#this painting is actually old but. Here We Go
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Pls give recommendations for Odd books đ
Here we go, a list of literary oddity :) This post contains majestic spheres, alien taxonomies, cruel subway polytheism, a fourth-dimensional cat, disturbing earthworms, infinite space football, existential mussel terror, a Parisian absurdist time loop, and a picture of a telegraph-pole-man-cheetah. I'm not exactly recommending these books, in the sense that I won't take any complaints if you find them more odd than good, and some of them transcend the concepts of good and bad anyway.
⢠The Other City, Michal Ajvaz. It's all like this:
⢠Contes du demi-sommeil, Marcel BĂŠalu ('Half-asleep tales') âis the book that prompted my post about stories that have no ambition or justification beyond being odd. I'm sad that it hasn't been translated :( One of the tales is about a strange opaline sphere that rolls on the road. It doesn't accelerate when the road becomes a steep slope but continues rolling majestically. At one point it floats away towards the sky. Someone wonders if it was the moon. Someone else says authoritatively "It was an angel's egg." Everyone is reassured by this explanation. The whole thing feels exactly like remembering a dream you had. There is also a man who reads too much and whose body atrophies so only his head is left and his wife puts it in an egg cup for better stability.
⢠Leonora Carringtonâ The Skeleton's Holiday, or maybe the Hearing Trumpet. I've read them so long ago but I think the latter is the one with the old ladies and nuns? There's also a guy who was murdered in his bath by a still-life painter because he said there was a carrot in one of his paintings, but it might not have been a carrot? It's hard to remember details from this book without feeling like I might be making them up. Bonus Leonora Carrington painting which kind of feels like a short story:
⢠The Codex Seraphinianus, of course. I wish there were more bizarre encyclopaedias out there.
Also I love this review:
⢠Sleep Has His House, Anna Kavan âI really liked the way this book used language; making life feel like a fever dream even more than in Samanta Schweblin's Fever Dream (which I really liked too.)
The eye is checking a record of silence, space; a nightmare, every horror of this world in its frigid and blank neutrality. The actual scope of its orbit depends on the individual concept of desolation, but approximate symbols are suggested in long roving perspectives of ocean, black swelled, in slow undulation, each whaleback swell plated in armour-hard brilliance with the moonlight clanking along it . . .
⢠The second half of Michael Ende's Neverending Story, where things get stranger! I remember the hand-shaped castle with eyes and the city of amnesiac former emperors and the miserable ugly worms who cry all the time out of shame then create beautiful architecture with their tears...
⢠The Gray House, Mariam Petrosyan. This is the one I had in mind when I talked about a 'museum of the strange, but one you wouldn't want to be trapped in after closing time'. Another book that made me feel uncomfortable in a similar (good) way was Edward Carey's Observatory Mansions, the protagonist of which is a man who curates an odd private museum and can't stand the sight of his own hands.
⢠Oh, speaking of uncomfortable, and handsâHe Digs A Hole, by Danger Slater. To me this book was in the more-odd-than-good category but I liked its refusal to have a coherent philosophical meaning. It's about a man who can't sleep so he goes to his garden shed and saws off his hands and replaces them with gardening tools. Then he starts digging a hole. And then it gets weird. (Read at your own discretion if you have a worm phobia; there's some body horror featuring sexually aggressive earthworms. And then it gets disturbing.)
⢠17776 â Someone sent me an ask a few years back to recommend this online multimedia narrative to me and I really enjoyed it! Here's the summary, borrowed from the wiki page: Set in the distant future in which all humans have become immortal and infertile, the series follows three sapient space probes that watch humanity play an evolved form of American football in which games can be played for millennia over distances of thousands of miles. The work explores themes of consciousness, hope, despair, and why humans play sports.
⢠Saint-Glinglin, Raymond Queneau âthe author admitted that this book presents some "internal discontinuities." I didn't like it much but I respect the talent it takes to write a novel where everything feels like a random digression, including the key suspenseful scene that matters to the plot. The one digression I loved had to do with the way the narrator is existentially horrified by various sea creatures. It's like he dreads them so much he can't help but think about them when he should be telling a story.
The oyster... This gob of phlegm, this brutal way of refusing the outside world, this absolute isolation, and this disease: the pearl... If I conceptualise them even a little, my terror starts anew. The mussel is even more significant than the oyster and even more immediately admissible in the domain of terror. Let us indeed consider that this little sticky mass whose collective stupidity haunts our piers, consider that it is alive in the same way as a cow. Because there are no degrees in life. There is no more or less. The whole of life is present in every animal. To think that the mussel, that the mussel has, not a conscience, but a certain way of transcending itself: here I am once again plunged into abysses of anxiety and insecurity.
Near the beginning he philosophises about what would happen if a man and a lobster were the only two survivors of the apocalypse. The lobster would break the man's toe and the man would say, "We are the only beings that remain on this devastated Earth, lobster! The only living beings in the universe, struggling alone against the universal disaster, don't you want to be allies?" But the lobster would disdainfully walk away towards the ocean, and "the sight of the inflexible and imperturbable lobster pierces the sky of humanity with its unintelligible claws." (I can't overstate how little this has to do with the rest of the book.)
⢠Autumn in Beijing, Boris Vian âneedless to say the story does not take place in autumn nor in Beijing.* To the extent that it can be said to be "about" something, it's about people trying to build a train station in a desert with tracks that lead nowhere. (I just went on goodreads to check the title, and it's actually called Autumn in Peking in English. I also discovered that it was featured in a list of Books I Regret Reading. I liked this book, but I understand.)
(* French writers love doing thisâlike when Alphonse Allais said about his 1893 book The Squadron's Umbrella "I chose this title because there aren't any umbrellas of any sort in this volume, and the important notion of the squadron, as a unit of the armed forces, is never brought up at all; in these conditions, hesitating would have been pure madness.")
⢠The Library at Mount Char, Scott HawkinsâI fear this one makes a little too much sense for this list, but you can't say it isn't weird; and I loved it and recommend it any chance I get.
⢠The Eleven Million Mile High Dancer, Carol Hill âthis book was so wacky and made me laugh. I've not yet managed to successfully recommend it to someone; its brand of odd didn't resonate with the people I know who've read it but that's okay. You could say it's about a woman astronaut whose weird cat disappears into the fourth dimension (or the quantum realm?) and she goes to space to save himâbut that makes the book sound more straightforward and less messy than it is. Her cat leaves her a note before he disappears:
⢠The Bald Soprano, Ionesco âfun fact, there's a tiny theatre in the Latin Quarter in Paris where this absurdist play has been staged every night for nearly 70 years, with the exact same set design and costumes and everything, like the actors are stuck in a time loop. They celebrated the 20,000th performance this year! There's an actress who has been playing her character for 40 years and said joining this theatre was like joining a religion. I've been going to see this play as a New Year tradition with my best friend since we were 14, so I love it madly, though I wouldn't say it's good, necessarilyâthe author said it was about "absolutely nothing, but a superior nothing."
⢠Statuary Gardens; or Les Mers perdues (apparently not translated) by Jacques Abeille. This man is obsessed with weird statues. Unfortunately I find his writing style rather dullâI feel like he takes strange ideas and makes them feel mundane in a bad way...! But his books still have a nice, quiet, oneiric atmosphere, and images that stayed with me, like a solitary gardener trying to grow stone statues in the depleted soil of a walled garden. Here are some illustrations from the second one:
I'll look into some of the books recommended on my previous post! (and I agree with the people who brought up CortĂĄzar, Borges, and Junji Ito. <3) Some potentially-odd books I have on my to-read list: Clive Barker's Abarat, Goran PetroviÄ's An Atlas Traced by the Sky, Salvador Plascencia's The People of Paper, Jean Ray's Malpertuis; Jan Weiss's The House of a Thousand Floors; Brice Tarvel's Pierre-Fendre.
#ask#book recs#i know i've made some of these sound barely readable but it would be risky to oversell them#it's funny how indignant i felt when i first thought that saint-glinglin didn't exist in english translation even though objectively it#wouldn't have been a huge loss and i don't think english speakers are clamouring for more crustacean existentialism after sartre's lobsters#but they should get to choose not to read this book!
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im so curious about the kitchen nightmares au, is fĂŠlix a waiter? are erica and jean creating crimes against the culinary arts in the back? why is esk of all people gordon ramsay
relevant background info was that when i first got my ipad and was getting to grips with procreate, i was also drafting the first go at mvf so i was drawing mostly refs and character designs, and while i was doing that on an ipad i realised that i could, for the first time ever, watch something on another screen while drawing. guess what i watched
this super old art was one of my first paintings all in procreate and i did it while watching kitchen nightmares. love the show (uk version only), it's absolutely terrible and fake and ramsay sucks but something Compels me
i drew a series of fake interview portraits for all main characters of mvf, as different staff members in a failing restaurant on the show. esk who was kind of the straight man/critical voice of the group ended up being the celebrity chef
anyway the basic plot is they work at a tacky outdated italian trattoria with all that entails, that serves french cuisine, in the year 2005. the restaurant was a money laundering front owned by helena but she was an absentee owner who would deny any claim over the restaurant flaws and be generally away & uncooperative
the restaurant was failing because it looked awful and the food was not good but also because the staff could not work well with one another and the constant arguments that customers would overhear was turning them off
the person who called in gordon ramsnake was the restaurant manager, FĂŠlix, in a very roundabout attempt to try to bring heat down on Helena
general overview of the staff & their flaws
Manager (FĂŠlix) - actively embezzling from the business, basically a middle manager tyrant trying to control everyone else, ambition of becoming the owner one day (and then they'll ALL see). Would deflect the blame for the restaurant's issues onto every single other person except Francis because he can do no wrong ever. Aw jeez guys we just don't know where the money is going!! Don't look at his meticulously-kept, well-hidden balance books or his incongruously nice car. He looks like the sleaziest businessman you have ever seen.
Head Chef (Jean, you guessed right) - confrontational and rude, could not accept criticism no matter what and would pick fights with customers who sent the food back. He could cook decently but only to his own schedule and preference. The type to go "my food is perfect and nobody can teach me anything" before esk convinces the owner to hire a new head chef who can actually listen to feedback. His prized menu hasn't changed in 7 years.
Front of House (Islin) - zero charm or charisma but otherwise pretty sincere, though it IS weird that an ordained priest is working here and not in a church somewhere. He explains in an interview around the back of the restaurant that he's identified a new route to finding converts because just knocking on people's doors hasn't had a good return. He has zero interest in any aspect of the restaurant experience. Attempts to preach to most of the diners.
Head Waiter (Erica) - he's clearly had no training and is never where he's supposed to be at any given time, and it almost looks like he's ambushing the diners while they're mid-bite on purpose. Calculated bare-minimum work while spending most of his time in the kitchens for some reason. In the course of the episode it's discovered that he makes a decent cook and gets relocated. He had a habit of telling customers that the food was bad even if it wasn't.
Barman (Francis) - eager to please and maybe the only truly friendly face in the restaurant, he's the only reason anyone comes back. But he has an inconvenient habit of giving steep discounts to women, so the bar almost never turns a profit. There have been a few complaints about Barman's inappropriate advances from diners & the fact that his shirt is always a little bit too open. He seems to believe that there's nothing wrong with the place and it's a perfectly legit successful business, so it's hard to get through to him to change his behaviour. Won't hear a word of criticism against FĂŠlix or Islin.
Sous-chef (LĂŠĂĄ) - hates it here hates every second of every day can't stand anyone wants to be out of there asap but she knows she lacks the experience to actually be a sous-chef in a legitimate restaurant, which means she'd take a pay cut if she tried to find work anywhere else, so she's trapped. She has a habit of throwing parsley garnish far too liberally over every single dish because she read in a book from the 90s that this is how you get a Michelin star
Rival Restaurateur (Senca) - she runs an equally tacky fake unpopular italian trattoria across the street and she's been trying to get Helena's one shut down for years by doing various etsy badluck curses and getting the hygiene inspectors called on them but it hasn't worked yet. She suggested to FĂŠlix that maybe trying to get the restaurant on TV would draw enough negative attention to get it shut down (and then he could reopen it of course). She's a bit surprised he actually went and did it even though the show could not have been less flattering towards him and he's essentially turbo-nuked his own reputation into the dirt forever. But she's waiting behind the scenes to make an insultingly-cheap offer and then they'll ALL see
over the course of the episode the above flaws are identified. esk attempts to propose a remodel of the tired dĂŠcor which is fiercely resisted by FĂŠlix because he kind of likes the fake tuscany look but eventually he gives in and the place is given a modern and fresh feel. it draws a crowd on its reopening night but the staff struggle to meet the demand, unused to such numbers, and it ends up with Jean refusing to cook and walking out (he's fired shortly after).
they regroup and organise a charming promo event where they serve real french cuisine in a stall outside (oysters mostly) to draw customers for a new lunchtime service. this is well-received because new Head Chef LĂŠa (now even MORE trapped in a role she has no real claim to) doesn't have to cook the oysters so she can't fuck them up. FĂŠlix actually tries to be receptive to the staff he's managing, for once, and he does a good job of supporting them and finally effectively managing the floor.
episode ends with Esk walking away and wondering if it left the restaurant in good hands, concluding that "only time will tell". there's a sequence of the restaurant's one successful lunch service, everyone smiling and working well and diners happy, with the text "RESTAURANT closed its business in August 2005, three months after the filming of this episode".
Esk goes back to interview the owner and ask why it failed, and Helena just explains that she sold it and moved on while dodging every other question. Esk berates her for having no passion for the business, calls her lazy and immature, and she simply walks out of the interview.
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Starting to realize how much I like writing chaotic MC ':)
Day 24: RAD
âThe halls of the royal academy have seen thousands of demonsâ footsteps over the centuries. Discoveries have been made in these rooms which revolutionized magic as we know it. And not just magic; the sciences of biology, persuasion, and chemistry all have a home here.â You nod along to Barbatosâ explanation as he guides you through the labyrinthian academy grounds. The vaulted ceilings make you dizzy if you look up for too long, and you try to focus on keeping pace with Barbatosâ efficient strides. âYou will be taking a set of introductory courses specifically selected for a non-demon student. Your professors have all been notified of your status as an exchange student with a one-year tenure and will adjust their lesson plans accordingly. You will have one-on-one training with certain professors before the year properly begins to provide you with a foundation of basic Devildom subjects that you will use throughout your time here.â Your eyes have already started to glaze over.
As far as you were concerned, you were pulled from your boring human life by the most powerful demons in existence. You live with the Avatars of the seven deadly sins, who youâre quickly learning can be bribed to do your chores. Youâre going to do everything you can to make the absolute most out of this year, and school is looking like the last thing on your list right now. You try to pay attention to Barbatos again, but heâs started talking about the demons whose paintings line the front entrance and you find yourself not caring at all.
Your staunch indifference to your studies serves to make you yet another thorn in Luciferâs side. You arenât directly opposed to the idea of paying attention to your classes, you just end up finding more interesting things. Like an incantation to make Mammon speak without his accent for an hour, or the myriad of ways to make something explode into sparkly magical smoke . Youâre sure you get disapproving looks from your centuries-old professors, but youâre too busy trying out new things to notice them. Youâve singlehandedly caused at least two classrooms to temporarily close for repairs (the third one could arguably also be Satanâs fault). Your textbooks have to be replaced almost on a weekly basis due to water damage, fire damage, lava damage, mastication, vanishing, or transmutation.
To the chagrin of everyone else, the problem only worsens when Solomon officially takes you on as his apprentice. Now you have the tools of a wizard to sow chaos on academy time instead of just your pact magic. On your first day, he lets you choose which basic spells to learn first, and without blinking, you choose every single one that sounds like fun. He chuckles knowingly, but you take solace in the fact that at least one person here finds you predictable.
As it turns out, Solomonâs lessons are much more engaging than those at RAD. Maybe it has something to do with the connection you two have as humans, or maybe you just learn better when your teacher is just as insane as you. You start to learn all the principles youâve been unknowingly applying to your little experiments in class, and you revel in the way Solomonâs eyes shine when you finish a sentence for him. Youâve actually learned quite a lot from your class activities.
The following weeks, your destruction is a little more controlled. You think you catch one or two of your professors letting out a sigh of relief as you catch a runaway spell for the first time instead of sitting back and watching it go. You and Mammon are still inseparable in class, but now you understand why you get the results you do. He laughs under his breath when you mutter to yourself just like Solomon, eyes trained on a deep purple flower in your potions class. You look back and forth between the petals and the chalkboard at the front of the room, frown deepening.
The board says that the ingredient should dampen the water-summoning effect from the other reagents to create a controlled stream, but you swear you remember that it acts as an enhancer. You open your mouth to ask the professor if heâs sure he copied down the instructions, but the glare he shoots you makes you close it again. You shrug indifferently, excited to see the result either way. Sure enough, as the crushed petals hit the bubbling mixture, a rush of water shoots straight up from the murky liquid, and demons around the room cry out as their uniforms are instantly drenched. The force of the flow threatens to rip off the ceiling, and your professor can barely shout instructions over the sheer noise of the thing. You laugh to yourself even as you slog out of the room, spilling water over the floor in the hallway.
You recount the story dramatically over dinner that night, with Mammon adding in colorful details you must have missed. Satan laments how a professor, of all demons, could have made such a simple mistake. Lucifer listens silently, but you notice the glint of blue in his eyes as you speak. You text Solomon to fill him in on anything he hadnât already heard, and he sends you several smiley stickers in a row. Bit by bit, the demons at RAD start to take you a little more seriously. Ever so slowly, you actually start to complete your homework, and the RAD you knew begins to change.
Not physically, of course. Itâs still suffocating and stuffy and *old*. The imposing portraits of important Devildom figures in education still stare down at you from their massive frames in the lobby, following you with their dark eyes. You still get scolded for doodling sigils of your own creation instead of drawing out your arithmancy matrices. Barbatos still stalks you from behind random columns (no you canât actually prove that, but some part of you can *feel* his beady eyes on you).
But you start to understand what the vision for this academy is. Like it or not, youâve learned a lot in your time here, and its resources are indispensable to your work. You may not do serious wizard things like Solomon, but youâre definitely doing something that wizards do, which is doing magic for the hell of it. You surprise your housemates with fun little spells. Youâve learned one to reinforce Beelâs lunchbox at the seams, preserving it from the demon who gets a bit too distracted to find the zipper on the first try. You still blast off the occasional fireball to not let anyoneâs nerves get too settled, but youâre finally starting to feel like RAD could be a place for you too.
#obey me#obey me swd#omswd#obey me shall we date#obey me mammon#obey me solomon#obey me mc#ephie writes#omadventcalendar
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it's been a while since I did any CR art -- remember Fearne's gourds??
#this painting is actually old but. Here We Go#i like how lowkey Orange she is#it's very endearing actually. shes Vegetable Colored#fearne#fearne calloway#critical role#my art
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1930s AU continuedđđ
#I tried SO HARD to take good picture but unfortunately the paper was pretty warped bahahahahahaha#hopefully you like it anyways𼰠in person I love it#but I separated the two pictures here bc togetherâŚthe top is so saturated that Eloise looked washed out in comparison even though she ISNTđ¤#I love doing these little paintings so muchđđđ#this was in honor of el festival aĂŠreo in my city yesterday#like 4 hour long free plane show on the beach#I always love the old airplanes like this one#but the euro fighter is đł Iâm obsessed with it !!!!#it breaks the sound barrier so maybe I am more deaf today than I was yesterday#but itâs soooooooooooo cool to see the pilot is just zooming around over the beach like 30 min making us all go deaf bc itâs SO LOUD#on Friday we also happened to see them practicing and he was right above us Iâve never had a plane so close to me before ever#tbh after thinfs like this I understand why hayao Miyazaki is also obsessed with flying#hogwarts legacy#hogwarts legacy fanart#hphl#hogwarts legacy oc#hogwarts legacy mc#eloise babbit#sebastian sallow#sebastian sallow x mc#oh also added the zoomed in so you can ACTUALLY SEE HERđ¤
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V, JoeNicky & Nile
V. An abandoned or empty place.
When Joe pulls the sheet off the couch it kicks up enough dust that it makes Nile sneeze. The couch underneath is old, wooden frame rotting, fabric stained and full of holes where moths have eaten away at it.Â
âSorry,â Joe says to Nile when she finally manages to get the sneezing under control. âDidnât realise it was that bad.â He puts his hands on his hips and looks down at the couch. Nile looks it over.
âThereâs no saving that,â she says, wiping at her eyes. She can heal from falling over ten stories, but she canât get away from allergies.
Joe frowns. âI liked that couch.â
The house is older than anywhere else theyâve brought her, and has been abandoned for long enough that itâs falling apart. But through some trick of posing as their own sons, or something, Joe and Nicky still own it, even if thereâs a giant hole in the roof and all the windows are broken. Why theyâd decided to come back here, Nile doesnât know, but itâs a nice enough area, and a good distraction from, well. Everything. Growing back a leg, sheâs discovered, is not fun.Â
From one of the other rooms â she thinks itâs the kitchen, sheâs not actually sure where Nicky had wandered to â thereâs the sound of something breaking and crashing to the ground, and a muffled curse.Â
Joe makes a questioning noise in the vague direction of the kitchen. A few moments later, Nicky appears in the doorway, covered in dust. âI am okay,â he says. âBut I think we will need to go out to eat tonight.â
âNothing?âÂ
Nicky shakes his head. âUnless you want to start a fire and go hunt some rabbits.â
Joe grins. âJust like old times, right?â
Nile shakes her head firmly, which makes Nicky smile. She loves them, but thereâs no way theyâre doing that.Â
âWe can probably clear out enough space in here,â Joe says, gesturing to the floor. âGet the sleeping bags out of the car. Probably have to start a fire anyway, butâŚâ
Nile looks around again while Joe says something to Nicky in Arabic that makes him laugh. The house is falling apart, sure, but itâs structurally stable, and the bones are all there. It could be something. Theyâve got time to make it something.Â
Nicky is the one who goes for pizza in the end â he doesnât trust Nile and Joe to order it if left to their own devices â while they try to clear out a space in the living room. Eventually, though, after Nile has another sneezing fit, Joe suggests they just take the sleeping bags outside instead, which works out a lot better. He sets about starting a fire with practiced ease while Nile sets out the sleeping bags around it. Theyâre far enough away from civilisation that she canât hear cars passing by, which is kind of surreal, and the stars are brighter than sheâs ever seen them.Â
When Nicky gets back, two boxes balanced on one arm and a bottle of wine in the other, he looks over their makeshift camp and laughs. âJust like old times, then?â he asks.
Joe grins. âExcept we have pizza.â
âAnd actual sleeping bags,â Nile says.
âAh, these modern inventions could never quite match the comfort of a pile of furs,â Joe says wistfully. Nile gives him a look. Sheâs ninety percent sure that oneâs bullshit, but she can never quite tell with him.Â
Nicky sets down the pizza boxes, and jogs back to the car to grab the pack of plastic wine glasses theyâd bought before they got here.Â
âWe shouldâve bought marshmallows,â Nile says. âCould have made sâmores.â
âWell, weâll have to go to the hardware store tomorrow anyway,â Joe points out. âAnd I think itâll be a little while before we can actually sleep in there.â
âTomorrow, then?â
âTomorrow,â Nicky agrees.
#neon answers#materassassino#neon writes#kaysanova#nile freeman#what's going on here? who knows. they're renovating an old safehouse in the middle of nowhere#why isnt andy there? off on a solo self discovery road trip she calls em sometimes#i like to think its a really old one and when they were deciding where to go joe was getting super nostalgic about it and talking about it#to nicky like habibi.... do you remember that little house we had a few years ago..... we should go back there.....#(local 900 year old man confused 'a few years' for like 150 and didn't realise until they got there)#(and promptly went hm. i think it may need some work)#(nile. who had been expecting an Actual Functional House. just has to sit there for a moment)#they're having fun though. she and joe are gonna have fun painting on the walls. etc#nicky doesn't trust them with pizza because nile (not picky) and joe (LOVES to annoy nicky) will deliberately order the worst looking optio#like. dominoes had a cheeseburger pizza. that's what they're going for#nicky let this happen two (2) times before just going for pizza himself#when andy's there it's even worse she will get margherita but she'll also 'add her own toppings'#like my parents who put chinese takeout on pizza. it's good i'm sorry i know i'm expecting to be banned from italy soon#ANYWAY#thank you for the prompt!! i had fun <3
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just realised that the first media we consumed that made us REALLY sympathetic for the monster was that fucking point and click Mystery Case Files Ravenhearst game. bc that entire game i was legitimately fucking TERRIFIED of the ghost lady in that game but the second i found out her husband was abusive i doubled down on trying to help her escape. and the ending of that game Did make me cry out of fear but hey at least i did in fact help her escape
#i think that was the first game we ever like. completed. as well#NO it was hidden expedition amazon bc that one was less scary so it was easier to beat LMAO#we had both of those games on a single disc as a kid#one o those like. buy 2 for cheap game discs at like. best buy. i love those cheap bargain bin point and click games#hidden object games were my entire thing from the age of like. 8 to 12#we also had like. three ispy game discs one of which had FOUR separate worlds to go to#which upon my recent googling was like. multiple ispy games packaged into one which i cannot find any record of??#i know for a fact it had a space section the fantasy one and the school days one#and then we had treasure hunt and spooky mansion as separate discs#I FUCKING MISS SPOOKY MANSION i have a download of it but i CAN'T PLAY IT bc it was made for computers older than windows 7#it fucks up the aspect ratio of the screen and the mouse like. shows the cursor being about an inch to the left of where it Actually Is#its weird#anyway complete non sequitur here but I GOT THE STUPID ASS MULTIPLAYER ITEMS IN TERRARIA#i forgot i could just. make a multiplayer world. and not invite anyone to it. and get the items that way#so this can still be a purely singleplayer challenge i just have to click on a different menu to get these items#NOW I JUST HAVE TO FUCKING PAINTING HUNT. HOORAY đł#they need to make a version of that emoji without the blush. i am not flushed i am fucking STARING AT U LIKE A MADMAN#the fucking. uluru painting. i chewed through 7 ENTIRE LARGE DESERTS FOR THAT FUCKING THING#7 LARGE WORLDS. DCU. DESTROYED ALL TRACE OF SAND. ONLY GOT ULURU IN AN OLD ABANDONED WORLD INSTEAD đ#and now. now i have to search for fucking WALDO?????? WALDO????? this actually looped back around to the initial topic of the post huh#any hidden object BOOKS i would fucking eat up as well the Can You See What I See books??? i liked those better than ispy actually#walter wick is the one man responsible for my LIFELONGGGGGGG obsession with hidden object games#i LEARNED TO READ with ispy books initially and i fucking LOVED it it was so fun making learning a game#i learned to read like. wayyyyy faster than other kids apparently?#i dont remember what age but i was definitely early bc i knew enough that when i entered preschool i was like. past their starting level#i dont remember the details i just know like. i learned to read really early. and i was a late talker#but neither of my parents think i was. bc both of them were delayed in speaking too so they think its normal--#but like. my mom was Deaf she absolutely was a late talker#and my dad. well. lets just say my mother has less of the tism tendencies to gift to me#and also both were part of very very large chaotic families so like. mild neglect was part of the package yknow
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I've been thinking abt my critter dupes some more and it was all fun and games until I remembered that I made Mi-ma a beeta and hm. Whoops. Uh oh. (<- Considered the implications for more than 2 seconds)
#rat rambles#oni posting#it's not Too bad. shes fine. but hoo boy. the images my mind showed me were not fun.#it's ok she just needs to keep being the farmer cook that she is and gather stuff for her fellow dupes and itll all be fine#Id provide further context but then itd become too clear what Im talking abt so how abt I dont#its ok shes ok nothing bad happens to her shes just a bit quirky thats all#and even if things did go a lil wonky it wouldnt be irreversible just a bit of an issue for a bit#shes just a silly billy who's genetic makeup is a series of contradictions and anomalies#I also have it as a thing where most of the colony see her as like a baby sister since she was the first duplicant printed after quinn left#so the dupes who were already there were like oh shit there's a new one and quinn isn't here to help them adjust we have to do a good job#in their place and make sure she feels the security they helped us feel while we built this colony together#and meanwhile mi-ma was just sitting there having the joints of an 80 year old woman and the energy of a young and spry bee#some of the younger dupes in that colony actually dont like her much because they see her as kind of spoiled#liam and leira especially constantly give her gifts and let her do things she rly shouldn't do#they eventually get better abt it when it actually starts to threaten her physical well-being but it sort of starts to swing in the other#direction after a while with leira especially being rly obsessive with making sure shes not doing anything that could cause health issues#ada has some light beef with mi-ma but she starts to turn around on her a bit once she learns abt some of the stuff shes gone through#after a lil while they get to be bug buddies who are experiencing joy and whimsy together watching paint dry or smth idk
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just need to vent about the Olympics
#Saw the shittiest take saying âon top of the emotional distress on imane imagine how much in danger she is back homeâ#are you stupid? no seriously. are you stupid?#You think the entire goddamn country who sent here to the Olympics and the mena singing her praises didn't already know about the yx thing?#âoh i meant like bc of the trans allegations and ykâ#literally go fuck yourself#don't make the cost of yout activism the demeaning of arab countries and painting us as savages#some of you are too comfortable showing your racism and ignorance under the guise of supporting queer identities#surprise surprise! us in those âbarbaric uncivilisedâ countries don't go throwing people over roofs bc of trans allegations#Yes women can dress as manly as they want and hijab is never forced. Do you ever think before you speak??#Women like imane are welcomed and common in arab countries#the transphobes we have here are the same fucking ones you have in the west! how come yours is special and civilised terfs???#And stop calling her khalif for fucks sake. learn how arabic names work before butchering them with your ignorant self centered naming systm#Imane is her first name. Khalif is her FATHER'S first name. You're calling her by her father's first name NOT her last name#arabic names go with your first name first. father's first name second. grandpa firstname third then great grandpa THEN last name#call her imane and stop embarrassing yourself bc you're just calling her by a man's name. her father's#âtrans allegationsâ as if our people take the west media seriously rather than a circus show at best. You're repeating old news.#And even if there were. People here are actually a community nurtured on kindness. even the most conservatives mind their business#We're raised on being a community. strangers are your brothers and sisters. Live and let live#But your goddamn media takes stories of religion extremist and paints ALL of us like that. and your tiny brain actually believes it#Hey! you know those gay stories on my blog you've been reading? They were written by a savage arab oh no!#They were written by someone who lives in those dangerous arabic countries! oh no!#You don't know our culture. You don't know our beliefs. You will never grasp our ideals bc they were weaved from kindness and helping others#So don't fucking talk shit about things you know NOTHING about. You don't know the queer arab struggles#the same bad apples you have there we have here. shitty people are shitty regardless of nationality#But actually we do have some etiquette and considerations for others here. We don't go throwing bricks at queen tourists do we?#So why would we do it to our own people you sad excuse of a human
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i think probably magic is real.
the thing is that i was a teacher for a long time and sometimes i come back to this moment in the classroom where a 7 year old asked me are mermaids real? and i stared at her and had no idea how to answer.
for a really long time i just assumed that glow-in-the-dark paint/etc was a result of something made in a lab. i just recently found out that a specific mine in new jersey that just has rocks that do that naturally and it sent me for a loop about stuff.
because first of all - let's be honest, all of us: if there was going to be a naturally-occurring location for uv-activated glow-in-the-dark rocks? it would have to be in New Jersey. that's just the place that makes the most sense for that to happen. probably 10 thousand years ago cavemen were like. "oh this place is gonna be new jersey one day. this has new jersey energy."
the rocks only glow in the presence of uv light and are otherwise just normal rocks. in lord of the rings, there's a special sword that glows in the presence of orcs. it is magic, except that's a real thing that exists (and exists, as we have discussed, in new jersey, of all places). i guess maybe this implies orcs give off uv light.
yeah, okay. magic is just science. i know all the stuff about how ghosts are probably just caused by vibrating pipes. i knew about how there's a reason-for-all-of-this. but what do you mean that there's rocks that give you poison damage if you touch them. what do you mean that we live on the same planet as electric eels. what do you mean that a battery just, like - stores power?
and i don't know. in 20 years maybe they will find a mermaid but they will say something like well she's technically not a mermaid she's this other species, she has whiskers and not hair. and i will have to travel back in time and tell a 7 year old not technically, but there's something that is like a mermaid.
and she will look at me and think that what i am saying is science means magic isn't real and what i am actually saying is science is our word for why magic works. and then i will teach her about uv rocks, and new jersey. i will tell her to be a scientist, which is the same thing as being a wizard. there is probably a reason why sci-fi and fantasy are often grouped together. it is very lucky to be here, i think. if you squint, the improbability of it all - it does kind of feel like spellwork.
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âI ate paint once,â Danny nonchalantly threw out in the middle of game night.
The entire table stopped. Heads whipped towards Danny.
âYeah, me too. Cardamom yellow was my favorite. Ugly as hell but the chemicals just tasted right.â Tim replied, using the distraction to nab some of Bruceâs money. Monopoly money, that is. Everyoneâs heads snapped towards Tim, only Cass and Danny (who was part of the scheme) caught him cheating.
âReally? I think mine was those spray can blue cosmos paint. But that might have been more my thing for space than the actual taste.â
âWHY WERE YOU EATING PAINT?!â Dick asked, looking like he wanted to lunge over the table and shake Danny until he puked out paint. Bruce looked like he was about to have a heart attack.
âYeah, what the fuck, Tim?â Jason snickered.
âIn my defense,â Danny grinned. âI was left unsupervised. Also, Steph, you owe me $24 in rent.â
âUgh! Iâm almost out of money! Canât you loan me some, Alfred?â
âI am sorry, Miss Stephanie, you are not qualified for another loan. In fact, one of your properties is about to be confiscated as per the collateral agreement.â
âNoooo!â Stephanie made dramatic dying noises.
âWhat was your excuse, Timothy?â Damian asked, eyes glued to the board and determined to win the game.
âHey, I was probably less supervised than Danny was.â
âYeah,â Danny perked up. âMy parents brought us down to their lab all of the time. Taught us a lot of stuff.â
âReally? Like what?â Duke asked, casually slapping away Timâs sneaky hands.
âOh, like what a rocket launcher sounded like up close! And how to build a laser gun! Oh! And what human organs looked like when theyâre fresh!â Danny chirped, collecting his money from a stunned Stephanieâs hands. He looked up.
âOh, donât worry! I at least learned what not to do when it comes to lab safety. And we wore hazmat suits to protect ourselves from the radiation.â Danny smiled in a ditzy fashion as the table fell silent in a horrified manner. Cass tapped his arm amusedly, but allowed his bullshit to stand. After all, itâs not like he lied.
âRadiation?â Duckâs voice raised a couple of octaves. Oh yeah, Dannyâs going to laugh about that pitch for a long while.
âOrgans?!â Jasonâs hands closed around the plastic house he was holding rather forcefully.
âDo you even know what basic lab safety practices are, Danny?â Damian demanded, finally looking up with brows furrowed. He rolled the dice and grabbed a mystery card. He gets $100 from Alfred.
âHow old were you??â Duke asked.
âLike⌠8, when they first brought me in?â
âEight.â Bruce rumbled, slipping into a more Batman like persona. When Danny sent him a confused look, Bruce straightened back into his Bruce persona. âWow, they must have trusted you a lot!â
âSure?â
âWhat were their names again?â Stephanie asked sweetly, Cass nodding at him.
âJack and Maddie Fenton.â Not that theyâll find them here, considering his parents are dead and in another universe.
âCool, cool, cool!â Stephanie blinked, beaming as her hands formed lethal fists underneath the table.
Danny blinked and tilted his head in an unassuming way, pretending like he had no idea what Stephanie was thinking of. He sneakily handed over $600 to Cass in order to complete his monopoly on his side of the board.
Danny stood up and spread his hands out, one hand clutching his new found victory.
"Well, lady and gents, you've all been floundering against the inevitable tide of capitalism. I am here, as a reminder that you can never win against the hopelessness that will be your financial ruin! I, Danny Fenton, have obtained a quarter of the board and therefore have won against even your best efforts!" He cackled, holding up his fan of properties triumphantly. He shot a mischievous grin at Cass, who held up a solemn thumbs up in support for his monetary takeover.
"... Danny, are you... planning on a career in villainy?" Bruce asked, after a brief and total wave of shocked silence. Damian looked like he was having a conniption at having been bested, unknowingly. Yeah, Danny was disarming like that.
"Yeah, that was concerning." Tim piped up, nabbing a ten from a shell-shocked Damian.
"Hey! The Riddler gives surprisingly good monologues! And he's really loud, so it's hard not to pick up on things. Duke, your turn." Danny sat back down, pouting. The villainy comment was a little too close to his fears.
"Damn it." Duke, who had rolled, landed smack middle of Danny's territory. He handed over a sheaf of bills to a grinning Danny.
"Wait a minute! You have cheated!" Damian bolted upwards from his seat, finally done running through the purchases he remembered Danny making. "You acquired that property not within the games' rules!"
"Okay, first of all, the rule book is a suggestion, like lab safety rules," Danny saw the others open their mouths to protest, but he quickly shut it down. "Second, there's totally no rules about selling and buying places from a private owner so suck on it. And thirdly? Cass sold it to me, so you all can take it up with her."
"Diabolical!" Damian muttered indignantly.
"... Dammit." Dick sighed, falling back into the chair and balancing on its two legs. He couldn't say anything, considering his current of bankruptcy.
"Danny. Danny, I'll buy a property from you." Jason said, eyeing one of Danny's other properties near his own cluster.
"What do you have that would interest me?" Danny asked, falling back into his Vlad-like imitation.
"Ew, don't do that," Steph reached over to jab him in the arm.
"Yeah, Jason, what do you have?" Duke said, the lovely subtle instigator that he is.
"Red Hood's signature."
The others blue-screen, gaping at the actual audacity Jason had to offer up something that would take him no effort. Danny, prepared with a poker face that came with lying straight to Jazz's ever perceptive eyes about whether he nabbed the last of her ice cream or not, was prepared.
"Red Hood? The condom guy working out of the... um. Upper East Side?" Danny asked, pretending to hesitate. He knows where Jason operated. That doesn't mean he couldn't simply pretend otherwise. For science, of course.
...
...
...
The table howled with laughter, Jason's indignant spluttering unable to say anything against Danny's wide eyed look of innocence. Cass leaned against the table, chuckles falling out of her mouth and eyes crinkled in mirth. Dick had fallen out of his chair, helplessly wheezing on the floor. Duke is hiding his face in his hands, mirroring Bruce's pose as they both shake from silent laughter. Damian is smirking, wicked and sharp as he smugly stared at Jason. Stephanie and Tim are leaning against each other, repeating "the CONDOM GUY" in alternating and increasingly louder voices. Alfred had a smile on his face and a tight grip on the bills in front of him that betrayed his amusement.
"He's a crime lord!" Jason exclaimed, indignant.
"Uh, okay. Well, I mean, why would I want a crime lord's signature? I don't want to be on his radar. Or echolocation or whatever. He's... a Bat, right? That's what you guys call that group, yeah?"
"How do you know the Rogues better than the vigilantes?!" Jason glared at his unhelpful family. Those assholes better prepare for a load of rubber bullets the next time they're on patrol near Crime Alley.
"Hey, it's not my fault the vigilantes here are unsociable. Maybe if they monologued more, I'd know who they are."
"Wouldn't- wouldn't that make them more villain like?" Tim asked, stuttering from his laughter.
"I dunno?" Danny replied, enjoying his the family's unabashed joy. "I mean, they're pretty legit and they help people already so I guess they don't need to be sociable... but still I swear I haven't heard anything about Batman other than that he grunts and is mean towards criminals."
Is mean towards criminals, Duke mouthed at a recovering Dick who was in the process of heaving himself back up. It sent him careening back down to the floor with restrained giggles. Cass tapped Danny, reminding him to eat some food.
"Tt. Of course not. They're efficient at their jobs and have no need to be seen as welcoming to criminals." Damian puffed up.
"Yeah, but they've gotta feel safe, right?" Danny shrugged as he plucked a cookie from the cookie platter. "The... one with the sword, what was it?"
"Robin." Damian supplied, eyes narrowed and trained on him.
"Yeah, the baby bird. The kids think his swords are cool so they trust him. But like, the others? The flippy blue one? Not so much."
"Wait," Dick said from the floor. "They don't trust Nightwing?"
"Nah, they trust him to protect them, but he has a history of bringing the kids to the police, you know?"
"What's wrong with that?"
Danny shrugged. "ACAB. But also because everybody knows that half the guys in the GCPD and CPS are child traffickers."
"Wait, what?" Jason and Tim straightened.
Bruce piped in, the emotional whiplash of amusement to concern to amusement to concern visibly making itself known on the man's baffled face. "I thought Batman and Commissioner Gordon took care of that?"
"Sure, the obvious ones." Danny hesitated. Well, he's pretty sure they think he's a meta so... "There's... a meta trafficking ring that they're a part of. That's. That's kind of what I was running from."
Danny looked up pleadingly. Cass placed a hand on his arm in comfort, not knowing that he was fibbing about running from them.
Danny was on the streets helping his own Alley metas to run from them.
Danny is as feral as she was, and that meant he could hide just as much as she could read off of him. Cass was the best and he felt kind of bad about lying to her, successfully or not.
"Uh. Some people said you know Batman, Bruce. I know- uh, that might not be the case but if you do, could you ask him to look into it?" Danny made his eyes tear up. "And maybe he wouldn't care about me much, I mean, I know he doesn't really like metas but if he helps out, I could totally like, leave the city once the kids are safe, promise."
Ooh, Danny put a little too much sincerity into that. He could practically hear the hearts breaking in the game room as everyone glared at Bruce.
"You won't have to leave."
"... Promise?" And Danny's voice was a little too desperate, too hopeful, because Bruce's eyes tugged down in sadness.
"Promise." He rumbled, all Bruce Wayne and all Batman. Danny's core warmed. Danny also saw the rest of the family's faces darken in pure agreement. And partial wrath.
"Yeah! We'll kick Batman's ass if he even thought about kicking you out!" Stephanie proclaimed.
"He's far more proficient in combat than you are, Brown." Damian immediately leapt to Batman's defense and that was that.
Well, later, as Danny was "sleeping" and Phantom was hovering in the cave, invisible and intangible, he got confirmation that his Alley meta kids were going to be safe, soon.
After all, the entire Batclan was suiting up and baying for blood, with Oracle's all encompassing presence behind them, fingers reaching for their enemies' weak points.
#batman#danny phantom#dc x dp#jason todd#bruce wayne#tim drake#dick grayson#red hood#nightwing#red robin#duke thomas#the signal#damian wayne#robin#stephanie brown#the spoiler#cassandra cain#black bat#oracle#barbara gordon#bamf danny phantom#danny phantom playing victim but he's an unreliable narrator#and was totally marked for trafficking before brucie wayne picked him up#danny trauma dumping on family game night#lab safety? danny doesn't know her#danny experiencing familial affection: who me??#danny winning monopoly like a capitalist villain that Sam unknowingly told him how to be via her rants#danny ate paint as an experiment#I'd like it to go on record that've I have never eaten paint
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(đ˘đâđŹ đ§đ¨đ đĽđ˘đ¤đ) đĄđâđŹ đŚđ˛ đđ¨đ˛đđŤđ˘đđ§đ | đŹđđđŻđ đĄđđŤđŤđ˘đ§đ đđ¨đ§
Steve hears you wrong, thinks heâs your boyfriend, and begins to act accordingly. You try your best to go along with it until you canât anymore. 3k, fem. requested here âĄÂ
cw shy(ish)!reader, misunderstandings, steve being a huge sweetheart, fluff, hurt/comfort, bonus fluff sceneÂ
ËĘâĄÉË
The arcade is loud and brisk this evening, doors thrown open to allow for the constant ebb and flow of younglings, the machine music turned up to account for so many voices. Youâre lost in a sea of rainbow flashing lights and the ticklish smell of sugar. Without Steveâs hand behind your shoulder, youâre pretty sure you wouldâve gotten lost and trampled half an hour ago.Â
A candy necklace pinwheels past your heads like a torpedo, forcing you closer together, your shoulders tight with a flinch.Â
âWe can leave,â Steve says immediately. Heâs weirdly thoughtful. Before he asked you out you had no idea he thought so much about other people, but heâs always thinking about other people. You could argue he thinks a little too much, like you.Â
âI wanna see Max.âÂ
âShe has to be here somewhere.âÂ
That theory proves less and less likely. Steveâs hand falls away from you, tugging through his hair in a marker of stress as you circle the Palace Arcade for the tenth time. âMaybe she quit?â you suggest.Â
Steveâs eyebrows pinch together as he gives the arcade another sweep. Maxâs rough patch freaked him out, as it freaked you out, because ârough patchâ is a kind way to describe it. She couldâve got a whole lot worse; she was suffering, capital S. Itâs nice to see her returning to society, but not if she isnât actually settling in. Thatâs the whole reason youâre here.Â
Steve frowns at you worriedly.Â
âWho died?â asks a new voice.
You breathe out a sigh of relief. âMax!â Steve cheers.Â
âThatâs me,â Max says, looking at you both sceptically. Her ginger hair is pulled into two tight braids either side of her face, her cheeks flushed red. Mascara paints her usually pale lashes a darker brown, and a rosy tinted chapstick shines on her lips.Â
âHey, the uniform looks good on you,â he says affectionately. âYou look like a valued member of society.â
âA society in need of better labour laws. Iâm pretty sure this is child abuse.â She rolls her eyes.Â
âIs it awful?â you ask.Â
âItâs fine. Better when your stupid friends arenât here making themselves sick on candy like theyâre nine years old,â she says pointedly to Steve. âAre you going to throw up too? You lookââ she grimaces in place of insult.Â
âWhoâs throwing up?â you ask.Â
âDustin. Heâs outside.âÂ
Steve sighs and gives your shoulder a kind squeeze. âIâll be right back,â he says, squaring his expression. âGoddamn kids.âÂ
He sounds like an old man, you think to yourself with a small smile. Disgruntled, he still goes to make sure everyoneâs alright. Heâs nice, even when that nice is begrudging and tiresome and plain gross sometimes.Â
âWhy are you smiling at him like that?â Max asks.
You school your impression. âLike what?âÂ
âLike you like him.âÂ
You shake your head. âTell me about work, Max. Whatâs it like here? Are they giving you your breaks?âÂ
She drags you over to the counter to sit in the seat waiting behind. She glares at any kid who approaches, but besides that she seems in good spirits. The job isnât hard, itâs just a job. Sheâd much rather be at home reading, but wouldnât everyone? âAnd I get this sweet uniform,â she says, pointing at the embroidered icon on her shirt pocket. âWhatâs with you and Steve?âÂ
âNothing,â you say, though itâs something. Youâre mortified to have been caught having feelings.Â
âLooks like something. Are you dating?âÂ
âI mean, this is a date,â you say, almost whispering as heat floods your face. âBut weâre not together.âÂ
âHe was touching you a lot.âÂ
âMax, heâs really nice. Heâs a really nice guy,â you say gently, âand weâre not together, but if he does ask me out eventually, maybe Iâll say yes.â You realise what youâre saying and attempt to backtrack âyou do like Steve, but Max doesnât need to know that. âItâs not like heâs my boyfriend,â you say strangely.Â
âEw,â Max says with a laugh.Â
âNot ew,â you correct. You hadnât meant it in a bad way, itâsâÂ
âNot ew,â Steve says from behind you, his arm a heavy weight across your shoulder.Â
You look wide-eyed up at his face, surprised by his huge beaming smile, an intense loveliness about him as he gives you a half hug.Â
âWhatâs ew about that?â he asks you softly.Â
Oh, boy, you think.Â
As it turns out, being Steveâs girlfriend is kind of nice, but you arenât ready.
From that afternoon at the Palace Arcade onward, he treats you like youâre made of gold. And itâs great, heâs so kind, he brings you flowers and takes you out for breakfast, where he pays the tab without any flourishes and talks to you as casually as always. You almost hope he hasnât got it wrong at all, and that his soft tone a few days ago had been down to a brief overwhelming fondness. Youâd get that. You have your moments with him, youâre falling for him, and itâs only a matter of time before youâre desperately in love, youâre sure, but then the waitress asks if you need anything else and he says, âJust a water for my girl,â and you realise youâre not getting off easy.Â
Dating is sort of like being good friends; youâd planned to spend the day together anyways. You enjoy his company. Itâs clear heâs eager, optioning off the dayâs agenda as you return to the car, the bottom of your face hidden in your bouquet.Â
âWe could go to the movies,â he says, opening the passenger door, his smile seemingly permanent as you climb inside. âNo science fiction, I promise.âÂ
âI kind of like sci-fi.â Petals press fragrant to your top lip.
âWell, we donât have to go to the Hawk. We could go into the city. I bet theyâre playing any movie you wanna see.â He checks that your leg is properly inside the car before he closes the door, jogging around to the driverâs side and practically throwing himself inside. Heâs giggling like a kid. âShit, Iâll see anything you want to.âÂ
âSteve.âÂ
âOr we can go do nothing? Until dinner.âÂ
âSteve,â you say again, thinking youâll tell him. Nothing good ever comes from dishonesty.Â
âWhat?â he asks.Â
His eyes are so brown. Billions of people with brown eyes and you swear youâve never seen anything like it before, their centres like hot honey, the sweetheart shape to them when he smilesÂ
You sigh. His smile is contagious, even while your stomach hurts. âNothing. Letâs go see a movie.âÂ
âAre you okay?âÂ
âWhat?âÂ
âWhat do you mean, what? You sounded weird.âÂ
âI sounded weird?âÂ
âNo!â He winces. âI mean, yeah, you sounded weird for you, like you⌠I donât know. Sorry.âÂ
You feel bad, then. His apology is earnest, his hand resting open on the console for you to take if you could manage the flustering heat of it.Â
âI wanna go to the movies,â you say, âcos you really do.Â
âAlright, good. Itâs just, I think my last relationship, Iâ I didnât pay enough attention, and I want to do that better this time around. So yeah. Sorry.âÂ
Oh, Steve, you think. How are you supposed to tell him now? Youâre gonna have to pretend to be ready for a relationship with him until you really are, it seems. He doesnât deserve to have his heart played with twice.Â
âDonât be sorry,â you say gently. âLetâs go watch a movie, okay? I want to go, with you, weâll watch a shitty daytime flick and then get dinner after. Itâll be fun.âÂ
You arenât lying to him about what you want. Itâs clear to everybody, Steve and his friends and especially you, that you like him, that you want to be around him and make him laugh. Maybe being his girlfriend wonât even be that different to being his something.Â
After all, whatâs romantic about seeing a movie?Â
âYou good?â he asks, half an hour later, your agony prolonged.Â
Youâre at the back of the movies where the seats have the most leg room, more popcorn and candy than you could ever eat at your feet and a litre cup stuffed into the armrest between you. Steve is tucking his shirt back into his jeans, his head parting the light of the projector and leaving a silhouette in the previews.Â
âSteve,â you advise, gesturing for him to lean down out of the way.Â
He leans down, further and further, face to face with you with his hands on his hips. A flirtatious teasing makes its way onto his lips. âWhat?â he asks, amused.Â
âYou were in the way of the light.âÂ
âThat what it was?â
âSeriously!â you whisper-shout, laughing despite yourself.Â
âYouâre so cute,â he whispers back. âWant to take your jacket off?âÂ
Your lips part at his good suggestion. You hold your arm out and start to peel from your jacket, but he takes your sleeve and helps you out of it before folding it and sitting in the seat next to you, your jacket on his thigh. âHowâs that, babe?â he asks.Â
âItâs good.âÂ
âOkay, perfect.â He beams at you. Heâs always smiling when heâs with you, like youâre the best thing since sliced bread. Like he loves you. âTell me if you need something, yeah? I know youâre kinda shy.âÂ
He settles back in his seat with your jacket still in his lap and no indication that he might want to move it. Your knees touch as he relaxes, your knuckles as he puts his arm on the rest between you, a picture of contentedness as the movie begins and the opening credits play. âThatâs us,â he says without looking at you.Â
Two people walk down the street holding hands as the title of the movie blazes in yellow font with thick red outlines. A Day In Paradise!Â
You bite down on a slither of the inside of your lip until it stings. You try to fight it off but the longer you sit there, the more your eyes burn, thinking about Steve and what he deserves and how unfortunate this whole thing is, and yeah, youâre overwhelmed, too. You arenât ready for so much sweetness all at once. You donât deserve it, he doesnât deserve this.Â
You force the tears away. The movie goes on and on, the lights low, the chatter of moviegoers and the occasional popcorn crush not nearly loud enough to cover the sound of Steveâs breathing.Â
He pushes his hair out of his face. Somebody on screen makes a joke, his hand brushes against yours, and then takes it gently as he laughs.Â
You pull your hand away and tip your head down, a frantic tear flicking from your lashes.Â
âYou okay?â he whispers.Â
You try to answer. You whimper instead, a terrible, sorry sound stuck to your throat âyou canât hold it in anymore. Itâs too much.Â
âIâm sorry,â you mumble tearily, looking up, a tear rolling fast down the bump of your cheek.Â
Steve sits still in moderate horror. âWhy are you crying?â he whispers.
The thing about Steve that people tend to forget is that, while he takes care of people the best that he can, heâs really young. He doesnât always know what to do. He stares at you now like youâre a foreign object, hand tucked back into his abdomen.Â
A tear drips onto your lip. It tastes salty. âSorry,â you say.Â
âWhy?â he asks, dumbfounded.
âI really like you, Steve.âÂ
He stares at you. ââŚBut?â
âBut Iââ His frown hurts your heart. âI donât know if Iâm ready for all of this, I neverâ never had someone like me like this, I donât know why Iâm crying.â You say that last part to yourself rather than him, scrubbing your cheeks with your hands roughly before hiding your face completely. âItâs not you.âÂ
âI thoughtâŚâ And of course he did.Â
âI know,â you say. âIâm sorry, Steve. I thought it wouldnât matter but everythingâs going so fast.âÂ
He touches your arm gently. âIâm sorry,â he says. âI thought you wanted this. Youâ you said I was your boyfriend, to Max? I thought you liked me.âÂ
âI do like you,â you insist, meeting his eyes.Â
âCan I wipe your tears away? Theyâre everywhere,â he says. You struggle to read his expression, but thereâs no resentment or anger there for you. He looks quite serious.Â
âYeah.âÂ
Steve bends in his seat to wipe your tears off of your face gently. They really are everywhere, on your cheeks, your top lip, your chin, even down the arc of your neck. âI donât understand,â he says, going back to your cheek for a missed streak, âbut you donât have to be upset. Please. I wonât do anything you donât want me to do, I promise.âÂ
âSteve, when I was talking to Max, I said,â âyou winceâ âthat itâs not like youâre my boyfriend. She was asking me about you, and I got all panicky because I like you, but Iâm too weird about this stuff, Iâm panicking nowââ
âDonât.â His hand lingers on your face, before a sorry flash of dejection passes over him, and he drops your face altogether.Â
âI didnât mean for this to happen. Please believe me.âÂ
âOf course I believe you.â He grimaces at you, and the heartbreak turns to something more manageable, like heâs brushing himself off. âIâm sorry. For getting the wrong idea.âÂ
âI like you,â you whisper. Your voice is nearly lost to the rustle of popcorn and drinks.Â
âI like you too!â he says loudly.Â
A few seats down, somebody turns, an angry whirl of hair and clicky nails. âCan you guys shut up?âÂ
You and Steve leave your mountain of snacks behind to stand in the theatre hallway, where the winter air is cool on your flushed skin, and the silence is stifling. You lean against a wood feature wall and try to calm down, because heâs the one who should be upset (or maybe heâs not that fussed about you). He stands a half foot away with his arms crossed, looking down at his shoes, though occasionally he glances at you for a split-second and looks away again.Â
âYou okay?â he asks tightly.Â
âIâm sorry.â
He pokes his cheek with his tongue. âSo you donât want to be together?âÂ
You donât know. He deserves the truth, even if you barely understand it yourself, and it stings to say. âI do, I like you, but I⌠I want to take things slowly.âÂ
He stands there without talking for a while. When he does talk again, heâs laughing, that achy awful sadness heâd worn a far off memory. âYouâre this upset because you want us to take things slow?âÂ
âI didnât want to hurt your feelings.âÂ
âYou havenât,â he promises. âThat would never hurt my feelings. I knew when I heard it that it was too good to be true.â He scratches the back of his neck. âI guess I gotta earn the title like everybody else does. Is that⌠cool?âÂ
You nod vehemently.Â
Steve blows a relieved breath of air up his face, his hair ruffling off of his forehead. âI thought I was gonna lose you completely,â he says, smiling. âThis is fine. I can work with slow. Slowâs my middle name.â
ââĄâ
The sun is a blistering heat today. âCanât believe itâs only spring,â you murmur, eyes covered by the back of your arm.Â
A weight sits down on the blanket beside you, the sound of dry grass crushed underfoot. He brings the fresh scent of lemon slices with him, the zest sticking to his hands.
âI think I might melt.âÂ
âIâd never let that happen,â Steve says, laying down beside you.Â
âYou can be my parasol.âÂ
âYour what?âÂ
âItâs a sun umbrella.âÂ
âLike this?â he asks, gently laying himself across your front, his face on the slip of your stomach thatâs bare, his arms sneaking behind your thighs to hug them as you bring them up.Â
You reach down to stroke his hair, taking your fingers through the silky lengths of it, fingernails scratching ever so slightly at his scalp. âThanks,â you say.
He kisses your naked leg. âYouâre welcome, honey.âÂ
If heâd done that at the beginning of your relationship, youâd have frozen up; not because he wouldâve done it differently, not because he wasn't always your handsome sweetheart, but because being comfortable with someone this intimately takes time, and thatâs okay.Â
âYour face is digging into my hip,â you murmur.Â
He shifts back, his ear above your belly button. âIs that better?âÂ
âThatâs perfect.âÂ
âAre you falling asleep?â he asks softly.Â
âNo⌠Iâm thinking.âÂ
âNothing good ever comes of that.âÂ
âI have something I want to talk to you about.â
âI love talking to you,â he says. He sounds as though he might fall asleep himself, his tongue heavy in his mouth.Â
You stroke his hair away from his face by touch alone. Long, warm minutes pass without conversation. You arenât scared to tell him how youâre feeling. Heâs proved to you over time that heâs someone youâll always be able to trust, and that whatever you have to say will hold weight.Â
âItâs a question.âÂ
He turns in your hold to face you. You raise your arm, greeted by the image of him sun-kissed and lazing, laid out across you without a care in the world.Â
âDonât tell me then,â he says, rolling his eyes. âJesus, youâre terrifying.âÂ
âWould you wanna be my boyfriend?â
He narrows his eyes at you. A myriad of emotions pass between you both, until heâs smiling, and you know heâs sitting up for a kiss seconds before he actually does. He presses his lips to yours carefully. âBaby,â he says as he pulls away, voice as mild as his soft kiss, âI think weâve passed that point.âÂ
âI realised Iâd never asked you, is all.âÂ
His hair falls down into his eyes. You tuck it behind his ear. Itâs pretty clear now youâre together, even after such a bumpy start.Â
âCan I get it in writing this time?â he asks, rubbing the tip of his nose against yours, your eyes fluttering closed in tandem.Â
âGive you anything you want if you kiss me,â you murmur.Â
His laugh fans over your lips. He cups your cheek, your heart a hummingbird drilling at your ribs as Steve moves in to kiss you properly. Your lips part under the pressure, your head tilting a touch to one side to accommodate him as he searches down for you, melty hot pleasure and nerves that never seem to fade arising as his thumb moves up your cheek, a semi-circle of touch. It promises undulating care whenever you want it.Â
You tip your head aside to catch your breath.
âBetter late than never,â you joke.Â
Steve talks into the soft skin beside your mouth. âYou werenât late, babe. I was early, and I didnât mind waiting.âÂ
ËĘâĄÉË
thank u for reading!! pretty please like/reblog or comment if you enjoyed cos it means so much to me and inspires me to write even more!!! but either way i hope u enjoyedâ¤ď¸â¤ď¸â¤ď¸
#steve harrington#steve harrington x reader#stranger things#steve harrington x you#steve harrington fluff#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington x fem#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington fic#stranger things x reader#stranger things fic#steve harrington one shot#steve harrington drabble
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Assassin Heir? Crime Fighting Furry? NOPE NO THANK YOU!
"Danyal, its time to end this game and return with me."
Danny should had known Clockwork had something in mind when he sent him on this mission. He knew he should had been suspicious of the time keeper when he noticed the little 'this is going to be fun' smile on his face when he sent Danny off into the portal.
"Get back here you demon spawn 2.0!"
But how was he supposed to know that he'd wake up in this world version of himself in a pit full of corrupted (AND NASTY) ectoplasim at the tender age of five or that when he swam up to the surface he'd be meeting face to face with what was apparently a cult.
"-O just spotted him a block away! I'll try to cut itty bitty bridie off!"
An Assassins Cult his, new to him, loving yet a little insane mother was in charge of (though during the few months he stayed in the compound he heard rumors and gossip from maids and others alike that if his grandfather returned from the dead he'll take over once again, no doubt punish Talia for creating another heir after the failure of the last one, most likely was going to kill Danny and that... that was can of worms Danny didn't wanna deal with yet)
"Ten bucks says they try to stab RR when we get the feral thing home"
"...Losers bet...."
Danny had lived with his mother for a while after being brought back from the 'dead' for apparently the first time, it turned out training a five year old with an actual sword and a dumbass hidden revenge seeking teacher was a terrible idea.
"I swear if this one tries to murder me like the others I'm asking Zatanna if there is a curse on me."
He dealt with her high demands of perfection, the endless training, and the constant comparisons to his apparent older brother Damain... Who didn't know Danny, or rather Danyal existed.
Nor did his father (when Danny, using his powers he's kept hidden since 'waking' up in this Realm, he sneaked his way around the base and discovered how he came into the world. And tbh he couldn't blame his mom how she made him, she was an assassin first and foremost, being naturally pregnant would had painted a target on her for to long... but he also felt it was unfair and an asshole move on his unsuspecting father as well)
"As your elder brother I demand you to stop running!"
Now don't get him wrong, he did like his new mother (total badass assassin lady and all that) and he knew she loved him in her own... deadly way. But yeah, she really shouldn't be taking care of kids. He could tell she struggled with wanting to be a normal mother but her first instinct after so many years was to be an assassin first.
Something she was trying to engrave into Danny with as well.
"Ah, hello Beloved. I see you've learned of our Danyal."
"Talia. Back away from him and leave Gotham now."
"I can not do that. The League needs an heir and since Damian refuses to return... I have decided to create a new one and I shall not be leaving until he returns with me."
"Talia."
Hence why when Danny, or rather Danyal al Ghul had gotten decent control over his powers he decided to leave the League. Again nothing wrong with the life his mom leads, to each their own, but he... really, really didnt want to be an assassin. Or an assassin heir.
So here he was, after almost a year on the run, using his powers and training to out smart and out maneuver his mother and her many band of Assassins, in Gotham. One of the last places he ever wanted to run to cause he knew his father and brother lived here.
It was just his luck that his mother had managed to intercept his train ride that passed into Gotham for a few hours and forced him to run into the city...
Add her assassins into the mix and running into Robin, who heard from Oracle his mother had been spotted chasing a young boy across the city, that same night.
After that it became a full on "catch me if you can" chase for not only his mother but for the batclan as well.
And after two whole days of chase, it seemed like the final showdown was about to begin because everyone was on top of this rooftop, his mother and her assassins on one side, his father and the batclan on the other and Danny well... he was right in the middle of all of it.
He just had to hope no one would notice him once the fighting started...
#danny phantom#danny fenton#dp x dc#blue rambles#crossover#writing ideas#random idea#danny phantom dc#basicly Danny is sent on a mission by CW#he wakes up in the DC version of himself in the pits after being killed and Talia tossing him in#he was created by Talia since shes head of the LOA now and needs her own heir#but she once again wants Bruce's bloodline in it so she used some leftover dna she still had#so no one knows Danny was created until he left about a year later#danny has his ghost powers since he took a dip in the pits#but had to relearn some control and kept it secret#he knows his mom would see it as 'the pits granted my heir its powers.' mindset#so hes been on the run#and didnt wanna go to Gotham cause... his dad dresses as a gaint bat#and dont get him started on the rest of the batfam#he doesnt wanna be an assassin or a crime fighting furry#in case some people didnt get it. the words being spoken happen when Danny is running all across Gotham away from those after him#guess who said what lol#i want danny to be completely independent and trying to take care of himself tbh#but hes still baby to everyone else#talia is slowy becoming a little unhinged due to being the Demon Head now#maybe due to the stress of it all? or maybe due to a curse? idk
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ROLE REVERSAL âĄ
pairing: leon kennedy x fem!reader
summary: leon finds his old raccoon city uniform. instead of letting the past haunt him, he dresses you in it. it looks much prettier that way.
cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, masturbation, officer/criminal roleplay, handcuffs
a/n: for my leon babies, i hope you all enjoy <3
kinktober slot: day 5 - roleplay
The points of your heels click against the hardwood slats on the floor of the bedroom. Thin and elegant, the tips slick and triangular. Your boyfriend watches you waltz into the room from his spot on your shared bed. The sharp post at the center of the head board supported his hands, bound by a shiny pair of silver handcuffs.
"You're in a lot of trouble, Mr. Kennedy. Do you know why you're here today?" your voice asks, floating through the room in a seductive melody.
His eyes flit up and down over your figure. Your curves were clad in his police uniform. The spare one that hadn't seen the blood and guts of September 30th, 1998. The pale blue fabric remained pristine and bright. The golden badge on your breast glimmered as if Leon actually got to put it to good use.Â
But he didn't have to think about that right now. Didn't have to remember how his life's dream had withered away with everything else in the nuclear blast. Instead he could look at you. How the cerulean polyester fits snug around your waist and chest. How you had the fabric tied into a little knot above your navel. How the pair of navy blue lace panties you had on below set off the light shade above perfectly.
A low whistle leaves his lips.
"No, sweetheart. But I gotta say, you look better in that old thing than I ever did," he responds.
A smile comes over your painted lips, but you still roll your eyes and stamp your heel.
"Leon!" you huff, "You agreed to do this, so you have to stay in character. That's not how you talk to an officer of the law."
"Oh, you're right. My mistake, officer," he says with a smirk. He clears his throat as if getting into character. "No. Not a clue."
That pleases you, and you continue walking towards the edge of the bed, your hips swaying with each step. A hair brush taps one of your palms. Your version of a night stick if he had to guess.
"I don't believe you. You've been a very bad boy. Committed a long list of crimes that should have you locked up for the next couple decades," you say.
As he watches your performance, he can't help but find you so cute. The way you speak, your attempt at taking control, is an obvious imitation of his cadence in intimate moments.
"Have I really?" he asks, eyes lazily drifting up to your face.
"Yep. But maybe, just maybe, if you give me some information about the people who put you up to it, we can make a deal."
"I'm not telling you a thing without my lawyer here," he says.
As cocky as he acted, Leon was already nude before you on the mattress. His pale skin almost glows in the dim orangey light of your bedroom. Scars trail across his abdomen that had become a little softer in the last several months. Brown hair dusts the skin of his tummy down to the collection of it curling above the base of his cock. His pretty cock, half-hard between his legs, just waiting for your attention.
You take advantage of his condition by ghosting the bristles of the brush over his v-line. The sensation tickles slightly. His hips twitch, and you see his dick jump at the faint touch to the sensitive area.Â
"Why not? You can trust me, Mr. Kennedy. I just want to wrap this up as quickly as possible."
The broad end of your tool coasts over his stomach now, going up to his chest to tease his nipples before you swing it back down to the lower half of him. His heart beat picks up, and his blood starts flowing down south. Out of the corner of your eye, you see his length begin to stiffen.
"I'm not stupid," he says, his tone audibly huskier, "You never talk to the police without a lawyer."
Bringing your knee onto the edge of the foamy mattress, you boost yourself to kneel next to his immobile form.
"Normally I'd agree with you. But I'm different," you say. You come closer and swing your leg over his body so that you're straddling his lap, hovering above his cock. "Even though I believe you're guilty as sin, I want to help you."
His chest vibrates with the urge to groan at the feeling of your clothed heat so close to his aching shaft. "Why's that?" he chokes out instead.
"Because look at you. You're much more useful to me out here than behind bars," you say, reaching down behind and fondling his balls. The groan he held in before oozes from his mouth at the feeling. His cock kicks up now, resting against your center. You adjust to position the appendage between your legs. The cute pink tip stares up at you from where it peeks out of the junction between your thighs.
"That doesn't sound very professional, officer," he says. He has to remember that his hands are fastened above him because your hips call to him. The urge to squeeze them, to knead the flesh and smack your ass, boils in his chest.
You feel your clit starting to throb for his touch as well. The look in his eyes, the way his lips had parted to accommodate his breathing had you growing more and more damp by the moment.
"That, I never claimed to be," you say.Â
You slide your hand down over your body, taking time to highlight the presence of his dated uniform. Your fingers slip beneath the waistband of your panties. A shuddery breath leaves your lungs as your fingertip slots between your folds and finds your needy bud.
Your digit glides through the small amount of arousal, beckoning more to coat your cunt. He watches with lust-blown eyes, the surface beginning to glaze with desire. You whimper, the sound so soft and delicate it makes him buck upwards.
"Patience. You don't get rewarded for insulting me," you say and lift yourself away from him.
"Oh c'mon, baby," he grunts, "Gimme a break. I didn't insult you."
"Nope. I won't help you out unless you ask me properly," you say, grinning at the prospect of him groveling.
You play with your clit a little more, chest puffing within the confines of his top. You tilt your head back, and your spine arches with the dull pleasure you're providing yourself.
"Fuck..." he breathes, "Please, officer."
"Please what?"
"Please touch me."
The words come out laced with an intoxicating note of desperation. Your head returns to an upright position, your eyes blazing onto him.
"That's better," you purr.
By this point, you'd worked yourself up enough that the cloth guarding your cunt was soaked, sticky and clinging to your center. You spread your legs and lower to press yourself against him. He moans when your warmth makes contact.
You begin moving back and forth in tiny strokes. He whines and tugs on his restraints. The feeling of the fabric against him burns in the best way. A whine comes from you too as the bump of his tip strikes your bundle of nerves.
"Such a pretty, obedient boy. I bet I can whip you back into a functioning member of society in no time."
Grinding down with more pressure, a symphony of blissed out noises erupt from the two of you. Your palms rest on his belly to support yourself while your hips do all the work. Forward, backward, forward, backward. Like a pendulum you swipe over him in rapid succession.
Humping feels good. It always does. But after a while more, you crave a deeper sense of satisfaction.
You pull your panties to the side and grab his leaky cock. It had been drooling precum onto his pelvis, but now, it was going to be tucked inside you. You rise up and then sink back down, eliciting a mewl from yourself and another deep groan from your lover.
"See what happens when you behave and follow the rules?" you whimper.
"Uh huh. Think I'll be a much better citizen after this," he mutters.
You start to bounce, moving up and down on his shaft. The ridges of his veins rub against your insides. A chill runs up your spine. Bumps prickle up over your skin despite its heated nature. Your skin claps against his while pants puff from nostrils.
He's not keeping it together under you much better. He'd already been pretty close from the stimulation you'd given prior to this. Being engulfed in your tight cunt's wet embrace didn't stave off release at all. His heels dig into the mattress and allow him to reciprocate your movements, thrusting up into you shallowly.
"Fuck!" you yelp when he strikes your spot. You ride faster, getting lost in the pleasure. It's getting too hot now, so you tug the police shirt off your body, your breasts swinging free. The cool air brings some relief, and you toss the garment to the floor without another thought.
"Gonna cum for me, babydoll?" you ask Leon, the playful pet name you call him resurfacing. The commitment to the roleplay had vanished with the disrobing of the costume.
"Mhm, almost there, sugar," he grunts.
You squeeze around him, pulsing as your hips swivel and roll. You feel yourself getting there too. Release explodes in you like a firework, bursting in the pit of your belly and fizzling outwards to everywhere else. Your movements become erratic and rhythmless, but you continue on.
Leon can't take the pressure your orgasm brings. You clenching around him is too much to bear and he blows his load inside you, filling you up with his cum. You work it out of him with a few more fluid movements.
As soon as the wave has passed and receded, you fall forward onto his chest. You don't pull off him or let him leave your insides. All you do is nuzzle his dewy skin and smack a few wet kisses onto the area.
"You did pretty good," he rasps, the look on his face ever-teasing, "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were a professional."
"Oh shut up. You were into it," you huff and smile up at him.
Now you do climb off his body, reaching the floor and stretching your limbs. The next thing you want to do is go take a shower with your man, but you realize something and look over at him.
"Oh shit. Where did I put the keys to the handcuffs?"
#leon kennedy x reader#leon kennedy smut#leon kennedy imagine#leon kennedy x you#resident evil x reader#resident evil x you#resident evil imagines#resident evil smut#divider by cafekitsune
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pep reads: fluffiest fluff edition
I've just been CONSUMING so many jjk fanfics... here are the softest fluffiest fic recommendations since I think we all need it right now. This list is in no particular order â there's so many talented writers out there! These ones just made me MELT extra hard. Mostly no smut, I just needed to be held.
gojo satoru
â only you by Kaiseriin [A03: mini series] [status: unknown] [Cursed speech!reader] Other than Gojo, not many people understand the sign language you use to communicate as a cursed speech user. When some students from Kyoto arrive, one tries to learn so he can get closer to you.
â summer skies, winter lies by miyaspudding [A03: long fic!][status: ongoing]
"how cruel was fate? how much had he sinned in his past life, for the woman he loved to belong to his best friend? how little did god love him?"
in which gojo satoru learns that emotions are not weaknesses but consolations; and geto suguru realizes that he's always been a little too late for everything. because the furthest distance is an inch away, and the furthest thing from truth is "just friends".
âbest of luck. by reinerispretty [A03: one shot! part of a mini series] [status: unknown] In which Gojo Satoru shows up unannounced, twice.
âAh, you were both equally idiotic by Hiroka [A03: mini series] [status: unknown]
4 times others realized something was going on between Gojo and you, and 0 times you both realized it.
[Oneshots from the Old Beats Cinematic Universe]
â For A God, Shopping Is a New Adventure by Bun_sun [AO3] [status: on going!] [Baker!reader]
âWould you like anything else?â âActually, yeah.â He flashes you a grin that only promises trouble, pushing his sunglasses down with a way too exaggerated flirty expression. âCan I get your number too?â âHaha, really funny Gojo. Now, I have more clients so...â But he's already getting his phone out, as if he hasn't listened to a single word you've said. â...Oh, you're for real.â ~ ~ ~ ~ Reader owns a small cafe with their own baked goods. Gojo comes in one day, and absolutely falls in love with their pastries (and with them).
â I Want to Kiss You / ăăšăăă by arminsumi [A03][status: unknown]
You and Satoru falling in love despite a language barrier.
You've come to visit Japan to meet these two boys you met online. Though Satoru can't speak English and you can't speak Japanese, the two of you still fall in love. There's seems to be romantic tension between you and Suguru, too.
geto suguru
it's so hard to find suguru fics without him being used as a plot device for gojo
â gentle glow / deep thought by waffiez [AO3: one shot] [status: completed] "I thought about you, you know." Despite the softness of his voice, it cut through the otherwise silent atmosphere profoundly and made your heart skip a beat. "Is that so?" "It is." âââ in which you awake to your best friend suguru asleep at the edge of your bed, having returned from a lengthy mission and only really wanting to see you.
â unnamed drabble by @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat [tumblr: drabble] [status: completed]
comfy fluff w sleepy needy sugu <33)
â Wash It Away by @shadowsandshapes [A03/tumblr: drabble][status: completed]
Sometimes you forget Geto is just a guy. But then he shows a sense of vulnerability that surprises you. After a particularly emotionally draining battle, you run him a warm bath and take care of his aches. â Wisteria and Ciabatta by @hayakawalove [A03/tumblr: mini fic!][status: completed, chapter 2 has smut!]
Traveling merchant Suguru has led a relatively tame life thus far. Growing his flowers, baking his bread. One day, when he ventures out further than normal he comes across something more beautiful than all the flowers in the world. You. â the paint doesn't move the way the light reflects by @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat [tumblr: long oneshot!] [status: completed]
bonus!
â Digest Your Feelings (DYF) â First Years! by @whalesforhands [A03/tumblr: part of a longer series of fics] [status: completed] new classmates, new life, new friends(?). a look into the life of the dyf au characters in their first year.
#suguru geto x reader#gojo satoru x reader#jjk x reader#satoru gojou x reader#getou suguru x reader#jjk fluff#pep recommended đ#ao3#ao3 fanfic#jjk x you#jujutsu kaisen#jjk 261 healing#gojo x reader#geto x reader#jjk 261#jjk fic#fic rec#gojo fluff#geto fluff#gojo satoru#geto suguru#pep reads đ#suguru geto#satoru gojo#ao3fic#jujutsu geto#jujutsu gojo#jujustsu kaisen x reader#jjk#jjk leaks
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The Telling Truth: When 'Show, Don't Tell' Doesn't Apply (You Don't Always Have To Show, Don't Tell.)
Hey there, fellow writers and beloved members of the writeblr community! đâ¨
Today, I want to talk about something that's been on my mind lately, and I have a feeling it might resonate with many of you too. It's about that age-old writing advice we've all heard a million times: "Show, don't tell." Now, don't get me wrong â it's great advice, and it has its place in our writing toolbox. But here's the thing: it's not the be-all and end-all of good writing. In fact, I'd argue that sometimes, it's perfectly okay â even necessary â to tell rather than show.
First things first, let's address the elephant in the room. The "show, don't tell" rule has been drilled into our heads since we first picked up a pen (or opened a Word document) with the intention of writing creatively. It's been repeated in writing workshops, creative writing classes, and countless craft books. And for good reason! Showing can create vivid, immersive experiences for readers, allowing them to feel like they're right there in the story.
But here's where things get a bit tricky: like any rule in writing (or in life, for that matter), it's not absolute. There are times when telling is not just acceptable, but actually preferable. And that's what you all will explore today in this hopefully understandable blog post.
Let's start by breaking down why "show, don't tell" is so popular. When we show instead of tell, we're engaging the reader's senses and emotions. We're painting a picture with words, allowing the reader to draw their own conclusions based on the details we provide. It's a powerful technique that can make our writing more engaging and memorable.
For example, instead of saying "Sarah was angry," we might write, "Sarah's fists clenched at her sides, her jaw tight as she glared at the broken vase." This gives the reader a clearer image and allows them to infer Sarah's emotional state.
But here's the thing: sometimes, we don't need or want that level of detail. Sometimes, efficiency in storytelling is more important than painting an elaborate picture. And that's where telling comes in handy.
Imagine if every single emotion, action, or piece of information in your story was shown rather than told. Your novel would probably be thousands of pages long, and your readers might get lost in the sea of details, losing sight of the main plot or character arcs.
So, when might telling be more appropriate? Let's explore some scenarios:
Summarizing less important events: If you're writing a story that spans a long period, you don't need to show every single day or event. Telling can help you summarize periods of time or less crucial events quickly, allowing you to focus on the more important parts of your story.
For instance: "The next few weeks passed in a blur of exams and late-night study sessions." This sentence tells us what happened without going into unnecessary detail about each day.
Providing necessary background information: Sometimes, you need to give your readers some context or backstory. While you can certainly weave this information into scenes, there are times when a straightforward telling of facts is more efficient.
Example: "The war had been raging for three years before Sarah's village was attacked." This quickly gives us important context without needing to show the entire history of the war.
Establishing pace and rhythm: Alternating between showing and telling can help you control the pace of your story. Showing tends to slow things down, allowing readers to immerse themselves in a moment. Telling can speed things up, moving the story along more quickly when needed.
Clarifying complex ideas or emotions: Some concepts or feelings are abstract or complex enough that showing alone might not suffice. In these cases, a bit of telling can help ensure your readers understand what's happening.
For example: "The quantum entanglement theory had always fascinated John, but explaining it to others often left him feeling frustrated and misunderstood." Here, we're telling the reader about John's relationship with this complex scientific concept, which might be difficult to show effectively.
Maintaining your narrative voice: Sometimes, telling is simply more in line with your narrative voice or the tone of your story. This is especially true if you're writing in a more direct or conversational style.
Now, I can almost hear some of you saying, "But wait! I've always been told that showing is always better!" And I completely get it. I'm a writer myself and prioritize "Show, Don't tell." in my writing all the time. We've been conditioned to believe that showing is superior in all cases. But we can take a moment to challenge that notion.
Think about some of your favorite books. Chances are, they use a mix of showing and telling. Even the most critically acclaimed authors don't adhere strictly to "show, don't tell" all the time. They understand that good writing is about balance and knowing when to use each technique effectively.
Take, for instance, the opening line of George Orwell's "1984": "It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen." This is a perfect blend of showing and telling. Orwell shows us it's a bright, cold day (we can imagine the crisp air and clear sky), but he tells us about the clocks striking thirteen. This immediate telling gives us crucial information about the world we're entering â it's not quite like our own.
Or consider this passage from Jane Austen's "Pride and Prejudice": "Mr. Bennet was so odd a mixture of quick parts, sarcastic humour, reserve, and caprice, that the experience of three-and-twenty years had been insufficient to make his wife understand his character." Here, Austen is clearly telling us about Mr. Bennet's character rather than showing it through his actions. And yet, it works beautifully, giving us a quick, clear insight into both Mr. Bennet and his wife.
The key is to use both techniques strategically. So, how can you decide when to show and when to tell? Here are some tips:
Consider the importance of the information: Is this a crucial moment in your story, a pivotal emotion, or a key piece of character development? If so, it might be worth showing. If it's more of a transitional moment or background information, telling might be more appropriate.
Think about pacing: If you want to slow down and really immerse your reader in a moment, show it. If you need to move things along more quickly, tell it.
Evaluate the complexity: If you're dealing with a complex emotion or concept, consider whether showing alone will be enough to convey it clearly. Sometimes, a combination of showing and telling works best for complex ideas.
Consider your word count: If you're working with strict word count limitations (like in short stories or flash fiction), telling can help you convey necessary information more concisely.
Trust your instincts (Important): As you write more, you'll develop a feel for when showing or telling works better. Trust your gut, and don't be afraid to experiment.
Now, let's talk about how to tell effectively when you do choose to use it. Because here's the thing: telling doesn't have to be boring or flat. It can be just as engaging and stylish as showing when done well. Here are some tips for effective telling:
Use strong, specific language: Instead of using vague or generic words, opt for more specific, evocative language. For example, instead of "She was sad," you might write, "A profound melancholy settled over her."
Incorporate sensory details: Even when telling, you can include sensory information to make it more vivid. "The room was cold" becomes more engaging as "A bone-chilling cold permeated the room."
Use metaphors and similes: These can help make your telling more colorful and memorable. "His anger was like a volcano ready to erupt" paints a vivid picture without showing the anger in action.
Keep it concise: One of the advantages of telling is its efficiency. Don't negate that by being overly wordy. Get to the point, but do it with style.
Vary your sentence structure: Mix short, punchy sentences with longer, more flowing ones to create rhythm and maintain interest.
Remember, the goal is to create a seamless narrative that engages your reader. Sometimes that means showing, sometimes it means telling, and often it means a artful blend of both.
It's also worth noting that different genres and styles of writing may lean more heavily on one technique or the other. Literary fiction often employs more showing, delving deep into characters' psyches and painting elaborate scenes. Genre fiction, on the other hand, might use more telling to keep the plot moving at a brisker pace. Neither approach is inherently better â it all depends on what works best for your story and your style.
Now, I want to address something that I think many of us struggle with: the guilt or anxiety we might feel when we catch ourselves telling instead of showing. It's easy to fall into the trap of second-guessing every sentence, wondering if we should be showing more. But here's the truth: that kind of constant self-doubt can be paralyzing and ultimately detrimental to your writing process.
So, I want you to understand and think: It's okay to tell sometimes. You're not a bad writer for using telling in your work. In fact, knowing when and how to use telling effectively is a sign of a skilled writer.
Here's some practical ways to incorporate this mindset into your writing process:
First Draft Freedom: When you're writing your first draft, give yourself permission to write however it comes out. If that means more telling than showing, that's absolutely fine. The important thing is to get the story down. You can always revise and add more "showing" elements later if needed.
Revision with Purpose: When you're revising, don't automatically change every instance of telling to showing. Instead, ask yourself: Does this serve the story better as telling or showing? Consider the pacing, the importance of the information, and how it fits into the overall narrative.
Beta Readers and Feedback: When you're getting feedback on your work, pay attention to how readers respond to different sections. If they're engaged and understanding the story, then your balance of showing and telling is probably working well, regardless of which technique you're using more.
Study Your Favorite Authors: Take some time to analyze how your favorite writers use showing and telling. You might be surprised to find more instances of effective telling than you expected.
Practice Both Techniques (Important): Set aside some time to practice both showing and telling. Write the same scene twice, once focusing on showing and once on telling. This can help you develop a feel for when each technique is most effective.
Now, let's address another important point: the evolution of writing styles and reader preferences. The "show, don't tell" rule gained popularity in the early 20th century with the rise of modernist literature. But writing styles and reader tastes have continued to evolve since then.
In our current fast-paced world, where people are often reading on devices and in shorter bursts, there's sometimes a preference for more direct, efficient storytelling. This doesn't mean that showing is out of style, but it does mean that there's often room for more telling than strict adherence to "show, don't tell" would allow.
Moreover, diverse voices in literature are challenging traditional Western writing norms, including the emphasis on showing over telling. Some cultures have strong storytelling traditions that lean more heavily on telling, and as the literary world becomes more inclusive, we're seeing a beautiful variety of styles that blend showing and telling in new and exciting ways.
This brings me to an important point: your voice matters. Your unique way of telling stories is valuable. Don't let rigid adherence to any writing rule, including "show, don't tell," stifle your natural voice or the story you want to tell.
Remember, rules in writing are more like guidelines. They're tools to help us improve our craft, not unbreakable laws. The most important rule is to engage your reader and tell your story effectively. If that means more telling than the conventional wisdom suggests, then so be it.
As I wrap up this discussion, I want to leave you with a challenge: In your next writing session, consciously use both showing and telling. Pay attention to how each technique feels, how it serves your story, and how it affects the rhythm of your writing. You might discover new ways to blend these techniques that work perfectly for your unique style.
Writing is an art, not a science. There's no perfect formula, no one-size-fits-all approach. It's about finding what works for you, your story, and your readers. So embrace both showing and telling. Use them as the powerful tools they are, and don't be afraid to break the "rules" when your instincts tell you to.
Remember, every great writer started where you are now, learning the rules and then figuring out when and how to break them effectively. You're part of a long, proud tradition of storytellers, each finding their own path through the winding forest of words.
Keep writing, keep growing, and keep believing in yourself. You've got this!
Happy writing! đâď¸ - Rin T.
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