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taradactyls · 2 months ago

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So I could be totally wrong but, I believe it was sort of expected that men/gentlemen lose their virginity before marriage in regency times. But I also there’s some fandom ‘debate’ about whether or not Mr Darcy would’ve had sex before getting married. So I was just curious about what your canon for Mr Darcy in T3W is. Is he a virgin or not?

I knew someone would ask me this eventually, haha. I've actually had really long conversations with my beta reader about this trying to figure it out. It sounds like this might all be stuff that you’ve already seen discussed in the fandom, but I’ve never thought about it deeply before and so these are new thoughts to me.

I keep going over the historical real-world likelihood, the authorial intent, and the text itself but I’m still not 100%. I’ll explain my thinking and what I find most likely, but here’s your warning that it’s not a clear cut yes/no.

Because on one hand, at that time period it was most common for men in his position to have seen sex workers or have casual encounters/mistresses with women from their estates. Though I do absolutely believe not all men did that, no matter how much wealth and power they had. To go back some centuries, William the Conqueror seemed to be famously celibate (no hints of male lovers either according to the biography I read) until his marriage, and there's no evidence of affairs after it either. The best guesses as to why are that it was due to his religious devotion and the problems that had arisen from himself being a bastard and not wanting to recreate that situation. Concerns over religion and illegitimate children would certainly still have been applicable in the regency to men who thought that way. And in modern times I've seen sex workers say that when an 18/21yo is booked in by his family/friends to 'become a man' often they end up just talking and agree to lie about the encounter. After all, it’s not like every man wants casual sex, even if they aren’t demisexual or something in that vein. But, statistically speaking, the precedent of regency gentlemen would make Darcy not a virgin.

On the other hand, just how aware was Jane Austen, the very religious daughter of a country rector, of the commonness of this? There’s a huge difference between knowing affairs and sex workers existed (and no one who had seen a Georgian newspaper could be blind to this) and realising that the majority of wealthy men saw sex workers at some point even if they condemned the more public and profligate affairs. The literature for young ladies at the time paints extramarital sex - including the lust of men outside of marriage - as pretty universally bad and dangerous. This message is seen from 'Pamela' and other gothic fiction to non-fiction conduct books which Jane Austen would have encountered. Here's something I found in 'Letters to a Young Lady' by the reverend John Bennett which I found particularly interesting as it's in direct conversation with other opinions of the era:

"A reformed rake makes the best husband." Does he? It would be very extraordinary, if he should. Besides, are you very certain, that you have power to reform him? It is a matter, that requires some deliberation. This reformation, if it is to be accomplished, must take place before marriage. Then if ever, is the period of your power. But how will you be assured that he is reformed? If he appears so, is he not insidiously concealing his vices, to gain your affections? And when he knows, they are secured, may he not, gradually, throw off the mask, and be dissipated, as before? Profligacy of this kind is seldom eradicated. It resembles some cutaneous disorders, which appear to be healed, and yet are, continually, making themselves visible by fresh eruptions. A man, who has carried on a criminal intercourse with immoral women is not to be trusted, His opinion of all females is an insult to their delicacy. His attachment is to sex alone, under particular modifications.

The definition of a rake is more than a man who has seen a sex worker once, it's about appearance and general conduct too, but again, would that distinction be made to young ladies? Because they seem to simply be continuously taught 'lust when unmarried is bad and beware men who you know engage in extramarital sex.' As a side note, Jane Austen certainly knew at least something about the mechanics of sex: her letters and literature she read alludes to it, and she grew up around farm animals in the countryside which is an education in itself.

We can also see from this exert that the school of thought seems to be 'reformed rake' vs 'never a rake' in contention for the title of best husband, there's no debate over whether a current rake is unsuitable for a young lady. And, from Willoughby to Wickham to Crawford, I think we have a very clear idea of Jane Austen's ideas of how likely it is notably promiscuous men can reform. This does not preclude the possibility that her disparaging commentary around their lust is based more on over-indulgence or the class of women they seduce, but it's undoubtedly a condemnation of such men directly in line with the first part of what John Bennett says so it's no stretch to believe she saw merit in the follow-on conclusions of the second part as well. Whether she would view it with enough merit to consider celibacy the only respectable option for unmarried men is a bit unclearer.

I did consider that perhaps Jane Austen consciously treated this as a grey area where she couldn’t possibly know what young men did (the same reasoning is why we never see the men in the dining room after the ladies retire, etc) and so didn't hold an opinion on men's extramarital encounters with sex workers/lower-class women at all, but I think there actually are enough hints in her works that this isn’t the case. Though, unsurprisingly, given the delicacy of the subject, there’s no direct mention of sex workers or gentlemen having casual lovers from among the lower-classes in her texts.

That also prevents us from definitively knowing whether she thought extramarital sex was so common, and as unremarkable, as most gentlemen treated it. But we do see from her commentary around the consequences of Maria Bertram and Henry Crawford's elopement that she had criticism of the double standards men and women were held to when violating sexual virtue. Another indication that she perhaps expected good men to be capable of waiting until marriage in the way that she very clearly believed women should. At the very least, a man who often indulges in extramarital sex does not seem to be one who would be considered highly by Jane Austen.

She makes a point of saying, in regards to not liking his wife, that Mr Bennet “was not of a disposition to seek comfort for the disappointment which his own imprudence had brought on, in any of those pleasures which too often console the unfortunate for their folly or their vice.” This must include affairs, though cheating on a wife cannot be a 1:1 equivalent of single young men sleeping around before marriage. However, the latter is generally critically accepted to be one of the flaws that Darcy lays at Wickham’s door along with gambling when talking about their youth and his “vicious propensities" and "want of principle." Though this could be argued that it’s more the extent or publicity of it (but remembering that it couldn't be anything uncommon enough that it couldn't be hidden from Darcy Sr. or explained away) rather than the act itself, or maybe seductions instead of paying women offering those services. I also believe Persuasion mentioning Sunday travelling as proof of thoughtless/immoral activity supports the idea that Jane Austen might have been religious enough that she would never create a hero who had extramarital sex.

So, taken all together this would make Darcy potentially a virgin, or, since I couldn't find absolute evidence of her opinions, leave enough room that he isn’t but extramarital sex isn’t a regular (or perhaps recent) thing and he would never have had anything so established as a mistress.

I’ve also been wondering, if Darcy isn’t a virgin, who would he have slept with? I’ve been musing on arguments for and against each option for weeks at this point. No romantasy has ever made me think about a fictional man's sexual habits so much as the question of Darcy's sexual history. What is my life.

Sex workers are an obvious answer, and the visits wouldn’t have raised any eyebrows. Discretion was part of their job, it was a clean transaction with no further responsibilities towards them, and effective (and reusable, ew) condoms existed at this time so there was little risk of children and no ability to exactly determine the paternity even if there was an accident. It was a fairly ‘responsible’ choice if one wanted no strings attached. In opposition to this, syphilis was rampant at the time, and had been known to spread sexually for centuries. Sex workers were at greater risk of it than anyone else and so the more sensible and risk-averse someone is (and I think Mr Darcy would be careful) the less likely they would be to visit sex workers. Contracting something that was known as potentially deadly and capable of making a future wife infertile if it spread to her could make any intelligent and cautious man think twice.

Servants and tenants of the estate are another simple and common answer. Less risk of stds, it can be based on actual attraction more than money (though money might still change hands), and is a bit more intimate. But Wickham’s called wicked for something very similar, when he dallies (whether he only got to serious flirting, kissing, or sleeping with them I don’t think we can conclusively say) with the common women of Meryton: “his intrigues, all honoured with the title of seduction, had been extended into every tradesman's family.” And it isn't as though Wickham had any personal duty towards those people beyond the claims of basic dignity. Darcy, who is shown to have such respect and understanding for his responsibilities towards the people of his estate and duties of a landlord, would keenly feel if any of his actions were leading his servants/tenants astray and down immoral paths. Servants, especially, were considered directly under the protection of the family whose house they worked in. I think it's undoubtable that Mrs Reynolds (whose was responsible for the wellbeing - both physically and spiritually - of the female servants) would not think so well of Mr Darcy if he had experimented with maids in his youth. It would reflect badly on her if a family entrusted their daughter to her care and she 'lost her virtue' under her watch. Daughters/widows of others living on the estate not under the roof of Pemberley House are a little more likely, but still, if he did have an affair with any of them I can only think it possible when he was much younger and did not feel his duties quite so strongly. Of course lots of real men didn't care about any of this, but Darcy is so far from being depicted as careless about his duties that the narrative makes a point of how exceptional his quality of care was. Frankly, it's undeniable that none of Jane Austen's heroes were flippant about their responsibilities towards those under their protection. I cannot serious entertain an interpretation that makes Darcy not, at his current age, at least, cognizant of the contemporary problems inherent in sleeping with servants or others on his estate.

A servant in a friend’s house would remove some of that personal responsibility, but transfer it to instead be leading his friend’s servants astray and in a manner which he is less able to know about if a child did result. That latter remains a problem even if we move the setting to his college, so not particularly likely for his character as we know it… though it wouldn’t be unusual for someone to be more unthinking and reckless in their teenage years than they are at twenty-eight so I don’t think having sex then can be ruled out. Kissing I can much more easily believe, especially when at Oxford or Cambridge, but every scenario of sleeping with a lower-class woman has some compelling arguments against it especially the closer we get to the time of the novel.

Men did of course also have affairs with women of ranks similar to their own, though given Jane Austen’s well-known feelings towards men who ‘ruined’ the virtue of young ladies we can safely say that Darcy never slept with an unwed middle- or upper-class woman. Any decent man would have married them out of duty if it got so far; but if he was the sort to let it get so far, I think it impossible Jane Austen would consider him respectable. Widows are a possibility, but again, the respectable thing to do would be to marry them. Perhaps a poorer merchant’s widow would be low enough that marriage is off the table but high enough that the ‘leading astray’ aspect loses its master-servant responsibilities (though the male-female ‘protect the gentler sex’ aspect remains) but his social circle didn’t facilitate meeting many ladies like that. Plus, an affair with a woman in society would remove many layers of privacy and anonymity that sex-workers and lower-class lovers provided by simply being unremarkable to the world at large. It carries a far greater risk of scandal and a heavier sense of immorality in the terms of respecting a woman’s purity which classism prevented from applying so heavily to lower-class women.

I think it’s important to note here that something that removes the need to think about duties of landlords towards the lower-classes or gentlemen towards gentlewomen is having affairs with other men of a similar rank. But, aside from the risk of scandal and what could be called the irresponsibility of engaging in illegal acts, it’s almost certain that Jane Austen would never have supported this. For a devout author in this era the way I’m calculating likelihoods makes it not even a possibility. But if you want to write a different fanfiction (and perhaps something like a break-up could explain why Darcy doesn’t seem to have any closer friend than someone whom he must have only met two or so years ago despite being in society for years before that) it does have that advantage over affairs with women of equal- and lower-classes. I support alternate interpretations entirely – it just isn’t how I’m deciding things in this instance.

I keep coming back to the conclusion that, at the very least, Darcy hasn’t had sex recently and it was never a common occurrence. It wouldn’t surprise me if Jane Austen felt he hadn’t done it ever. Kissing, as we can see from all the parlour games at the time, wasn’t viewed as harshly, so I think he’s likely made out with someone before. But in almost every situation it does seem that the responsible and religious thing to do (which Jane Austen values so highly) is for it to never have progressed to sex. I also don’t think it conflicts with his canon characterisation to say that he wouldn’t regard sexual experience as a crucial element of his life thus far, and his personality isn’t driven to pursue pleasure for himself, so it’s entirely possible that he would never go out of his way to seek it. So, I’m inclined to think that the authorial and textual evidence is in favour of Darcy being a virgin even if the real-world contemporary standard is the opposite. (Though both leave enough room for exceptions that I’m not going to argue with anyone who feels differently; and even if you agree with all my points, you might simply weight authorial intent/textual evidence/contemporary likelihoods differently than I do and come to a different conclusion).

Remember that even if Darcy is a virgin this wouldn’t necessarily equate to lack of knowledge, only experience. There were plenty of books and artwork focused on sex, and Darcy, studious man that he is, would no doubt pay attention to what knowledge his friends/male relatives shared. Though some of it (Looking especially at you, 'Fanny Hill, Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure') should NEVER be an example of appropriate practice for taking a woman's virginity. Darcy would almost certainly have been taught directly or learnt through exposure to other men talking to make sex good for a woman – it was a commonly held misconception (since Elizabethan England, I believe) that women had to orgasm to conceive. It would be in his interests as an empathetic husband, and head of a family, to know how to please his wife.

Basically, I’m convinced Darcy isn’t very experienced, if at all, and will be learning with Elizabeth. But he does have a lot of theoretical knowledge which he’s paid careful attention to and is eager to apply.

#sorry for how my writing jumps around from quoting sources to vaguely asserting things from the books I only write proper essays when forced #if anyone has evidence that Austen thought a sexually experienced husband was better/men needed sex/it's a crucial education for men/etc #PLEASE send it my way I'm so curious about this topic now #this is by no means an 'I trawled through every piece of evidence' post just stuff I know from studying the era and Austen and her work #so more info/evidence is always appreciated #I had sort of assumed the answer was 'not a virgin' when I first considered this months ago btw but the more I thought about it #the less I was able to find out when/where/who he would've slept with without running into some authorial/textual complication #so suddenly 'maybe a virgin' becomes increasingly likely #But the same logic would surely apply to ALL Austen's heroes... and Knightley is 38 which feels unrealistic #(though Emma doesn't have as much commentary on sex and was written when Austen was older so maybe she wasn't so idealistic about men then)#but authors do write unrealistic elements and it's entirely possible that *this* was something Austen thought a perfect guy would(n't) do #and if you've read my finances breakdowns you know I follow the text and authorial voice over real-world logic because it IS still fiction #no matter how deftly Austen set it in the real world and made realistic characters #pride and prejudice #jane austen #fitzwilliam darcy #mr darcy #discourse #austen opinions #mine #asks #fic:t3w #I'm going to need a tag for 'beneath the surface' but 'bts' is already a pretty popular abbreviation haha #just 'fic: beneath' maybe?? idk

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longagoitwastuesday · 5 days ago

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I was tagged by @pegasusdrawnchariots. Thank you very much for the tag! I'm doing this before I forget and six months pass again lol

Three ships: Heathcliff and Cathy, Jack and Lacie. No one else holds a candle to these two truly, not even close, but I love Penelope and Odysseus, Lancelot and Guinevere, Hector and Andromache, Orpheus and Eurydice if they can be considered a ship at all given they're more structure than meat, Otacon and Snake, Han and Leia, whatever Cyrano/Roxane/Christian have going on, Rhett and Scarlett but also whatever Rhett/Scarlett/Ashley/Melanie have, Henry and Fanny, Obi and Shirayuki, Red and Blue/Green, Razumikhin/Dunya/Svidrigailov, Fermín/Ana/Víctor-Álvaro maybe, Kalpas and Sakura perhaps, Dong Mae and Ae Shin I guess, Ijichi and Gojo but also Gojo and Utahime, though these two are newish and probably I should not include them. I don't even know if I would say I ship many of these things, mostly I find the dynamics interesting.

First ship: hmmm I'm not sure. Perhaps Han and Leia when I was nine? Although I got into Star Wars for Anakin and Padmé. I remember having a lot of feelings about Zuko and Katara when I first watched Avatar when I was twelve. Although thinking back it may have been Red/Blue or Otacon/Snake/Meryl, or even Frank/Naomi, back when I was between 5-9 yo.

Last song: I can't recall. Perhaps Blue from Cowboy Bebop? Or Inkpot gods by Amazing Devil. They're actually both linked to the sunrises fic, which is why I listen to them.

Last film: For a few dollars more, again xD

Currently reading: I'm rereading On the Infinite Universe and Worlds by Giordano Bruno. Also comparing two editions of Cantor's Mathematical works, which I don't know if it counts even if it implies reading. Oh and Jujutsu Kaisen! This time steadily, in order, from beginning to end. I'm always taken aback by how much I care about this thing and its characters.

Currently watching: Cowboy Bebop! We're almost done with that, though. I guess you could argue I am also still watching Jujutsu Kaisen, even if I haven't watched an episode since last August. I think I'll give it another try soon. I suck at watching stuff.

Currently consuming: nothing. I have water with me, but nothing. My time or my life, I guess, in a broad sense.

Currently craving: a better life lol Jokes aside, nothing either, besides cherries (I always want cherries). Perhaps a small pastry, pretty but not too sugary. A lemon macaron or a red bean or matcha mochi.

I'm tagging @13eyond13, @cavarage, @bluebellbanshee, @eroshiyda, @nerd-bastard, @wearileigh, @mordredsheart, @jillvalentine, @song-of-amethyst, @whatevsbla, @elegyofthemoon, @redcandieddust, @peregrintook, @cutemercutio, @xonference, @fifteenrubies, @ccprovolomies

I'm tagging everyone ever, but I rarely remember to do these and I've been tagged in things before by many of you so you're all getting tagged. No pressure, though

#I've been toying with the idea of rereading Persuasion lately for some reason so I may do that soon #I also want to compare that book by Giordano Bruno and some other texts as well as some of Cantor's ideas to some Taoist and Buddhist ideas #and I have a bunch of texts that the Korean girls pointed me towards but I wanted to find them in physical form first #but my faculty's library doesn't have them so I guess I'll have to download them or read them on the Internet #yet I didn't find but fragments of them doing a few quick searchs so it's being a bit annoying and I postponed it #Which is why I took on doing the Cantor edition comparison first instead #Are titles written in italics when not from books in English? In Spanish they are (whole work title —music album book film or show name—#would be written in italic and between “” a part of it —chapter name or poem name or episode make or song—)#But now I'm doubting whether that works that way in English #Special ship mentions to Xellos and Filia from Slayers and Shigure and Akito from Fruits Basket #even if I never finished either Slayers or Fruits Basket. Extremely juicy extremely sexy extremely fucked up dynamics I think of often ♥#Behlul and Nihal too. I talked about them just yesterday. Sorry for this @faintingheroine xD #I talk too much #I should probably delete this later #Edit: included Dong Mae. I can't believe I forgot about him. I don't really ship ship them but I adore the unrequited shit show Dong Mae has #Dong Mae/Hui Seong/Eugene is a wonderful dynamic with great ship potential. Eugene and Dong Mae are great together #Unfortunately I don't like Eugene and also Hui Seong/Dong Mae are way funnier so I love them way more #Everyone's dynamic with Dong Mae was the best tbh. His loyal right hand? The mute girl? Kudo Hina? All great #Hui Seong also had wonderful dynamics tbh. With Hina he was so much fun and I loved him with the girl who was cheeky and practical #and honestly perfect for him yet was too late to be perfect because he already loved #The secondary characters in that show were so great. Eugene I disliked so much I don't even see Lee Byung Hun all that pretty #even though that was why I chose to watch it lol. Oh Lee Byung Hun and Ethan Hawke have such a good dynamic with great ship potential #in the new Magnificent Seven. And I adore in Warlock (the 1959 Western) what the two main characters have going on. So fucked up #I was sure tumblr would be filled with that identity/double/other me thing they have but when I looked up the tag it was basically empty #Criss Cross and Sweet smell of success also have very good shipping potential in the dynamics Burt Lancaster has

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serpentface · 11 months ago

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Do you conlang? I was wondering if you had naming languages (or possibly even more developed ones) for pulling the words you use. I tried to search your blog but didn't find anything, wouldn't be surprised if the feature is just busted tho. Your worldbuilding is wonderful and I particularly enjoy the anthropological and linguistic elements.

Ok the thing is I had kind of decided I was not going to do any conlanging because I don't feel like I'm equipped to do a good job of it, like was fully like "I'm just going to do JUST enough that it doesn't fail an immediate sniff test and is more thoughtful than just keysmashing and putting in vowels". And then have kinda been conlanging anyway (though not to a very deep and serious extent. I maybe have like....an above average comprehension of how language construction works via willingness to research, but that's not saying much, also I can never remember the meanings of most linguistic terms like 'frictives' or etc off the top of my head. I'm just kinda raw dogging it with a vague conceptualization of what these things mean)

I do at least have a naming language for Wardi (and more basic rules for other established languages) but the rudimentary forms of it were devised with methods much shakier and less linguistically viable than even the most basic naming language schemes, and I only went back over it LONG after I had already made a bunch of words so there's some inconsistencies with consonant presence and usage. (This can at least be justified because it IS a language that would have a lot of loanwords and would be heavily influenced by other language groups- Burri being by far the most significant, Highland-Finnic and Yuroma-Lowlands also being large contributors)

The 'method' I used was:

-Skip basic construction elements and fully move into devising necessary name words, with at least a Vibe of what consonants are going to be common and how pronunciation works -Identify some roots out of the established words and their meanings. Establish an ongoing glossary of known roots/words. -Construct new words based in root words, or as obvious extensions/variants of established words. -Get really involved in how the literal meanings of some words might not translate properly to english, mostly use this to produce a glossary of in-universe slang. -Realize that I probably should have at least some very basic internal consistency at this point. -Google search tutorials on writing a naming language. -Reverse engineer a naming language out of established words, and ascribe all remaining inconsistencies to being loanwords or just the mysteries of life or whatever.

I do at least have some strongly established pronunciation rules and a sense of broad regional dialect/accents.

-'ai' words are almost always pronounced with a long 'aye' sound.

-There is no 'Z' or 'X' sound, a Wardi speaker pronouncing 'zebra' would go for 'tsee-brah', and would attempt 'xylophone' as 'ssye-lohp-hon'

-'V' sounds are nearly absent and occur only in loanwords, and tend to be pronounced with a 'W' sound. 'Virsum' is a Highland word (pronounced 'veer-soom') denoting ancestry, a Wardi speaker would go 'weer-sum'.

-'Ch' spellings almost always imply a soft 'chuh' sound when appearing after an E, I, or O (pelatoche= pel-ah-toh-chey), but a hard 'kh' sound after an A or U (odomache= oh-doh-mah-khe). When at the start of a word, it's usually a soft 'ch' unless followed by an 'i' sound (chin (dog) is pronounced with a hard K 'khiin', cholem (salt) is pronounced with a soft Ch 'cho-lehm')

-Western Wardin has strong Burri cultural and linguistic influence, and a distinct accent- one of the most pronounced differences is use of the ñ sound in 'nn' words. The western city of Ephennos is pronounced 'ey-fey-nyos' by most residents, the southeastern city of Erubinnos is pronounced 'eh-roo-been-nos' by most residents. Palo's surname 'Apolynnon' is pronounced 'A-puh-lee-nyon' in the Burri and western Wardi dialects (which is the 'proper' pronunciation, given that it's a Kos name), but will generally be spoken as 'Ah-poh-leen-non' in the south and east.

-R's are rolled in Highland-Finnic words. Rolling R's is common in far northern rural Wardi dialects but no others. Most urban Wardi speakers consider rolling R's sort of a hick thing, and often think it sounds stupid or at least uneducated. (Brakul's name should be pronounced with a brief rolled 'r', short 'ah' and long 'uul', but is generally being pronounced by his south-southeastern compatriots with a long unrolled 'Brah' sound).

Anyway not really a sturdy construction that will hold up to the scrutiny of someone well equipped for linguistics but not pure bullshit either.

#I actually did just make a post about this on my sideblog LOL I think in spite of my deciding not to conlang this is going to go full #full conlanging at some point #The main issue is that the narrative/dialogue is being written as an english 'translation' (IE the characters are speaking in their actual #tongues and it's being translated to english with accurate meaning but non-literal treatment)#Which you might say like 'Uh Yeah No Shit' but I think approaching it with that mindset at the forefront does have a different effect than #just fully writing in english. Like there's some mindfulness to what they actually might be saying and what literal meanings should be #retained to form a better understanding of the culture and what should be 'translated' non-literally but with accurate meaning #(And what should be not translated at all)#But yeah there's very little motivation for conlanging besides Pure Fun because VERY few Wardi words beyond animal/people/place names #will make it into the actual text. Like the only things I leave 'untranslated' are very key or untranslatable concepts that will be #better understood through implication than attempts to convey the meaning in english #Like the epithet 'ganmachen' is used to compliment positive traits associated with the ox zodiac sign or affectionately tease #negative ones. This idea can be established pretty naturally without exposition dumps because the zodiac signs are of cultural #importance and will come up frequently. The meaning can get across to the reader pretty well if properly set up.#So like leaving it as 'ganmachen' you can get 'oh this is an affectionate reference to an auspicious zodiac sign' but translating #it as the actual meaning of 'ox-faced' is inevitably going to come across as 'you look like a cow' regardless of any zodiac angle #^(pretty much retyped tags from other post)#Another aspect is there's a few characters that have Wardi as a second language and some of whom don't have a solid grasp on it #And I want to convey this in dialogue (which is being written in english) but I don't want it to just be like. Random '''broken''' english #like I want there to be an internal consistency to what parts of the language they have difficulties with (which then has implications for #how each language's grammar/conjugation/etc works). Like Brakul is fairly fluent in Wardi at the time of the story but still struggles #with some of the conjugation (which is inflectional in Wardi) especially future/preterite tense. So he'll sometimes just use the #verb unconjugated or inappropriately in present tense. Though this doesn't come across as starkly in text because it's #written in english. Like his future tense Wardi is depicted as like 'I am to talk with him later' instead of 'I'll talk with him later'#Which sounds unnatural but not like fully incorrect #But it would sound much more Off in Wardi. Spanish might be a better example like it would be like him approaching it with #'Voy a hablar con él más tarde' or maybe 'Hablo con él más tarde' instead of 'Hablaré con él más tarde'#(I THINK. I'm not a fluent spanish speaker sorry if the latter has anything wrong with it too)

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inotakumagf · 6 months ago

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hi!! I don’t know if anyone will see this because i have like no followers, but i’ve been writing fanfic for a while, i just never post it bcz i never finish it lol but do people prefer long works, or works split up into parts? because most of the stuff i write ends up being like 20k. one post means that it would get posted all at once, and parts would mean that there would be time between each update. either way, i want to motivate myself to actually finish the stuff i write bcz i actively have 16 WIPs that are all half done 😭

also hi! if you’re interested in reading fanfics for jjk, red hood, nightwing, tasm, stardew valley, and others, you have come to the right place! :D i am almost done with a few pieces that i’m working on, and i hope you’ll check them out! i also draw (mainly jjk) & i’ve posted a few sketches!!

#im gonna make an intro post i just wanted to do this poll too #sorry for all the tags these are just some characters that i have written works for!#jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #gojo satoru x reader #nanami kento x reader #choso x reader #jason todd x reader #dick grayson x reader #dc fanfiction #sdv sam x reader

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lunarrampage · 1 year ago

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I'm a big advocate of just blocking and moving on when seeing bad takes about your interests but that's mostly because I rarely travel outside the small circle of artists and mutuals I follow and ohhhh boy after having seen the worst take about a beloved blorbo I suddenly understand everything, it was like a redditer overtook my body and I almost went into a rage as I resisted the urge to "um actually" and type up an entire essay in ops comment section but I persevered. Are you all proud of me.

#im mostly being hyperbolic but gosh #it's still eating me up inside so i will continue to complain about it here in the tags lol #so just scroll away if you don't wanna see me complain about things that don't matter<3 #anyway i just saw someone say how karlach worked dorna slaver and would still be working for him if he hadn't betrayed her #implying she was only against gortash because his actions directly affected her #when FIRST IF ALL SHE WAS AN ORPHANED CHILD WHO WAS MANIPULATED BY HIM #AND SHE EVEN SAID IN HER OWN WORDS THAT SHE NEVER WOULD HAVE WORKED FOR GORTASG IS SHE HAD KNOWN WHO HE TRULY WAS #SHE WAS A KID AND WORKED FOR AN AWFUL MAN AND MOST LIKELY DID SOME PRETTY MESSED UP THINGS FOR HIM THIS IS TRUE #BUT SHE WAS A CHILD AND SHE LOOKED UP TO HIM WHILE HE MANIPULATED HER SO SHE WOULD ALWAYS PROTECT HIM AND DO WHAT HE SAID WITHOUT QUESTION #then he sold her to zariel and it wasn't until it was too late did she realize how evil gortash was #im unsure if she new he was a slaver when working for him but since she was a kid with nothing it's not like she's going to fully commit to #being a morally upstanding citizen when she literally couldn't afford it #saying karlach was only against gortash because his action affected her is BLATANTLY WRONG #she has flaws and is a deeply written characters and she cares so much about other people thats on of the reasons she worked with gortash #she cared about him and he used that to his advantage #okay rant over i love u karlach im sorry people refuse to look into your charcter beyond surface level assumptions </3 #babbles #dear god there are so many typos. i aint retyping all that shit tho good luck deciphering that #i say as if anyone is gonna read it sjkdkf

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khaotunq · 1 year ago

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TYPECAST: First Kanaphan edition

#first kanaphan #the eclipse #moonlight chicken #blacklist series #wolf series #only friends the series #not me the series #wake up ladies #my gifs #my edits #mine: first kanaphan #mine: typecast #mine: a gif but not A Gif #userjamiec #tuserhidden #tuserrowan #tostrangers #idk if any usertags will work bc of how far down they are? but #should i use the edit tags instead of the show names?#i don't wanna use bl source or asian lgbtq~ tags bc they're not all bls #i don't fuckn no how to tag thisssss #i am in DISTRESS #i was about to say presented without further commentary but then i did my alt texts #sorry about that.#i lost my mind making this set btw #nobody's allowed to ask chiara about it #i have khaotung drafted but i have to go download a bunch of episodes to gif some of the characters #u better believe i have typecasts written for a bunch of these boys but lord knows if i'll ever do em #i didn't do kim because 1) i haven't watched the shipper and 2) i just have him described as 'dead' because i think i'm funny #i didn't do f4 or astrophile either bc i haven't watched them and don't intend to

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aliceoseman · 6 months ago

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Heartstopper S3 Q&A weekend!

Hello everyone! I don't usually use this blog to answer questions, but I've been wanting to answer some of your questions about season 3 of Heartstopper, and I figure this is probably the best place for it!

It's nearly 2 months since the release of S3 and I'd love to go on a deep dive with you all. I always feel like I don't express myself very well in interviews, so I feel more comfortable getting to express myself in the written word here! You may have questions about characters, relationships, themes, production, music, animation, and more... I shall try my best to share some interesting behind-the-scenes trivia!!

Please keep your questions relevant to season 3 of Heartstopper - I probably won't answer them if they're about anything else!

The ask box will be open from now through this weekend, so you have about 2 and a half days to send your questions. I'll answer what I can, probably slowly over the next week or two! I won't get around to answering everyone's question though, I'm sorry in advance! You're welcome to share the answers on other social medias if you'd like to.

If you don't want to see Q&A answers and are simply here for the fan art, please block the tag 'heartstopper s3 q&a'.

Also, just to get a few FAQs out of the way:

Season 4: I don't have anything more to share about season 4 right now, I'm sorry! As I've said, we're working incredibly hard to make it happen, and there's nothing else I can say about that at the moment.

Bloopers: Are coming soon, but I don't know exactly when!

Deleted scenes: I'm not currently sure whether there will be deleted scene releases.

Thank you so much for your support for the show! I look forward to chatting with you about season 3 of Heartstopper!!

#heartstopper s3 q&a

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emptymasks · 8 months ago

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They're done! I really want to try and make prints again as it's been years and I've never felt like I was very good at making whole posters. Dipping my toe back in with these silly chibis of each Papa with every Ghoul they've had. Perhaps they can also work as a guide for those wanting to learn all the characters? I added in a fair amount of little references with the Ghoul's poses so it'll be interesting to see what you guys figure out and notice!

The prints are on pre-order and won't ship out until November. I've put up 25 of each to start with but if they get low on stock I'll keep adding more until I have them printed and then it'll be a set amount in stock.

Also a reminder about the stickers of every Ghost Papa and Ghoul that I made earlier this year that are also available as customisable badges! Thank you so much to everyone who already bought them and got Etsy to list them as a 'bestseller' for a while. They're still up and in stock.

EDIT: someone informed me Delta was not in Secondo's era so sorry little water ghoul but he got edited out of that drawing.

Characters featured on the prints and are also available on stickers and badges: Papa Emeritus I / Primo, Papa Emeritus II / Secondo, Papa Emerirus III / Terzo, Papa Emeritus IV / Cardinal Copia, Aether, Air, Alpha / Fire, Aurora, Chain / Water, Cirrus, Cowbell, Cumulus, Delta, Dewdrop / Sodo, Earth, Ifrit, Ivy, Lake, Mist, Mountain, Omega / Quintessence, Pebble, Phantom, Phil / Special Ghoul, Rain, Sunshine, Swiss, Zephy.

I can’t link to my Etsy without risking Tumblr hiding the post from tag search results, but the link is in my pinned post, my carrd, I’m emptymasks on Etsy. Reblogs help support artists more than likes ❤️

[ID: Four landscape drawings, one for each of Ghost's Papas and the Ghouls that were in the band with them while they were the lead singer. Each Papa is in the center with each of their ghouls standings to their sides. Every character has their name written above or below them, on brightly coloured backgrounds for each Papa's robe colour. Also, individual pixel art chibi drawings of 69 characters from various European musicals (listed above) that are available as stickers. These drawings are also available as badges where they are placed inside circles to show what they will look like as physical button badges, some of them with plain colour backgrounds and some with 1-3 different pride flags as examples of how you can customise the backgrounds.]

For those who want to know what the little references in the prints are and don't want to guess, they're under the cut:

Omega can be a stompy boy when he's playing guitar, Alpha likes to throw up peace signs, Air is very found of the rock horns hand symbol, there's one close-up photo of Lake out there where you can clearly see his black sclera contacts and he's doing double 'horns' hand symbol, Mountain infamously takes his shoes off when playing the drums and leaves them on the stage at the site of his drumkit, Dewdrop likes to like.. most things including his guitar and his picks and sometimes his own hand, Pebble liked to hand out his drumsticks at the end of shows by dropkicking them into the crowd, Omega wore a flower tucked into his guitar strap during one show and Terzo constantly flirts with him more than other ghouls, Delta is suspected to be the ghoul that attempted to kick an audience member off stage when they climbed onstage and attempted to kiss Terzo, Zephyr was the only band member and only keyboardist who sat down while playing, the special ghoul played by Tobias wore a nametag 'Phil' in an interview, Swiss constantly is showing all his teethies with his smiles and always wiggling and moving around, Aether and Dewdrop often interact with Dew teasing/bothering Aether, Dew and Rain also often interact with Dew constantly reaching to grab his neck and attempt to kiss him, aaaand I think that's everything I intentionally included other than just generally tried to get the poses and expressions to match the personality we've seen from each ghoul.

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lillypad910 · 7 months ago

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Such a Good Girl

Dom! Eddie Munson x Sub! Girly! Reader

Warnings: (not pre-read well, apologize for some errors, I wrote his half awake) MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! smut, fingering, oral (f & m receiving), piv, unprotected sex (wrap before you tap), bit of fluff, reader is an "innocent" slut (I'm not sorry about it), pet names (Bunny, Baby), Kinks (breeding, sub/dom relationship, reader has a pile of stuffed animal that he literally fucks her on, have fun lol)

Summary: Eddie sneaks into your window to find you getting ready for bed. But he was other plans for your evening.

A/n: I wrote this half asleep and it is pure filth. I haven't written smut in a HOT minute and this was me kind of getting a practice run to write the smut for a later fic with a certain character reader I fear people are BEGGING from this blog. Enjoy!

If you wanna be tagged when I post ask or comment telling me so!

All Pics from Pinterest!

Eddie parks his car down the road, not wanting to alarm your parents with his van sitting outside. He walks all the way up to your house, jumping your white picket fence and making his way towards the backyard. He knows which window is yours, having snuck in a few times before. He climbs up the lattice on the side of the brick wall of your house, making his way up to your window. He places his feet firmly on the roof that sticks out, looking into your window.

There you are, his beautiful sweet girl, brushing your hair at your vanity. Your cute flowy nightgown makes you look like you stepped right out of a 1960’s magazine. Your window is open a bit, letting in the cool air of the night.

He knocks on the glass, startling you a bit and almost making your drop your hair brush. You turn and immediately smile at him. You walk over and open the window more, letting the rocker inside. “Hi, Eddie.” You giggle as he stumbles in, nearly tripping over your lace curtains. “Hi, sweetheart.” He straightens himself out before closing the window, “you look cute.” Your cheeks flush a bit at the compliment. You aren’t used to compliments yet, but Eddie is determined to make sure you know your worth.

“I’m sorry for coming so late, were you about to go to bed?” He asks, glancing over at the pink comforter with multiple stuffed animals on it. You shake your head, climbing onto the bed and grabbing one of the plushies, holding them close to your heart. It was one he got you, a little bunny with big floppy ears, Mr Flospy is what you named him.

Eddie sits on the edge of the bed, reaching over and pushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I don’t wanna keep you up, Princess, you need your beauty sleep.” You look up at him, your eyes glistening a bit in the light from your bedside lamp. “But you just got here…” Eddie smiles and holds out his arms, and you immediately tackle him in a hug, Mr Flopsy still in your arms. “I don’t want you to go, please stay.” You nuzzle your nose into his neck, and he hums, enjoying the feeling. “Bunny,” the nickname earns a whimper from you, it’s your favorite, “you said you want me to stay?” He clarifies, leaning you back into your stuffies. You nod, holding Mr Flopsy to your chest.

“Bunny,” Eddie leans over you and kisses your forehead, “have you been a good girl?” You nod again, your thighs pressing together. “Use your words, sweetheart.” “Y-Yes… I’ve been a good girl…!” Eddie loves these moments, your cheeks flushed and beautiful eyes blown. “Hmm,” he leans down and kisses your soft pink lips, he can tell you have on a cherry chapstick. He kisses you a few times, earning little whimpers from you, before moving down your jaw and neck.

“E-Eddie…” you grip at his vest, legs already getting shaky and he hasn’t even done anything other than kiss you. “Bunny, relax, you’re working yourself up.” He runs his palms over your thighs, securing his hips in between them. “Such a pretty girl,” he nibbles a bit at your collarbone, earning a gasp from you, “Quiet, sweetheart, don’t want your parents hearing their little girl being a total slut, do you?” You glance away from him, the blush on your cheeks expanding out to your ears. He knows what you like, what you need.

He lifts your nightgown a little rubbing his ringed fingers over your panties. You grip his arm, not wanting him to pull away. His fingers dip under the fabric, beginning to rub circles over your clit. You swear he can do what ever he wants to you, you’d obey everything he told you to do gladly if this was the reward.

Eddie sighs into you ear, watching you twitch at the attention he’s giving your most sensitive place. His hot breath on your skin makes you shiver, along with the soft but firm circles his fingers dance over your clit. You feel your breath catch, a knot already forming in your stomach. “E-Eddie…”

“God, you’re so easy…” Eddie moves his hand a little lower into your underwear, slowly inserting two fingers in see to you. You grip his arm tighter, a soft gasp leaving your lips that makes him smirk. “What? What is it, Baby…? Fuck, are you drooling?” He places his free hand under your chin and whips away the bit of saliva that leaks from the corner of your mouth, watching you begin to pant a bit just from his fingers curling inside you.

You moan, your hand smacking against your mouth to muffle it. Eddie only smiles wider at this, removing his hand from your underwear, getting you to pout. He’s quick to remove the garment, sliding it down your legs then dropping it over the side of your bed. He places his hands on your thighs, spreading your legs so he can see all of you.

“Fuck, Bunny, you’re dripping.” He lowers himself down, leaving soft kisses down on your abdomen. “So needy,” he kisses lower and lower, before leaving one right on your clit, earning another moan from you.

You reach down and tangle your fingers in his hair as he finally places his mouth to your cunt. God the feeling…

“E-Eddie…!” One hand moves to shove two fingers back inside you as his tongue laps around. He’s learned your body, what you like, and how to work it.

He buries his head into your cunt, sucking on your clit as his fingers pump inside you. You wreath at the feeling, lifting your hips off your bed from the pleasure. He takes this as encouragement, wrapping his other arm under you and moving his fingers faster.

It doesn’t take long before you’re shaking, oozing all over his face. He pulls away and pushes your legs up as he gets closer once more, pressing his clothed crotch to your soaked cunt.

“Fuck, you feel that, Bunny?” Of course you do, his large, hard cock fighting to get out of his pants as he grinds against you. “Do you want me to fuck you?” His question is rhetorical but you still answer anyways. “Please… E-Eddie, please…”

He unbuttons his pants, yanking them down and tossing them away, then the same with his boxers. His cock springs free, earning a soft gasp from you.

God, it looks so good…

“You’re drooling again, Bunny.” But this time he doesn’t wipe away the spit, instead he pulls away from you all together. “Do you wanna suck it?”

You don’t even hesitate as you push yourself out of the pile of stuffed animals, crawling onto your stomach in front of him. You grab his cock, immediately shoving your face into his crotch. He groans as you lick up his shaft, your nose taking in the musky scent. “That’s it, Bunny.”

You take the tip of his dick in your mouth, not wanting to wait anymore. You have to open your mouth a bit wider to fit him, but you love to do so. Eddie combs his fingers into your hair before gripping a chunk, “come on, Bunny, you can do better than that.” He slowly pushes your head down, which you happily take.

Before long your nose is brushing into his hair, his cock deep in your throat as it twitches. You’re drooling so much. You moan, sucking his cock as you hollow your cheeks. You move your tongue skillfully, just like he trained you.

“You’re doing so good, Bunny. Just like that. Such a good girl.” He moved his hips back before thrusting forward, earning a throaty moan from you. You try not to gag, angling yourself just right to where he’s not agitating it.

He thrusts into your mouth again, making your thighs press together. You begin to bob your head with his thrusts, pairing it perfectly so that when he slams back in, you push your head against him too. He gets a bit rough, beginning to thrust faster and harder until you can control the angle anymore. You gag, but don’t pull away, honestly you can’t. His hand holds your head down as he uses your throat like a toy.

And then he yanks you off, your throat sore as you try to catch your breath. He shoves you back into your stuffed animals, before grabbing your legs and lifting them up to your head. You blush, embarrassed at this position. But you don’t have long to think about it before he’s climbing on top of you and rubbing his dick along you.

“Eds…” you moan out as you feel his tip press to your cunt. He wraps his arms around you, locking you in place, before thrusting his hips forward, his cock going deep inside you.

You gasp, your mind blanking as he begins to thrust hard and faster, using your cunt for his own pleasure. You moan, your bed squeaking as you take his cock. “Look at you, taking my cock so well.” He mumbles into your ear.

You pant as you feel him twitch inside you, your cunt already becoming sore from the abusive thrusts. But you don’t care, how could you? Your pussy is being used for what it was made for.

You cum hard on his cock, squeezing around him until you see stars but he doesn’t stop. If anything he’s thrusting harder, pounding you in as you become a panting, moaning mess.

He’s fucking you stupid.

“Such a good girl, taking my dick so deep.” His cock pistons in and out of you, your mind foggy as you just take it. You have to be good and just take it, or you won’t get your reward.

He groans as his thrusts get sloppy, hitting certain angles that’s has you wreathing. “Eddie!”

He’s quick to silence you, one hand quickly wrapping around your throat and giving a good solid squeeze that has you coming undone on his cock again. “I’m gonna fucking breed you.” He groans into your ear. “Gonna fill you up just how you want, fuck you full.”

You’re gasping for air as you cum on his cock again, but this time, he thrusts a few more times before he finally thrusts deep inside you one last time. You feel the warmth of his cum gush inside you, moaning at the feeling. You need him, you need him to fucking ruin you. Imagine what people would say if he got you pregnant? Your family would be furious…

You hope he did.

You both sit there for a while, basking in the post sex glow. He’s collapsed on top of you, pinning you still to your bed. You don’t mind, your arms wrapped around him as his cock is still buried inside you.

He kisses you lovingly, smothering you in them as you giggle. “You’re so pretty,” his voice is horse, but you understand him well enough.

You snuggle into his neck, still a bit dazed. “I love you.” The words slip out so effortlessly, but of course they do. It’s Eddie.

“I love you,” he smiles into your hair, nuzzling into the strands.

Then you hear a door down the hall open. The hall light flicks on. Eddie scurries off you, grabbing his clothes off the floor and hiding behind the door. You wobbly get up from the bed, but you don’t have time to put on your underwear before a knock comes from your door.

“Sweetie? You alright?” Your dad calls from the other side. You take a deep breath, straightening your 60’s nightgown so it’s just covering you. You open the door just enough to pop your head out. “Yes, Dad?” You smile at the older man, trying to put on this innocent look.

“Are you alright?” He goes to lift his hand, placing it against your forehead, “You feel warm, are you catching a fever?” “Oh, no, I…” you try to think of something quick, “I just had a nightmare. Sorry if I woke you.”

You feel Eddie’s cum starting to drip out of your used cunt, and you try to press your legs together a bit to stop it.

“Are you sure? Do you need some water?” He looks over your face once more. “No, no, really, I’m good. Go back to bed, Dad. I’ll see you in the morning.” You give him a smile and he nods before walking off again. You shut your door slowly, hearing it click into the hold.

“Well,” Eddie comes up behind you and wraps his arms around you, “You need to be more quiet next time.” You go to turn around but he stops you, holding you in place in front of him. “Oh, Bunny,” he trails his hand down your front, “you’re letting too much out, we can’t have that.”

Oh tonight’s on a be a long night.

Tag List!

If you wanna be tagged on future posts, please send me an ask or comment!

@cagethemunson

@cherrycolas-things

@spikeybatt

@r-a-d-i-0-n-0-w-h-e-r-e

#stranger things #eddie munson #x reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x fem!reader fluff #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson smut #x girly girl! reader #Eddie munson x reader smut #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem!reader smut

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almostempty · 1 month ago

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clint gets cockworshipped (clint x f!reader)

wc: 5.4k | other fics | rating: 18+ | ao3

summary: clint deserves some cock worship

tags: cock worship/blowjob pwp, clint comes twice (2!), a little overstim, established relationship, f!reader is able bodied with curly hair mentioned (if you don’t have curly hair and you can’t imagine it for this then it’s not for u, sorry not sorry my poc babes catch pink pussy strays all the time with no warning; you can pretend or not idc), my adhd brain cell can't edit anymore so if there are words missing in sentences soz

a/n: i love this character and the vibe he had with his girl; this fic IS written as reader x clint but, yeah i was picturing grace the whole time (sue me) and i added a reference to the movie she wanted clint to rent bc fuck it why not- this can be read pre-canon or as post-canon-she-lived!au but no baby, pregnancy, or marriage references are made (you can imagine them if you want just don’t tell me about it thx)

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Clint planted the idea in your head, so it’s his fault really. Maybe he didn’t say it out loud—but he said it with his actions. He never lets you make it all about him. Not in the way you want.

He’s too proud. Too stubborn. Too efficient. Too fucking good looking when he’s breathing like he just ran ten blocks and his eyes are clouded with that intoxicating blend of lust and possession.

So you always fold.

Or, you always let him pull you off his cock and fold you into whatever position he’s been holding himself back for. Maybe he wants to eat it from the back until you’re collapsing in front of him or lay you on your back and fold your knees to your chest so he can see everything while you melt. But you’re determined to watch him fall apart. Not in submission, but in safety. You want him to lean into that feral edge he gets when you’re on your knees and he palms the back of your head. When he almost slips into something raw and selfish. Clint isn’t a selfish man, though. He’s built with devotion and grit. He takes it as his duty to be the kind of lover he thinks you would want to brag about. The kind of lover that focuses on you and your pleasure.

And in his man flavored brain he hasn’t considered that you might get off on pleasing him.

So he doesn’t indulge. Doesn’t surrender. Doesn’t luxuriate.

You can practically hear his inner voice. His thoughts and the visceral sensation from his perspective.

When he nears the edge—testing his resolve—he’s prideful about his self-control. Thinks it makes him a better man to hold off. Never falling too deep into the seduction of your mouth.

Your teasing tongue. The soft, warm slip of your lips, enveloping just the tip. Like a warm bath cascading over every nerve, cushioning every ridge and vein.

Slipping and sliding, in and out and in and out. He loses his tether to space and time.

Squeezing, sucking—engulfing him in your mouth, freeing his mind in waves.

Until the abstract starts to take shape. Building and building.

The pressure.

Building and building.

The escape.

Relief is so close, but the build up is fucking divine.

And then your eyes. The glassy, faraway gaze you get when you’re so lost to the baser carnality of flesh and sin. The way your lips swell and shine as you work harder, faster. Bobbing up and down. Sucking in your cheeks. Using your hand to coat his shaft in saliva.

Until you’re hungry. Ravenous.

Taking more and more.

Until his dick is nudging the back of your throat, the spongy tip working deeper as your muscles constrict.

Until something clicks deep inside you, and that low, filthy moan starts rolling out without permission.

Until your groaning vibrates against the head of his cock, and he nestles deeper into your throat. You both feel it—his length throbbing desperately inside of you.

When tears run down your cheeks, and everything is a wet mess, dripping from your chin—

When just the tip grazing the back of your throat is about to turn into shoving his cock mercilessly deeper and deeper?

That’s when he always stops.

That’s when he pulls you off of him. His hands holding you back like he’s holding off a demon. Like he has to stop you from devouring him whole. For his survival.

Your gnashing, vicious glare is quickly softened. But a mess of tears and anguish bubbles instead. Tempting him, like only his body can release you from this torture.

But you don’t get your way. You’re shushed.

Dismissed. You argue with teary eyes and a ragged, hoarse voice. Protesting his cruelty. You think that part might clue him in.

The fact that he’s the one dragging you off of him.

That you’re crying on your knees for more by your own volition.

You think, maybe, if he’s so devoted to bringing you pleasure, to coaxing you into waves of bliss—mindless, syrupy, boneless bliss–that just maybe, he’d let you keep going. Let you spend the time you want with your lips wrapped around his thick cock. That he’d give himself to you with trust.

If he wants to do such a good job pleasing you–then maybe he ought to let you have your way.

Let you twist your soft fist, pumping his cock from base to tip. Filling the room with debased wet noises as the pool of saliva under your tongue drips, thick and shining, over your knuckles and beneath your palm.

Let you hear him. Unfiltered. No more strangled grunts and throaty groans. You want to hear him call out for you openly, from his heart and from the caveman part of his brain he keeps domesticated most of the time.

You crave the deep, thrumming moan of satisfaction. His elation reverberating in your bones.

….

So this morning, before he got out of bed, you made him agree. You drive a sharp, no-nonsense bargain. No outs. All your demands spread on the table—or the sheets—between you. You wanna take your time and you want him to enjoy it. No, there's no ulterior motive and there’s no anniversary he’s forgetting about. “Okay,” he murmurs into your ear before giving you a chaste good morning and good-bye kiss. He hesitates when he catches the hard line between your brows. “You always say that.” “Do I?” “Mhmm. You say ‘okay’ when we start messing around—during the movie I picked and before I know it you’re fucking the daylights outta me and I’m passing out in your ratty old t-shirt again.” “I thought you liked wearing my shirts to bed,” he argues but the soft smile peeking out the corner of his eyes tempers you. “Maybe.” You shift your hips to pull at the aforementioned shirt where it’s twisting and bunched up underneath you. With a soft huff you add, “Just say ‘yes’.” “You got it backwards, babe. Nancy says ‘just say no’.”

“Shut up.” You toss a pillow at him for that. “I’m not offering ‘free’ drugs. Just let me do something for you. You work too hard. Too much dangerous shit.” He gives you a sober look as he pulls his arm through the sleeve of his shirt. “It’s not forever. And I’d do it every day for us, there’s no you owing me anything.” “I know,” you sigh softly. The sun filtering through the dusty blinds is already warm on your skin. Neither of you have a lot. But you have each other. And that fills him with enough pride to fight tooth and nail to get out of the debt he was born into—no matter the job. “Why don’t you consider it doing something for me?” “This shouldn’t even be an argument.” “That’s what I’m saying!” You stretch dramatically before crossing the room, feet padding across the worn carpet. “Don’t trip. I just wanna see my man let go and come down my throat.” He lets you pull him in for another kiss. You can feel the heat of your words dancing on his tongue as he deepens it, palm firm around your jaw, encouraging you to keep going. You pull back with a soft laugh. “We could do it now.” “Baby, you weren’t even listening!” You scoff, giving him a gentle push. “I said I wanted to take my time. I’d miss half my shift.” He relents and you send him off with a stern ‘be safe.’

He thinks you’ll forget. But you won’t. You can’t. You told him over and over again that this is all you’ve been able to think about. And despite the fact that he scares the shit out of anyone that looks in your direction, he doesn’t scare you with his attitude. And when you get home from your shift it’s only gotten worse. The insatiable thirst to feel him clear your mind—fucking your mouth like he means to replace every thought with the weight of him. To only have the mental capacity to focus on breathing and relaxing your muscles. It keeps you fired up enough to drag him straight to the bedroom, before you’ve even gotten out of your work clothes.

You warn harshly that if he tries to stop you, you’re going to come up with your own punishment for him. You don’t miss the way his eyes darken and his nostrils flare when you threaten him.

No. Today, your hulking debt collector—with his sour looks, dry humor, and leather jacket—is going to let you take what you want. And you tell him as much in a rant interrupted by a few kisses punctuated with your teeth tugging at his lower lip and clothes being pulled off and tossed to the floor. Stubborn as he is, he knows you’re even worse. So he’s pliant when you push him to sit at the edge of the bed, settling onto the mattress with a knowing gaze.

Clint is still and quiet as you start. His own head is still full of enough bullshit from the day.

Just watching. Breathing. Nothing else exists when you drop to your knees in front of him. When you look up at him it’s not loaded with faux innocence and the frustration is already dissipating, all that’s left on your face is the joy and a hint of sinister satisfaction. It sparkles in your eyes and has you buzzing.

He’s yours and you’ve got no mercy now. Just a desire to give. And Clint? He starts to slip so quickly now. Enjoying the way you hum, tongue flat against the underside of his cock, vibrating soft and low. As if you’d been starved, you start with making out with his tip, lathing your tongue along the crown, suckling and swirling it between your lips and letting your saliva and his precome pour from your tongue so you can coat his shaft down to his balls. Messy. Sloppy. Eager.

Wet, obscene sucking sounds mix with his throaty grunts in the warm evening air. He’s beginning to loosen up and you’ve barely gotten started. You pay special attention to the sensitive spot that you know makes his stomach muscles tense and his toes snap. His own groan is cut off with a strained curse. You ease off the intensity, but for every sound he makes you reward him with a more enthusiastic response. Trying to tell him you love to hear him. To keep going. Louder.

“Fuck, that feels good.” Yes! Like that. You stroke him with your mouth and hand in tandem, hoping to milk another sentence out of him. It’s not that he doesn’t praise you normally or that he doesn’t love to murmur something filthy in your ear in bed—in the checkout line at the grocery store. It’s that you just wanna hear it pouring out of him without a filter. You want to hear him so fucked out—because of you—that he can’t help but spill whatever’s in his head. You want to hear him unravel out loud. He’s getting there. Encouraging you with more soft praise that makes your chest swell and your cunt flutter.

You pull off his dick with a wet pop, moving to kiss and suck at the base. You continue with your hand, slow, firm, pumping along the smooth skin and twisting your wrist—keeping him revved up, but not overwhelmed. Not a race. “Keep talking.” You meant for it to sound like a seductive purr—but to your surprise it’s edged with something desperate. His cock jumps in response, the muscles in his thighs ripple with tension. “Please, I need to hear you.” Again, you’ve got his number, the kick in his shaft and the clench of his jaw confirm your discovery. “Shit. Yeah, okay.” His chest is already heaving, and his eyes half-hooded. He pushes some loose curls back from your face as you start to take one of his balls into your warm mouth. You play with silky smooth skin on your tongue. “You make me feel so fucking good.” You move to the other. Letting your eyes fall shut for a moment and breathing deep. The musky scent is grounding. It also makes you want to dig your nails into his thighs and take him for a fucking ride.

His hand slides around to your jaw and you pull back, licking your lips. Then his thumb finds your mouth, slow and deliberate, tracing your lower lip before slipping past your teeth, like he’s trying to soothe the riot in his chest.

You suck on it, eyes locked on his, and something shifts in his expression. A quiet flicker. Awe, maybe. Or disbelief.

“Come here,” he murmurs, voice gone gravel-soft. He guides you back onto his cock, his other hand cradling the back of your head, fingers lacing through your hair as he settles in.

“Just like that,” he breathes. “Goddamn, you look so pretty like this.”

His thumb stays at the edge of your mouth, wiping a smear of spit from your cheek as his hips lift just a little, more instinct than control. “Like you were made for me.”

His words swirl over you, thick and sweet like the smoke from a Black and Mild, curling slow down your spine. The heat flows smooth and slow, flowing down your spine as droplets of sweat threaten to form.

You work him with precision, knowing his body like an instrument. Conducting an orchestra of one.

His sentences turn to grunted single-syllable words each time you take a little more of his dick. Sweat beads form in constellations on his chest as it rises and falls.

He’s in deep now. Under your spell.

Entranced by your bright little moans and the gleam in your eyes as you stare up at him.

He knows no more words.

Just heavy, ragged breathing interspersed with choked sounds. You use your tongue to tease, swirling and tracing along every nerve you can locate.

Involuntary moans, frustration and something raw are strangled in his throat and reflected in your own. You’re frenzied, just as fucked out from taking him apart as he is from being deconstructed by your mouth.

He strains, thighs flexing, as you suck and swallow lewdly. Your tongue could be numb, but you need more. You don’t stop. You can’t stop.

He swells on your tongue, getting heavier and harder like your mouth is coaxing it out of him.

Your lips strain around him, stretched just wide enough to ache, your jaw protesting each inch. The head of his cock drags slow against your palate, thick and impossibly hot, filling every inch until your throat has no choice but to yield.

You breathe through your nose, fighting the instinct to gag. Your whole body tightens like it’s wired straight to your throat. The delicious pressure—dense, unrelenting—makes your throat pulse around him. He’s reduced to something primal. Revealed to be just as debauched at his most raw and unfiltered. He thrusts harshly, finally shoving himself down your throat the way you wanted. Fucking your mouth with abandon, his eyes rolled back and tendons in his forearms rippling as he clenches his fists. You gag, obscene and choking on the force of it. He’s heavy on your tongue, riding the edge of unbearable—until his wide hands force you off. He cradles your jaw between his hands, briefly letting you back off to cough before he supports the weight of your head. You stare up at his face, taking in every detail. The patchy flush scaling up his neck and his mouth drooped in a stupor. Wrecked and euphoric.

But Clint’s dark eyes are glinting with an alertness you weren’t expecting. He looms over you with something wicked and enticing settling into his features.

The view sends a rush of hedonistic desire barreling through you. And a deviant grin spreads on your face, before you open your mouth wide, laying your tongue out for more. A dark chuckle shakes Clint’s ribs. “So fucking stubborn,” he growls, his voice rough and dangerous. He releases his grip, watching with an amused smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth when he sees the effort it takes for you to hold your own head up. You squirm under his heady gaze, rubbing your thighs together seeking any relief for your throbbing pussy. Hoping he doesn’t call you out for it. Not right now. If you were to give in. Fold. Beg him to fuck you now, you know he would. You’d sob, writhe, and wail at just the kiss of his cockhead against your clit. The heat and pressure would have you undone before he could sink it inside of you. Your swollen bundle of nerves pulses with anticipation and frustration.

You know he’d torture you deliciously. Fuck you slow and heavy, make you feel every inch before giving it to you like you want. Arousal drips from your achingly empty cunt, and your walls clench as if his dick were just out of reach. He grins like he knows exactly what you’re thinking.

“Stubborn and greedy,” Clint adds, before tapping each of your cheeks with his shining, slick shaft. He sits proudly, letting his cock bob in front of your open mouth before repeating the same motion. He tilts his head, studying you with rapt attention as he listens to the sticky slap of skin against skin.

Saliva pools under your tongue as if you weren’t a slippery, spit coated mess already. You can feel the energy between you humming. A switch flips somewhere deep. Heat rushes your veins, thick and sudden, like liquor spreading through your chest and rolling low. Clint grips himself with a tight fist. Big hand. Big dick. You go a little dumb for it, your vision blurring at the edges. He pumps his hand once. Twice. That’s as far as you can count right now. He fucks his fist with a tight grip, hips canting just slightly. A few more strokes, then—“Open.” He taps the blunt tip of his dick on your shining, pink tongue. “This what you want?” he asks with mockery edged with disbelief. “You want it nasty? You wanna suck on it just to make me feel good?” You hum your affirmation as he starts to rock back into your mouth with slow thrusts. It’s not long before he works back up to a brutal pace, holding you steady as he slips past your lips over and over again. His strangled, handsome grunts punctuate every movement, and you moan back in call and response. Lascivious. Depraved. Mindless with ecstasy. “Oh, shit.” His voice is untethered. “You love it.”

You moan again in agreement and encouragement. He’s getting it.

“Making a fucking mess, baby.” “Mmm,” you purr, muffled by the wet sounds filling the air.

“Yeah, you always get what you want, don’t you?” Your entire body alight, thrumming with delight and lust. For a moment your eyes flutter shut and you’re lost in the most rudimentary form of existence. Just a body. Not dehumanized like an object—but human. Flesh and blood and bones and nerves. Controlled by gravity and pleasure.

His.

When you pull back to catch your breath—ragged and gasping—you hold his heavy lidded gaze. Instead of wiping the saliva off your face you smear it down your chin, drawing your hand down to squeeze your tits in a show for him. A thousand remarks silently float on his heavy exhales. Praise and awe and filthy teases he can’t put together. You revel in the weight of the moment but can’t hold back the impish smile that spreads across your face.

You have another silent conversation with his cock. Studying it. The curve, the heft, the thick vein pulsing just beneath the surface. The fat droplet of precome leaking from his slit that joins your saliva catching in streaks and gathering at the base—where it sinks into the soft, dark curls there, slicking the roots and making everything look unbearably erotic.

It’s almost stupid. The way it’s just him. Maybe that’s just biology or a little bit of Freud (which you’d never admit), but the dick is really built just like him. Strong and gorgeous and molded by something greater than you to show his devotion, just like his hands, and his fucking intuition—and most of it’s so alive. You can feel his pulse under your fingers as you spend a little too long enjoying your moment of appreciation, until you trace down, down, down, to massage his balls. Vulnerable. Just for you. In the most twisted romantic sense you could tear up if you thought too long about the way your man is vulnerable just for you. The things he does just to keep you both afloat. The violence he deals in, the hard edges, the determination and gall. And yet—he never chose this. To be born into a world that demanded so much. You pull off with a gasp, breath ragged, and spit slow onto the head of his cock. It drips, glistening, and you drag your tongue through the mess before taking him in again. Slow and deep, like a fucking performance. Your lips seal around him, cheeks hollowing as you sink lower. Clint huffs out a short breath, half groan, half laugh. “Jesus,” he mutters, like he can’t believe how far gone you are. Like he loves it.

You salivate faster than you can swallow. Slick rushes down his shaft, noisy and obscene. Salt and musk coat your tongue—warm, earthy, a little bitter.

You slide your hand up slowly, twisting your palm like a prayer. His breath hitches. He twitches. You chase that with your mouth, leaning into the gravity of it.

You don’t just suck his cock—you kiss it.

Your whole body is pulsing. You can feel your heartbeat in your clit. In your fingertips. In your tongue.

You lick along the crown, slow and pointed, tracing the soft ridge where the color darkens. He jerks. You chase that movement with your mouth, then your hand, then your whole body leaning forward like it’s gravity pulling you down.

Tongue first. Then lips. Then again and again. Plush kisses. Sloppy kisses. Filthy, noisy, open-mouthed adoration.

You drag your tongue down the underside. Flat and slow. Tasting where he’s softest. You hum, low in your throat, and he shivers like you just said his name.

Clint lets out a sound somewhere between a grunt and a moan. You swear it scrapes up from somewhere he never lets anyone near. His hands find your face again.

“Don’t stop,” he rasps, broken and breathless. “Don’t fucking stop. Baby, please.”

His voice hits that hunger that’s been gnawing at you. This is what you want. His unraveling. His trust. The heavy roll of his hips and the deep, animal sounds in his throat. So raw and desperately close.

So, you give it to him, tight and perfect, your hand stroking in sync with the rhythm of your throat, never breaking eye contact.

You feel the shift when he’s too far gone to hold back. His thighs tense. His breath cuts off. The curse he mutters is strangled and low—your name folded into it like a prayer.

Then he comes.

Hot and deep in your throat, pulsing with every wave. He tries to pull back but you don’t let him. You hold steady, swallowing around the weight of him, letting him give it all to you. His fingers curl tight in your hair, his hips stuttering as it shakes through him.

When all the fight is finally gone from his body, you lick your lips, smiling unapologetically. Quiet seeps in as he catches his breath. His voice is barely audible when he speaks next, wrecked beyond repair. “You’re gonna kill me,” he whispers.

There’s a beat. A flicker of mischief in your smile.

“How would I do it? I couldn't live without ya.” You murmur in your best Sid Vicious accent, earning you an eye roll and a soft exhale from Clint. “You and that fucking punk movie.” He scoffs without animosity. “Mhmm,” you hum, letting the relaxation settle into his bones.

You rest your head on his thigh and watch his fat cock soften in front of your nose—the way it twitches, rolls, like everything inside of him is still shifting and settling.

The air is thick. Sweet. Like sex and sweat and reverence.

You’re high on it. On the quiet, wrecked man under your cheek. On the trust. The way he gave in.

It’s not just about giving anymore.

Your pussy is still swollen and wet just from watching him fall apart.

You haven’t come. You’re not even frustrated. Just restless—wired and buzzing.

You still need him in your mouth.

Not hard. Not dominant.

Just warm and soft and spent. His taste still clinging to your tongue. The scent of skin and salt in your lungs.

You want to feel him twitch back to life against your lips. To savor it slow.

Greedy. Curious. Unhurried.

You’re not sated. You’re still hungry—but not for release. For him.

Just to feel it on your tongue again.

Soft and pliable, still sticky with spit and come.

Still heavy. Still his.

You drag your tongue along the cooling dampness, the velvety, stretchy skin, reverent and insatiable, already craving the weight of him, hot and hard in your mouth.

Clint is still coming down when you move again.

Your head stays on his thigh, lips brushing against the inside of it, inhaling deep like you’re grounding yourself in the scent of him.

His body is lax, legs spread wide, leaned back on his elbows.

"You done?" you ask, soft and sweet, like you aren’t already pressing your lips to his hip, nipping gently.

Clint makes a rough, exhausted sound, falling flat to the mattress and dragging a hand over his face, groaning deep in his chest.

"Yeah, baby," he mutters. "I’m done."

But you know better.

His cock is still right there, softening but still thick, still kicking with life, still heavy against his thigh.

Your lips part, hovering just above the swollen tip, breath fanning against him, watching for his reaction. Your breath is warm where it ghosts over the sensitive skin, and his leg jerks beneath your touch.

"Don’t—" he exhales sharply, fingers twitching like they want to push you away but can’t quite commit. "Too much," he mutters, but his voice is weak, lacking the sharpness of a real command.

Not a real warning. Not convincing.

Because when you press a kiss to the flushed, glossy tip of his dick, his whole body jerks. It’s slow and reverent.

His hand spasms where it rests on the bed, like he might reach for you. Like he might pull you away.

But he doesn’t. But he never does.

His body is betraying him.

"You don’t get it," he pants, eyes squeezed shut. "It’s not gonna happen. Not again."

Wrong.

Because his cock is already yours again. Already swelling before you take it back into your mouth. Heavy and helpless. Thickening against your tongue.

Clint groans. Low, drawn-out, almost pained. "Oh, fuck—"

But you hum against him, savoring the way he jumps at the sensation and whimpers at the tail end of a wrecked gasp.

His hands clutch your head, body shaking, legs trembling, no fight left in him.

Offering gentle licks and soft, open-mouthed kisses, worshipping him like he’s a divine being.

The room feels heavier with each passing moment. His body is trembling now, muscles taut beneath your touch. He leans back up to watch you, glued to your mouth.

You’re meticulous, lavishing every inch of him with attention. Feather-light brushes of your lips along his shaft. The tip of your tongue tracing the sensitive ridge beneath the head. You’re not trying to drive him mad. You’re succeeding.

And when he gets it…he breathes your name. Dazed and destroyed.

Something in you sings at the sound of it. It’s not just filthy—it’s sacred. He’s falling apart, and you’ve never felt so full. So loved. So in control and completely out of it all at once.

“You. Fucking menace,” he rasps, voice hoarse and raw. A sound you want to hear more of.

You smirk up at him and Clint groans, tipping his head back, already broken, already yours.

He’s yours now. Completely undone.

So you shift, wrapping your hand around his base, watching his thigh jump beneath your palm like his body’s trying to wrestle itself out of control. His jaw ticks. His brows pull together like he’s fighting to keep his eyes open. But he has to watch you.

He bucks once, involuntarily jerking toward you. The noise that slips out of him is caught somewhere between a gasp and a moan. You just lean in and swirl your tongue slowly around the ruddy, deeply flushed flesh.

The noises he makes are guttural, unrestrained. The growls in his chest vibrate against your lips when you take him back into your mouth.

His shaft throbs against your tongue, impossibly sensitive, and every movement of your lips sends sharp jolts through his body. He’s panting now, the sound raw and ragged, as you bob your head seeking more.

You’re not just getting off on his sounds. You’re addicted to his surrender. Every breath, every tensing muscle, a confirmation that he’s still letting you have him.

You can feel him straining to hold on, his body taut with the effort, but he’s unraveling fast.

His chases more unconsciously, rocking toward you and forcing himself deeper into your throat. The pressure is overwhelming, but you don’t stop. You press forward, letting him own the space in your throat as you swallow him whole.

The sounds are pornographic and lewd. Echoing in the air between his gasps and the muffled moans vibrating from your chest. He’s lost now, completely at your mercy, and you’re relentless. You pull back to tease him with just your hand, rubbing along the most sensitive nerves. So concentrated. You hold your tongue out–knowing he’s close again. “Like this?” you ask, already glowing with the high of reading his body so well. He can’t answer. Just squeezing his eyes shut. Fighting the urge to collapse. But he’s determined to watch you. His jaw flexing as he struggles. “Come for me,” the words are soft, like a prayer not a demand. “Again.” “I can’t—shit, baby, you’re too good,” he chokes, like the truth is dragging its nails up his throat. He pants out another curse and, “Gonna—”

When he comes the second time, it’s not as strong but just as physically and psychologically devastating.

It lands on your tongue and lips before you swallow and give him one last suck and squeeze, milking every last drop from him—along with an almost pained, broken groan.

Even as he softens, you don’t stop. You lick at the sensitive head, suckling softly, drawing a sharp hiss from his lips as his hips jerk away instinctively. His body shudders beneath you, his muscles trembling uncontrollably.

When you finally release him and his length slips from your mouth, you can’t stop from pressing one last kiss to the tip.

He lies back flat, utterly spent, the sheen of sweat on his skin catching the dim light. His eyes closed, his mouth slack as he tries to catch his breath.

You watch him, lips swollen, your whole body humming—sated, smug, and a little in love with how completely he gave in. You’ll never forget this version of him.

Soft.

Spent.

Yours.

You kiss the inside of his thigh, quiet and slow. Then drag your palm along his thigh. Still loose. Still recovering. But he’s watching you now, head tipped forward to keep his eyes on you.

A smile pulls at the corner of your mouth.

Clint exhales like it’s half a laugh, half a warning. “Didn’t think you’d go that fucking hard.”

You smile, just a little. “I told you I wanted to take my time.”

“Okay,” he admits. His voice is gravel, stripped bare. “You’re right.”

You don’t say anything to that. You stay there, the ghost of a grin on your spit-slick mouth, cheek pressed to his thigh like it’s holy ground.

You don’t move. Don’t gloat. Just exist with him like this.

Quiet. Sated. And a little exhausted.

Still his fault, really.

He loves you like a rock. Solid. Unshaken.

And maybe he still doesn’t let you make it all about him.

But tonight he did.

You gotta worship that when you can.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

thank you for reading pls let me know what you liked or hated or ??? join my tag list here @yxtkiwiyxt my clint babe <3 @lovely-vamp-princess @gothcsz @auteurdelabre @adoreyouusugar @swankyorange @itwasntimethatdidit40 @ivoryandflame @indiegirlunited @syd-djarin @miss-oranje-disco-dancer @harriedandharassed @bbyanarchist @94namkooksworld

@mushgloomz @probablyreadinsmut @ohhoneypascal @noisynightmarepoetry

@joelmillerisapunk @lilac-boo @sunshinehaze1 @worhols @dontlookatme121 @sunshinehaze1 @clubsoft @natalieispunk @jokesonthem @slimybeth69 @4ever-billies-girl @gossipgirl-03

other a/n: a long time ago @gothcsz posted the first part of unscripted desire and these two lines:

Javier tuts, walking over to you with his soft cock hanging between his legs and you do your best to not let your eyes drop down to it. He’s got an unlit cigarette hanging from between his lips.

and it made me think about soft cocks for weeks, WEEKS! …which led to a wip that died when i lost my whimsy in the dark months, but now… NOW it is HERE bc it was meant for clint all along so extra ty for that <3

#clint x reader #freaky tales clint #clint x you #clint flood #freaky tales #idk how to tag this guy rn #clint x f!reader

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dollishmehrayan · 1 month ago

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# TAKE EVERYTHING AS IT WAS WRITTEN FOR YOU ── .✦ ( batboys x writer!reader who writes ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ )

dollish note ౨ৎ: hey so I’m back from the dead apparently, anywaysss omgg I missed you guys Hii and I will posting more content from now on and taking this seriously and these past days I was super stressed out over moving but hey my lovess anyways I decided to base this writer s/o over like anyone, like whether you write fan fic like me or write actual books, it matters to this hcs !! Tags: (batboys x writer!s/o)

# DICK GRAYSON ── .✦

He loves that you're a writer ( listen he just LOVESSS creative women like hello !? God forbid a guy likes creative people 🫠) he's your #1 fan and biggest hype man.

Tries to read your work over your shoulder while you're typing, even if you hate it “Babe, I need to know what happens next!” Like constantly over your shoulder seeing what you’re drafting and etc.

Occasionally offers cheesy plot ideas like “what if the love interest also knows parkour?” (His ideas suck)

Will 100% brag to everyone: “Yeah, my partner’s a genius novelist. Ever heard of them? You will.” OOOOO

Falls asleep listening to you ramble about story arcs and character development. It's his favorite sound.

Writes you little encouraging notes like, “You got this, Hemingway 💪” and sticks them on your laptop / tablet or wtv you have bbg.

# JASON TODD ── .✦

Loves your dark, gritty writing especially if there's violence, angst, or moral grayness involved since a lot of people don’t write angst that casually.

Offers surprisingly insightful edits or plot ideas: “This villain's motivation is weak. Give them a tragic backstory and don’t make them redeemable.”

Low-key wants you to base a character on him but will pretend he doesn’t care.

Has a soft spot for reading your fluff pieces though and will be quietly emotional about them.

Will threaten anyone who leaves bad reviews on your work. "Just say the word. Username 'Booktoklover93'? I got 'em."

He buys you fancy notebooks and pens and acts like it's no big deal, but he's proud of himself.

# TIM DRAKE ── .✦

Absolute king of writing dates you'll both sit in a café typing furiously and sipping terrible coffee.

Helps you fact-check obscure things at 3am without complaint (okay, maybe some complaint).

If you write mystery or thrillers, he treats it like solving a real case. “Wait… that clue in chapter 5…”

He totally has a secret folder on his computer labeled “[Your Name]’s Writing – Favorite Stuff” with all your pieces saved.

You’ve accidentally inspired him to write fanfic once and he WILL take that secret to the grave.

Sends you prompts or memes like “this is so your OC.” (Sorry I just keep cringing at oc 🥲)

# DAMIAN WAYNE ── .✦

At first, he might not get why you write fictional stories… but then he reads them.

He's completely blown away and demands to know what happens next immediately.

Occasionally critiques your logic but ends up emotionally invested in your characters.

“Why did you kill him off?” Because it served the story—” “You’re a monster.”

Will sit next to you while you write, drawing or sketching your characters in his own style.

Has probably told Alfred he thinks you’re a genius at least once when he thought no one was listening.

# BONUS WHICH MR WAYNE! ── .✦

Loves that you're creative and has the patience of a saint when listening to you rant about plot holes.

He doesn’t read everything you write, but when he does, he’ll quote it back to you at random times like a proud husband.

“Chapter 7 really showed growth. I was impressed.”

Offers to fund your writing career or self-publishing venture without blinking. “You’ll need an editor and marketing team.” SIGN ME UP !!

He also gently reminds you to eat and sleep when you’re on a deadline: “You’ve been writing for 16 hours. Come to bed and go to sleep.”

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minimomoe · 11 months ago

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How to Train your Demon

Pairing: trueform! Sukuna x Fem Reader

Summary: Life has all kinds of wins and losses. You don't know which category to put your new demon husband in though.

Tags: MDNI!, red string of fate trope, true form sukuna, librarian reader, soul mates, reincarnation, accidental summoning, love at first sight (buti it's one-sided (until it's not)), Sukuna is demon, but he's v much in love, smut and stuff eventually i guess....

Song inspo: E.V.O.L- MARINA

Part I. II. III. IV. V. VI. VII. VIII. IX. X. XI. XII. XIII. (completed!)

Rule no. 1: Don't show fear

It was a mistake. A comical, nonsensical, monumental mistake, but a mistake nonetheless. You didn’t mean to create a soul tie with a demon . All you did was read a torn up book from the library. Was it an occult book about spiritual practices in the Japanese Heian era? Yes… but it doesn’t warrant an eldritch horror being your life partner.

Actually, according to the demon, you didn’t create the soul tie, he has been waiting for you all his life. Cute, but it didn’t make the situation any better. Damn your natural inclination to catch the old and withered items thrown into the donation boxes of the library you worked at. It just pained your heart to see pages falling out of books, and the ominous leather bound grimoire was no exception.

Restoration was one of your favorite things to do. Knowledge is always worth saving, no matter how old it may be. Books were your life. You found yourself lost in them, enchanted, terrified, taught. You had no genre as your favorite. Everything was welcomed, nothing was off limits. You knew a little bit of every culture, every study, every block buster fantasy. If you could, you’d build a machine that would let you live inside of a book and experience the scene yourself.

Technically you could ask your all powerful demon to do that, but you didn’t want to deal with him right now.

You still weren’t all too sure on how it happened. First you were glueing the pages back to the spine of the book, running your fingers over the deckled edges when you opened a page that was stuck together. You carefully peeled it apart, a task that took ten minutes to do to avoid any additional tears, and opened up to a page that was different from the rest. The words were written in a rush, the strokes of the characters dragging much longer than it should. You only knew a tiny bit of Japanese (but much more of Latin, Russian, Yoruba, and French from having just an abundance of time on your hands), but this time you could make out some of the words.

You muttered the ones you knew for sure, used context clues for the ones that were beyond reading. It didn’t make a lick of sense to you. You closed the book with a clamp so that the glue would set and decided to come back to it tomorrow since it was closing time. There was no rush of wind, flash of lightning, or eerie sounds. Just you and the screech of a thousand cicadas as soon as you stepped outside to walk to your car. A normal Thursday night.

Until it wasn’t.

You shuffled around your house with a new arc from your favorite novelist in one hand, a glass of wine in the other, and the largest frame of glasses known to man perched on your nose. Jazz music quietly spilled out from your hidden speakers, preventing the house from getting a little too quiet as you lived alone with your cat. It was a total boring cliche, you were well aware, but you were happy with your life. You had friends who you trusted, a great relationship with your parents, and just recently got out of a relationship with someone who you didn’t hate, you just grew apart. There was no chaotic, negative energy to feast on in your household and you liked it that way.

You thought you heard your cat clawing on the door when you were snuggled away in your bed. You flipped the covers over and went to let her in to snuggle with you.

“I’m so sorry, Cleo. I thought you were already in here with me,” you said, scooping her up from the floor. The ragdoll cat begrudgingly accepted your kisses of apology. You set her down on the bed, watching her find a good spot to curl up in and smiled. You went to reach for your wine glass you knew that you set on your nightstand, but there was nothing in the glass. You were sure that you didn’t finish it. You paced yourself well enough for it to last until at least chapter five, but there wasn’t a drop of alcohol left.

“The quality of sake has diminished over the years, I see.”

The voice came from all around the room but also deep in your chest. Cleo hissed, making a run for it out of your door, leaving you wildly spinning around for the intruder. You lunged for the heavy duty taser you kept in your nightstand, but when you turned around there was nobody there.

“What is that?”

The bone chilling voice spoke again. Was it one person or many, you couldn’t tell.

“I— I have a weapon!” You tried to steady your voice but it was hopeless. You were terrified. There was nobody there but you could feel a heavy presence in the room.

“You call that a weapon?” The voice laughed. “The only weapon my wife needs is me.”

The statement made you falter. “Wife? Who are you?”

You turned around once again and nearly jumped out of your skin. A man, or a close approximation of one, sat on your bed flicking through your book. It was impossible, but he had twice as many limbs on his top half than he should, and double the amount of eyes. They were bright and red when scanning through your novel. “What language is this?”

“F-french,” you whispered. You were dreaming. You had to be. That was the only way this could be happening. Still, dream or not, you had to protect yourself. You pressed your taser and watched the prongs leap out and touch his bare skin. He looked unbothered, merely looking down at his stomach where the taser landed and moved his arm to reveal a mouth on his abdomen. A tongue flopped out and licked the prongs, dragging it back to the mouth and the taser was slowly dragged out of your hands and into the mouth. You watched in horror as the hard plastic was crushed to pieces in front of your very eyes.

“Useless weapon,” he reiterated, this time looking directly at you. “Don’t insult me again.”

“Pl—please don’t hurt me.” There was nothing left to do but beg. You already punched yourself till blood was drawn. This was not a dream, you were looking at a real, evil monster who didn’t know French and ate high voltage tasers.

He rose from your bed. You crawled away as much as you could until you bumped into a wall and still you wanted to move through it. He stood before you, looking over your trembling frame and called out for you.

“Rise.”

You rose, unsure if you really had a choice in the matter. One of his many hands cupped the side of your face. A clawed thumb brushed away the tear that fell on your cheek.

“Why do you weep?”

“Um… well… I don’t really know who you are,” you said honestly. You were still pinned to the wall, unable to flee and he took up your entire frame of sight. He nodded, removing his hand from your face and raising it in the air. You thought he was going to strike you and you flinched. When you opened your eyes again he was multiple steps away from you, still raising his palm.

“Time has faded your memory of me. You are my wife, and I am your husband. The string of fate proves that we are mates.”

He stated it so matter of factly. You are my wife, and I am your husband. My wife, your husband. Mates. Forget dreaming, you have officially lost your mind.

“I don’t… remember agreeing to that,” you said carefully. The words “husband” and “wife” bounced in your head in a crazy echo. You slumped to the floor, your body suddenly very tired. A laugh bubbled up your throat and escaped your mouth. So much for your boring life.

“Do you not feel the connection? The string is tied from my last finger to yours.” You looked at your hand, not seeing any supposed string and shook your head.

He frowned. “You do not agree to it. It has been decided.” He crouched in front of you, inspecting your face earnestly. One side of his face was strange, not normal skin, instead inhuman, bumpy and shades darker.

“You look the same after all this time,” he murmured. “I will make you remember.”

“Let’s not do that,” you said quickly. “I don’t even know your name and I am not married. I’m a librarian and I have a cat. And I have never, ever met you before.”

“I am known as Sukuna, among other names,” he responded to one of your distresses. “What title is a librarian?”

This time you laughed. An deranged laugh, loud and unbecoming. Sukuna waited as impatiently as he could for you to be finished, but you kept on cackling. Once out of breath, you wiped the tears out of your eyes and leaned against the wall. It finally dawned on you how this happened. The drying grimoire that was locked up in the library was responsible for this strange turn of events.

“It’s not a title, at least, not in the way you’re thinking. It’s my job, one that I love very much. Was I ever a common worker before?”

Sukuna bristled at the thought. Even his tummy mouth frowned. “You were a queen. You wanted nothing because you had everything.”

“Interesting,” you mused. “I’m so not your girl.”

“I’m not interested in little girls.”

“Kudos to you. I think I’m going to sleep now. I’m clearly much more tired than I think I am.”

“We have things to discuss,” Sukuna protested, but you already slipped under the sheets. If I force myself to sleep he will go away, you thought.

Instead you felt the dip of the other side of your bed and flung your eyes open. Sukuna was in bed, with you, staring your down with his four eyes. He was much too close for your liking.

You looked at him wildly. “What are you doing?”

“Resting with you.”

“Get out of my bed!”

“Are you no longer tired?”

“I am tired. Extremely tired, but that doesn’t mean I want you on my bed! Stay on the floor or something!”

Sukuna rolled his eyes at you and turned on his back, his arms crossed in two sets on his chest.

“You were always particular with your sleeping habits. I see that hasn’t changed either.”

“Stop acting like you know me!”

Sukuna got off the bed to sit on the floor like you asked. The only problem is that you could feel his gaze prickling your skin, making it impossible to ignore him. You didn’t feel bad about kicking him out, he certainly didn’t have a pout on his face because of it, but something needed to be done.

“Face the door instead of me,” you mumbled.

His eyes twitched. “Commanding me like footmen,” he grumbled, yet he still turned away. You wondered if his obedience had something to do with the book. Sukuna had the aura of someone who doesn’t listen to anyone, yet he’s been more than understanding with you. Maybe you really were his wife. Maybe you were having a very elaborate and maladaptive daydream. You thought of “maybe’s” until the sun came up, still staring at the back of his pink, spiky hair.

Your alarm chirped for you to get ready for work. You groaned. You didn’t get a second of sleep. You were too afraid of being eaten by the demon you accidentally summoned. You reached out to shut off the ringing clock as quietly as you could, but Sukuna touched it first.

“How strange,” he said, turning the clock around in his hand. He brought it up to his ear, shook his head, tapped the glass. Then he crushed it. It was made of plastic, but the shards bent and broke to the floor left his hand unscratched. You gaped at the mess he made as he let the remains fall to the floor. “It was making a wretched sound.”

“Yeah…” you sighed. “It was pretty noisy.”

You had to find out how to get rid of him. Fast.

Thanks for reading loves!! lemme know what ya think xx

Part: I. II. III. IV. V. VI. VII. VIII. IX. X. XI. XII. XIII.

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invested-in-your-future · 3 months ago

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The Portrayal of DID in Ave Mujica

(I have to preface this by saying that I am approaching this from a narrative writing standpoint and from my own personal delving into psychology overall. The subject topic is complex and the medical knowledge on it is ever-evolving, so if any of my notions are outdated, I am very, so very sorry.)

(I also understand that the topic of trauma and DID might be a triggering experience to some people, so caution is advised.)

(The discussion will also have open spoilers about the show and as such is tagged with spoiler tags.)

If there's one thing I would never expect when watching a music show, it is for it to turn into a deeply introspective psychological drama about flawed characters grappling with anxiety, mental wellness, toxicity and so on.

I did something like this a few times before and I can't help but want to explore and convey my thoughts on the character writing and handling of dissociative identity disorder within this show.

Now, Ave Mujica's predecessor, MYGO (to which Ave Mujica is a sequel), did play with the portrayal of neurodivergent-coded traits and still remains one of the best attempts at that overall, but a lot of that could be written off as subtextual.

So Ave Mujica portraying DID (Dissociative Identity Disorder) in a textual way comes as a surprise.

What's even bigger surprise is the lengths the show goes to make the portrayal feel authentic and how up-to-date the overall knowledge within the writing is.

Now, for starters, some explanation is needed.

What is DID?

Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID) is a type of dissociative disorder that usually develops in early childhood due to traumatic experiences—most often emotional or physical abuse or neglect.

The conditions within the environment lead to a child failing to integrate into a unified identity due to compartmentalizing their trauma and various other facotrs. In layman's terms, "distancing themselves" from their own psychological trauma.

The key aspect to understand is dissociation, a concept that is crucial to DID but NOT limited to it. To quickly explain what dissociation is—to handle specific amounts of stress and trauma, the brain copes with the information via "disconnecting" one's sense of self from perception.

Dissociation is actually a very common reaction to trauma and can manifest in different ways without it being DID (hence dissociative disorders being a whole branch of stuff)—like, for example, dissociative amnesia, where a person might forget selective memories associated with a traumatic event.

Grief tends to sometimes lead to dissociation, especially during the early phases, too.

Another common example is depersonalization, which involves "perceiving yourself as an out-of-body observer," which usually involves an altered perception of time too, with time slowing down or speeding up or the concept of time losing meaning.

Both of those can manifest as part of DID, but can also exist separately—for example, derealization and depersonalization can be symptomatic of PTSD.

DID in itself as a concept is about a person at a young age failing to integrate into "one".

The way a child's growth goes is that the mind reintegrates and parses those their experiences and traumas shaping their identity. Experiencing dissociation doesn't instantly mean DID, because dissociation by itself is a common trauma-parsing mechanism, as I said before. A child can experience trauma, neglect, or abuse without it leading to DID.

In the case of DID, the child fails to integrate, the trauma/abuse/neglect instead leading to compartmentalized elements working together—a system.

It's important to note that trauma doesn't create alters, as it's been thought for a while. It's not something fake or "split" or "created"—the system is all the alters as equally "real"; it's just that alters themselves might have different traits of the identity.

While alters are identities, they aren't necessarily separate people—they are a system. Alters might differ from each other, and have separate memories, and skill sets, but every alter is part of that system. Alters don't appear out of thin air as separate entities and it's better to view a system as an entity comprised of equally real alters functioning together, with the "primary" one (the one that's out for the longest periods) being often called "the host".

Thus, alters can be subtle and almost indistinguishable from the host. And even if they have distinct personality traits, most alters would have an awareness to "fit in" by not standing out, instead internalizing them and trying to mimic the host personality (because it's "normal").

There isn't a secret evil spirit or a ninja assassin living in a person—portrayals like that (ex: the movie "Split") are extremely harmful because they perpetuate a toxic stereotype that just isn't true.

There's no "real personality and fake personalities" and so on. The current understanding of DID is a child at a young age, due to internal and external factors, failing to integrate into a singular identity.

Now depending on how young we talking, the person might have had a personality-before or might not have at the point DID develops, but the concept of "original/core" personalities is currently considered antiquated.

And just like alters aren't "created," they can't "die" either.

Now that this covered basic terminology and information, I can actually discuss about the show itself.

First, let's talk about Mutsumi and her character.

Mutsumi

From the very first appearance in MYGO, the characterization conveys the personality of someone who is stoic, internalizes her emotions, and has trouble communicating with others—her first spoken line in the show is ambiguous.

Mutsumi is a stoic, shy student who had been in a band together with her childhood friend, Sakiko, and three other people. The band imploded after her childhood friend suffered from circumstances she felt she couldn't share with others and disbanded it.

The character is often coerced or influenced by others to do things for them and plays more of the role of an observer.

It becomes quickly obvious that Mutsumi herself is extremely uncomfortable with this role—not only blaming herself for the band's breakup but also feeling awful about her friends' mental well-being afterward.

Meanwhile, Mutsumi's childhood is no better—as a child of a star actress and a famous comedian, Mutsumi didn't have what one could call "a normal childhood.". Her parents had surrounded her with wealth but at the same time had adopted a completely hands-off approach, which led to her feeling neglected and alone. For example, she doesn't even call her mother and father dad/mom/father/mother/etc., instead opting to refer to them by their first names like friends would do. The mother is also enamored with being an actress—for example, one of the things she would offer her daughter's friends visiting would be to watch movies she starred in.

The show makes sure the audience gets a sense of the scale of her home life—a luxurious house filled with servants where her mother is a star rather than a parent.

What's more, due to the circumstances of her parents she's constantly compared to her mother and father and their talents, with expectations placed to follow in their footsteps. This ends up with her feeling like she has nothing of her own in her life—whatever praise or expectation is placed upon her ties to The Star Actress and The Comedian instead of who Mutsumi is as a person.

As a result, she values the bonds she has formed with other people a lot. She cares deeply about her childhood friend (whose family circumstances are the actual reason for the band breakup), and she cares about the one other bandmate who had kept in touch with her (the person who is mainly keeping in touch due to selfish goals though).

So when her friend decides to create a new band, Mutsumi feels responsible to support her and help her.

Unfortunately for her, her friend is going through a lot emotionally, and the entirety of the new band consists of a lot of openly toxic individuals.

Thus she is placed into a situation where she has to juggle the neglect and distance she feels at home, the expectations her suffering friend is placing upon her, the expectations the world has for her due to her parents, and the pressure from being a member of an extremely popular band—a tough deal for someone who from the beginning had trouble expressing herself.

But hey, at least since the band has the whole pseudo-visual-kei thing going for it, she will be able to wear a mask.

Which is where her journey through Ave Mujica starts.

Ave Mujica and DID

The first notable thing we see happen is her struggling with an interview, reinforcing the idea that she has trouble expressing herself.

Ironically, this is another case where someone else ends up speaking over her.

The episode ends with the first notable trigger for her emotional state worsening, which is one of the bandmates going off-script and ruining the whole "secret identity" thing by unmasking them live on stage to an audience of hundreds if not thousands.

Considering her character set-up and her issues and insecurities, this is about the second most terrifying thing to Mutsumi in the entire world.

As the bandmates argue and blame each other over what had happened, the show then proceeds to take time to showcase how the pressure and the stress of what had happened affect her psychologically and emotionally.

This is a character who had been defined by the impostor syndrome caused by the neglect of her parents and comparisons society draws to them due to their fame—essentially getting doxxed live to an audience of hundreds if not more.

The show then dedicates its runtime to showcase how this character is slowly ground down by the building up pressure and anxiety, the dam breaking due to the traumatic experience—especially when she flubs an interview, causing even more tension and pressure.

"Don't speak out; play your role; don't make mistakes; be perfect or people will hate you."

The show makes sure to slowly build tension and highlight the growing anxiety and the increasing levels of dissociation the character experiences from the world around her as she goes through interviews and photoshoots—interactions that only worsen her mental state by anxiously comparing her to her parents or reminding her of the mistakes she made, as numbness overtakes her.

The anxiety, the stress, and the tension within all build to the point of insomnia as the character retreats to the one place she was implied to feel safe in throughout the show—the rehearsal room at home where she would spend time alone playing her guitar.

Because, again, as implied, her parents don't exactly pay any attention to her beyond showering her with wealth, and everyone else views her as an extension of her parents. So for her this is one spot that is truly hers.

And even that spot has now been taken because her mother had offered the whole band to use the rehearsal room. It's no longer just her space.

Depression, anxiety, and insomnia are but a few of the things that both influence and happen as a result of dissociative disorders

The show highlights the character's worsening physical state due to her deteriorating emotional state, to the point that the character has trouble walking down the hallway.

More importantly, the people around her—her band, her parents, her friend—they don't realize that. If anything, they put more pressure on her shoulders, they tell her to not stand out, to play the role to perfection, to not ruin the performance or further ruin the band's reputation.

The pressure and tension build to the point where the show depicts the first on-screen dissociative episode for the character.

Experiencing dissociation from gazing into a mirror is actually pretty common, as is the idea of recognizing your reflection as someone else. It's not limited to DID, however. There are common experiences where people suffering from anxiety might feel a sensation that they are looking at a stranger for example. Gender dysphoria might also elicit a feeling that the reflection is "wrong".

The show also showcases another common DID symptom: losing large chunks of time as the character finds themselves jumping from the changing room to the middle of the scene without knowing how she had gotten there.

The scene also involves the character witnessing(and more importantly, recognizing) multiple of herself. While the most common way for the host personality to perceive alters is auditory, visual perception is also possible, as are all other senses.

The series of visual hallucinations ends with a character making a mistake live on stage and experiencing a complete dissociation as she slumps onto a stage prop chair motionless like a doll with strings cut..

Essentially, this is a moment when no one is in control. The host personality has experienced complete dissociation, but neither the host personality nor any alters are "behind the wheel.".

Now, to this point, the idea is still subtextual (barely) in that the story shows but doesn't tell what is happening.

However, what comes after this grows more and more textual.

The dissociative episode and perceiving multiple of "you" leads to the character experiencing even more vivid hallucinations.

This time, however, the character directly acknowledges and converses with an alter within her mind-space.

Having a healthy and proper way of communication between host and alter(s) is actually crucial to functioning as a healthy system and living with DID.

Most of the conversation, however, happens within mind-space, as the character relives her past experiences and memories as if she were watching them as an observer, with the alter narrating her life's story.

The mindscape is often metaphorical so the alters don't necessarily always appear human, but they always would be "humanlike", because the brain perceives the alter as alive. The form alters might take within the mindscape is often dependent on the kind of trauma a person has suffered.

The story as narrated by the alter establishes the reason behind why the character values playing the guitar so much—because it's something truly hers, something she had learned on her own and something that is in no way "because of her parents".

But she feels like she's not good enough.

She can't be expressive, she has trouble communicating her emotions, and thus her playing skills, while technically perfect, lack that self-expression capability.

She can't make the guitar sing.

And thus due to impostor syndrome, she concludes that being "wrong" somehow is why the bands she gets involved with on her friend's behalf keep breaking up—why her best friend keeps suffering.

A person suffering from anxiety, trauma, and neglect, someone who has issues expressing themselves, would often wrestle with issues of self-hate and depression and Mutsumi is no different there.

Experiencing one's own memories from an outside perspective, as if watching a movie or seeing themselves from outside observing something is once again quite common in terms of DID.

As the toxicity within the band keeps growing and her friend keeps suffering, the character's anxiety and stress build further, the auditory and visual hallucinations intensifying.

Just a reminder that while this goes on and Mutsumi slips in and out of her mindscape, her best friend, her parents, and the whole band are completely unaware of any of this. In their minds, the dissociative episode she had experienced was "her acting out" or "acting" or just being "closed-off".

This is the first case where the alter has a direct and open back-and-forth conversation with the Mutsumi, rather than narrating her life like before.

Alters within a system often end up serving specific purposes—because they are more comfortable doing something the host alter isn't. Sometimes it's a single memory the host can't parse or a personality trait.

The alter in question showcases worry for the host's well-being—A Protector.

The alter represents worry over the character's own well-being and where the current stressful self-destructive path may lead.

(Important Note: I do feel the need to say that alters do not neatly fall into classifications and there's not some "class system" for Alters that is always true. There are many complex reasons for how alters within a system can be and there's a lot still unknown, as is true with the overall human mind. Since alters aren't created or "split", an alter merely providing a specific role doesn't mean they exist solely for that role, as it becomes clear with the case within the show too.)

The alter believes that if Mutsumi stays with the band, she will experience the full brunt of the band imploding and the alter also perceives Sakiko as someone who is not healthy for the character—toxic even.

Mutsumi however reaffirms that she wants to support her friend no matter what, to always be by her side.

Eventually, however, as the days go on, and the band keeps arguing, the character ends up tying together what is happening now with a traumatic event in her past—her best friend's previous band imploding in a similar fashion.

The character draws parallels between the two situations—between two traumatic experiences—which further worsens their wellbeing.

As a side note I do love Dutch-angles and how universal they are in conveying things going wrong somehow or being unsettling.

All of this leads to the final straw—a confrontation with her best friend, where the character ends up being accused of "not being good enough" and "not supporting her like a friend should".

Why can't she smile or talk or be more social?

Now I do feel the need to interject and say that while her friend is completely in the wrong here, things aren't that simple. Sakiko also has her own issues, depression, traumatic experiences, and absolutely horrible life—all of which she is unable to properly parse and thus turns towards alienating everyone who cares for her rather than showing how hurt she is.

This is the final straw, the moment where the anxiety and traumatic experiences build up to the point where the host just wants to escape.

A moment where subconsciously she'd want to turn to the someone for help.

This is also the first time this alter is properly given a name (one of Mutsumi's stage persona, Mortis).

The scene is eerie and haunting, but it has to be—sleeping is as close as the situation can get to ego-death.

(Because, like I mentioned before, parts of a system can't "die".)

Once the stage play starts, both the bandmates and the audience are treated to a performance that is unlike the character's usual self.

Mortis fulfills their role, shielding the host from a traumatic experience, taking it up to themselves to do something the host would suffer trying to do. In this case, it's to pretend everything is fine and play the role her best friend expects her in the band—to smile and to talk and to help keep it together.

From this point on, Mortis is in control.

She smiles, is social, and delivers efficient jokes to lighten up the mood—she pays attention to the wellbeing of other bandmates and is extremely expressive.

It needs to be noted that the bandmates and parents STILL have no clue. The other bandmembers barely knew her for a month so they don't really see anything wrong with the change in how the character behaves. If anything they see it as an improvement.

Mortis is doing everything they can to do what the host was too anxious to—to be a perfect actress, supportive and caring for the band, and nurturing an environment where the band stays together.

There are a few problems, however.

For starters, Mortis doesn't know how to play guitar, at all.

It's a skill and talent the host alter developed and as far as systems go not everyone would have access to the same memories, experiences, or skills and it's possible for alters to develop different skills than the host too.

And second of all, as the one who wants to protect Mutsumi, Mortis feels disdain towards the main source of Mutsumi's anxiety and depression—her childhood friend, Sakiko.

In Mortis's eyes, the dissociative episode the host suffered and the extreme amounts of anxiety and stress are all because of Sakiko.

This comes to a head in a scene where Sakiko, after spending a whole episode feeling uneasy because of how different Mutsumi is now, decides to have a one-on-one talk with her about what's going on.

It's in this scene that the show textually acknowledges DID.

What finally tips her off is that Mortis refers to her differently than Mutsumi would.

This scene also provides a direct affirmation of the fact that parts of a system don't "die"—they might however go dormant and "fall asleep".

As a side note, the scene does contain ominous framing, but it's mainly due to it mainly being from Sakiko's POV. The writing, however, makes it extremely clear Mortis isn't a villain as much as someone protective of Mutsumi and spiteful towards Sakiko due to her neglect of her best friend—and that Mortis isn't entirely wrong to blame Sakiko for this.

This is kind of surprising because that's pretty "new" information as far as the medical topic of DID goes. People used to think alters could die due to a faulty understanding of the idea stemming from the older now debunked theories as I mentioned before.

The reality, however, is, that alters aren't really something "different" nor "created/split"—a system has the same brain, and the same biological functions, which means the brain can't perceive itself as "dead".

DID develops at a young age due to neglect trauma or abuse. It doesn't suddenly happen because of some extremely tragic event as fiction often depicts it (the tragic events however can cause the host to dissociate and push specific trauma onto an existing alter).

The show, once again, acknowledges that too!

The scene basically spells out that Mutsumi's DID developed at a young age as a result of parental neglect and anxiety. Note that the show doesn't imply Mortis "having been created" ever.

Mortis basically spells out what Mutsumi wouldn't have been able to say—she speaks of the stress the band had caused Mutsumi and how Sakiko's neglect and toxicity ended up causing her to retreat into sleep.

(Once again have to add this: Alters can differ in terms of their thoughts, species, speech patterns, gender orientation, etc. Alters even can have different heart rates, eyesight, and how they respond to allergies.)

Mortis is resolute to protect Mutsumi and her band, but she's also a child—one that can be very blunt in the ways Mutsumi isn't and also naive in the way Mutsumi wouldn't be.

She can't help but detest Sakiko for her toxicity and the trauma it has caused.

She bluntly states that Mutsumi ceding control to Mortis is Sakiko's fault and if Sakiko keeps acting this way instead of actually parsing her problems, Mutsumi might never return.

Mortis isn't merely "a role protecting someone". She is childish and she is, in a way spiteful and she has an opinion about Sakiko that Mutsumi might not agree with.

There's a struggle there because the dissociation between the two alters is too big—there's a lack of communication as once Mutsumi gets to interact with Mortis again, the two are talking past each other.

Mortis is way too focused on what Sakiko had caused and on how it had hurt Mutsumi, while Mutsumi is still ever so focused on how much Sakiko herself is hurting and ignoring her own problems.

It's somewhat common for alters to communicate their memories or experiences with each other via mindspace creating a filing system of sorts as some described it as a computer with a search bar or a cabinet.

The show makes sure to highlight the dissociation currently between Mutsumi and Mortis and the communication between the alters having been strained due to conflicting motives and viewpoints on their mental wellness and how much a person Mutsumi cares about affected it.

The show also doesn't shy away from the problematic treatment of mental wellness in the world and how often it gets sensationalized.

The first major example is the public's reaction to Mutsumi dissociating on the stage—the band is flooded with demands to REPEAT that "performance". In fact multiple show appearances and stuff set that as a condition for the band appearing at all. To the public there's not even an ounce of worry that this was something real—to it couldn't have been anything but acting. Which is actually a common toxic reaction towards systems in the real world. Even within the Ave Mujica tags there were people screaming how "Mutsumi must be just pretending to have it".

Even one of Mutsumi's teammates mistakes her dissociation and Mortis for masterclass acting talent and is STILL haunted and feeling inferior by it even after she KNOWS what actually happened.

The characters also use the outdated term "split personality" when conversing about Mutsumi and Mortis and a majority of the cast doesn't "get" what this is and are way out of their depths—Sakiko blames herself for "having broken" Mutsumi, Umiri and Uika just completely don't care, Nyamu feels insecure and the MYGO cast are also just as out of their depths even though they display far more empathy.

It's a sheer contrast to one character who has no direct connection to Mutsumi but is known for her blunt nature and ends up recognizing both Mutsumi and Mortis as individuals (even asking for the name of each alter when they exchange introductions) and befriending Mortis.

Likewise, when Mutsumi and Mortis end up arguing over their motives and goals and falling down the stairs, the first reactions the onlookers have is to...snap photos and film the situation because it's a famous person and maybe this is some performance too! A completely cold and cruel audience of observes that keeps snapping photos even as another characters desperately begs them not to film this.

And of course, it gets shared and goes viral on social media.

Overall so far the representation of DID and overall mental-wellness issues in Ave Mujica (and MYGO) have been the series highlight and I certainly hope the show continues to treat the subject matter with care and research needed as it further delves into the character.

Another highlight is the variety of issues and insecurities the other main characters are facing—from Sakiko's complex traumatic experiences and implied self-harm tendencies, to Uika's obsession, to Nyamu's insecurities to Umiri's complete emotional disconnect and compartmentalizing to the point others see her as lacking empathy (even though that last scene implies it's not completely true, so we don't really know what's exactly going on there).

Ave Mujica, if it lands, is shaping up to be one of the best shows in a while when it comes to character introspection and psychological themes.

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 7 months ago

Text

Cut Deep

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

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, violence, bullying, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

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

Summary: Bad news brings the worst out in Logan. [reader is a mutant who can see emotions]

Characters: Logan Howlett (Wolverine)

Note: since this is my first time writing this character, I'd especially appreciate some extra feedback

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

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

“So, me and Scott just wanted to let everyone know we chose a date!” Jean is ecstatic. You can feel her happiness radiating from her. Despite how often you try to block those vibrations out, hers are so strong, you can’t. “And we’ll send out the invitations soon. Be sure to RSVP! And we know you all can make it because it will be right here at the mansion.”

She beams as Scott drapes his arm around her shoulders. They are such a cute couple. Perfect. Everyone on the team loves them. Well, everyone except for the one person roiling with black clouds of spite.

You glance over at Logan as he stews by the door. He stands with his burly arms crossed, his biceps straining in his leather jacket. He glares at the happy couple and curls his lip. Everyone also knows that he has a rotten infatuation with Jean, too. You feel bad for him really.

He catches you staring before you can tear your eyes away. He tilts his head and narrows his eyes. You quickly look away and swallow. You get up and go to Jean and Scott.

“Congrats, guys,” you smile, “let me know if you need any help with planning.”

“Thank you. Of course,” Jean smiles as Scott echoes her.

You make room for another well-wisher and back away, basking in the good energy all around. Well, mostly. You feel Logan steaming still but you refuse to look at him. You know how he gets when he’s upset. You don’t need to be able to see into his mind to know he’s pissed off.

As the room converges on the happily engaged couple, you opt to leave before the noise can get too much. You’re always a bit more sensitive with the extra effort of trying to block out the sounds that you don’t want to hear. It’s like a buzz on the other side of a wall. If the door cracks open, it will all blast in like a sonic wave.

You go into the library and reclaim the book you set left carelessly open on a leather armrest. It’s a history of mutants written in the 1700s. A secret tome Professor Xavier collected among his endless search for compatriots, both past and present.

Some you know from the history taught in schools for non-mutants. Like the queen accused of witchcraft or the countless people executed for the very same. Emperors who’s legacies are chalked up to folktale and superstition over the reality of their beings.

You sit up as you sense the shift in the air. That greyness seeps in before the door opens. You know who it is already yet you’re surprised to see him enter. Logan scowls as his eyes pinpoint at you. His rage continues to burn hotter and hotter.

“Oh, hi,” you close the book, “sorry, did you need the library--”

“I need you to stop tryna poke around in my head,” he growls.

You flinch as you stand slowly, “I... I don’t do that. Those are the rules. I stay in my own.”

“I saw you staring,” he accuses.

“I just looked. I could... feel. That I can’t control,” you explain. “Sorry.”

“Feel what? Huh? What do you think you know?”

You clear your throat and shake your head. “Nothing, I don’t know anything.”

“Damn right, you know shit all, little girl,” he stomps over to you.

You gulp as you stare back at him. Logan, Wolverine, X-Man. He’s one of the most admired and well-known mutants alive but that’s all you know of him. You’ve seen him hundreds of times in the mansion, but only in passing. He never wanted to talk to you, only Jean. As far as you knew, he didn’t even know you existed.

“That’s correct,” you agree.

You peek down at the book in your hand. You should put it back. You sniff but as you go to turn, he rips you back by your upper arm. His grip is steel. You face him and wince as he squeezes enough to make your bones ache.

“You think I’m what? Some pathetic creature that’s slathering over another guy’s girl?” He barks.

You shake your head, “nope. No. I wouldn’t... know.”

“You fucking wouldn’t,” he grits, his fingertips pushing into your tender arm. You let out a squeak. “Me? What about you? Always around. Riding her fucking coat tails. All for what? Cause you can tell when I’m having a bad fucking day. Every day is fucking bad.”

You stare at him. A vein bulges in his forehead, another in his neck, and he’s slightly red with his fury. You don’t understand why he’s mad at you. Well, people often don’t aim their emotions in the right direction. Often, there’s too much for them to feel and it just spills over.

Logan’s aura deepens to a thick black. Darker and bolder than anything you’ve ever witnessed. It tendrils around you as you squirm. You clasp onto the book and try to wiggle free as the blood throbs in your arm.

“Ouch. Please, let me go. I wasn’t meaning to--”

“You’re never going to be her. You know that? You won’t even be an X-Man. You’re just one of Charles’ pets.” He reaches for the book and rips it from your hand. “He keeps you in your birdcage and you flutter around and read these stupid things.”

He tosses the book onto the floor and steps closer. You step back and whine. He keeps on until you’re against a shelf.

“You’ll never be her and I’ll never have her,” he grits out. “So, we’ll compromise.” He grabs your neck and you writhe and whimper. “What do you feel now, huh?”

A wisp of red tinges the black fog unfurling from his broad shoulders. More anger but something more. Lust. Love is a delicate pink or a pale purple, but lust is a deep and lurid crimson. Mixed with his rage, it is something more. It’s a tainted hue.

“I can pretend. You should try to do the same.”

“Please,” you press your hands against his stomach.

“Don’t try that shit,” he drags his other hand down your arm and puts his knuckles to your side. He lets his claws out just enough to jab you. “You can’t get in my head. Professor made well sure of that.”

You squeak and shake your head, “I wouldn’t-- Logan, please--”

“Shut your damn mouth and pull your pants down. I ain’t got all day,” he snarls.

“What?” You bat your eyes as they glisten. “No, no, what are you--”

His claws poke you again, easily piercing your shirt and scratching your skin. You lean back into the shelf as you peel your hands away from him. He glowers at you as he releases your neck. He crowds you in as you wait just a moment longer, hoping, wishing he would go.

You lower your hands cautiously. You drop your gaze, humiliated. You shake as you hook your thumbs under your waistband and push your leggings down. You gulp as your eyes tingle.

He grabs your shoulder and spins you to face the shelf. You let out an oomph as you catch yourself against the books. He trails up to the back of your neck and pinches. You squeal into a sob. Your disbelief bubbles to horror. You brace the wood as he yanks on your panties.

“Fucking girl,” he mutters. “Lookin’ at me... what d’ya fucking know?”

“Logan--”

“Stop saying my goddamn name.” He shoves your head so it hits a shelf and you groan. Ouch.

You close your eyes and lean your forehead on the wood. Jean says you need to breathe. Centre yourself. It’s hard when you’re terrified.

You inhale, taking in his emotion, his anger, even a tinge of that other desire that drives him so slap your ass. He digs in his nails as you babble. You gather the black cloud and blow it out.

He hisses and recoils as it ripples off of you like fire. He growls and as you go to turn, he sweeps your feet out from under you. You flail as you fall, landing on your elbow so it throbs. You whine and roll onto your stomach. You drag yourself over the floor as he clutches his head and snarls.

“I told ya not to try anything,” he barks.

“Please, please, I didn’t do anything.”

He steps over you and falls to his knees. He straddles you as you claw at the floor, pushing your toes down as you try to escape him. He swats the back of your head so hard your vision blurs. His anger darkness the room and disorients you.

You’ve never felt anything so intense and you feel everything. Love, joy, pain, grief, confusion... fear. His anger strangles you as he forces your head down to the floor, leaning his weight on his head as he pins you.

He raises himself on his knees and shifts. You kick out, thrashing your arms. You open and close your hands and clamp shut your eyes. You can do it. Take his anger in--

You scream as you’re scalded by the corrupt energy pouring from him. No, it’s too much. You’re not ready. All that training and you’re still weak.

You murmur at the floor, “no, no, please, no...”

He traces his hand down your ass and forces his fingers between your thighs. He feels around roughly, scratching your as he flicks along your dry folds. You gulp and heave. Your tears swell in an unstoppable flow.

You slap your hands on the floor and tense as he prods around, dipping a thick digit into your cunt with a grunt. Your legs distend and you push your toes down. He delves, in, out, deeper, harder, smashing into you.

He rips his hand away and you whine again. He leans over you, his hand stretching across your skull entirely. You can feel his strength in your neck. He bends, hot breath scalding your scalp with the flames of his wrath.

You weep as he brings his tip along your flesh and guides it around blindly. He puts more weight onto your head as he stretches you around his tip. You shriek and jut your arm out straight, the edge of the rug curling in your grasp.

“Help, someone! Help--”

He grabs your head with both hands and slams it into the floor. The reverberating impact fractures your voice and thoughts. He rams his hips down and impales you around his thick cock. You murmur as spittle leaks from your mouth and tears continue to smear your face.

He thrusts, holding himself at his limit and well past yours. He grips your skull tighter and tighter with each tilt. He huffs and puffs, growling and groaning as he tears you up from the inside.

Finally, he releases your head. The metallic shink of his claws cuts through the delirium of physical and mental anguish. The pain in your bones can’t compare to the dagger of his anger piercing through your soul.

He stabs his claws into the floor on either side of your neck. The adamantium grazes your skin, keeping you still for fear of cutting deeper. You wheeze and go rigid as he rears back and slams down harder and harder. His flesh clasp louder with each cruel descent.

The black cloud creeps over the floor like heavy fog. It crawls up the walls as a glimmer of red weaves through it. He ruts deeper and deeper, the motion jarring you so that his claws scrape away the skin at your neck.

He bends over you, curling his shoulders as you feel him tense. He exhales as the blackness covers the ceiling and casts you into shadow. You reach to grasp at his claws, slicing your palms helplessly as you cling on.

He thrusts until you feel him in your guts. Once, twice, several time with all the hatred he can summon. He growls and trembles as he spills into you, a heat hotter than even his boiling rage.

Your hands slip from his claws and you spread your bloodied palms on the carpet. You quake in horrified sobs. He buries himself as he lays his entire weight over you limply. He puffs as he dislodged the metal from the floor.

He hangs his head next to yours and sneers, “it shouldn’t be him, Jean.”

You hold your breath. You can’t speak or move for fear of reminding him what he’s just done. Or worse, reigniting his assault.

He groans and slides out, flipping off of you to sit on his ass. He rests his arms on his bent knees and sighs. You watch the black haze dim to a dull grey. He’s still angry but he can contain it. The storm has calmed but it's far from over.

#logan howlett #dark logan howlett #dark!logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #fic #wolverine #dark fic #dark!fic #marvel #x men

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