#this is an example of yelling into the void

[mareastrorum]

This past two weeks has been really fascinating to observe. I've only been on Tumblr for about a year and a half, and only following stream liveblogs for about half that time. I don't usually tag dive because it really can be a slog, but I did for the discourse regarding FCG's death, Otohan generally, and the sudden shift to the Crownkeepers.

This isn't directed at anyone specifically, and I'm saying that for a reason: this website is really well designed for people who disagree to talk past each other. It's considered rude to reply to someone's take directly if you disagree, and often same for sending an ask to that person -- and I'm not saying it shouldn't be, that is simply the culture. In turn, when people write out their own takes on their own blogs, a significant amount of those semi- or fully-responsive posts are written to a strawman. Then when people read those posts, they recognize the general flow (though perhaps not the exact posts the author saw), and the pattern continues until everyone's burnt out on their arguments to a wall instead of to each other. Worse, even the most well-written and comprehensive discourse post is going to miss some small point or nuance, and that of course will be the subject of an offshoot set of posts.

Compare to reddit, which (on well-moderated subs, anyway) funnels discussion to specific threads, and the only way you can effectively respond to a currently-popular take is to take the risk of downvotes by actually replying to that take or to another reply under it. Attempts to address an issue separately are more likely to be lost in the shuffle, and honestly, most people who respond indirectly (citing someone else's arguments but not replying in their thread or to their comment) often earn a hearty amount of downvotes for cowardice even if the mods do nothing. The only way to bitch about some other redditor's take "safely" is to flee to another subreddit, but only if someone doesn't point out what Bitchpants McGee hoped no one would notice. (Are witch hunts against TOS? Yeah. They've been against TOS for a while; what's your point?) The culture is much more confrontational, though the level of politeness and civility is sub-dependent. I was on Reddit for about 13 years before Tumblr, so I've been in subreddits of all kinds, and I find all that to be incredibly entertaining, even if the mobile experience is rather annoying these days.

I don't mean this as a criticism of Tumblr or people who prefer to discuss or read about CR on Tumblr. It is definitely not an endorsement of critical role subs on Reddit either -- I came to Tumblr, too, after all. My point is that, on Tumblr, you can't be sure who someone is responding to, what takes they have read, whether they tag dive, what's on their dash, etc. There's no common thread that everyone is reading and reacting to except for the show itself.

Most CR discourse hasn't been all that bad, but there's some really patronizing and insulting takes in the tags that are effectively shotgun blasts at anyone who disagrees with them. If you want to foster good dialogue about a topic, don't do that, and more importantly, don't take others seriously if those are the tactics they employ. Let those threads die. Don't feed the trolls.

Lastly, this isn't a plea for people to act a certain way on their own blog. Do as you please. But it's a reminder that you're going to talk past people, and they're going to talk past you. If you want that conversation to be worthwhile, then keep focused on what the point of your own post is. Are you trying to defend something? Defend it. Are you trying to deconstruct a misunderstanding? Stick to that. Bitching and venting? Go ahead. But if you've tacked on other stuff to that same post, don't be surprised when you're used as fodder for the people who are intentionally having that side conversation.

[kindlythevoid]

One of my favorite things about Psych is how when they establish a character fact, they stick with it.

Have I at all heard that Gus did tap before the Episode Where He Does Tap? No! But it's brought up/he does tap in several episodes afterwards!!! (Tap-Man and the Seabirds comes to mind)

Did Juliet have a brother before Ewan "JOOOOOHN CEEEEENAAAAA" O'Hara appeared? Not really, although they DID say she had a large (at least extended) family. And they bring him up afterwards!! (Obviously the Bourne episode but also her dad mentions her "and the boys" growing up with Lloyd)

Did Shawn know what Phineas and Ferb was before it was referenced?? Who knows!! But now he's watching their marathons!!

And like!! We love that!! I can't super think of any other examples but there's something so refreshing and comforting to have details that for any other show would've been one-offs never to be brought up again instead become a more nuanced part of the character as a whole!!!

[butchchrollo]

do you ever see a fic that just so badly misunderstands and mischaracterizes a character that you want to dig a hole in the dirt and never come back up

[saph-yells-into-the-void]

ive seen a lot of ppl say that masumi felt like queerbait bc of how she was implied to be a lesbian during the main series, but was shown married to a man in the epilogue.

and I just... think that's the wrong idea to have?

just because she married a guy doesn't mean she isn't queer. she IS. she likes woman and was into futaba, but now there's this question of her also being into men. it all depends on how you interpret the ending tbh but the way i look at it, if she is then that makes her bi. which is still queer?

at most it's misleading but considering this whole manga is about change, im not surprised that they pulled that masumi turned out to be into guys after all.

identity and sexuality is a weird thing. you can think you're not into one gender, and then later in life it turns out you are. besides, she was in HIGH SCHOOL. a lot changes from high school to be a grown ass adult.

masumi later realizing she's into men as well as women ties into the themes the ending was trying to portray. and that is that high school is such a small part of your life and that a lot can change after that. throughout life you are always going to be figuring yourself out, and that includes identity and sexuality

so idk it just pisses me off when ppl say that the end result for masumi's character was queerbait when it very clearly isnt.

at worst it's misleading but at best it's one of the best examples of the manga's core themes.

[iggy-spades]

[kideternity]

I don’t go into media for shipping reasons and I feel like I’ve made it pretty obvious I currently care more for the themes present in each kamen rider series then necessarily specifically the characters, but whatever thoughts and feelings I do have about Showa Rider relationships especially in a more crackship sense are so insane I feel like Im destroying the sanctity of Kamen Rider so I only really tell two people about it

[ace-fandom-dumbass]

started Case of the Greater Gatsby as background noise while cleaning/packing up and this one bit in episode one just swung right into Night Vale vibes, just the death threat note in an unreasonably cheery casual voice completely ignoring the actual content its killing me it sounded exactly like how cecil would react to something like that

[wishfulsketching]

Silco and Jinx are this meme come to life.

Like arcane basically just did this meme with them two. And it goes both ways with them both.

I wish, even if was like a special feature type of thing, that we got to see more of their dynamics and interactions. Because I feel like it would be adorable, precious, and a bit fucked up.

But like I do think that Silco did love her and was as good a father as he could be especially in context of the environment, Silco's own trauma and mental state, and what resources were available in Zaun.

I think that is something Arcane did really well is show relationships are complex and complicated and Silco and Jinx are perfect example of that.

I think that is hard to deny that Silco was her parent and that he loved her and she loved him.

You are absolutely right. Arcane is so unique thanks to Silco and Jinx, in my opinion. For years I've been yelling into the void that we need villains who genuinely love someone(who is alive and in the story)/have family they care about. I will always thank Arcane for loving yet messed up dad Silco.

He though he could help Jinx but it was Jinx who ended up helping him (realize the power of love and the consequences of your own actions, idiot)

Also, may I suggest the Neko Samurai meme, too

[lupusaur]

mutt!bob x purebreed!reader ramblings (fem reader, breed not specified)

warning(s): bob non-consensually gives reader a mating bite, reader lowkey doesn't like Bob but both take advantage of each other

for this post everyone is a hybrid/kemonomimi, nothing has changed except im yelena's little wife

Bob understands that there's a difference between dogs like him and you. You're the definition of beauty and elegance that's acquired from being in a higher class, while he's just someone you wouldn't spare a second glance in passing. Even after becoming Sentry he couldn't hide that he wasn't perfect without dyeing his ears and tail, something he had doubts about after Ava commented on it.

"She was just surprised you dyed it. You looked different from that cute pup we found in the vault."

Your soft smile is forever engraved into his memory. Bob always felt a connection to you. He knows that you deserve someone who can stand with you as an equal, like Walker. A living textbook example of an Alpha german shepard, something that annoys Bob but strangely calms him as he can guess half the time what Walker thinks. Or maybe Bucky, the charismatic Alpha wolf who has a hundred years of experience and knows more about relationships and mating than he does. But Bob wants to be selfish. He craves your attention on an unhealthy level. It makes him feel guilty for coming to your room late at night under the guise of a nightmare, even if he did have one.

You accepted him into your space, into your bed, and even kissed his head to give him sweet dreams. Something your mom used to do as a kid you said. It left him in a daze to receive such treatment. He didn't realize until later that while the room had a calming scent to it, your scent was bland. Were you an Alpha too? Or a Beta? The Sentry serum elevated his status from Beta to an Alpha, so he was able to be your mate regardless of your secondary gender. That is if you accept him.

But right now as he stares at the back of your head while you sleep, he's content to pull you closer and bury his face into your neck, inhaling deeply where your scent glands would be. It's wrong to be this close regardless of gender and even more to lick someone's scent glands if you aren't courting them but Bob rationalizes it as wanting to know your scent to commit it to memory.

Just one lick. Then two. Three. Ten. He's slobbering all over the back of your neck now, unknowingly stimulating the glands and you. As soon as that sweet scent infiltrates his system it's over. Like the uneducated mutt he is, he unashamedly moans and nibbles at your skin, humping your ass and sliding up your nightshirt to paw at skin.

"B-Bob...?"

Hearing his name in such an innocent tone breaks him. He doesn't realize what he's done after it's too late. It isn't until he tastes the familiar copper in his mouth that he immediately gets off and kneels before you with his ears lowered. Bob is apologizing, crying, and shaking so much that he resembles an abandoned puppy in the rain. Like he didn't just bite down to mark you as his mate without your consent. Like this affects him more than you.

But what can you do? You deliberately hid your scent to not be treated differently, and the thing that you didn't want to happen happened. Bob and Sentry are the same, so who's to say he needs to feel that high to become the Void? Did he feel that high when he was rutting against your ass? Will he send the entire state of New York into their shame rooms if you yell at him?

Sighing, you knelt before him and engulfed him in a hug. You're tired. You hate that you have to be conscious of your actions even in your own room. Being a purebred is hard enough on its own but now a mutt could kill you or make you relive your trauma. And if you get hurt on a mission, he wants to kill the person who dared to touch you. Now he crossed a line and did something that can't be undone.

Even now, you can feel him sniffing your neck and licking apologetically at the wound. If you knew better, he was slowly rubbing his dick against your leg.

"It seems you want to cum rather than help me patch up this wound. I guess all Alphas are the same...."

"S-Sorry!!" Bob stood up with you in his arms, sniffling and muttering something about how he'd take care of everything and to tell him if it hurt. One thing that's nice about him is how easy it can be to make him feel bad.

Having a god that kneels at your feet is nice.

[barcapix]

joao fic with he stays sober at a forge in italian club in milan, so reader can get drunk and he’s trying to take her home because she can’t walk straight but he’s struggling because he knows no italian at all (i also know your italian so thought this would be a good idea)😛

✮ Milano & L'amore - João Felix

joao felix x fem!reader

sy: milan comes with its fun, but also its less appealing moments. tonight’s an example.

a/n: although i hate the abbreviation of the ‘mafia’ and even mentioning it i couldn’t think of anything else as a placeholder so���� plus this is not proofread idk im tired so sozsoz for any mistakes ..

warnings: portuguese and italian and the use of alcohol

the bartender slides you another shot of tequila across the marble countertop, and you catch it surprisingly easy.

the club is a kaleidoscope of green and pink, the flashing lights sending you into a drunken void.

“another one?” your boyfriend, joão, comes up from behind. his aftershave is overwhelmingly strong, which makes you even more nauseous.

“yes, another one,” you mock, taking a swig.

the liquid burns down your throat, the addictive wave of alcohol scorching into your head. your slumped over the bar, barely sitting upright and the stool is nothing but a flimsy cushion underneath you.

“y/n, i think you’ve had enough for tonight,” joão tries to snatch the drink, but you slide it away.

“i decide when i have enough,” you counter, almost falling backwards but joão’s swift enough to catch you on time.

“really?” he scoffs. “your gonna play this game with me? you know this isn’t healthy.”

with a second gulp of your drink, you slam the glass down onto the table to look up at your sober boyfriend who looks merely amused.

“your always acting like this,” you lazily mumble. “always lecturing me at… parties.”

you mimic him whilst swaying your hands in the air. “no y/n you can’t drink this, don’t do that. come over here, don’t go there.”

joão looks at you with an jovial expression—in the way your still able to form a sentence despite the amount of churning alcohol pitting in your stomach.

“now,” you fist the glass up to his face. “stop being so boring and have some!”

his grin falters, now unimpressed. “i’ll pass.”

“we’re in milan joão!” you lazily squeak, pulling him down by his half unbuttoned shirt, faces now inches apart. “you need to have some fun.”

he pinches his nose. “yeah and you need gum.”

your smile is carefree, joyful. you sling your arms around the nape of his neck, littering sloppy kisses over his tanned skin.

“awh aren’t you the sweetest?” you mistake his comment for a compliment. “i’m so lucky to have you bebê waby.”

joão purses his lips, rolling up his sleeves. “c’mon, enough. we’re going home right now.”

as he tries to lift you up, you vividly protest.

“ey antonio,” you call to the bartender, using the first name that comes to mind. “don’t make him take me away! we’re friends, right?”

the bartender solely spares you a glance, continuing to pour drinks like he’s heard this exact situation play out a hundred times before.

before you can resist further, you’re suddenly lifted off the ground, swung over joão’s shoulder like a misbehaving child.

“joão! put me down this instant, traidor,” you yell, kicking your legs.

joão, clearly, has more strength than you will ever possess, when he doesn’t even phase at the wriggling your doing to try and escape.

“joão! estou faland—serious,” you babble. “this.. não é justo.”

any words that spring to mind, you voice, even if it was a mix of both english and portuguese. you still somewhat have a smidge of conscious left, and you use it to snatch a fresh glass of vodka from a passing waiters tray.

joão catches on, glancing up at you. “y/n, where did you get that from—no!”

your mid-sip, when he forcefully slides it from your grasp and tosses it into a nearby waste bin.

“what’s wine ever done to you?” you slur, poking him in the chest as he finally sets you back down outside the club.

“for starters, that wasn’t wine,” he corrects. “and second of all, it stole my girlfriend from me.”

your eyes widen dramatically. “you have a… girlfriend? oh, so when did you meet her, huh?” you gasp. “you’re using me.”

joão runs a hand down his face. “no, amor, i don’t have another girlfriend.”

there was in fact, no other girl, but obviously you had way too many to drink than he anticipated.

“hmm,” you squint at him like you’re trying to read his mind.

visibly stressed, he runs his fingers through his hair as he pulls out his phone for a taxi. whereas, your too busy playing with the buttons on his shirt to notice.

“joão,” you spout, reaching up to squish his face between your hands. “you’re so… handsome.”

he sighs deeply, gently prying your hands off. “obrigado, amor. now let me find us a taxi, okay?”

but before he can even look up from his phone, you gasp dramatically. “wait. wait. where’s my bag?”

joão’s heart nearly stops. “what?”

you twirl around in circles, patting your sides. “i had a bag. where’s my bag? joão, my bag—”

“anjo, hey look at me,” he says, firmly locking your shoulders down. “you didn’t bring a bag.”

“oh.” you pause. “are you sure?”

“yes, i’m sure,” he groans, raking a hand down his face, almost on the brink of having heart palpitation. “we have more important things to worry about. like getting you home.”

as if the universe is mocking him, not a single car is in sight. the street is presumably quiet, as it is almost 3am and most people are already inside the club or stumbling off in different directions.

the portuguese looks around desperately, until spotting a driver leaning against the streetlamp.

“come on,” he tugs on your hand. “let’s see if he’s free.”

but you, in your drunken wisdom, come to a halt and dig your heels into the ground. “wait.”

joão groans. again. “wait for what y/n?”

you nervously grab onto his wrist with your spare hand, and whisper (noisily). “what if he’s part of the mafia?”

he stares at you, blinking so fast that he hopes you’d snap back into reality. the mafia?

your confident in your conspiracy, staring back with all of the faint seriousness you had left. not that you had much tonight, though.

“y/n,” he erupts flatly. “he’s a taxi driver.”

you hiss. “that’s what they want you to think.”

joão closes his eyes for a long moment, breathing in so deeply like he’s summoning for any patience that god can offer him. then, his nostrils flare determinedly, and without another word, he drags you along.

the driver looks up as you approach “sì?”

“uh.. possiamo eh,” he gestures vaguely. “possiamo.. prendere un taxi?” (can.. we get a taxi?)

“dove vuoi andare?” the driver now turns to face you fully. (where do you want to go?)

joão blanks. well shit. did he really expect a local in milan to be fluent in english? luckily, he briefly understood what he’d said but knowing how to form a response was a new challenge.

“uh.. to our hotel?”

“quale hotel?” the driver gives him a pointed look. (which hotel?)

joão’s mouth opens and closes. of course he knows the name of the hotel. but right now? right now, when you were clinging to his arm and sputtering some nonsense about ‘dangerous italian gangsters’(?). his brain was fried.

for you, this is nothing short of in awe. “awh baby you sound so smart right now.”

“y/n, please.” he feigns.

the driver sighs, patience thinning. “l'indirizzo?”(the address?)

he quickly fumbles for his phone, trying to pull up the hotels location. his hands are full because of your constant swaying against him, always looking to grab his attention.

“joãoo,” you pout, pressing your cheek against his chest. “why is your heartbeat so fast? is it normally this fast?”

“um, no,” he presses his lips into a thin line, still struggling to get the location. you continue to ramble about something else, but ignores you.

after a painful few seconds, he finally grabs the address, showing it to the driver.

the man squints at the screen, then exhales heavily, like he’s deeply regretting taking this job tonight. but he nods. “va bene. venite.” (okay. come)

you snort. “look at you, my multilingual king.”

he helps you into the backseat, making sure you don’t hit your head in the process, before sliding in next to you.

when the engine starts, your head hits his shoulder, he cuddles you closer, his arm around your waist like a crafted seatbelt.

after a few beats of silence, you grumble. “you still love me after all this right?”

joão ushers a breathy laugh, resting his chin atop your head. “more than anything mi vida.”

🔖🏷️: @n0vazsq @hearzdiarx @paucubarsisimp @diarieeeelils @joaosnovia @httpsdana @universefcb

[coline7373]

How to comment 101

A fandom is the subculture inherent to a group of fans. It touches anything related to the field of predilection of such a group of people and is organized or created by these same people. And, like everything that comes from people, it is alive and requires exchanges to continue to exists.

People who receive no comments have often and at length express how lonely it can feel to be shouting alone in the void and how discouraging such silence can be.

I have found after asking around that readers aren’t unwilling to comment, but mainly don’t have the energy or know what to say.

Some readers have also expressed a fear of annoying the author, as they are clumsy with words, or feeling intimidated in front of an author who has such a talent with words that the reader's own words feel too embarrassing. Or not feeling that their own five word sentence is worth the bother.

Every word matters.

Every comment is worth its writing to the author.

I refer you to this post if you doubt the importance and impact of comments on fanfics.

To help those willing to comment, I have done a very modest survey of roughly 20 persons, writers and readers alike, and here is what I have come up with.

For writers:

Write in your notes, at the end of the fic, clearly what type of comment you do not want. 

Clearly stating your limits and preferences helps readers who are uncertain or not very verbose to write in a relaxed way.

If they do not have the anxiety of offending, vexing or annoying the author, they will be more comfortable and therefore more inclined to write.

If you have repeated commenters, try to reply to their comments, even with just a few words. Some people who do not receive replies to any of their comments take the lack of response to mean the author is not reading comments at all, feel discouraged and stop commenting in turn.

If you do read the comments, but don’t want to reply for whatever reason, do say so at the end of the fic, in the notes, so that readers know what to expect and not be disappointed.

For readers:

Do:

About the story: 

You can write about a particular line that you liked, the themes, parallels with canon or within the story, the characterisation, a character’s exploration, a/several character’s motivation, a/several character’s mindset/thinking/emotional reaction, a/several characters’ interaction, the plot, the action happening, the worldbuilding, emotions within the fic, subtext, pacing...

If you liked everything and are overwhelmed on how to narrow it down, you can just say exactly that. “I loved everything!”

You can also focus on pointing out just one moment, one line, one specific thing and why you liked them, specifically. What matters is not that you wrote a novel but that you communicated to the author what made you happy, what you enjoyed.

About you: 

What emotions the fic made you feel, what you think is going on in a wip or what you (think you have) figure(d) out, what you are doing in real life while reading the story, afterward, because of it, and/or how the fic impacted your life (yay! motivation to make art!), how the fic is meaningful on a personal level because x, y, z, what it made you think of, like another fic, a book, a song, a movie, what subject/fact it prompted you to discover more of…

How: 

You can write an essay, a prose, or some serious, meaningful, impactful words but you can also joke with the author as long as you stay mindful or polite. A lot of authors have said they love when people make jokes or break the fourth wall. 

Unsure about your sense of humor? Here is an example: do not write "I hate you! How could you do this to me!” Write "How could you do this? The betrayal! die offscreen.”

Making a parody of what is going on with the characters with a few lines can be funny! Keep it positive. Not everyone has the same degree of sarcasm. But levity and good humor are always welcomed.

Small fics vs longer fics:

Emojis, keysmashing and incoherent yelling are very often correct comments for small fics or drabbles. (Unless otherwise specified.)

They are also loved in longer fics, (unless otherwise specified,) but people who have been writing a story for literal years appreciate you taking at least five minutes to say a bit more than that.

Try to go through all the “about the fic” and “about you” points above, methodically, and choose just two or three of them. Then write just one sentence per point.

If you really don't know what to say, look at other people's comments. Sometimes, you will recognise something you liked too or that you thought was really good. It can help and be the starting point of your own comment.

Long WIPs:

For long fics that you follow while they are being written, people have said they have at first a lot of enthusiasm for commenting, but find it harder and harder to know what to say as the number of chapters accumulate, and so does the number of comments they feel obligated to give in turn.

Please, keep commenting! Love keeps the writers motivated and helps creativity. It’s like shouting in the void and getting a high five back.

Even one line about something specific (a dialogue bit, a reaction, a plot maneuver) can make an author happy.

Writers are not really looking for length or details. They are looking for care. If you read something you liked, just point out what you enjoyed. That's engagement enough. 

Comments aren't really about the act of a compliment. They are about the shared joy of a fandom or a ship or a character. 

Example: “'X character diving headfirst into the sea like that is so like him!”

It’s good. It’s fun. It’s nice.

Some people have said to “save” a chapter, give a kudo and say “looking forward to reading this when I have time!” and wait until they do have time and energy to comment more at length, sometimes two or three chapters at the same time.

It let the writers know their fic is still being read. You just have to be mindful to not let months go by, otherwise, it goes back to leaving the author the impression they invested hours, weeks, months, into something no one interacts with. You can alternate strategies, lengthy comments, short comments, and commenting on several chapters saved.

If all else fails, go back to the tried and true. Choose one of the points above, choose just two or three of them and then write just one sentence per point.

If you are not a native speaker:

Google can help with the bare minimum. It's not great, but it lays the foundations. Write what you think in google translate and the translation will help guide your answer. You can always ask for help from someone else or warn the author that the fic’s language is not your native language, if you are unsure if your words come off in a tone not intended.

At the start of your comment, say “I am not a native speaker”.

Do not apologize. It’s not necessary. Just provide context. Use your words. Be clear.

Remember: 

The writer isn't what they write. They do not necessarily headcanon what they write, nor do they necessarily approve of it in real life. Be mindful to not approve or disprove of x, y, z going on in the fic as if they do. You do not know that.

It’s not about the length or the wording or the quality of your comments. Of course authors love that. But what they love most of all is to hold hands, jump up and down with you and squee and gush about the fandom, ship or character.

It’s about the sharing of the joy.

Don’t:

Do not ask for another chapter and for the author to finish a fic.

Do not threaten the author to put their fics in an AI if they do not finish the fic.

Do not say "I didn't like it" or "I liked but not that" or "It would have been better if x, y, z." If you want to talk about what you didn’t like, whether it’s part or all of the story, discuss it with willing friends. The author is not responsible for you reading something you didn’t enjoy (how it made you feel) and persevering.

Do not “offer” to correct typos, grammar, vocabulary, facts, canon facts, characterisation, ect. unless you know the author and know they are fine with it or they say so explicitly in the notes. 

Do not make demands. Do not.

Like that tumblr op said, “this is not the bespoke zone.” This is off-the rack. If the free suit is not to your liking, look for another free suit rather than demand to speak to the manager for "adjustments."

Tags are not owed to you. Ao3 is not a safe zone. Not everyone agrees on what degree of content merits each tag. Or what qualifies for a tag. So, if you found a fic that was more angsty than you expected and it broke your heart, comment on a part that was good and didn't make you sad, without saying you want a happy ending to the angst fic that was written for angst purpose. Off-the rack, remember?

Exemple:

"I found x,y,z to be upsetting. Would you consider tagging it?"

Vs "Your work is totally x,y,z triggery. You ought to tag it."

Vs "Hey, you do know some people find x,y,z, triggery, right?!? Because they do! So tag it!"

One of those answers is correct. The others aren't. No demands in the comments.

Your emotional well being while reading fic is your responsibility. If your expectations have been disappointed, do not say so. Talk about a point that was positive for you. If your expectations have been exceeded, do share!

Also, if you're mad, I have found that it helps to write your comment, leave it to decant, and wait a week or so to see what it looks like when you're in a different emotional mindset.

Some elements of fics can be very upsetting unexpectedly. It is not the responsibility of the writer to answer that. Nor comments are the place for it.

Once some time has passed, if you still want to talk about it, try to communicate in a way that is neither demanding nor negative. If you can't, talk about it with someone who is not the author.

My own personal opinion:

It can be so easy to focus on the fic and your own inner imaginary garden/cinema, that we sometimes forget to switch from "inner life" to "outer life" and exchange actively with people on both sides of the fence.

But it can also add so much more to the experience <3

Clear communication is always good. Even if you disagree. At least you know where you stand.

Say thank you. Fanfics are a gift. You have been given one. Say thank you. 

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

✨ i started a writing advice newsletter (substack crew assemble)

hi. hello. writer friends, mutuals, lurkers, and people who’ve reblogged a post at 2am with “me fr” in the tags,

i started a Substack newsletter ✨ and you should totally subscribe to it.

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-Rin T.

[insidekatmind]

Possession and curiosity~Hwang In-ho

Wearning: +18,smut, age-gap

Request: yes!

Neon lights flicker in the void of the night. The air is thick, soaked with sweat, fear and desperation. You are there, slumped against the cold metal of a wall, your heart beating furiously in your chest.

After yet another fight with your brother Gi-hun, you left, tired of his empty promises and his failures. But you too have never been an example of success. Debts devour you, hunger corrodes you and life seems like a race without a destination. When you received that mysterious ticket, you told yourself that you had nothing left to lose.

There you are, among people who share your same misery, forced to compete in childish games with deadly consequences. Only when you saw Gi-hun among the participants, you understood how foolish it had been to think of making it alone. For days you avoided his gaze, hidden in the crowd. But in the end, inevitably, he found you.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice cracking between anger and fear. It had been a fierce argument. You yelled at him, reminding him that he had no right to judge you, not after all the broken promises. In the end, with no alternatives, he accepted you into his group, with the air of someone who would rather do anything else than see you there.

But what you didn't know was that someone was watching you from afar, every step you took, every breath you took. Hwang In-ho, the Frontman, hidden behind the silver mask and the altered voice, had noticed your determination, your courage in wanting to survive at all costs. And that dedication had struck him. The obsession had started as a simple interest but, with each challenge overcome, that desire to see you triumph had become a woodworm that devoured him from the inside.

Unbeknownst to you, In-ho had shown up undercover as Yong-il, another seemingly anonymous competitor. His voice was softer, gentler, and his gaze was veiled in a look of false weariness. Whenever you found yourself in trouble, he was there, offering subtle advice or a temporary alliance.

You didn’t suspect him. No one did. How could you imagine that a man with so much power would stoop to your level, just to ensure your survival? But In-ho had made up his mind. He would do anything to protect you, even if it meant diverting his attention from your brother’s sabotage plans.

Every day was a battle. Every game a new chance to die. And yet, with Yong-il by your side, you survived. There was something disturbingly comforting about his presence, something that made you feel safe even in the midst of hell.

You didn’t yet know that his kindness hid a dangerous obsession, a shadow that stretched over you. And while you fought for your life, he fought for a very different prize: you.

In the dim light of the room, you feel YoungIl's heartbeat against your back, steady and reassuring. His arms wrap around you like a protective shield, keeping the nightmares at bay. You've grown accustomed to his presence, to the way he seems to anticipate your needs before you even express them.

As you lie there, your thoughts drift to the day's events. The challenges are getting harder, the stakes higher. You've seen players fall, their lives snuffed out like candles in the wind. It's a grim reminder of the precariousness of your own existence.

Suddenly, you feel YoungIl stir behind you. His breath tickles your ear as he whispers, "You're safe with me. I won't let anything happen to you."

His words send a shiver down your spine, but it's not entirely from fear. There's something else in his tone, a possessiveness that both comforts and unsettles you. You turn to face him, your eyes meeting his in the darkness.

"What makes you so sure?"

His gaze intensifies, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his eyes. "Because I know what's at stake. I've seen the way the others look at you, like a prize to be won or a threat to be eliminated." His voice drops to a low, dangerous growl. "But you're mine. I won't let anyone else lay a finger on you."

The possessiveness in his words sends a thrill of fear and excitement through you. You've never had someone claim you so fiercely, so completely. Part of you wants to pull away, to assert your independence. But another part, the part that's tired of being alone and scared, wants to surrender to his protection.

You lean into him more and relax. Feeling your surrender, YoungIl's grip tightens possessively around you. His breath grows heavier, the rise and fall of his chest pressing against your back. A low, satisfied growl rumbles in his throat.

"You trust me, then," he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear. "Good. You should. I've protected you this far, haven't I?"

His hand slides up your arm, a featherlight touch that sends goosebumps racing across your skin. You nod silently, unable to find words. The air between you crackles with tension, heavy with unspoken desires and dangerous promises.

“I never thanked you for this,” you whispered softly, turning to look at him.

His eyes lock onto yours, intense and unblinking. "You don't need to thank me," he says, his voice low and husky. "Not with words, anyway."

His hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing gently over your lips. The gesture is tender, but there's an underlying hunger in his gaze that makes your heart race.

"I want more than just gratitude from you," he continues, leaning in closer. His breath is warm against your skin, sending shivers down your spine. "I want... everything."

The possessiveness in his tone is palpable, a dark promise that both thrills and terrifies you. You're acutely aware of the power dynamics at play, of the precariousness of your situation. But in this moment, wrapped in his arms, you feel safe. Protected. Desired.

You nodded and kissed him. His lips meet yours in a searing kiss, hungry and demanding. His hand tangles in your hair, pulling you closer as he deepens the kiss. You can taste the desperation on his tongue, the pentup longing that's been building between you.

He breaks away, breathing heavily. "You're mine now," he growls, his eyes blazing with possessiveness. "Mine to protect, mine to cherish... mine to claim."

His hands roam your body, touching and claiming every inch of you. You gasp as he finds sensitive spots, your own desire rising to match his. In this moment, there's no game, no death, no fear. There's only the two of you, lost in a haze of passion and need.

His lips trail down your neck, leaving a path of fire in their wake. "Say it," he demands, his voice rough with desire. "Say you're mine."

You arch into his touch, a soft moan escaping your lips. "I'm yours," you whisper,words the falling from your mouth like a confession. "Only yours."

A primal growl rumbles in his chest at your submission. His hands make quick work of your clothes, tossing them aside carelessly. You shiver under his heated gaze, feeling exposed and vulnerable. But there's no room for shame in his eyes, only a fierce, protective love.

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs, his fingers tracing the curves of your body. "So perfect. I'll never let anyone hurt you again."

He settles between your legs, his hardness pressing against your core.

He enters you slowly, filling you completely. A gasp escapes your lips at the sudden fullness, your body stretching to accommodate him. He pauses, allowing you to adjust, his forehead resting against yours.

"You're so tight," he groans, his voice strained with pleasure. "So good."

He begins to move, his thrusts deep and deliberate. Each one sends shockwaves of pleasure through your body, building a fire in your core. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, needing more.

"Yes," you moan, your nails digging into his back. "More."

He obliges, his pace quickening. The room fills with the sound of your labored breaths and the slap of skin against skin. You're lost in the sensation, in the feeling of being completely consumed by him.

His hand slides between your bodies, finding your most sensitive spot. He rubs in circles, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. The dual stimulation is overwhelming, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

"So good, so big" you whisper.

His thrusts grow more urgent, more desperate. "You like that, don't you?" he pants, his voice thick with desire. "You like feeling me inside you, filling you up?"

He leans down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. His tongue plunders your mouth, mimicking the motion of his hips. You can feel him swelling inside you, growing harder and thicker with each thrust.

"Yes," you moan into his mouth, your body tensing as your orgasm approaches. "Don't stop."

He doesn't. If anything, his movements become more frenzied, more possessive. He's claiming you, marking you as his in the most primal way possible. You can feel the heat building in your core, the pressure coiling tighter and tighter.

"Come for me," he growls, his fingers pressing harder against your clit. "Come on my cock."

His words push you over the edge. Your body convulses, your inner walls clamping down around him as you cry out in ecstasy. Wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you, leaving you breathless and shaking.

He follows soon after, his hips stuttering as he spills himself inside you.

He flips you over roughly, pressing your face into the mattress. "I'm not done with you yet," he growls, his voice dripping with possessiveness.

You feel his hands gripping your hips, pulling them up to present yourself to him. There's a moment of hesitation, a flicker of uncertainty, but it's quickly swallowed by the overwhelming desire to please him, to be claimed by him completely.

He spits into his hand, using it to lubricate his already slick cock. Then, without warning, he pushes into your tight hole. You gasp at the sudden intrusion, your body instinctively tensing against the foreign sensation.

"Relax," he commands, his voice strained with effort. "Let me in."

Slowly, you force your body to comply, feeling him slide deeper with each shallow breath. The pain is intense, but so is the pleasure, a twisted combination that leaves you dizzy and overwhelmed.

He begins to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate. Each one stretches you, fills you in a way you've never been filled before. You can feel every ridge, every vein of his cock as it slides in and out of your ass.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he pants, his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise. "So perfect. I knew you'd feel amazing."

His thrusts grow faster, more urgent. The sound of his hips slapping against your ass fills the room, mingling with your muffled moans. You can feel his cock throbbing inside you, growing harder with each passing second.

"Who do you belong to?" he demands, his voice harsh and commanding. "Say it."

"You," you gasp, your face buried in the mattress. "I belong to you."

"Damn right you do," he snarls, his pace becoming almost brutal. "This ass, this body, it's all mine. I'll fuck you whenever I want, wherever I want. You're my little toy to use however I please."

His words send a shiver of humiliation and arousal through you. You're completely at his mercy, utterly owned. And yet, a part of you revels in it, craves it.

He leans over you, his chest pressing against your back. His hand snakes around to your front, finding your clit and rubbing it in rough circles.

You moaned loudly and arched to take more. Your eager response spurs him on, his thrusts becoming more forceful, more demanding. He's claiming you, marking you, making you his in the most primal way possible. Your moans fill the air, a symphony of pleasure and submission.

"That's it, take it," he growls, his fingers moving faster on your clit. "Take my cock like the good little slut you are."

His words should humiliate you, but instead, they only fuel your arousal. You're lost in a haze of sensation, your body responding instinctively to his touch, his commands.

He shifts his angle slightly, and suddenly, he's hitting a spot inside you that makes stars explode behind your eyes. You scream, your back arching off the bed as a devastating orgasm rips through you.

"That's right, come for me," he snarls, his thrusts becoming erratic. "Milk my cock with your tight little ass."

His words, combined with the overwhelming pleasure, push him over the edge.

He buries himself deep inside you, his cock pulsing as he spills his hot seed into your ass. You can feel it filling you, marking you from the inside out. He stays there, panting heavily, his body pressed against yours.

"Mine," he whispers, his voice hoarse with satisfaction. "All mine."

Slowly, he pulls out, his cum dripping from your wellused hole. He watches it with a possessive gleam in his eye, as if admiring his handiwork.

[joyswonderland1108]

Who Appointed You Offense Police?

At this point, I'm convinced there's a full-time job out there called "Getting Offended on Behalf of People Who Aren't Even Bothered™". The job requirements? No context, no cultural understanding, just vibes, and a Wi-Fi connection strong enough to jump to conclusions from anywhere on Earth.

Can we stop pretending like getting angry for people who aren't mad is some noble crusade? Because it's not. It's embarrassing. You're not an advocate, you're an unsolicited spokesperson with zero credentials.

My bestfriend could call me something outrageous in private and we'd laugh. But then here comes Captain Social Justice kicking down the door like, "HOW DARE SHE?" Um.. who invited you? Did you suddenly become the CEO of My Boundaries?

It's getting ridiculous. Some people see someone being happy, respected, or culturally embraced, and your first reaction is: "This offends me.. even though I'm not from there, don't practice that, and wasn't asked."

Example? Sure.

There was this idol, can't recall her name for the life of me, but she visited a Middle Eastern country (don't remember which one either sorry just saw the post quickly and moved on) and wore a headscarf and local jewelry. Respectfully. Tastefully. Locals were thrilled. "She's so cute!" "So respectful!" "Welcome!" But somehow, magically, people not from the region decided it was offensive. And started yelling into the void about cultural appropriation. Are you dizzy?

Another? Glad you asked.

Katseye's Manon, a Black girl, said the N word and suddenly non-Black people decided to hold cancel party. Meanwhile, Black fans were in the replies having to explain why.. you know.. they don't need your white outrage to tell them who can or can't say it. How did we get to the point where Black people are defending Black people from White people pretending to defend Black people? I- 🥴

Now, i won't say what recent incidents inspired this little rant, we're keeping it mysterious for legal reasons (and fandom peace) but know this:

If the people directly affected aren't mad, you don't get to be mad for them. You are not their lawyer. You are not their spokesperson. You're the extra in the background trying to steal the scene.

Sit Down. Your outrage is showing.

[boimann]

comic 7 spoilers

ok i have a lot of thoughts about comic 7 and i need to ramble a bit or i'll go mad, this post is just to get those thoughts out of my head so read it as me screaming into the void, also these are just my opinions you can 100% disagree with me just please don't yell at me ;_;

i didn't like it, don't get me wrong i did like a few things in it but as a whole... :|

so starting off with the things i did like:

Miss flo pauling :D !!! she's awsome as always, i will always love her no matter what and i'm glad she didn't fall for the australium's temptation and got rid of it :]

SOLDIERS FAMILY!!! they are perfect no notes 10/10

buff merasmus, also perfect

✨heavy with a beard✨

and that's a wrap on the things i liked. what was supposed to be the big finale of this really cool story just ended with a whimper of a flashback...why?? i think the biggest issue i have with the whole comic is the fucking time skip, i honestly don't think it was necessary?? it feels like they just wanted to have a 7 years joke and i get they wanted to show were the mercs are at after the events of the comics but idk i think there could have been another way to show it :/

i especially didn't like what they did with scout, i love the idea of him being a good dad and basically the opposite of spy but idk going from him still basically being scout from the game saying he's moving on from miss p to him being a responsible dad feels really abrupt and it's all because of the timeskip because we skipped past all the development of him getting to that point. am i saying that we should have seen all of that development?? of course not because fitting it all in one issue would have been impossible but the way it is now it feels wrong ;_;

another thing i didn't like was that half of the mercs just didn't have any lines?? :[ it would have been so cool to see more of them or/and seeing them interact for example medic was litterally sided with the enemy for half of the last issue but i guess no one cares?? and i guess demo has nothing to say about his best friend being engaged?? or anything at all really, it was all so fast they forgot to give my man any lines (ﾉ´ｰ`)ﾉ

also didn't love spy taking off his mask because you know most of his character is being a misterious masked rogue but that scene with tanya was really sweet so it cancels out <3

so yeah this was all i could think of right now if i get anymore thoughts i will reblog this post and add them later, for now i will pretend that the comics end with the sixth issue and try not to think about it too much, i hope that anyone reading this post was able to enjoy the comic more than i did and again if you want to add your own thoughts please don't be mean bc i will cry (promise threat)

[mamisfavmosher]

I love your writing

Can you write about reader having a fight with the judgment day about something that happened like they were partying and some people couldn’t stop flirting with reader but they were feeling uncomfortable for example but reader was in the right but they wouldn’t believe them so that lead to a huge fight and reader feeling completely alone until someone realised they made a mistake and try to convince reader to take them back please?

thank you!

tainted trust // poly!judgment day x fem!reader

warnings: angst, yelling, insecure!jealous!judgment day, argument, language, etc

Readers POV

"You're pathetic, you know that?!" Rhea bellowed as soon as she slammed the front door shut. "You think you need to flirt with every man who gives you the slightest bit of attention! Are you that much of a whore? Huh?" Her aggression and anger were the most apparent out of the four of them.

Rhea's insults cut into me like knives. "I didn't flirt with him! I already told you that!" I defended. The Judgment Day and I had gone to a bar with some coworkers after the weekly show had ended and at some point throughout the night, the four gothic members had left my side for a few short moments. Enough time for some creep who had kept his eye on me to make a move.

*Back at the club

"Hey, beautiful! Let me buy you a drink!" The man shuffled toward me and attempted to grab my hand.

"No, thanks. I'm not interested." I tried to keep my voice blunt and void of emotions in hopes of turning the man away. As I took my eyes off of him to search for my partners in the crowd, his hands gripped my waist and pulled me into him. "Get off me!" My hands pushed at his chest until he released me.

"Relax, babe. I'm just having some fun!" He gave me a gross smile and ran his hand down my arm. I shoved his hand away and scanned the crowd in a panic. The four of them weren't hard to miss. Where could they be? "C'mon! Let's go dance!" The man forcefully grabbed me and pulled me along with him to the dance floor. He turned me around and tightly held my hips against him, preventing me from pushing away. As I worked on slapping his hands off of me, I noticed a tense energy surround us. I looked up to see the four members of the Judgment Day fuming with anger.

Damian shoved the man away from me while Rhea grabbed hold of my wrist and dragged me out to the car. The car ride back to the house was insanely tense and silent.

*Back at the house

"Bullshit! You weren't even doing anything about it! You just let him put his hands all over you!" Rhea shouted back.

"That's not true! Guys? You saw me trying to get away, right?!" I attempted to get backup from the boys, but to no avail, they looked equally unhappy.

Damian threw his keys and wallet down on a side table before looking over at me with a glare. "Don't try and act dumb. We all saw what you were doing." His tone gave it away that he wasn't on my side.

"But I wasn't doing anything! I was trying to get him off of me!" I was exasperated at this point.

"We won't tolerate lying, and we definitely won't tolerate cheating. Either admit what you were up to and explain yourself, or find somewhere else to stay tonight." Finn sighed in disappointment and crossed his arms, waiting for my response.

My jaw dropped at his ultimatum. "What? You can't be serious-"

"Dead serious. You heard the man. Make your choice." Rhea cut me off and seeped her words with poison. I looked at them all, trying to determine if they were being literal. They definitely were. I shook my head in frustration, snatched up my bag, and stormed out the front door. I don't know if Liv is back from the club yet, but I'll wait on her front porch until she is...

Liv had actually gotten home only five minutes before I arrived at her place, and she immediately brought me inside and had me tell her all about the drama that just ensued. To say she was angry was an understatement. She was completely dumbfounded at how they had treated me.

The feisty blonde sent a lengthy text message to the group members about how they were in the wrong, I would never do something like this, how blessed they are to have me, and then followed up with some threats if they didn't apologize. She insisted we have a fun sleepover to forget the fight, and I couldn't say no.

***next morning

A harsh pounding on the front door woke the both of us up and Liv hurried to go see who it was. I heard her mumbling before she quickly came back to me. "They're here." She gave me a look of reassurance and allowed me room to walk past her.

I took a deep breath before opening the front door.

"Hey. We need to talk." Rhea demanded and motioned for me to step outside. I obliged, closing the door behind me. She sighed and raked a hand through her dark hair. "Tell us the truth. Were you flirting with that guy?" She asked, her face wore an expectant expression.

"No! I told you guys that last night, but you didn't believe me!" I was quickly becoming defensive, ready to pick up the argument where it had left off.

"We believe you, honey. Liv sent us a long message and helped clear everything up." Damian stepped in. "We're sorry. You tried to tell us and we wouldn't listen to you. It's our fault." He apologized.

I took a moment to think to myself, contemplating how easily my forgiveness should be handed out. I mean, they kicked me out of the house without even letting me explain.

"So," Finn interrupted my thoughts. "Are we forgiven, love? You ready to come home?"

I let out a huff. "I'm not happy about the situation and how I was treated last night, but I'm content for now. I can't forgive you all so easily right now. My feelings are hurt and I don't really feel like everything's okay yet. I just think we still need to talk about it a bit more when we get home?" I looked around to gauge their expressions.

"Sounds fair to me." Dom smiled.

I grabbed my stuff from inside Liv's house and headed to the car. While Damian loaded my bag into the trunk, Rhea gazed at me in the rearview mirror.

"Baby..." Her eyes flicked away, instead turning her body to face me. "Are we gonna be okay?" She motioned between us and then to the boys outside of the car.

I nodded with a small smile. "We'll be okay, Mami. Promise." Seeing relief flash in her eyes, I quickly kissed her cheek. "Everything will be perfectly okay."