious to me as you."

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I think Lilia would be completely unpredictable about Valentine’s Day. One year, he might go all out with the most extravagant (and mildly terrifying) gestures—singing dramatic love ballads outside your window at 3 AM. The next, he might hand you something utterly chaotic, like homemade food of highly questionable origin.

But beneath all his mischief, there’s sincerity. If he gives you a genuine gift, it’s something deeply personal—maybe an old keepsake with sentimental value or a charm infused with protective magic. And if you call him out on how sweet he’s being, he only grins.

"Fufufu! Did I surprise you? Valentine’s Day is so much fun! Now, come, my dear—shall we dance under the moonlight, or shall I prepare another culinary experiment for you?"

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olderthannetfic · 4 months ago

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Hi OTNF and everyone,

I am finding that it's harder and harder and harder to get into anything - book, show, movie... most things seem, you know, to just not be doing it for me, be it fanfic or original stuff.

In part, I think, it's a general restlessness and that it's become harder to give anything enough time to get into the stories, the characters, the settings, the narrative voices... I guess you can call it attention deficit on my part, just a need for stories to deliver those sweet, sweet hits quickly, but they're not.

I'm not currently ficcing but I did for years (might again in the future, who knows), and it's made reading, specifically, harder. It's like I've become more aware of what goes on behind the scene, I guess? I feel like I can see the writer giving up on a sentence, skipping a scene because fuck this, trying hard to not repeat a word although it's the only one that fits, etc.

Or maybe it's just the *everything* around us in the world that is weighing on me too much? I could say it's adult life, but then again I have more free time than most (and boy do I need hours of doing nothing to survive the other hours), and no family/partner (all that would put even more pressure on me): what is wrong, to make everything so UGHHH?

I feel like I'm stuck in a rut with a brain moaning feed me, feeeed me, and whatever I try to give it, it spits everything out. (Yes, I've tried hobbies, and nothing sticks there either. I've never really found rewards or satisfaction there, so...)

Decades ago as a kid, I was a voracious reader, although studying literature took the pleasure of it away from me. It took time and discovering fanfic that brought me back to reading, but at the time the internet was starting to be a thing, too, and it can't have helped the attention thing. AFAIK I'm not ADHD but then again, I couldn't get a proper diagnosis (the therapists I saw were either dismissive or just about The Talking, which was pointless for me).

I just wonder how it all disappeared, you know? Sometimes I find something that catches my attention for a while - a book (but I read quite quickly when motivated), a fandom... but it's been a while now, and it's just so frustrating! When is it going to come back? Will it ever? *gulp*

I know that books were escapism when I was a child, and then fandom was escapism, but at the moment I find myself grabbing at air and my empty hands are mocking me. Give me my escapism baaaaack!

So, uh. Anyone here with me?

Yes.

I felt like that during part of lockdown. Anhedonia is common in those kinds of circumstances.

Getting your mojo back is certainly possible, but you may need to go see a professional about depression and have some chemical assistance (yes, even if you don't feel sad per se), or you may need to change your lifestyle to one that doesn't have the thing causing you to need eleventy billion hours of downtime.

Aside from serious interventions like that, you can consider a social media detox. Remove every source of doomscrolling and time wasting of that type. When the attention span is zero and nothing brings joy, the tiny and useless hits from finishing a game of solitaire or seeing one more instagram post become very attractive. This is a trap. It will suck what little energy and joy you have and make your muscles flabby for the work of getting into an in-depth book/hobby/experience.

I know the feeling of being able to see how the sausage is made, but... well... first, being in a better mental state will make that matter less, and second, reading prose that is more competent will make that less of an issue. A lot of mainstream tradpub genre fiction is not, in my opinion, very well written these days. Obviously, people are still enjoying it, and that's fine, but if you're noticing writers fumbling around, it might be time to check out some literary fiction or some other category known more for prose quality than anything else.

It's also important to have some structure and some things to look forward to. Even if you feel tired, overwhelmed, and busy, sometimes, the answer is to do more... But it must be things that are distinct and significant and that get you off of the couch, like going to one museum every weekend.

I saw some advice once about this kind of thing that phrased it as "One big adventure; one small adventure."

Every week, you should have those two things to look forward to that matter. Check out a new coffee shop. That could be the small one. Go to an event: a gallery opening, a concert, whatever.

Physical exercise and doing some things that aren't as verbal and conscious thought-involving is important too. Painting is a better hobby for zoning out than writing is. Taking long walks in nature is good for most people.

The kind of intense, obsessive love I had for reading as a child and that I sometimes have for fandom requires a lot of attention and some time. It's escapist, but that masks how much work it actually was. It didn't feel like work only because we were in training.

If you've filled your brain and your day up with a thousand petty annoyances or minor and useless attempts to feel something, you won't have the capacity for those deeper things.

Because you are already at a point that's equivalent to a bad sprained ankle, trying to get back to running right now won't work. You have to stay off of the ankle for a bit, then build your strength and stamina back up.

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elbiotipo · 9 months ago

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The easiest and sure way of telling if something is written by ChatGPT is because it always has to, in whatever it writes, to wrap it up with some kind of conclusion (con un moño as I say), and it's VERY, VERY conspicous, there is ALWAYS a conclusion. It's always "in summary/in conclusion/overall/stands as a testament". It NEVER, EVER writes anything without some sort of conclusion, and even if you ask it not to, it always tries to somehow shoehorn some sort of conclusion, summary, or a moral or a happy ending (if you ask it for prose writing), it's deeply coded into it. Another thing, it is always wholesome, eager to please and sickengly optimist, like the most eager costumer service of all time (because it was designed for it and really nothing else), it is almost impossible to ask it to write anything cynical, it's really almost funny how it is.

So, vague, cynical, esoteric, incomprehensible, resentful and rambling pointless rants is the sign of something written by a real human.

#cosas mias #I believe the developers insisted hard into making it have a conclusion all the time to prevent it to rambling on #which ironically makes it hostile bland and less human-friendly to me #please do not add resentful and rambling pointless anti-AI rants here I know they are a sign of humanity but they're really tiresome #feel free to be cynical and rambling about anything else though

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aves-rook-laidir · 5 months ago

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The more I think about Davrin and his connection to Halla really makes me wish that the story talked more about Ghilanains connection to the Halla. They could have explored the way Dalish pay tribute and worship her for blessing Halla and keeping them safe. She’s known as the Mother of Halla! She was my favourite of the pantheon for that reason alone.

In the scenes with the ill and dying Halla there could have been dialogue from Davrin about how (hc) his clans Patron God was Ghilanain, and how fucked up that is now. “How much time praying to her, wasted, insultingly pointless.” Or Davrin, his uncle, or even a codex found somewhere in Arlathan saying something along the lines of:

“The mother has not come for her children. She does not love them. She had left them to die.”

“How could history be so warped to call that psychopath the mother of anything”

The mother does not love her children // she leaves them all for me // the mother cares for just herself // and her mortality

(Insp by Emily Dickinson prose)

I just think there is potential for some exploration there, especially when you give a DALISH character who is disconnected from his own culture a scene all about HALLA

#Davrin #the veilguard #dragon age #da: the veilguard #dragon age the veilguard #datv #da4 #ghilan'nain #mother of Halla #dragon age veilguard #dragon age spoilers

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pink-onyx-au · 5 months ago

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90% sure you've been asked this before but do you have any advice or resources on how to like. Plan a long term comic like this? How to write stuff out before getting to drawing and all that jazz

That’s ok! My best resource is just practice, and a tip from Rebecca Sugar about making a ‘roadmap’, basically the idea of what you want to do.

My advice for any story-maker is first know what you wanna accomplish for the comic/story you make. Do you want silly pointless action? Do you want deep topics? Both? Do you want a moral? Get that idea established first.

Once you know what you wanna do with the comic/story, plan the big picture. Point A to point B stuff. "I want protag to talk to antag and they fight, but verbal, no hitting. They agree but on one condition. Make it about X or Y" (that is literally how this comic was pieced together more or less. If your big-picture makes sense, you can fill in the journey to those points so much easier.

Once you get into the finer details, do a roadmap for the episode. Bullet points. Even write a short story. I do a mix of both. If I want something to happen but i dunno how, bullet points. If I can see the story already? I just write it down with prose and all.

Then, STORYBOARDS~

My sketching process is a hot, steaming mess, but that is because I sketch just to get the vibe, not perfection. I go in with the idea that it can -always- be changed.

This is episode 13 as we speak. I just finished sketching all the positional stuff so I can start putting the dialog in. Making sure it visually fits. If it doesn’t, then I’m not editing a huge picture into something. It is still flexible.

After this stage, I draw my roughs, then my lines, then color and background, and then post! I like to work on a whole episode at 1 time for consistency purposes and if I go ahead 4 pages I can look back and go ‘Ah crap the cup is in that frame but i forgot it on page 9’ or "oh shoot he isn’t supposed to have his jacket in page 12 because he got rid of it in page 3" long before the episode goes live.

Hope that helps!

#pink onyx au #mun mumbles #how to comic #comic making

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balladccr · 2 years ago

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“You’ve got it all wrong.”

He had to say that. Immediately. Before he gave himself any time to think about the words like daggers on Childe’s tongue, cutting, slicing, digging deep with a poison Scaramouche wouldn’t notice until it had fully sunk in. Down to the marrow of his bones. In the space of a breath—or not even that much—he’d bit back in this neverending (and, pride allowing, pointless) war between them, silently noting the hitches in the Eleventh’s breath and satisfied…

—but not for the reasons he should’ve been. Not because he wanted Childe to hurt. Not because he wanted him to feel low and desperate (like him). He wanted...

He wanted him—

No you don’t. You don’t want any of this. Get a grip. Move on.(You’re good at this; you’re used to this.)

Don’t find comfort in places it shouldn’t be.

A breath. The Balladeer forced himself to return when he was needed most. Bury that weakling so deep he can’t come crawling back up.

“I’m having a hard time believing I’m the scared one here,” he sighed, steering his tone now into utter boredom, a lack of interest in wherever this conversation decided to go next. (Yet here he was. Still having it.) “The Fatui was a resource. A stepping stone. One of hundreds that can easily be replaced. Just like they’ll find a way to replace me; why should I care?” He didn’t. At all. Though he kept having to remind himself, didn’t he…?

Stay buried. Stay buried. “You’ve been tossed aside again”— I know! And I don’t care!!

The next unsteady thing that came out of him was a laugh. It rumbled first on naught but air, then lifted, riding high on the roof of his mouth and fluttering out on broken wings. “You’ve been lost ever since the Abyss spat you out, Tartaglia.” Scaramouche finally moved closer to him. Close. Because for another inexplicable reason, there was an intoxicating pull against which he could not fight. Despite the animosity, the friction burning in the air between them.

He looked directly into his eyes, toe-to-toe, and searched him. Quietly. The mocking simper slowly slipped away, but his lips remained parted.

Breathe.

“Why…” That wretched thing that wasn’t supposed to exist squirmed and lurched in his chest. “Why can’t you ever just give up and walk away?”

That feeling of wrongness grew with Scaramouche's every excuse and insult: a bitter, disgustingly familiar taste on his tongue. They'd been down this same path once before. Two angry and broken souls fighting against feelings they shouldn't have, against emotions they didn't want. Refusing to acknowledge any of it for so long that, even once backed into a corner, they had no idea how to begin to try.

Scaramouche spoke as if it had all been transactional. Each side benefiting from the other—nothing more. Clash two blades together and you're bound to get sparks; that's all any of this was ever supposed to be. Which begged the question of what the hell was Childe doing here?

His lightless heart couldn't articulate the answer. But, perhaps, his reason was the same as the Balladeer's had been after the Geo Gnosis had been recovered.

If they were nothing alike, how had they both succumbed to this same infection of softness and weakness in hearts that were hardened against such things? None of this was what it was supposed to be anymore. They both knew it just as much as they both hated it.

Scaramouche had said that he didn't need the Fatui. So why did it sound like he meant...Why did it feel like he meant...?

Why did Childe care either way?

If the Abyss had robbed his heart of light, of feeling, then why hadn't it stolen his heart's ability to hurt, too?

The urge to retaliate forced him to grit his teeth. When he uncrossed his arms, it was so he could fist his fingers against that feeling—not because the Balladeer's coldness had struck a nerve. He reminded himself that fighting now wouldn't be any fun. He was already weak. It wasn't worth it. Why don't you want to hurt him back?

Oh, but he would.

"If you really think I'm the one who 'needs' the Fatui, the Traveler must've hit you harder than I thought," he sneered. "Who else do you have without us, hm? You don't have friends or a family. All you've ever been is a plaything to be passed around. The Shogun, the Tsaritsa, Dottore—one after the other, they all got tired of you eventually. Who even are you without someone pulling your strings?"

He didn't believe any of this. Childe was the one person who was here, after all. The Scaramouche he knew didn't, either. But he kept pushing. No mercy. C'mon, where's that fire of yours? Where's that fight that I lo—

This was exactly why Childe had mastered all types of weapons. He would draw blood with words if that loathsome weakness filling his hollow heart wouldn't let him do so with swords.

His next breath was ragged with the effort of forcing it out from his constricting chest, little more than a growl between his teeth. "All that you 'considered' is that you've been tossed aside again. You're just running away because you're scared that if the Tsaritsa and Dottore don't need you anymore, maybe none of the Fatui do."

In the absence of blades, his eyes were just as sharp. Through the rage and the ache fueling it hotter, he knew he'd exposed a hint of that festering weakness within himself—and now, his piercing gaze raked over Scaramouche's face, desperate to carve him open and put them on equal ground. "But yeah, sure: I'm the lost puppy who needs the Fatui."

#howthesleeplesswander #||🗲 ‹prose›#||🗲 ‹v: main›#insert all the endless screeching imaginable here #idk what else to even say at this point since we yell enough about this in discord but gfhjaongdfhajgohna #HOOWEEE GET 'IM #I AM CHEERING FOR CHILDE HERE BC SCARA DESERVES TO GET SLAM DUNKED #and the pOINTLESS ARGUMENT GOES ON 8'D #but hey i mean... give it just a BIT more time and it might finally reach a tEMPORARY ending point #but these two dumbasses have to be jerks to each other for as long as possible NFGDJJHAOGDNHJAO BOYS I S2G

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thecomfywriter · 5 months ago

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✨👾 thecomfywriter’s guide to self-publishing 👾✨

navigation post get my book, Throne of Vengeance! TNV anthologies ToV community!

hi, fools! this was long overdue. forgive me—i got distracted. anyhow! welcome to the official guide to self-publishing, as requested by satoh (@@satohqbanana). i’m going to give you tips based on my own process, but by all means, feel free to deviate and add/remove steps for your own process. some steps are mandatory though. no skipping 😤

okay i’m not going to yamble too much, lets get into it.

1.0 finishing the draft

2.0 the editing process (copyediting vs line editing vs beta reading)

3.0 the latent period (!!!)

4.0 pre-publication marketing

5.0 the cover + blurb

6.0 the final read-through

7.0 pre-orders and marketing

8.0 publish!

1.0 finishing the draft:

stop procrastinating and write, dodohead. words on the page. it doesn’t have to be perfect. you don’t have to agonize over that one line for an entire afternoon. stick to the vision and get the words on the page.

if you’re wondering why i’m saying it doesn’t have to be perfect when we’re talking about publishing a (hopefully good) book, it’s because there’s still the editing process later down the line to worry about typos, grammar issues, beta reader feedback, and all that jazzy good stuff. right now, you need to have your vision and get it down. this isn’t your polished copy. but you need to have your draft completed before you go anyways. so stop moping over whether “elucidate” is the word you want to use in that sentence and finish the sentence.

lol. with love <333

2.0 the editing process:

now you can worry about elucidate and its purpose in the sentence. the editing stage has many sub phases. copy-editing and the line editing. you can hire someone to do this for you or do it yourself. maybe get a friend to help. doesn’t matter. you just have to be critical and thorough. no sugarcoating. no, “oh ill just let this slide” or “i don’t wanna be mean so i won’t give real helpful feedback” editors. proper editors who will say it as it is.

copy-editing (as i understand it) is big book concept editing:

are there plot holes? is the lore consistent? does it make sense? is it unclear? is the story even interesting? how’s the pacing? what about the characters? too many? not enough? the voices aren’t distinct? the style is inconsistent? none of the characters feel like separate or fully formed people?

this is the phase where all those questions are addressed. once the overall concepts and structure of the book has been editing, constructively analyzed, and you’ve gotten feedback for it, go back to step one and revise your draft based on the critique. you don’t move on until those big concept issues are addressed.

done? okay, now it’s time for line editing.

exactly as the name implies, you’re going line per line, word per word, and catching any typos, grammar errors, punctuation—all that jazzy good stuff. REALLY BE THOROUGH. get a fresh pair of eyes on it. hire someone. put it through an editing software like grammarly. but be THOROUGH.

do the words you use make sense? are you using british or american english? slang? are you writing too much purple prose? do the sentences flow? are you using too many commas (stop that. don’t be afraid of periods).

you really need to understand the grammar and syntax rules of the english language to do this step on your own. otherwise, get help. or learn. whatever works with your budget lol.

done line editing? great! send it to a beta reader/ a friend, a writeblr mutual, someone you hired—just make sure they aren’t dancing around feedback and they give it to you as it is. i had a friend straight up tell me one of my drafts was ass LOL because the characters voices were too blurry and she never knew who was talking. there were some slow pointless chapters and the pacing was inconsistent. thus, i went back to step 1 and revised based off her feedback and came back with another draft.

don’t be afraid of critique. you need it to grow.

3.0 the latent period:

this is where you take a step back from the draft, preferably for months, and avoid interacting with it to give your mind a break and reset your eyes. this is a huge stage because this is where i want you fools to get your copyright and isbns in order.

GET. YOUR. BOOK. COPYRIGHTED.

do not share it until it is copyrighted. you can copyright unpublished materials. technically it is your intellectual property even before you copyright it, but that little ©️ is your legal shield. COPYRIGHT YOUR BOOK.

it costs ~$60 to make sure no one can steal your shit. this is nonnegotiable. do this.

i also got an isbn for my book so i could publish it with other services apart from KDP and expand the market. hence why some people were able to buy it off barnes and noble, for example. i highly recommend.

this is also the phase i started looking at platforms i wanted to publish on/with and reading the contracts. i’m being serious. read the contracts. make sure it aligns with what you want and what you’re comfortable with. don’t skim. don’t just accept. you’re putting your signature on that, bro. read it properly.

the publishing platforms i used were ingramspark and KDP. you’re gonna need to know your book dimensions too. so have an idea so you can estimate the printing costs.

the settings i did for mine were off white, 6x9 paper with the recommended gutter margins (used KDPs excel calculator to determine) and black and white ink (no colour) to get the lowest printing cost per book. ingram spark was similar. only thing with ingram spark is you need your page number to be even (no 575–it has to be 576) and KDP has a 600 page limit. so bear that in mind.

4.0 pre-publishing marketing:

you have to generate hype for your book. now that its copyrighted, its safe to share excerpts, little quotes, make edits for your characters or oc profiles to generate an audience. i did this mainly on tumblr vis tag games and whatnot, but honestly? that's the BARE MINIMUM lol.

don't be like me. i hate social media so i honestly did not market my book the way i know i should have (and still should). i still don't market my book because lol... i dont wanna 🥲

BUT! like it said--dont be like me. make an author website (a proper one. pay for the domain if you can, otherwise use the free domain, but make a professional author platform for yourself and your biography. you'll need this to set up a goodreads author account and claim your book on there). use instagram and make an author instagram profile (i technially have one here, but i never use it lol womp womp i just hate instagram sue me) and promote your book with the teasers. go on pinterest and make moodboards or "book trailers" through a carousel of images. USE TIKTOK. i know it's a plague platform (i dont like it, clearly), but it is where you will find the most fruits for your marketing.

this stage is all about generating hype for your book. why? so when you set your book up for preorder (and, yes, you will be doing that so you have a general idea of market demand and interest), you have people who are genuinely invested and want to buy your book.

marketing ideas because apparently i'm your free publicist:

oc edits

character moodboards

quotes and excerpts

that one trend on tiktok where you give the vibe of the book and a soundtrack // song to it

oc / book soundtracks

"would you read a book about..." [list the themes / enticing tagline elements of your story] -- it's a trend on tiktok

platforms to promote your book:

tiktok (#booktok)

instagram (#books, #readers, #bookstagram)

tumblr (#readers, #bookblr, #writers of tumblr, #reading, #writers, #book reccs; don't just use writer hashtags, is what i'm saying)

wix or the like to make your website

twitter (a lot of authors have official twitter accounts. once again, i never bothered OOPS)

youtube (making videos talking about your book--the ogs of this blog know LOL-- compiling playlists, etc)

also, don't be afraid to make or commission art for your ocs. speaking of which...

5.0 the cover and the blurb

you can't avoid it anymore. you need to make a cover and write a back of the book blurb // synopsis for your book.

YES i know its hard to describe your book in a non-spoilery, enticing way. work on it. struggle through it. get help. but get it done. you can't finish your cover until it is done.

NOTE! if you are making your own cover, the dimensions are only going to be .25" longer than your page dimensions if it is hardcover. ALSO you gotta make it a pdf file. one pdf file that contains the back of the book, the spine, and the front of the book laid out as one page. this is why you need to get the blurb down.

if you're making it by yourself: play around with fonts, use canva + photopea // photoshop. add chrome, but not too much chrome. use references and easter eggs of important plot elements for your visual pieces. current book trend is text-dominant covers with interesting font and stylistic elements. i.e. tov has the title "throne of vengeance" as the main eye-catcher, in a metallic, legible but stylistic font, BUT there is the dragon ouroborous ring and the iron-rose dagger on the cover as well. the colours are intentional. the entire cover is an easter egg for the book, almost like a spoiler for those who know. make it engaging. enticing. you wanna draw readers in, but also make fans hyperanalyze and interpret the elements you chose.

another thing--you'll need to know your page count to know how thick the spine should be. so bear that in mind.

commissioning an artist may be expensive. i actually did commission someone for tov. i probably wont for the remainder of the series since this was the most expensive part for me. depending on who you get, it can range from $300 - >$1000. so just keep that in mind. i queried a lot before i commissioned the artist for my cover. and she was very in tune with the books themes, the symbolic motifs, and the general aura of the story when she created the cover. that is a good cover artist. don't pay someone if they dont take the time to learn about your book before making the cover.

resources to use:

photoshop/photopea

canva

reedsy (for finding artists to commission)

i can't think of anymore on the top of my head oops. ALSO if you're gonna use images, pay attention to copyright. you can't use copyrighted pinterest images for your covers. just saying.

6.0 the final read-through:

it should have been some months by now. time to read through your own book, start to finish, and see how you like it. catch any last minute errors, see whether you're satisfied with the end product, make any final revisions. this is the draft you're going to submit for preorder. the pdf cover will be your cover. the blurb will be your blurb.

also, in this phase, add your dedications, your acknowledgements, and your author blurb. oh yeah babes you need a headshot. i just used a picture from vacation LOL oops i dont like taking headshot pictures i got lazy womp womp.

anyways, your author blurb should describe you in a tag line (G.K> Multani, otherwise known as Naveena Khedar, is a pre-med student with a passion for writing... or something like that). then describe your credentials. have you written before? doesn't have to be same genre, but you want to represent your portfolio. list other books, articles, or journals you've written. then you as a person--hobbies, interest, etc outside of writing. finally, list your socials or where people can find you.

7.0 preorders and marketing:

publish the draft on KDP and ingram spark for preorder. announce that your book is available for preorder. it should take about a week for it to be approved and the preorder link to go live. and then repeat the marketing steps from step 4, but this time with your cover and a link to shove down people's throats :)

8.0 publish!

the date it goes live, make it an event! host a live-publish session! do something fun! have a party! do a book signing! go buckwild go crazy!

i did a live-vc session and unboxing.

oh yeah, also... while we're here. go buy/read my book.

Throne of Vengeance Official Synopsis

Buy my book, Throne of Vengeance: Volume One

Read Throne of Vengeance: Volume One PDF

lol :)

okay i have to go back to studying for exams. let me know if i missed anything.

okay cheerios bye!

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youlikefanficdontyousquidward · 6 months ago

Text

A meddling high king

Elrond x Male!Elf!Reader

Summary:High King Gil-Galad conspires to bring his herald closer to one of his guards

Just a short one while I figure stuff out for By Moonlight! I might want to do some rings of power requests soon, I have a few smutty ideas ( •̀ .̫ •́ )✧

Heavy is the head that wears the crown and Gil-Galad's head certainly felt like lead these days. With Galadriel's concerns and pointless meetings with ambitious courtiers he felt he was well justified in making a little bit of fun.

His newest project had been born of an old bit of entertainment grown stale. Despite his heralds silver tongue he had yet to woo the object of his affection. In fact as of late Gil-Galad had become convinced Elrond may not even realise his own feelings. How he could remain so oblivious was beyond him however. As every eloquent word seemed to leave Elrond in the presence of one of Lindon's guards.

Gil-Galad was fond of this guard himself, though it was an entirely platonic appreciation. He was just a very calming presence. No fawning or awkwardness under the scrutiny of his High King, just a dutiful quiet man. Though Gil-Galad was far too observant not to notice his albeit subtle reactions to Elrond's presence.

Just last week he'd watched as Elrond took notes in a meeting with a rather dull member of the court. Y/n had stood against the wall, ready for his call but Gil-Galad noted his eyes shifting back to his herald as the hours dragged on.

Then Elrond had paused in his note taking. His curls had fallen into his face, haven grown long as of late. He swept them back, his fingers splaying and running through the waves and just for a moment Gil-Galad watched his guard stiffen.

Then not two days prior Gil-Galad had spied Elrond's attempts at conversation with the man. The ellon who wrote his speeches, who prided himself on his recall of poetry and prose, now fumbled over simple small talk.

Gil-Galad believed he'd meant to make some comment on the unseasonable chill but had somehow so expertly fumbled his words as to imply his guard was standoffish and cold. Then in a spectacular display of stuttered half sentences manged to call him foolish and then trip over the low wall of the garden.

Any man would've been right to let him land face first in the shrubbery but not Y/n. He'd instead caught the buffoon and pulled him swiftly to his feet and right into his arms. Then as if he couldn't have made Elrond blush deeper he'd laughed heartily. Such a sudden and melodic sound that Gil-Galad himself was surprised it came from his quiet guard. Then to seal the deal had told the quickly reddening ellon that any day would be warmed by his company.

Yet, Gil-Galad noted, neither had made any move to begin a courtship. He supposed his guard may feel it inappropriate to engage in such behaviour with another in service to himself. Though perhaps not, as Gil-Galad had approved of many such unions in his presence. So it may be something a lot simpler though uncharacteristic of a man he'd seen leap into ravenous warg's path without a second thought.

He was scared.

Thus, as all things, it seemed to fall into Gil-Galad's hands to rectify the situation. So when opportunity struck he sent his favoured guard along side Elrond and Celebrimbor. Gil-Galad smiled into his goblet at the thought of the journey. Of Elrond and Y/n spending hours trekking together. Growing comfortable in each others presence.

He could just imagine Elrond's flushed expression when they'd arrive at Eregion. Where a Lord's duties would pull Celebrimbor from the group and leave them alone at last. Would they stroll together in the cities gardens? Take a trip past the bridge to lunch at the river banks? Could Elrond steady his heart long enough to recite a few verses?Would he come to see Y/n's admiration? Whatever they did he did not suppose it mattered, after all they'd be in each others company and that'd be enough.

#elrond x reader #the rings of power imagine #my fics #elrond fanfic #male reader

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guillotinesandroses · 20 days ago

Note

Hi i saw you have FGO in your fandoms, can i request one with arthur/saber (Fate Grand Order/Prototype) x male reader?

The reader is able to perfectly hide his growing feelings for his servant, while arthur is confused and maybe disgusted (since he is a king who comes from a different era with different ideas than the present) by his unknown feelings that he is starting to feel for his master and for this reason he begins to have a less friendly and more serious behavior with his own master. The first time he behaves like this it makes the reader confused since arthur had never behaved like this with him, so the reader asks Merlin (the female version) what could have happened. Thanks for your time.

Contains: King Arthur x Male!Reader, mutual pining, angst, internalized homophobia, religious guilt, references to Christianity, author's bad experiences with religion probably shining through, confessions, happy ending.

Note: This has not been proofread yet, please inform me of any spelling mistakes or odd sentences.

Silver Skies, Flowered Lies

When you first met Arthur, the skies became pure. Clouds enveloped the world in gentle velvet, a lustrous pearl necklace for its betrothed. His voice echoed with the warmth of a soft summer breeze and the power of a monarch. The second his melody reached your ears, your heart was pierced, and for the first time, you understood why most are so infatuated with blooming flowers. However, upon grasping their beauty at last, you also came to realize why people so bemoaned when they came across one they were not able to pick.

Arthur's light hair flows in the wind, the short locks framing his face. Muscles relaxed, his eyes trail the forest area with care yet his lips remain in a calm, faint smile. Sunlight reflects and with the evergreen leaves, delphiniums and dahlias blooming all around, it paints a picture of perfection, a classical masterpiece. The composition is one of soft hues and intentional, harsh lines, bringing out all that Arthur truly is. A traditional knight in shining armor, an ideal hero conjured from pure dreams, a benevolent ruler, a powerful and just warrior- he is all of that and more- and unfortunately, the object of your affections.

It was foolish of you to fall for Arthur, ideal prince, knight of silverly blue, yet it is undeniable he has become your muse. Although never quite the poet, your thoughts when it came to him may as well arise from an old book, a collection of poetry, of pretty prose. You could spend hours trying to describe him yet it would be pointless. There are no words meaningful enough to capture all he is, and there indeed are many things he is. However, right now in this very moment, in the quiet symphony of the woods, where he is nothing but your beloved companion, you cannot help but dream.

Locked in the midst of a casual, warm conversation, the weight of humanity's future lifts from your chest. His adoring and calm smile, the fondness in his voice, all of him lets heaven graze your skin, a taste of paradise on your tongue, yet you have never even as much as held his hand. Although unlikely, a part you hopes his thoughts travel to the same place when a small, blue bird lands on your fingers. The tiny creature tweets, pecking with curiosity and carefulness.

"I think the little one likes me." You hum with a soft smile.

Arthur lets out a warm chuckle. "Well, who wouldn't?"

Your face heats up but all you do is smile wider, flustered. "You flatter me, your majesty."

"I thought I told you before to there's no need for that title. I haven't been a king for quite some time now. If anything, you're the one with the most authority here, Master."

"We could trade. I call you by your first name, you call me by mine."

"Well, if that's what it takes..." Your name falls from his lips in a light, reverent breath.

"Thank you, Arthur. My name sounds quite pleasant when you say it."

His laugh is soft as a camellia flower. "Still, I'm not sure such familiarity is appropriate on my part."

"I assure you, if there's someone I'd want to refer to me by my name, it would be you."

The flattered manner in which Arthur averts his eyes does not escape you. "Well, who am I to deny such a sweet request?"

In moments like this, wherever your feet lead you, the Garden of Eden opens around you. No matter what violence and greed reality truly reeks of, your king, Champion of Justice, purifies all of it. It is as if the first humans never ate that fruit, blissful ignorance shrouding your battle-worn mind for a short, beautiful while. Even so, you cannot claim not to resonate with Eve. Seeking knowledge, a little more from life to accept the gift of it to the fullest- it may be a curse but all it reveals completes you, blesses the soul with understanding that once you have, you cannot imagine living without.

When you sank your teeth into that fruit, the flavors exploded on your tongue, cleaning out the lies you did not know you used to tell. Your mind cleared, revealing who you are, who you always have been. The harsh, deceitful words of others washed from your brain, ears now open to new music, sounds of being truly alive. It is not self-acceptance that is the issue here. Although your heart aches, you still refrain from confessing due to your circumstances.

This mission you are on, saving humanity, it must take priority. Realistically, there is no place for your love to flourish. He is a hero from a time passed, brought to you by mere circumstance. Eventually, his spirit will be summoned elsewhere, and when this apocalyptic mess is over, he must leave. Perhaps if you were more of an optimist you would try to defy fate, but those sort of daydreams never were your style. So, you cherish each moment as if is to be your last with the King of Knights.

Even in the heat of combat, your mind drifts to fairytales with the visuals he provides. His sword cuts through foes with the power of rumbling earth and moving continents, the ferocity of a bear. The Holy Blade strikes with the power of swift winds, of hurricanes, the raw power of the silver sky. Even in the fiercest fires of battle, his seasoned face does not change. The face of every interpretation of prince charming is replaced with his visage.

Cupid got you good, that much you cal tell. A direct, fatal hit to chest, piercing your heart. In spite of your pessimistic tendencies, you wish traveling by his side could be your eternity. However, if there is one thing you know, it is that good things never last long. As the weeks pass by, it seems Arthur knows it too.

The first time he met you, you were running for your life from a monster in jungled ruins. In the split second before rushing in to aid you, his eyes traced your clever movements with adoration. After slaying the monsters, he found himself impressed by your wisdom and ways of handling such stressful situations. Upon correctly assuming you were from the 21st century and separated from your group, he decided to stay with you. Your time together then was brief, but he thoroughly enjoyed your dry humor and witty retorts; that playful banter was something he would keep on missing each time you parted ways.

The second time you meet, a sudden rayshift brings you to him, to the edge of a ruined civilization. Far too familiar with the image of destruction, he both worries and delights in your presence. However, his offering of a talisman to shield you against the poisonous atmosphere goes unneeded. Once again you prove yourself resilient, uninjured and quick to focus on assessing the situation, thinking of a way out. As you wind up traveling together again, Arthur introduces himself properly and in spite of your surprise, a strange joy spreads through him when it does not change how you treat him.

In the midst of the violence, there are few moments for peace. Even so, something about the way you took turns cooking for one another was almost domestic. He devoured all you made, grateful but blushing with a laugh when you jokingly pointed out his appetite. A warm rush of pride sprung forth when you praised meals of his making. The grace you ate with was befitting of royalty, and he found himself comparing you to a prince, definitely worthy of becoming a king consort.

Arthur was quick to shake off those improper thoughts; he was merely admiring your manners in comparison to his in this matter, there was nothing more to it. His adoration was never kept quiet, and that was what he told himself it was. He commended you on everything you were, especially your tremendous efforts to save the world. With you traveling on a path more treacherous on his own, his chest ached when he realized he would not be able to protect you for much longer, the idea of losing such a wonderful companion wounding him. When the time came to say goodbye again, he expressed his desire to fight alongside you again, heart racing with each word before he disappeared.

Several more times your paths crossed, and with each meeting his fondness grew. Your strategical intelligence made each quest a breeze. When he withdrew himself from other servants, you convinced him to give friendships a chance. In spite of his reservations caused by the bad omen he received, he found himself enjoying the rare moments of companionship. Arthur is one for retreating into his own mind for his problems, walking away from others when he is the most burdened. In your presence this changes, and a part of him longs to give in to your comforting smile, only barely able to hold himself back from spilling over you all the colors of his soul.

His wishes- the safety of the kingdom formerly his own, the land still his eternal home, the home of his people- have been long ago entrusted to the present. From everything in the present and future he aims to protect, you and his quest take absolute priority. His wholehearted trust rests on you, his Master; this world will reach salvation.

Memories haunt him and although he does not seek to speak of them, he would not dare deny the fact were he to be asked about it. Both his bitter failures and the cherished moments gathered during his long life claw into his heart. The blood of innocents he failed to save mars his hands, burning fires and the destruction of war, they echo in his mind. In the same manner, ghosts of friends long gone whisper as they pass by him, fleeting touches from the past. They envelop him in silk, the bittersweet, empty ache of moments that will never repeat distract him from his mission, but you always find a way to bring him back, even when he finds it difficult to.

Now, after many shifts and warps, fleeting encounters, you have finally arrived at a standstill, a situation where you get to speak daily. Although initially delighted to learn more of this ally with a strong heart, lately Arthur has found himself wondering if this time spent together was in fact, a curse. Accustomed to aiding the virtuous and correcting atrocities, his heart sinks in quicksand as he realizes he has taken the role of evildoer in this story. Upon understanding this, Arthur wonders if he should set the Sacred Sword aside, no longer worthy of wielding such a divine weapon.

He is no stranger to love, certainly not to adoration. This brand of enamorment, however, burns in his lungs with a new fuel. Although love, adoration and enamorment were likely the wrong words to use. Lust is the emotion scalding the soul he has aimed to maintain virtuous and right. At best, it is a warped form of affection, infected by something wicked.

No, the fault could never be yours. Whichever devil, whether a common incubus or the demon prince Asmodeus himself, has utterly corrupted his heart. His emotions aside, Arthur more than anything needs to shield you from falling prey to the same brutal creatures. The abomination that is his lust, it must never reach, never taint you. May his blood be upon him, for if he ever were to ever yield to this soulless desire, Arthur would have himself be put to death.

A filthy dreamer, defiler of flesh, that is not what he is nor is it something he wants to be. This is what the tale of Sodom warns of, not to give into the sexual lust of a mortal after an angel, for which he should suffer the vengeance of eternal fire. The part of refusing to hand himself over to fornication is simple, easy. Not a single piece of his soul would ever be willing to hurt you. It is the gentleness that scorches him.

Hands brushing against one another, careful fingers wrapping wounds, tired head leaning against his shoulder- these are the undoing of all he is. A serpent chasing after strange flesh, the forbidden fruit, he never understood the appeal before. Now, tempted by the sweetest of apples, knowledge that will surely damn him, his form burns with the desire to drag his teeth across that smooth, red skin. Each time he flinches back as he should, reprimanding the viper for its atrocities but even more so, himself.

Arthur will not spew lies to his Master. Whether it is to protect you or not is irrelevant, deception and betrayal are unthinkable. Even if whenever he sees your figure he will need to actively fight against the smile rising to his lips, it is worth the sacrifice and effort as long as it keeps you safe. Because at his core Arthur is a protector, and protect he will, even if it means shielding you from himself.

Upon understanding the true nature of his feelings, Arthur distances himself. Nihilistic undertones infect his style of speech. His sentences are short and blunt. Conversations last only for a few, necessary words, and then he is gone. Whatever happened to him, whichever tragedy went unnoticed by you, truly changed him, in the most heartbreaking way at that.

Arthur had always been very private when it came to his personal issues. You never pushed him and still had no intention of doing so. However, this level of professionalism is brand new to you. In spite of his reservations, he had never been anything but polite and kind. Although he remained respectful, he acts now more akin to a knight assisting a king rather than a friend, understanding his position as a servant, as someone below you, keeping the formal distance the ones playing those roles should have.

Arthur's protection reverberates from a distance. It echoes from the soil, emerald grass and tall trees, standing proud. The branches still lean forward as your shield with no hesitation, no fear. However, they no longer embrace you. He guards you as a dragon his jewels; distant and focused, needing to only keep you safe, not happy.

Your expressions remain the same as he drifts away, but the smile on your lips fades. Containing your emotions and thoughts is a skill you have maintained well through the years. It has hidden your affections for the King of Knights well, and now it conceals your heartbreak in a manner that is equally impressive. Perhaps you were not as subtle as you thought and he does not wish to make the situation uncomfortable by rejecting the one he is meant to serve. Maybe some other event has led to him retracing his steps to the beginning of your relationship.

Regardless of the reason, your dilemmas have led you to the person who knows the Saber the best. In spite of the two's currently rocky relationship caused by a recent argument, the years she spent as his court magus cannot be undone.

"Merlin, I need to talk to you."

"Oh, sure thing, Master! Look, I just got done picking out the next place I wanna travel to!" The mage turns around, showing off a location on an old, dusty map. "But yeah, what did you want to talk about?"

"It's about Arthur."

"Art- ugh, why him? Can't we talk about something more fun?" She pouts.

"No, I need to know why he's avoiding me. I figured you might have an idea."

"Ah, so it has happened. Interesting, I was wondering when he would get overwhelmed enough to do this." Merlin's words are as light as ever, carefree as if observing a scientific phenomenon in real time.

"What has happened?" You step further into the tent, arms crossed to show you are not in the mood for her games.

Merlin giggles, the tips of her fingers over her lips. Her voice jingles with a teasing melody as she sings, "He likes you!"

"...What?" You freeze, then frown. "You're not trying to pull some sort of prank on me again, are you?"

"Nope! I wouldn't dare deceive someone when it comes to the matter of boys and love! Ah, I'm so glad we share these interests in common! Though I guess we won't be able to fawn over new guys together anymore, how sad."

"Complimenting the physique of others does not count as fawning." You cross your arms, trying to keep your frown from turning into a pout.

"Sure, sure, whatever helps you sleep at night! But, you wish to win his heart over, yes? Not to worry! Your older sister's got that guy totally figured out!" She winks, forming a heart with two fingers.

"We are still not related."

"It's about the vibes, as they say, little bro!"

"They do not say that."

"Oh yes, they do! Anyways, my valuable advice is this; just talk to him!"

"What if that just makes things worse?"

Her teasing giggles increase. "Hehe, perhaps you are more oblivious than you try to look!"

"Are you implying... he returns my feelings?"

"Oh, he has been head over heels for you!" Spinning her staff, she turns around. "No need to be so shy and humble, it's plainly obvious!"

"How can you be so sure of that?" Your voice rings quiet, eyes cast over the floor.

"I'm well aware of that, these bouts of uncertainty humans like to fall into." Her perpetual interested and amicable smile remains. However, bits of her true wisdom seep in through her apathetic demeanor. "Personally, I do not understand that, but I might say it would serve you better to think more highly of yourself. Arthur's not really all that complicated of a person."

"I think I'd disagree with that."

Her calm laugh is more of a chuckle now, amused by your plight. She speaks of his adoration for you as if it is the most obvious thing in the world, a fact of the universe one can objectively observe. "Even if you don't believe me and think I'm saying this just to stir some stuff up, what difference does it make? Not everything needs to be perfect, rejection is a part of life for most. Your heartache will never end if you don't resolve this, and even if he is to turn you down, the fact that you tried is more than enough."

You remain quiet for a while. "So... I should just confess and get it over with. Is that what you're saying?"

That glimpse of maturity is quick to fade away once she knows her message got through. "Yep, so just go over there and seduce that boy! I gotta run along now, I've been sitting in this tent for way too long!"

"Merlin-!" You groan as she abruptly shoves you out, but before you can complain she vanishes in a burst of flowers. Dusting yourself off with a frown, you sigh.

Unfortunately, the happy-go-lucky magus is right. This chase will never be over until you end it, since Arthur is unwilling to. Since he refuses to seek you out, your only option is to catch him off guard. Although his senses are refined, sneaking around has become one of your specialties in the midst of this disaster. Once you find him patrolling the woods for monsters, you step out to face him.

"Arthur, we need to talk."

"Has something happened, Master?"

"No, but this isn't-"

"Well, then I will be off. I shall join you again when we move forward, Master." He cuts you off and gets ready to leave again.

Your brows furrow in hurt, but you will not let him go this time. "Arthur, I'd rather not turn this into an order... but we cannot keep going like this. Please, stay and speak to me, willingly."

The knight stops, hand twitching. He sighs and maintains his composure as he turns to face you. "What is it, Master?"

"We cannot keep dancing around this topic forever, so I've decided to be as blunt as possible. I am in love with you, and I want to know if you feel the same." You struggle to keep your voice steady and swallow immediately after you finish. Nerves burning up, your mind screams at you for having taken such an uncharacteristic risk. As the knight's face twists, however, you wonder if Merlin was right after all.

"You... you are in love with me, too? I mean, that is not what I..." He cuts himself off, clearing his throat. Arthur keeps his fist over his mouth, trying to compose himself again, voice uncertain and regretful when he speaks. "I... well, I guess there's no use in hiding it, I feel the same way. However, the problem is, as you know, we are... both men."

"...Is that all this is about?"

His face scrunches and he repeats your words. "Is that all?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to sound so dismissive. It's just... why would that be an issue?"

"It's incorrect, unnatural... sinful. I wouldn't... dare bring my blight upon you, Master. You do not deserve this burden, the weight of greed."

"Is greed not about taking more than what you need? Doesn't it refer to taking things that don't belong to you? I would be more than happy to be yours."

His expression shifts, still trying to remain composed. "...You haven't changed, still as blunt as ever. That must mean you care not for the possible consequences of this."

"Why would there be consequences for love?" You approach him, hoping to ease his turmoil. "What we have been taught to do is to hold close those we care about. There is nothing more innocent than a close bond between two people."

"Is it not naïve to assume the purity we may feel is enough salvation for us? And... no, never mind. I just remembered something." Arthur runs a hand through his hair, conflicted. You finish closing the distance. As his sky blue eyes meet yours, they pool with longing, adoration, and heartbreaking guilt.

"All you want to do is protect me. All I want is to spend time with you." Brushing aside a strand of his light hair, you ask: "How could a love like that ever be sinful?"

"Protecting you, Master... it would be a lie to say that's all I wish to do." "I wish to hold you. I dream of... your lips on mine. That is hardly appropriate... a violation at best."

"Times have changed, Arthur. Back then many things were forbidden for the sake of upholding a specific kind of society, rules established for the sake of guiding people away from danger. There were many illnesses which had no cures, sexual diseases especially. The fear of damnation kept men away from one another, women from pursuing those they truly desired. Life is different now and plenty of those rules have grown obsolete, their original purposes long forgotten."

"Perhaps it is so... but I cannot help from feeling as if I am committing a grave error, falling to carnal sin. I do not wish to cause you harm, Master. It's... unfortunate things must be this way." He opens his mouth again to continue, but you step closer. One of your hands rests against his face, the other on his shoulder, and it takes all of his willpower not to yield and melt into your comforting embrace.

"I understand what you're going through. The reason I know so much... is because I endured the same. When a part of you is condemned by the world it's difficult not to give into the shame, the feeling that you are the flawed one. I tried to push it down like I was told to but I couldn't. So, I researched and researched, trying to find what was wrong with me... guess what I found?"

"What is it..?" Your name falls from his lips, hesitant and anticipating.

"Nothing at all." Your smile is soft, almost amused. "The further I looked, the more it seemed these traditions did not spawn from the will of God, but rather the purposeful misinterpretations of old texts. When you consider alongside that all of the other parts of the holy book which people have butchered for their own gain, it seems unlikely that most of it is accurate anymore."

"...I see. I guess something like that could happen," he eventually murmurs. Still, he hesitates to meet your gaze before your fingers meet his skin.

"I assure you my love is nothing but pure," you whisper, tracing his cheekbone before leaning further into his shoulder. "Though even if we were condemned, I'd be happy to burn for you."

Arthur's breath catches in his throat. He swallows, then slowly wraps his arms around your back. "Don't say such things..! I'd never forgive myself if you did."

"Even so, that's not your choice to make. I will choose to love you, even if you refuse to return my feelings. If you distance yourself again, it makes no difference. Because showing my care for you is a choice... loving you with my soul is not. My love will remain no matter what you choose to do."

Arthur is left speechless, almost breathless by your confession. His armored hands tremble, shifting against your back. Everything he has been longing for is right in front of him, in his grasp even. There is not a single move he needs to make to claim victory. The fight is not against any armed foe, his opponent raises a sword in his mind.

A man in white, stainless armor approaches Arthur. The cross painted on the man's shield glows with ethereal light against the wasteland floor. His blade ignites with the Refiner's Fire, one of love, one that frees a man from his impurities and transforms him. Arthur closes his eyes, knowing his time of judgement has come. The unknown knight brings his sword up aims for Arthur's throat.

The blade passes through his neck. What should have been a clean cut sheds no blood. Arthur's hands are clean and as he looks down, he realizes his armor is too. Confused, his eyes rise to meet the knight's helmet, but the stranger offers no response. The man dissolves as he walks into the distance, his job completed.

As soon as Arthur's eyes snap open, he suddenly grasps onto you as if you are his heartbeat. The air in his lungs, the blood in his veins, water in his body- all of it is meaningless, all he needs is you to live. His breathing is heavy as he tries not to cry. A revelation, that is what he witnessed. In the same manner your love for him is pure, his love is pure for you.

"I have committed a grave error," Arthur whispers, breath brushing against your ear.

He was never corrupting you, rather he was evading his heart in a misguided attempt to protect you. Understanding that floods him with relief as it does with guilt. The pain that rushed over him like a landslide when you were apart from him, you must have felt tenfold. He held the answers to his sudden spike in coldness and professionalism. Having been held in the dark, you must have thought he hated you which is unforgivable, one must never make someone he loves feel that way.

Fingers brushing past the skin, his lips graze your forehead. The kiss is a gentle whisper, the calmest breeze and a breath of spring, but above all, a promise. One day, Arthur will be able to bare his soul to you. He will adorn you with all the passion rumbling within him, the storm of love that both excites and terrifies him, rips him to shreds and builds him anew. He will hold you and touch you as lovers, tease and make fun of you like the closest of friends, but for now, he will move slow like a wounded warrior, too overwhelmed by the battle he fought.

For now, this is all he can be for you. Not a king, not a knight, not a hero; all he can be right now is a man. A very conflicted, relieved, scared and elated man, filled to the brim with anticipation. Whatever the future brings, he will be there to face it with you, with the titles others know him by. In this moment, however, simply Arthur all he is; your lover, your companion, the one who will one day make you royalty.

#x reader #reader insert #arthur x reader #arthur pendragon x reader #fgo x reader #fate grand order x reader #x male reader #male reader

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compendiumofdecay · 3 months ago

Text

the ink that never dries

chapter one

->t.shigaraki x reader.

it happens in instances. small, brief moments in passing. a quick hand bushing against yours, a stolen glance from across the room. and then, as if all at once, it grows outside of your control, and its formidable and terrifying, and everything you want it to be and more.

professor shigaraki is the new drama teacher. for years, the arts classes had been nonexistent for your university. lucky for you, you find yourself at the front and center of his musings, hearing him like you've never heard anyone else before. the path you walk now is a little less cold, but a little more dangerous.

cw/tags for this chapter: mental health/strained parental relationships.

tags for entire work: slow burn, professor x student, large age gaps, shigaraki (non-canon)

The room across from the music hall was barren again. For eight consecutive years and counting, not a single professor had filled the space, and dust collected heavily on the shelving units and outdated desks. A small stage at the head of the room, sat covered with the same heavy curtain that closed once, never to be opened again. Long ago, it was Drama 101. Now, it was a sad storage room, haunted by the dream of theatre.

You hadn't been there to see the crumble of the arts classes, but it was a tale many professors loved to share. Namely, the English professors, in an attempt to reverse the vicissitude of budget cuts and lack of interest. At best, their grief was enough to push back lesson times- which was something you came to enjoy.

Freshman year was difficult, especially coming from such a small town. University life wasn't anything you'd ever imagined it to be. The movies got it all wrong, there were no flourishing clubs or crazy frat parties. The sorority you wanted to join had immediately denied you after finding out your major was nothing even close to a medical degree. No, why would it be? You went and picked the black sheep of majors, the one educational path that would guarantee you a spot waitressing for the rest of your life, at most. Creative writing as a degree was an empty promise these days. Yet, you persevered, fixating on the pointless revival of prose and poetry that you, and you alone, would resuscitate. You wanted to be an author, the forty or so written and revised drafts sitting in your "portfolio" said so. Pride was a silly thing, though, so you bit the bullet and took a minor in business just in case. Maybe you could be a teacher, working twenty odd years to grasp closer to professionalism. You could tutor on the side. Children's books sold fairly well on most e-commerce and social media sites these days. You'd be able to find a demographic somewhere, right?

It would work out. It will work out, you assure yourself as you step through the doors of the main building, shoes clacking heavily on the old marbled tiles. Most night classes were on the other side of campus, which meant the other half of campus was a ghost town past 6pm. The walk was nice, though, even with winters cruel chill whispering down your neck, the snow fell softly on the green, illuminated by lampposts and moonlight. Every step rang through the empty courtyard with a resonance that reminded you of the crunch of leaves in a forest. Any prey that wanted to, could take your cervidae throat in its frothing maw as a suppertime delight. But no one you could see prowled here now, it was just you and the plumes of warm breaths on cold air.

A rustling of papers and clinking objects stirs you from your low gaze, as you watch a man approaching the 310 building, fumbling with a comically large cardboard box. The box falls almost scripted from his hands, and he throws his head back in exasperation.

Your feet move faster as you approach the mess, not sure if you're going to watch or help. But you find yourself grabbing items from the concrete sidewalks as they roll and bounce away. An antique-looking pocket watch, a mask suitable for the Phantom, and a small plush bird.

You watch as the man scrambles around, tilting the box upright and tossing stuff back in haphazardly. Gently, you offload the items into the box without saying a word. As he curses and huffs, his eyes trace up your legs, to your chest, and they meet yours. Even in the darkness, you can feel his stare. A decadent cherry color, like the juice that stains your hands in the summertime.

He stands and brushes his hands off, thanking you repeatedly. "Sorry, that box is flimsy, I just- stupid props, that's all-"

You take his warbled apology to look over him fully now. He's tall, lean. His hair is a pure white color, long and tangled in the low bun he's managed to tie it in. A tight turtleneck stretches across his frame, paired with loose slacks that nearly match his eyes. His face is the amalgamation of hurriedness and embarrassment, as he bites at the cracked skin of his lips.

"Don't worry about it, it must be stressful being the embodiment of Mary Poppins's handbag". You hold back a laugh as you glance down to the overflowing box, and he chuckles dryly.

"Well, if you ever need the time-" He rubs the back of his neck, pulling another pocket watch by its chain out of the box, "you know where to find me".

"That was a horrible joke. I really hope your major isn't public speaking". Another chuckle.

The man stuffs his hands into his pants pockets and shakes his head, "Ah, no. It was actually Drama".

"Was? Is this you, packing your things? Are you the ghost that haunts the art halls?"

He shakes his head. "No, no, I'm moving things in. I'm actually going to be teaching."

You nod with a furrowed brow, but tilt your head. "I thought they cut the funding for those studies years ago?"

"Yeah, they did. But there's been a lot of talk about an uptick of liberal arts degrees, and...I guess they have spots to fill again." The man pushes a stray strand of hair from his face and grabs the box with a huff. He turns his heel with a small gesture of thanks, heading for the door to the arts building.

"Wait, so the theatre classes are available for next semester?". Your voice falls heavily against the chill of the air, and it feels nearly desperate as he turns back on his heel with a quaint tug of his lips.

"If you're asking to be polite, then no. But if you're asking so you can play the game, then yes". The man tilts his head in a sloppy bowing motion, and sets back on his path through the doors.

You stood watching as the lanky professor slunk through the doorway, tattered box still held tightly to his chest. Next semester was only a few weeks away. You hadn't picked any electives yet, not outside of your required courses. You never found yourself a theatre person, but your current screenwriting class could be good enough background. Hopefully.

"Well, hope is a fickle thing, Miss. You're lucky you came when you did. Seems the class just had one person drop it, leaving a spot for you". The course counselor straightens his glasses on his nose, wiry frames fitting on his wiry face. He clicks a few things on his computer, prints a few things, and hands you a warm stack of papers outlining your schedule.

With a curt nod, you thank him, heading out the door before he can try to ask any more grating questions. You've had your fair share of "How are your classes?", "Is there any subject you've been struggling with?", or the worst of them all, "Have you decided on a major yet? Are you sure creative writing is the one for you?". It felt like a mockery. Like they knew something you didn't. And out of everything, you hated feeling belittled.

It had happened enough in high school, it happened enough with your parents and your shitty friends who all got accepted to the same school and left you behind to "focus on your art". Your art that they never once even tried to understand, never read or listened when you talked about it. The art they swore up and down was so good, but when asked what they liked about it, they just said "everything". Statistically, you knew a person couldn't love everything equally, there's always going to be a part that sticks out or makes them feel something. That's the whole point of it.

But it was a moot point to dwell on it now. You hadn't talked to any of them since graduation, and you would only see your parents for holidays. Home felt like a distant memory. All you had now was the small college housing unit, kept warm with two space heaters plugged into ungrounded outlets, and a shoddy gas stove from what appeared to be the 1800's. It was enough for now.

Tossing your bag on the small dining chair in the central area, you take a breath in slowly. The nice thing about attending such an old school was the dorm rooms weren't big enough to cram two people into, so they were solitary. The bad thing was that, well, they were solitary. It got lonely at times, especially when just across the yard, the sorority houses bustled with energy and excitement. Even in negative 10° weather, both them and the frats were throwing parties, get-togethers, events. And sure, you had some very nice neighbors, but they weren't anything to brag about. You knew them in passing, a few of them shared classes, and on occasion you'd meet with them to study or share notes. But it was nothing tangible. Not like the lifelong commitment of sisterhood and friendship you so desperately tried to grapple onto.

As the stove sparked to life, you let the heat of the burner warm the small kitchenette a bit, the firelight casting a homely shadow on your frozen skin. You let the stress roll off your shoulders finally, for the first time in weeks. Exams were over, and tomorrow you'd be on a bus back to your parents home for the winter holidays. Then, you could live and eat rent free for a full month. You could even indulge in a bath. God, you hadn't seen a real tub in months. The mere thought of it eased you, as you warmed your hands above the half-boiled pot of water on the burner. Last struggle meal for a while, you smiled to yourself as you cracked the ramen packet into the water. Sleep would thankfully come easily tonight, with your bag packed and your fridge unplugged.

You were right to think home was an unfamiliar place. Your parents, eager as ever, had already used the excuse of your college dormitory to begin renovations on the house. Which meant you now slept in the small, cramped attic space, alongside various knickknacks and cobwebs. But at least they kept the tub. By god, they kept the bathtub.

Lumpy was at least happy to see you. The fat little tabby that, with every visit, got more and more spoiled. He meowed from the floor as you picked at the chicken and rice on your plate, big yellow eyes pleading as if he hadn't eaten in months. Severing a piece from your plate, you hand a little bite of chicken to him. "Glutton," you whisper to him as he paws at your hand, like a beggar in the desert.

"So, how has the big uni life been treating you? I feel like we've barely spoken since you got here" your father, swirling his drink in his glass, tilts his head at you.

You hadn't. You got there at five pm, it was only half past six. Your mother had ushered you in, while wrangling your two siblings, your brother proudly showing you his newest Lego set. Then your sister laughed at you having to crawl up to the attic, and took a humiliating angled photo of you for her group-chat. So no, you didn't get much time to talk to dad yet.

"It's good, actually," You start, putting your fork down. Lumpy meows quietly at you again, and you shake your head at him. "I've been doing really well, and I really liked my professors this-well, last- semester. And when I go back, I have a few classes I'm really excited for-"

"You change your mind on your major at all?" He interrupts, and you shake your head.

"No, I haven't, and I don't even need to make that decision until the end of sophomore year, so I figured I'd get my general studies sorted before I-"

"I'm just wondering. I mean, if that's what you really want to do. I just, you know, we are helping to pay for this, and I just want to make sure it's worthwhile, your mother and I really want you to be successful". Your mother, silently drinking her wine, nods along.

"I think she'll be fine. As long as she's happy, that's good, right?" she turns to him, squeezing his hand. Reassurance? Or a silent plea for him to not press the question.

"No, no. I know," you start back up, doing your best to defend your choices. You've fought this fight before. You know how to play the game. "Honestly I was thinking of maybe teaching. Maybe writing on the side. I haven't decided, but I will. I promise".

It's enough that he sighs and nods. Contempt, supposedly. Your mother smiles, trying to be supportive. You know she doubts you the same way, she just does it in a different font.

"What classes are you taking next semester?" she asks, an attempt to do something other than spark the argument of financials.

"Well, I've got my requirements, like american lit, and algebra, but I'm also taking a drama class. My advisor said it would be beneficial for my desired degree."

"Christ. They teach drama now? In college?" Your father raises his eyebrows.

"Well, they didn't for a while. The school had a major funding issue but I guess the art fields are coming back so, they brought those classes back. I think it'll be fun".

"Yeah, Jesus, I wonder why." He shakes his head in disbelief, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Yeah, sure. As long as it doesn't take away from your actual education." He finishes his drink and your mother chuckles.

"Just don't become one of those...well, you know. Art kids turn into unemployed welfare leeches." He finalizes his statement and stands from his seat. You shake your head, taking a breath before collecting your plate and placing it in the sink. At least you don't have to do dishes anymore. That's a job that got assigned to your younger siblings after you left. One small blessing at a time, right?

You didn't talk about school any more. Not even on Christmas, when your extended family asked you about it. You just nodded and said you were having a good time, yes you were just doing general education, and that you would pick a "good, successful" major. End of story. You didn't have the heart to fight the assumptions.

You left two days before school started again. Your bother was sad, handing you another pokémon drawing to hang above your dorm bed. Your sister, even in her indifference, hugged you and told you that she loved you. Moody teens are...special. Lumpy even meowed pathetically at the door, though you couldn't tell if he was sad or just hungry again.

Your mother and father smiled and hugged you tightly as the bus slowed to a stop. Despite their doubts, they at least loved you. And that was enough to settle with, it was enough to make you sad to leave. But it would be over soon enough. Summer vacation would be a saving grace back at home, with the chirping of cicadas and fat toads, the creaking of the old treehouse swing set, late night drives with your sister and best friend to get slushies. Soon.

Soon, you repeat, unpacking your things and restocking the fridge. You plug in the heaters, cranking them onto high as they zap at the outlets. Not soon enough.

#decay.fic #my hero academia #shigaraki #tomura shigaraki #tenko shimura #mha #bnha #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki slow burn #longfic

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