#used an actual already written scene for this one
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Hi Maggie! I have a question (or few lol) on your personal opinion/experience, if you're willing to share. I have been reading fic for...a very long time lol but I have never read any abo. Based on some self-reflection I think it's that I just don't know how it works so I think I won't understand the fic or will miss important nuances. But I just read the description of your accidental courting fic and it sounds super cute! And I'm reminded of all the times I've read a fic description and was interested, then realized it was abo so I didn't read it (which feels so embarrassing to say!). I know my apprehension is likely keeping me from experiencing something I might really enjoy. And so my question is, what about abo fics do you think you cannot find in other fics? Or put another way, what do you like about abo fics in general? Also how did you get into writing them?
hiii anon! First, thank you for saying that the accidental courting au sounds cute! (I think it is, but I wrote it lol) And it's fun to get an opportunity to talk about this trope, which I'm going to refer to as omegaverse, I'm glad you asked <3
I'm going to link a primer that @allwaswell16 wrote because it covers the basics really well and includes links for further reading. That said, the trope can get very subjective and there are still things I don't understand fully. Like it gets a little hazy when I think about scenting glands, and I hope @crinkle-eyed-boo won't mind me saying so, but neither of can actually visually a nest. So I get your apprehension, but I don't think you need to know all the details to enjoy the trope.
The thing about omegaverse is that sometimes it can feel like a way to make a gay couple straight. When I get that vibe from a fic, I just close the tab. But I was talking about this with @lululawrence years ago, and she was explaining that there are writers who use omegaverse to explore dynamics similar to men/women because that lets them do it at a little bit of a distance. And I understand that – as a writer, sometimes I want to explore something with a female character because I identify as female, and sometimes I don't. Sometimes I want that distance.
I think what appeals to me about omegaverse is that it's kind of primal. Sometimes I'm in the mood for instincts to just take over! It's kind of like a soulmate au in that way, almost like an external force guiding two characters if that makes sense.
I hope this isn't obnoxious but since we're talking, I decided to just go through each omegaverse fic I've written (only 6!)
For a long time, I didn't plan on writing omegaverse. But then I saw a few prompts for a fest that were clearly submitted by the same person, and it was just so sweet because they all ended with "please." The one I picked said "A soft Narry where Harry is alpha and Niall is omega, please." so I got to anything I wanted with it. I thought about doing something with Niall modeling Omega watches because I thought that was hilarious, but there was something at the back of my head telling me this Harry would be ace. So I decided to explore that a bit and I centered it around touch deprivation because sometimes I feel a little touch deprived. a little tenderness
Then for some reason, I got really into the idea of an alpha building a nest for their omega. And I had this little snippet of a scene in my head with one partner saying "you've been so sad lately" and the other one not wanting to admit why, but they already know. So those two ideas kind of morphed, and then I wrote a couple of other scenes that just like INTRIGUED me so I could get them out of my head. with love on the line
I saw a prompt about accidental courting, and then decided to actually try writing it after a friend encouraged me. I struggled to get going because originally I wanted Harry not to realize he even had a crush on Louis, and the characters simply would not cooperate. So he could only be oblivious about the courting rituals, not the crush. I want to say this is the most, like, stereotypical omegaverse that I've written? But it still starts with alpha Harry baking. baby, you're the end of june
I do not remember why, but at some point I got really interested in how girl direction omegaverse would work. I went looking on tumblr and online, and found a couple of references. So originally I wanted to explore the mechanics. But it became really, really personal while I was writing! I did not mean for that to happen! But I love how this one turned out. enough to make a girl blush
THEN I was like... but what about two female alphas? I don't know if the scents in this one quite work, they did in my head. But after this one, I felt like I kind of got f/f omegaverse out of my head because I had figured it out. when we're finished saying nothing
Although then I decided to do a cute followup on a side pairing from enough to make a girl blush for a fest. count me in
WAIT OKAY I'M SEEING A PATTERN. TWO PATTERNS.
CARETAKING – I think that I like seeing one partner taking care of the other in omegaverse (although I probably like that in all tropes)
And honestly, I just like trying new things.
So for me, I do like the unique aspect of the instincts and primal nature in omegaverse, but it's also just kind of a fun playground because you can do so many things.
I hope this wasn't too long! And listen, I know people who love omegaverse and people who won't read or write it, so there's no wrong way to fandom <3
#anon#omegaverse#soft narry a/b/o#stylinshaw omegaverse#accidental courting au#nouis omegaverse#f/f waoyf au
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i'm saying it. i don't think joly would work in a hospital. i think his medical career would be informed by his politics + radicalisation and his + his friends regular drug use, he would be outraged at how the medical industry handles drug users, also at the medical industrial complex in general, so he would find a reputable community led harm reduction organisation to work for 🫶🏻
#joly#it also works because the idea that modern les amis wouldn't all have a million jobs and volunteer roles in community organising#and you know... do direct community action to support people... instead of just little hypothetical meetings where they debate hypothetical#problems....#that idea is so bullshit and i know it's written by people who only have indoor people problems and don't realise most radicals actually do#things... but still it annoys me#and he would hate working in a hospital#not that the harm reduction work wouldn't be stressful and high intensity too but he would rather it for the love of community#also it wouldn't be hard because as a disabled person he would already be radicalised against doctors and medical industry in general#les amis#les mis#mine#i realise as a disabled drug using cane user i could#write joly really really well#the best joly scene is in world ain't ready where in one scene he's so excited for the battle of the bands dancing around yelling and stuff#then they pick him up and he's like 'tonight is a sitting night' URGH that's so real it almost made me cry#anyway joly feelings good morning
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FUCK what I said about the majority of significant changes to dialogue in Re:CoM being to adjust Axel's characterization, the most egregious change is actually this
(GBA CoM)
(Re:CoM)
if I had to guess, the reason for this change was because in GBA CoM, The Superior was a spooky, unknown being at the head of this Organization we had very little knowledge on, and for Vexen, the guy who runs his mouth constantly about how much better he is than the others, to be terrified of him, he must be some pretty scary dude. But then after kh2 we know him, it's Xemnas, he's very dramatic, he likes to talk to the moon, and the effect of your mind filling in the gaps about what "The Superior" must be like is gone. So it wasn't really necessary anymore, right?
(rest under cut because it's long)
Except... the way they changed it is so weird. In the GBA version, what's happening is pretty clear:
Marluxia tells Vexen that his project is a failure
Vexen demonstrates that he does not give a shit about Marluxia's opinion
he does care very much about The Superior's opinion, though, and Marluxia uses this to blackmail him into eliminating Sora- an action which is nonsensical, as the entire point of what they're doing needs Sora alive, making it clear to everyone in the room that he is deliberately sending Vexen to die
and then after that, when Vexen shows up to fight Sora, he goes "if you want to fight me for real you've gotta do it in the memories from the other side of your heart lol bye" and Sora goes "huh? other side?" and then it cuts to a scene on the top floor:
and then this gets more into subtext but here, Vexen has realized he's totally fucked and his only hope is to mess directly with Marluxia's plans (well, they were the Organization's plans, but it's pretty obvious by now Marluxia's abusing his power for his own purposes) by giving Sora more information than he should know. This does get the traitor gang worried enough to send Axel to go kill him (as opposed to just letting Sora take care of him, which was presumably the original plan)- he very specifically cuts Vexen off to keep him from saying too much (this is retained between the original and the remake)
Anyway, what happens in Re:CoM sort of follows the same order of events, but everything is changed slightly in a way that just makes things more confusing.
Marluxia tells Vexen his project is a failure and Vexen demonstrates that he doesn't give a shit about Marluxia's opinion, as before
Marluxia threatens Vexen with a weapon, rather than threatening to tell the Superior
this, notably, does not seem to faze Vexen very much. he continues to run his mouth while having the scythe pointed at him.
Xemnas is still leveraged- Marluxia points out it was the Superior who entrusted him with the castle
...even though reasonably Vexen would already be aware of this, and has still demonstrated that he has zero respect for Marluxia despite it
the lines about betraying the Organization being a capital crime are retained, probably because it's super relevant later, but then that line of thinking is abandoned in favor of Marluxia and Larxene just taunting Vexen instead
The part where Marluxia says "do it. you won't" could be seen as a sort of threat... if not for Axel's line: "You give a challenge like that to Vexen and he'll seriously want to eliminate Sora." It frames it all as though Vexen went to fight Sora out of some sort of pride.
And look, Vexen may have a temper and a superiority complex, but he's not stupid. They're obviously baiting him. Plus, what happened to him seeing himself as above the others and countering things he doesn't like with "well actually I'm higher ranked than you and also you're an idiot"? Is he that insecure in his fighting capabilities? I could deal with characterization changes doing him dirty if it didn't also make no sense in the context of the plot.
So now we have Vexen going to try to kill Sora, something that really makes no sense to do, out of pride. What was the purpose of sending Sora to Twilight Town? Also pride, over the fact that he managed to get that information? Giving the writing the benefit of the doubt, I could say that these nonsensical actions can be explained as evidence that Nobodies can have hearts and people with hearts do strange and rash things, but that just feels like a reach, which is bad because what they had in GBA CoM worked perfectly fine and made sense without any reaching for the "idk emotions make you do strange things" explanation.
It continues. After Vexen gives Sora the Twilight Town card in Re:CoM and Sora wonders about what the "other side" means, this is that version of the conversation the top floor members have:
...what? "If Sora disappears, that would mess up the Organization's plans"? what are you worried about? the only reason Sora would disappear is if Vexen killed him. there's no way they think Vexen being in Twilight Town would give him an advantage, right? they know he's a pathetic fighter. "Vexen has clearly committed a treasonous act against the Organization" HOW? HOW IS IT CLEAR? they don't express any worry about Sora learning too much, up until Axel says "I came to stop you from talking too much" when killing Vexen- and that being there makes it seem like they were worried about Sora learning to much, but if that's the case, why would they replace the perfectly serviceable lines in the above scene? it's just... baffling that they would want to lean into the narrative that Vexen going to kill Sora (which he'd been goaded into doing) is the problem here, because it just makes so little sense compared to what it was originally.
once again giving them the benefit of the doubt: Marluxia's real plan was to take over the Organization, and he saw an easy way to pick off one of the members, so he took it. the motive for stopping Vexen doesn't actually matter.
buuuuut it's the same as with Vexen earlier. Marluxia may be too self-absorbed and power-hungry to notice Axel is scheming against him, but he, too, is an intelligent man. he's plotted for a while, getting into Xemnas's good graces in order to be put in charge of the Castle. this is incredibly sloppy for him. I guess it could be said that getting so close to his goal would make him sloppy, but again, if they'd just left things the way they were in GBA CoM, I wouldn't even have to be saying this
in conclusion: GBA Chain of Memories' intra-Organization strife subplot is so tightly woven with calculated moves on all sides that Re:CoM changing certain things without taking into consideration the consequences makes certain parts of the plot fall flat and become far more confusing than in the original story
#kingdom hearts#kh#chain of memories#kh com#vexen#axel#axel kh#marluxia#larxene#the inevitable re:com comparison tag#conclusion 2: go play gba chain of memories right now !!!!!#me post#concocting a counterargument in my head rn about how emphasizing the humanity of the organization through their nonsensical actions is#a good thing#gba com leaned into how fucked up they are- kh2 showed us the rest of them- re:com backpedaled to give them a shred of humanity#see also: lexaeus's death differences between gba com and re:com#however#1. i believe making a kingdom hearts game make less sense on purpose is not a good choice due to its reputation of#already being incomprehensible#chain of memories is one of the easier plots to understand!#2. im not convinced it was on purpose. i think the only intentional one was axel saying he really was enjoying himself#and that this specific thing spawned from what i said about xemnas no longer being a spooky mystery#lexaeus's death scene change on the other hand was actually a change in characterization#and since it wasn't wrapped up in the nightmare 5d chess that this thing was it worked fine#3. if they wanted to show us the humanity of the chain of memories crew then they should've let them survive a little longer in 358/2 days#like. we don't know for sure how long end of kh1 -> start of com actually took. that was decided in Days#kh2 we saw a little humanity in all of its organization members but that's because there were lots of themes of nobodies and humanity there#days was extremely heavy on “hey these guys are all people”#but chain of memories' org members were written to introduce us to a group of extremely powerful and clever manipulators#changing that to add a little more humanity sacrifices some of the writing quality because they didn't commit to it
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codecicle you put things on my screen that are so confusing and have no relevance to my interests but its you so i find it so very endearing. keep having so much fun and whimsy on tumblr dot com child :3
you have GOT to get on this horrible TV show dude you don't even understand. it's bad and has 0 redeemable qualities, literally my bread and butter rn. can't get enough of it
#i make yet anothet post just for me 👍#we have mail :]#you wanna watch house md. its sexist and racist and ableist and its written poorly and every episode makes you feel insane#its literally SOOO fucking good dude#im having fun and whimsy. my stupid little medical drama#this is so much more fun than greys anatomy. the romances are all psycho-competitive relationships#where they come up with new and interesting ways of gay sex. such as: bickering about diagnosis#and: looking a doctor in the eyes and telling him the different ways sex can kill a person#that scene wont leave my brain dude.#she just starts listing the different muscles you work out when having sex to him. at one point#after its already explained he looks at her and sees her professionally. but also cant get fucking her off his mind#she starts cornering him and explaining that core muscles are used. you feel like youre running a marathon#WHILE MAINTAINING EYE CONTACT. they dont even need 2 have sex shes gonna kill him just with the medical description#anyway i ❤️ house md. stereotypical pipeline from mcyt to this fuckin show man#/r ctntduo is exactly the same as every 'couple' in this show#<- couple in parenthesis. im not far enough 4 them 2 actually be together#and also whatevers wrong with them is MUCH funnier than romance
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One better (Patreon)
#Doodles#SCII#Damned#ZEX#Blood#I knew going into this and it was still so distressing :'0#Who needs plot twists when you can create such an intense sense of Dread#Probably doesn't help that I read this At Night In the Dark lol - actual shivers#Gods this was a hard scene to read - there have been several instances of my face hurting from furrowing my brow so hard haha#The way that ''Doctor'' is written is So skillful - I'm so impressed by everyone's prose and quirks and syntax!#Not to mention when he breaks character in a later scene to apologize for taking a bit to move the scene along haha <3 Play!!#It really does speak to just how much skill and effort is put into everything <3 It's so well done all the way around!!#Anyway to the actual scene at hand lol ow :') Drawing blood is always fun but I wish it wasn't his ;u;#Ugh the way he takes the surgeries is so well written - fear of course but a kind of stoic suffering as much as he's able to -#Until it comes to his eye#Ugh the /break/ of it all he goes from so eloquent - almost snarky and silly! Still trying to find an out make peace do /something/#It all goes completely out the window he's so /reduced/ and nothing hurts worse than that ughughugh#For all his intelligence and wit and prior successes and charm and just - everything that makes him /him/ to be dissolved into abject fear#It's so sad ;; And so well done <3#And he still holds enough of himself to know what he'd be losing wegh it's so sad!! He's so defined by his vision as most VUX are it's fjdsl#Zelnick is already gone by this point but I wanted to throw him in for extra sad flavour :')#Plus - I've mentioned his post-Op was one of the ones from the gallery that Actively kills me every time I look at it#Can you imagine my heartbreak to find out that he didn't have his Captain to comfort him after this in actuality? That he was fully alone?#''Are we home? Is it over?'' ''N...not yet'' - The Absolute Devastation of realizing that Never Was not really#Just tear my heart out why don't you ugh I'm fully bleeding out 💔#That last one is actually meant to be Max but it's open to interpretation :)#I think it's such a waste that his eye was just disposed of! Someone else could've used that (lol)#I do think there's something to the idea of seeing what used to be a part of your body elsewhere - like the Leftovers!#Even just keeping as a memento tho - a trophy - insult to injury but literally#Just points to no one being special and nothing being sacred I suppose
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(One thing I find peculiar and unfortunate in current fandom business is the seeming lack of pointed discussion, so here is a humble attempt to spark a conversation and I more than welcome commentary.)
I came across someone in the notes to a post somewhere talking of how Jillian had been better styled in season two than in season one and I agreed, already seeking the justification for it in my mind. My observations are as follows:
S1 Jillian is Arq-Tech's mastermind and public face. Even though we first meet her in Morocco, in her explorer, Indiana Jones-like garb, it's the image of her running her company that sticks with us, her statements to the press, her corporate persona opening metaphorical fire upon the Church. A "powerful woman" as mainstream media constructs for us everyday, in subtle but visible makeup so as to diminish the effects of age on her face, in heels so as to peek at the rest of humanity from above, with controlled gestures meant for the inherent theatricality that comes with introducing life-changing technology to society. It is a role she plays—well, but a role nonetheless.
The scene she shares with father Vincent is worthy of mention, for while he sits without taking up much space, his body restrained to the side of a couch, his legs crossed in what is deemed a more "feminine" posture, Jillian takes up the traditional "masculine" attitude: she commands the room, her body expanding upon her seat, in the broad pose where an ankle rests upon a knee, complete with a generous glass of alcohol in hand and talon on foot. Yet this is also for show—it's a little too calculated, a dance that was so perfected in exhaustive practice that it lost its dynamic.
Our glimpses into the more authentic Jillian come in the scenes with Michael—not only because (coded in white and blue as the Virgin Mary of immaculate conception) she plays the part of mother, but because, in her intimacy, far from journalists and employees and the public's prying eyes, she can be more herself within the areas where she conducts her studies. Starting from when Ava asks Jillian to "science her", we never see the doctor in uncomfortable shoes again, as she retreats from entrepreneurial life and into the lab.
This is clearer in season two, for, as Kristian says, she is on sabbatical, thus isolated from general view; S2 Jillian has nobody around her, nobody to impress. Locked away in her Spanish villa, consumed by her son's disappearance, she need not wear a mask. There are no more tellingly feminine accessories, no staged stunts; her clothes and footwear are even more practical, her movements less grand but more human, more expressive (here, of course, we owe it to Thekla Reuten's underrated range). Even as the OCS invites itself into her house, making it a makeshift HQ, she doesn't fall back on the act we saw in the first season.
Jillian's stepping back from the head of her company is not just in name and contract, but in body, too; she leaves the CEO role in her office and comes home to her science and her cause, to her limited inner circle of which only Michael was privy to and into which the OCS nuns end up finding their way.
Colours also indicate a shift—we begin the series seeing her associated with light hues such as white, beige and baby blues, but when season two comes in, Jillian's striking all-white attire is nowhere to be found. The Holy Mother parallel is in shambles after Michael has gone through the ark's portal, the intangibility of this "saintly", aseptic rich genius broken down, her person brought back to Earth after flights of fancy trying to open a gate to Heaven.
We see her in a darker palette, in greys with dashes of white, yes, but never again in full white. It is not just the authorisation to be herself rather than her company's face while in her private world, but also the reflection of her inner darkness and her loss upon her very appearance.
What a more definite loss could mean, now that her son is gone for good, remains a mystery.
For instance, unlike the nun who served as her superior, our Suzanne rejects the characteristic blues of the Order of the Cruciform Sword to don a heavy all-black outfit, more reminiscent of Orthodox priests than it is Roman Catholic nuns; her resurrection through Ava does not lighten her habit, if it does lighten her burden, so we can only assume, going forward, should there be any relation between how each character expresses their inner workings through clothing, that Jillian Salvius would keep the mixture of white and grey that season two brought along... Or go darker still.
#jillian salvius#warrior nun#i had already talked about this with a friend but i thought i'd better organise and illustrate my thoughts#i did have to go through both seasons in a single afternoon hunting all of jillian's scenes so i was tired by the time photoshop was opened#sorry for the terrible collage is what i mean to say#i do want to investigate the mother superion angle a little more sometime but i'm still unsure#anyway. i said it before and i'll say it again that i find film analysis difficult#it has its own grammar and i'm used to actual language written down in books but i try#hope this is fun to you as it was for me#and NO i couldn't help myself so i had to include the whole screencap when suzanne was in it lol#i love them and there is nothing you can do about it. they stand near one another and i cry. that is it.#analysis and similar#exercises in observation
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Im ashamed to say im back on my naruto shit
Hes my son your honor, hes just a little guy
Id die for him
#naruto#help i cant believe im about the hyper fixate on naruto for the 4th time#watching the first show reminds me of everything wrong with boruto especially art and animation wise#god I fucking hate boruto#anyways naruto so silly i love him so much#thinking about team 7 found family....#thinking about if sakura was well written...#so much potential.. wasted :c#I hc that shes actually not a boy crazy idiot and simply has a crush like a normal person and that she ACTUALLY HAS MUSCLES BC YA KNOW#HER WHOLE FUCKING THING IS STRENGTH CHARACTER DESIGNERS WERE YOU HIGH????#and I hc that she was actually used well in fight scenes like the one against puppet guy and she didn't cry for naruto to solve everything#and that she didnt fuck with his feelings in that one episode when she 'confessed' to get him to go home#and that sasuke wasnt a lame piece of edgy shit and was a better written antagonist#and that naruto didnt have an absolutely unhealthy obsession with him#sorry but people who ship naruto and sasuke are gross#its already abusive and unhealthy as all get out and now you want to add r o m a n c e???#im sure narutos crush on sakura got weird too#oh yeah like when he transformed into sasuke to trick her into kissing him#naruto writers be normal about romance for once please#shikamaru and temari and naruto and hinata were pretty good#idk personally I ship naruto and gaara and naruto and shikamaru#oops im rambling in the tags what can I say I fucking love naruto and have a lot of opinions on it
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So anyway I did a thing today.
#felt guilty. checked the story. ended up finishing the chapter.#anyway that's six out of like a projected 21 chapters#plus a side story that I need to flesh out#that used to be one actual chapter but I wrote too much and is now a side story I need to finish#anyway i love y'all#just wanted to let you know#hopefully the next chapters should go by a bit smoother since one is just a fun chapter and the next few already have a few scenes written#and stick pretty closely to canon which means I can get through it quickly (in theory)#lol might end up posting before I finish the story and post slower than usual#might wait until I have a few more chapters and the side story fleshed out to post#will see will see#stay tuned for more#anyway anyone who follows me for#rewind series#there's the update I love y'all stay safe out there <3#kiki writes#just yelling into the void#meme time
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I have to ask about good dog bad dream <3
🥰🥰 oh i was HOPING for this one. ok so y’all may actually know a little bit already because it exists in the tags as tyler borzoituzzi but! good dog bad dream is the working document title/notes compilation for a fic that started with the premise of “well you see that’s actually not a dog that’s my blorbo from my hrpf shifter wolf au—”
and, because i have never formally addressed it or put it anywhere other than the tags, three important details about this fic:
this IS a semi-au fic about the detroit red wings, set vaguely in the 2018-19 season, because the wings sucked that year (but not as bad as 2019-20)
this is ALSO a fic that is mainly about tyler bertuzzi and dylan larkin, with some other wings thrown in because i've never met an ensemble i couldn't shove into a love story
this 100% exists because of mickey redmond calling tyler a junkyard dog every chance he gets and me every time going "okay but what if literally though" -> 🐺
#me 🤝 the detroit red wings hippo campus hive mind#liv in the replies#the way that this fic exists fully formed in my brain & i just need it!!! to come out as a narrative!!!#where is the brainworm to print fic button. where is it#also the way in which i’m just like ‘yeah the fic is tyler borzoituzzi’ ok but can we have a title please. like a real one.#because somehow out of 20 pages of bertuzzi-thesis-dog-related quotes i have not found a title. ???? help. i also have a whole titles note#for just collecting phrases to use as titles (sometimes with specific ideas sometimes just vibes sometimes like oh i like that phrase)#not to mention the fact that my quote doc for the bertuzzi thesis has a more embarrassing title but like it’s fine!!#UPDATE THE DOC HAS ACTUAL WRITING IN IT 🚨🚨 I REPEAT WE HAVE REAL NARRATIVE NOT TAG NOT!FIC#WE ARE AT A SOLID ALMOST 1K!!! THIS IS THANKS TO Y’ALL!!! don’t ask how long the document with notes is tho. also how many scenes are done 🙃#anyway i have had this reply written for like two days but keep not posting it because i wanted to be able to have something written to give#but also there’s another ask about good dog bad dream so this one will be info (boring) (sorry) and i will post a snippet in the next ask <3#me vs not wanting to spoil things vs literally the entire plot of this already written out in the tags: fight#tyler borzoituzzi#WAIT MY TAGS DIDN’T SAVE 😭😭😭#you’re missing the one of me going ‘🥺🥰☺️😭💕‼️🥹 thank you for the ask’#lmaooo tumblr out here like ‘bro you can’t do that every time someone sends an ask’ ok well watch me. what if i DO cherish every interaction#wip ask game
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I would like to make an addendum to this piece with the new chapter out and say that I was wrong about Phillip, he's great, 10/10 he went from being a giant red flag of a character to being genuinely relatable and man do i feel bad about side-eyeing him for that line he said last chapter
Also this chapter finally wrapped up another plot thread I was waiting for it to return to and waaaaaah seeing someone else's POV on Helene is so nice (and we finally got another flashback of OG Helene for like,, the first time in literally forever). Helene being called out as a lonely person who hides her kind feelings behind a cold expression...man suddenly my fondness for Helene is increasing thousandfold
Like literally how the fuck does this manga keep making Helene better and better there's literally nothing disappointing about her character and im STILL shook about it
#The Mighty Extra#no fully colored art today gotta process my feelings over the Helene bits in today's chapter LMAO#Helene continuously getting the best treatment in this story utterly shocks me as someone who is too used to seeing female characters in-#shounen-esque ending up as wasted potential fgkjggfkj#Helene is literally so perfect as a character i love her i love her i love her I LOVE HER I LOVE-#i don't draw Helene enough to show it outwardly but rest assured she occupies 99% of my current brain capacity 24/7#also the way I went from going “oh god why are you like this” to Phillip to “ohhh OHHHH okay no i get it you're very baby” is very funny#that last line makes complete sense for Phillip and it's so cool to see him show off a lot of character development in one go#for a character who is relatively minor i love how the creator made him really understandable and sympathetic like damn#i don't usually care for second lead male LIs but Phillip is surprisingly a strong and endearing character#so much so i think he's now going to forever be embedded in my mind as what a well written character looks like#me before 77: ehhh im not sure if im as excited for this chapter as the next few bc it's probs just gonna end up as#Phillip just being an ass and Fian being jealous about him#this fucking manga every goddamn time i doubt it: hey so want to learn more about Helene and see Phillip get massive character development-#that shows how mature he's gotten but also go back to several plot threads and mysteries and showcase how Lyla is severely in danger and th#war that Fian is starting is something that legitimately needs to happen to keep her safe and also here's a OG Helene flashback that-#you totally haven't been craving for promising to return to why Lyla shipped Helene/Fian in the first place and why she feels guilty about-#taking Fian from Helene (and also suggests Helene deeply loved Fian in the OG timeline which is one big awwwwWWWW and now it kind of-#sucks that Lyla DID rip Fian away from Helene but hey at least Helene has Paris now instead (oh the irony))#fun fact i actually kind of do ship Fian/Helene#at least the OG versions of them#idk seeing how attached Fian is to Lyla and imagining him doing the same to OG Helene is really fucking cute#i am SO FUCKING DESPERATE for the original story behind TME's plot to exist you have no fucking idea#and 78 looks promising as to revealing how OG Helene (/Lyla) reacted to OG Fian's death so like#im begging for next week's chapter already i NEED to get a continuation to that death scene#(also calling it now but if Lyla's real name is actually Helene im going to fucking scream)#(for more reasons than one oh my god)
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I ??? woke up at 3am with this scene fully written in my mind palace and quickly jotted it down in the Notes app
*
Clark’s shaking his head before he realizes he’s doing it, and feels a twinge of embarrassment at his own bad manners when Bruce stops mid-word to look at him, brows raised.
“No?” he says.
“No,” Clark says, again without thinking, and again with the reflexive urge to apologize. Somewhere his mother is tutting without knowing why. But he doesn’t apologize, because he’s already saying, “No, it can’t—it can’t be that.”
“Okay,” Bruce says slowly. “Can you elaborate?”
He is, honestly, having trouble taking his eyes off the screen. The mockup design of his new suit is there, dark and sleek, ridged like tactical gear. The blue is like the last shade of evening before you can’t call it evening anymore, the color of nine PM in Kansas in July, so exact there’s a strong chance Bruce color-picked it from a photo. The yellow accents are the cool fluorescent yellow-green of lightning bugs. The red is dark as arterial blood. Every aspect of the suit has been updated—the colors deeper, the angles sharper, the S extending to the corners of its frame—but Bruce has done it without changing the fundamentals. It’s immediately recognizable as the Superman suit, just… well, a little cooler, maybe. A little more of the times. Even the tailoring is modernized. The neckline. The shape of the boots. Where the belt hits at the waist. Clark can tell just by looking that Bruce has not only spent a lot of time on this in general, he’s spent a lot of time designing it specifically with Clark in mind, Clark’s needs and preferences and the small discomforts of his current suit, things he might have mentioned offhand after a mission but never with the assumption that Bruce was listening or filing it away. No doubt the next slides of this presentation will detail all the hidden features of the new suit, and they’ll all be incredibly thoughtful if not slightly overkill, and Bruce will pretend his sole motive here was practicality and risk reduction and respond to any thanks with a curt nod.
And Clark wants to thank him. He will. It’s just.
“It can’t be… cool,” he says, inane. Bruce is watching him with that steady look that used to feel clinical, piercing, and now mostly reads as attentive. “It can’t be—like yours. Tactical, military-grade.”
“Lightyears beyond, actually.”
“It has to—Ma said once, a kid should be able to draw it with crayons. You know? I can’t look like a weapon. I have to—I want to look like a friend.”
He can feel himself flushing. It’s rare that he speaks like this, and rarer still that he does so while being stared at intently. Bruce may think of himself as the darkness, but his gaze is a spotlight: unwavering and revealing and more a little sweat-inducing, for one reason or another.
“Sometimes, when I show up, people laugh,” Clark says. “If it’s somewhere out of the way, where they haven’t seen me before. I show up and I look like a festival performer. It’ll be the worst day of their lives, and they’ve got no reason to trust my face, but when they see what I’m wearing—it goes from ‘Who are you?’ to ‘Who is this guy?’ And that’s a good thing.”
“Hard to be afraid of a man dressed in primary colors,” Bruce says, almost to himself.
“Exactly.”
“I see. Thank you,” he says, “for explaining.”
Clark tries not to show how surprised he is to hear that. Judging by the crook of Bruce’s mouth, his success is negligible. “Of course. Sorry I didn’t—I mean, thank you, obviously, for going to such trouble. I didn’t mean to come in here and—I really do appreciate it, I can tell you put a lot of work in—”
Bruce’s eyes cut away. “No. No need. I didn’t ask, before I…. It was only a first draft. If you’re amenable, I’ll incorporate your feedback into the second one.”
“Oh! Yeah. Yes, of course, but you really don’t have to—”
“If you have any further notes, I would like to hear them.”
There’s something determined in the lines of his face. Clark has the sense that this moment is important, that it’s a turning point, even if he’s not sure why. It feels like striking out into a sea of ice, a blank white expanse under which something precious and vital is hidden, has been hidden all along, just waiting for him to find it. To want to.
“Sure,” he says. He looks back at the suit and swallows, and knows Bruce will see the flicker of his throat and take some meaning from it, and wishes he knew what the meaning was. Or maybe Bruce won’t notice or read into it at all. Maybe Clark needs to calm down, in fact. “Um. I don’t want to assume, but does it… do things?”
“It does things,” Bruce confirms, after the barest pause. “Let me show you the next slide.”
#superbat#my writing#i was genuinely surprised to wake up and discover i hadn’t just dreamed the whole thing
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— trouble will find me
[part ii | masterlist]
bodyguard!logan x mobster’s daughter!reader
rated e - 3k
tags: 70s era, dofp/bonedaddy!logan, bodyguard!logan, reader is the daughter of a mobster, reader is shorter than Logan, club setting, use of alcohol, cigar smoking, mutual pining, flirting, light brat taming!logan, references to violence, competence kink, semi-public vaginal fingering, kissing, forbidden relationship
a/n: I can’t stop thinking about dofp!logan sleeping with the girl he’s guarding, this is inspired by that scene! huge thank you to @pr0ximamidnight who let me chit chat about this little idea. you are amazing! 💖💕
His eyes darken. Fingers pinching against your skin, as he adjusts his grip, “‘s a bad idea, sweetheart. Supposed to keep you out of trouble.”
Your hands skate lower, fingers tracing the edge of his belt buckle. His nostrils flare - a warning, though he does not move.
“Supposed to keep me out of trouble,” You hum, “But what if I want a little in me?”
You can feel his eyes follow you.
Which shouldn’t really be surprising. It's his job, of course. Keep an eye on you, keep you safe.
But there’s something in the way he watches.
A curl of smoke from a lit cigar. Fingers tracing the rim of a half-downed whisky, a worn leather jacket thrown over a broad shoulder. The tilt of his chin when your eyes meet his - dark and narrowed, missing nothing. Slipping over you like the soft silk of your dress.
Indulging, almost. Unashamed.
You might have a crush.
You're trying not to think about it too much.
Tonight, you're just trying to enjoy the after-party.
It's all bright lights.
The room is bathed in pinks and yellows and flashing red. Disco club music pumped through the speakers, the panels of the floor flickering to the beat. You've been here for two hours already. Nursing tequila sunrises and pink squirrels. Sweat sticking to the nape of your neck, as the minutes tick by, bleeding past midnight.
He's not going to stop you, just yet. You can have your fun tonight - sway to the beat of the music - as long as you play by the rules.
Logan is so different from the ones before him.
Tripping over their feet to check on you. Breathing down your neck, with their padded-shoulder suits smelling like cigarettes and cheap cologne. Too afraid for themselves, of your father, to actually do a good job of protecting you.
Stifling and all too willing to tell you yes to anything.
It was exhausting.
Logan had come recommended - an acquaintance of a friend. He'd 'get the job done' from what you heard. Motivated. Needed the cash and would listen, no questions asked.
Just the type your father thought he could sway - a half-wild guard dog, his salary a leash. Heeling at the click of a tongue, the snap of fingers.
It's not how you saw him, though.
His silence was not obedience. There was nothing bought about this man - watching you from the line of leather booths along the wall.
You've wondered if maybe - you're just desperate to find some form of kindred spirit in someone. Too used to feeling like an accessory instead of a person. Your appearance at your father's events drove home his image. The good, family man who was oh so generous with his time and money.
Articles were written weekly about how philanthropic he was.
You had no idea if anything ever came from the numerous events you hosted - an attempt at doing something with your education. How much was skimmed off your blood, sweat, and tears, funneled back into what he did best.
Maybe you both saw through the bullshit.
He'll last longer than the others, at least.
More than once you've been halfway out the door, headed off to East Village or SoHo, only for him to catch you by the scruff of your sweater - whisking you back inside or into the Lincoln Town Car before you realized what happened.
An angry fist connecting with the nose of a man who had gotten too close at a gala last week. Cornering you in the coat room. Logan, charging in like a snarling beast when you had whimpered his name - red dripping down to stain the pressed white collar as the man was hauled away.
You’ve been thinking about that for days.
There was no sucking up. No flashing of a holster under his arm, some grandiose promise that you don't need to worry. You've never even seen Logan near a weapon but somehow, you feel more safe with him than you ever have with anyone else.
But this bit of internal tenderness that has sprouted, paired with his competency, has been seriously cramping your style.
It’s been enough that he's been hard to get out of your mind. Two weeks of teasing and poking at the limits set. Never giving you much, with that glare - thick arms crossed over his chest. A little thrill rippling up your spine, when his voice goes low and gruff.
The lights go dim, as the music begins to slow.
With the way your eyes wander, you know he sees you when you pick up a partner.
A man that moves with you, peeling off to crowd your space after your hips swivel with the hustle. His hand dipping low from where it rests on the small of your back.
Bold, when he bends to ask you 'if you'd like to get out of there'.
You meet Logan's eyes when you tell him yes.
Telling yourself that it's just to forget him. Definitely not because you're desperate to see the look on his face. To hear that tone he takes when he's pissed off.
A way to ascertain if you've taken root in his mind, even for just a moment.
There's zero chance Logan heard you from across the room. But it doesn't stop him from moving. Pushing to his feet, cutting straight through the crowd to wrap a hand around your bicep the second you start peeling off with the stranger - heading towards the side door.
"No fucking chance." It's gritted out, as he yanks you to him. Your shoulder collides against his chest as he steps between you and the man.
A sloppy hand pushes against his arm. The man's eyes are hazy under the neon lights as he makes a grab for you.
"Come on, man. I saw her first."
Logan pivots you away with a snarl, "She ain't leaving with you, bub."
Another sloppy shove, glancing off the brown leather jacket.
"You're really starting to piss me off." Logan's tone drips with warning, with knowing, "Gonna regret starting something in a room full of people like this."
And it's now that he takes in how big Logan is. The flex of splayed-wide fingers, knuckles curling into a clenched fist. A look in his eye that says that punches won't be pulled - not tonight.
The stranger takes a step back. It's enough.
You're already getting hauled away before they can answer. Guided into one of the many VIP rooms. A snarled "get the fuck out of here" to the attendant, before Logan's crowding you against the bar - hands bracing on his hips.
Fuming, you push yourself up to sit on the top - an attempt to get closer to his height.
"What was that about?" Your chin lifts, as your arms cross.
His eyes flash - a curl of his lip, "Can't you make my job easy, kid?"
Kid. It always makes you bristle. So far from that, and it's the way he says it. That dripping edge, like he knows something you don't.
"Maybe he was a friend." You deadpan.
"Yeah. Real friendly," He scoffs, fingers rubbing the bridge of his nose, "You think your daddy is gonna like you going home with a piece of shit like that?"
That makes your teeth clench - a glare sent his way, "I don't think it's any of your business."
"It's literally my business, sweetheart." Logan huffs. His hands curl around the edge of the bar, braced on either side of your knees.
Your breathing hitches, for just a second. The soft name is ground out between his teeth, but it still shoots straight to your pussy.
You haven't been this close to him before. Enough to see the bleed of brown to green in his hazel eyes. The sharp mark between his brows that you want to press your thumb against.
The shorn-down hair at his chin, before it grows thick across his cheeks. Handsome in a way that makes you ache, your fingers curling into fists to keep from touching him.
There's been moments alone - car rides, lounging in the armchair in the corner of your room when he barks at you to hurry up.
But it hasn't been like this.
Maybe it's the opportunity. Maybe it's the amber glitter of tequila in your veins, but you let your palms press against the shining wood. Your knees inch a little further apart, the hem of your dress riding up your thighs.
"That the only reason you whisked me away?” Your eyebrow lifts, "Kidnapping, if I recall, is one of the things you're supposed to be keeping me safe from."
"You are safe." He deflects, "'s not kidnapping when it's me.”
Those eyes are still on yours. Not dropping to where his hips nearly press against the edge of the bar top.
You break the eye contact first.
“Well, it’s fine.” You sniff - as if his actions had been your idea, “I didn’t want him anyways.”
Logan grunts. There’s the slightest brush - the flex of his thumb at your thigh, where your dress rides up. A long look before he’s pushing back to step away, but your fingers reach out, catching on his white shirt.
“Are you going to ask me what I do want?”
There’s the slightest twitch of his nose. Lips parting to show the peek of a tongue, caught between teeth. The briefest dip of his eyes. Down to the shadow between your breasts, pressed together as you lean forward to catch him.
“I know what you want, sweetheart.” He rasps, “Not gonna happen.”
The rejection stings, and you pout, “What isn’t?”
A sigh, and he’s stepping back into your space. Your hand flattens against his stomach, hard muscles beneath as his head tilts.
“You want a man to take you home. Treat you nice.” Logan’s eyes burn into you. Wide hands curving around your knees, thumbs pressing into flesh, “I’m not that guy.”
You wonder if he can hear your heartbeat. How it thunders to the beat of the music muted outside this room. Dropping down to pulse between your thighs.
Wondering if he’s thought about you, the way you have him. How he could both see and miss so much at once.
“You’re wrong,” Your head shakes, “I don’t want that.”
A breath, before you’re confessing, ”I want you.”
Logan's eyes darken. Fingers pinching against your skin, as he adjusts his grip.
“‘s a bad idea, sweetheart. Supposed to keep you out of trouble.”
Your hands skate lower, fingers tracing the edge of his belt buckle. His nostrils flare - a warning, though he does not move.
“Supposed to keep me out of trouble,” You echo, “But what if I want a little trouble in me?”
The smile you give him is sweet, a tilt of your head as he catches your hand. Thick fingers curl at your wrist, holding your hand in place. A thumb pressed up against your pulse.
“You wouldn’t know what to do with me.” He rasps, voice low.
You’re undeterred.
“Could get on my knees.” You coo, “You could show me. Would you like that?”
Logan’s jaw grits. His grip loosens just long enough to feel your wrist flex - before he guides your hands, pressing your palms flat against the polished wood.
“It’s not going like that,” He husks. The tone is the same as when he’s ordering you around, one that makes your back go straight, “Those are staying right there. Got that, honey?”
All you can do is nod, as his hands skate up your thighs. Fingers massaging into flesh, soft and smooth as he eases them wider apart. Fitting himself closer between them.
The way he looks at you now is the way he did before.
Focused, as your dress inches higher. The fabric pooling at your hips as they tilt toward him, the pretty lace between your thighs now on display.
“Look at you,” His tongue clucks. A finger tracing the elastic edge, as you clench in anticipation, “Need this, don’t you?”
Drifting across, a thumb pressing against the fabric. It sends a jolt through you, your fingers almost reaching for him before you remember.
“Good girl.” He muses, as your hands flatten again.
The slightest pressure as the pad of his thumb slips up. Nudging against your clothed clit, as you inhale a sharp breath.
Pressing, and circling. It’s agonizingly slow, his eyes flicking up to watch the way you bite back a whimper. Your hips flexing into his touch, aching for more.
It lifts, so he can see how the fabric has dampened. Clinging to your skin, his knuckle tracing your seam.
“Making a mess.”
You can only whine in reply. Afraid that he’ll stop if you make too much noise. If you move - he’s made it clear he’s in charge here, and for once you’re willing to follow.
The pad of his thumb pulling back, a faint shine in the neon-bathed room.
“That for me?”
Your head nods, “Logan, please-”
There’s a sharp flash of teeth. Fingers pressing low, fitting against you, “You want me here?”
“Yes.”
You need him. Need anything he’ll give you, the sharp pinch in your palms where your nails bite into flesh.
“Ask me.” He coos.
“Please put use your fingers,” It comes in a rush, “Want you in me-”
Logan smirks, as his fingers slip beneath the waistband. Air sucked through clenched teeth when he meets slick, soaked skin. A teasing swirl against your clit before he’s parting you.
The tip of his middle finger tracing your hole, before it dips inside. His hips flex against the wooden edge, when you clench around him immediately. Trying to draw him deeper, as he works himself further in.
His fingers are much thicker than yours. A second already tracing where he opens you up. Teasing the tip in as his hand flexes, the heel of his palm grinding against your clit.
Your head tips forward. Each breath growing shorter, as you’re stretched around him. That slight ache unfurling into pleasure. Panting, as the pump of his fingers grow louder - the muffled cadence of skin against skin each time his palm collides with your cunt.
The fabric strains against his hand, his knuckles pressed against the soaked fabric.
Something bright burns in your belly, as your knees press into his hips. It makes you break the rules - a hand grasping at his arm. Anchoring yourself with your grip.
“I wanna watch. Let me see you.”
He lets you. A tap against your hip so you can lift. Carefully pulling your underwear down, easing them over the heels of your boots.
The lace disappears into his jacket pocket. His palms against your inner thighs, spreading you open. A throaty groan when he sees you, one that he can't quite manage to bite back - the rough sound shooting straight through you.
You both watch, when his fingers fit inside you this time. Two sinking down to the knuckle, slick and shining.
Unable to bite back the moan this time, though he does not shush you. His eyes fixed on your face instead, watching how your brow pinches when his fingers crook deep inside you. Searching.
The way you go jolt and then go tense when he finds it, a soft cry loosening.
“You been fucked like this before?” Logan growls, his fingers dragging against that soft spot inside you with his emphasis.
Your head shakes, when he does it again. Eyes dropping to watch his how hand looks, how you wrap around his fingers. The slick shine as they pump a little faster.
His other hand taps against your thigh.
“Words, sweetheart.”
“No,” It comes out hushed. Needy. “Never.”
His lips part with his groan, baring his teeth. With the way he touches you - his thumb moving to rub circles against your clit - it’s not long before he has you close.
A swiftly building pressure in your belly. That space between you eases as your knees close around his hips. His head tilting until his nose ghosts against your cheek.
Breath hot against your neck, as he inhales you. The slightest scrape of teeth that makes you bear down on his fingers - so careful not to leave a mark behind.
“Logan,” You pant. “That feels, ah, I think I’m gonna come-”
He groans against your skin, keeping the same pace. Feeling how you forget yourself - grasping at him, arching into his touch. Your muscles going tight as your breath grows short - panting.
“Give it to me,” Logan growls, “Come on my fucking fingers, baby.”
It’s impossible not to listen. You come, with his thumb pressing against your clit. His fingers notched deep inside you, as he feels your pulse racing beneath his lips.
The moan that rips from you pitches up, and then goes silent.
It leaves you breathless. Deep waves throbbing inside you, as you dampen his palm. Washing over and pulling you under, as your vision darkens.
“That’s fucking it. Come on, honey.” He coos, “Just look at you, so fucking pretty.”
The pump of his fingers goes still, the tips still crooking, as the tight pulses wane. The air comes rushing back into your lungs as you come back to yourself, your hands fisted in his jacket.
His chest heaves. Eyes hungry, when he slips from you. Slick clinging to them, webbing between his fingers as he pulls them up to the light.
Before he’s focusing on you again, his other hand thumbing at your lip.
“Open.”
They part automatically. Closing around the fingers he feeds you. The salt of his skin pairing with the sweet tang of your release, too blissed out to do anything but suck them clean.
“Good girl.”
It’s soft, as his fingers press down. Spreading, until you’ve cleaned yourself from them. Only when they slip from you, does his head dip.
A soft sound as his mouth presses against yours. There’s the sweep of his tongue against your lip, needy and insistent. You part for him, swallowing the moan as he tastes you. Teeth and tongue - deepening the kiss as his hands grip at your waist.
Letting your hands grasp at his shoulders. Tug at his hair until you’re pulled flush against him, your tits crushed against his chest.
Hungry, threatening to devour you, until you mumble his name.
Bringing him back to himself. Sharing a breath, Logan’s forehead pressed to yours when he pulls back. Those spit-slick fingers dropping down.
Palming himself roughly, where his cock strains - thick and hard against his jeans. A bitten-back groan, the word “fuck” rumbling deep in his chest as his hips flex into his hand.
“You going to listen now? Get that out of your system?” It comes out ragged, and you’re nodding.
All your sharp edges smoothed down. Blissfully complacent, as his fingers get a better grip on your waist. Bringing you down to the floor with wobbly legs, his hand coming to grasp at your upper arm.
“Good.” He growls, “Come on.”
A sharp tug, and you almost trip over yourself to follow.
“I’m taking you home.”
ahh I had the idea for this and had to jot it down! and I do know he goes by james/jimmy in the 70s because it’s pre-weapon-x, but I'll be keeping it as logan for this. (And I am thinking this will be a two-shot - give her a chance to get what she wants 😏💖)
#logan howlett x reader#wolverine x reader#wolverine x you#logan howlett x you#wolverine smut#logan howlett#james logan howlett x reader#xmen x reader#logan howlett x fem!reader#logan howlett x f!reader
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actual writing advice
1. Use the passive voice.
What? What are you talking about, “don’t use the passive voice”? Are you feeling okay? Who told you that? Come on, let’s you and me go to their house and beat them with golf clubs. It’s just grammar. English is full of grammar: you should go ahead and use all of it whenever you want, on account of English is the language you’re writing in.
2. Use adverbs.
Now hang on. What are you even saying to me? Don’t use adverbs? My guy, that is an entire part of speech. That’s, like—that’s gotta be at least 20% of the dictionary. I don’t know who told you not to use adverbs, but you should definitely throw them into the Columbia river.
3. There’s no such thing as “filler”.
Buddy, “filler” is what we called the episodes of Dragon Ball Z where Goku wasn’t blasting Frieza because the anime was in production before Akira Toriyama had written the part where Goku blasts Frieza. Outside of this extremely specific context, “filler” does not exist. Just because a scene wouldn’t make it into the Wikipedia synopsis of your story’s plot doesn’t mean it isn’t important to your story. This is why “plot” and “story” are different words!
4. okay, now that I’ve snared you in my trap—and I know you don’t want to hear this—but orthography actually does kind of matter
First of all, a lot of what you think of as “grammar” is actually orthography. Should I put a comma here? How do I spell this word in this context? These are questions of orthography (which is a fancy Greek word meaning “correct-writing”). In fact, most of the “grammar questions” you’ll see posted online pertain to orthography; this number probably doubles in spaces for writers specifically.
If you’re a native speaker of English, your grammar is probably flawless and unremarkable for the purposes of writing prose. Instead, orthography refers to the set rules governing spelling, punctuation, and whitespace. There are a few things you should know about orthography:
English has no single orthography. You already know spelling and punctuation differ from country to country, but did you know it can even differ from publisher to publisher? Some newspapers will set parenthetical statements apart with em dashes—like this, with no spaces—while others will use slightly shorter dashes – like this, with spaces – to name just one example.
Orthography is boring, and nobody cares about it or knows what it is. For most readers, orthography is “invisible”. Readers pay attention to the words on a page, not the paper itself; in much the same way, readers pay attention to the meaning of a text and not the orthography, which exists only to convey that meaning.
That doesn’t mean it’s not important. Actually, that means it’s of the utmost importance. Because orthography can only be invisible if it meets the reader’s expectations.
You need to learn how to format dialogue into paragraphs. You need to learn when to end a quote with a comma versus a period. You need to learn how to use apostrophes, colons and semicolons. You need to learn these things not so you can win meaningless brownie points from your English teacher for having “Good Grammar”, but so that your prose looks like other prose the reader has consumed.
If you printed a novel on purple paper, you’d have the reader wondering: why purple? Then they’d be focusing on the paper and not the words on it. And you probably don’t want that! So it goes with orthography: whenever you deviate from standard practices, you force the reader to work out in their head whether that deviation was intentional or a mistake. Too much of that can destroy the flow of reading and prevent the reader from getting immersed.
You may chafe at this idea. You may think these “rules” are confusing and arbitrary. You’re correct to think that. They’re made the fuck up! What matters is that they were made the fuck up collaboratively, by thousands of writers over hundreds of years. Whether you like it or not, you are part of that collaboration: you’re not the first person to write prose, and you can’t expect yours to be the first prose your readers have ever read.
That doesn’t mean “never break the rules”, mind you. Once you’ve gotten comfortable with English orthography, then you are free to break it as you please. Knowing what’s expected gives you the power to do unexpected things on purpose. And that’s the really cool shit.
5. You’re allowed to say the boobs were big if the story is about how big the boobs were
Nobody is saying this. Only I am brave enough to say it.
Well, bye!
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Since you've mentioned Scarlet Lady in one of your posts, what's your opinion on it?
I've mentioned before that I'm a big Scarlet Lady fan, which is the only reason that I'm comfortable answering asks like this one. I don't publicly criticize the content of hobby creators. That's wildly inappropriate! Punch up, not down.
The linked post was a general discussion of the adaptation process and how @zoe-oneesama did a fantastic job, so for this one, I'm just going to do some general gushing because I do actually like praising and enjoying things!
Scarlet Lady's chosen format (comic) allows it to have this wonderful conversation with canon where it can rely on the framework of canon to tell it's own story while also using canon for jokes and meta commentary. This means that Scarlet Lady is about as close as fan content can get to a direct reboot because it's able to have moments like this one from the comic's first post:
[Image description: Adrien standing in his room after transforming into Chat Noir for the first time. He is beaming and his eyes are shining with excitement as he exclaims, "This is gonna be awesome!"]
A single picture that communicates everything we need to know about Adrien getting his miraculous. When I've done this same thing in fanfic, I had to write out the full scene because that's how novels work. You have to give the full picture. With a comic, you can just quickly acknowledge this thing that we all already know and then move on to the new stuff. A picture really is worth a thousand words! (Or, in my case, more like two thousand...)
This allows Zoe to keep the same akumas that we get in canon without her story feeling like a boring rehash because she can focus on what's different in her version. A novelization of the same content would have to show both the stuff that stays the same and the stuff that changes for it to be coherent. That's a lot less fun to read and write. It's why I basically never revisit canon akumas in my own stuff. It's just too derivative for the written word.
This is one of the big reasons that I loved Scarlet Lady. Because it was able to have that more directly conversation with canon, it was able to take canon and say, "hey, why don't we embrace the tone that you established in season one and retell the story with that vibe?" That's something that I desperately wanted to see, but that is totally unsuited to my chosen artistic form. It couldn't be a novel. It had to be a comic.
If you want to know what a true formula show version of Miraculous would look like, Scarlet Lady is it. It does everything that Miraculous should have done:
Sticks to a lighthearted tone where nothing is ever super serious
Keeps Gabriel entirely unsympathetic
Has slow character development and background hints at a bigger plot as the only serial elements, allowing the individual episodes to be their own story while never feeling incomplete or rushed
Allows characters other than Marinette to shine while keeping Marinette as the clear main character
Makes Adrien narratively important
MAKES THE LOVE SQUARE CUTE SO I CAN ACTUALLY SHIP IT
Understands that Lila and Chloe can't coexist as antagonists
Reverses the love square, which is the best way to tell their story. Yes, I will die on my "love diamond" hill. It's a good hill. Come join me. I'll bring cookies.
I could keep going, but you hopefully get my point. While Scarlet Lady is certainly not the only way to do a formula version of canon, it's proof that a formula version does work! You don't have to go the serious route for Miraculous to be successful.
I want to take some time to gush about the ending, but I don't want to spoil it, so I'll put that gushing under a "read more" in case anyone hasn't seen it. I'll finish out this less spoilerish section with this:
I feel like some people are surprised when they learn that I love Scarlet Lady because - as some of you have probably picked up - it is quite different from my ideal version of canon. I'm not sure why that would stop me from enjoying a thing, though. It's important to remember that our personal ideals are not the only way to tell a good story. There are lots of ways to take what canon gave us and make something wonderful! It's part of the reason that I enjoy being in a fandom.
If I only wanted to see my ideal take on canon, then I'd stick to writing/imagining my own stories. But I don't want that! I like seeing alternate takes, too. Scarlet Lady is one of my personal favorites. It's completely different from anything that I'd ever think to write and that's why I'm so glad that it exists! I like being entertained just as much as I like creating my own entertainment and I don't want to only read stories that look like something I'd write. That's boring!
Spoilers below:
I've mentioned before that there are many, many ways to properly handle Chloe's character and Zoe did such a good job with her take on that! Chloe isn't absolved of all the things she did wrong, but she's also treated as a young woman with the ability to change.
While the comic bares the name of Chloe's alter ego, she was the never the main character. She never went on a journey. The story kept her to her shallow season-one self: a petty brat who just wanted attention. It did this because that's who Chloe was in canon and who Chloe needed to be for the comic to work.
The first time we see any complexity from Chloe is in the comic's final few episodes, which was absolutely the right call for Zoe to make! In a recent post, I talked about how the end of a formula show is the only time when you can break the formula in catastrophic ways and that's what Zoe did. She kept Chloe static until it was time to end the story and that's when the formula breaks. That's when Chloe gets depth because, once she has depth, the formula doesn't work.
That depth is not used to redeem Chloe, but to show us that there's hope for Chloe. That this petty brat who we've been dealing with has some serious issues and needs help. Help that she's going to get far away from the people that she's hurt because her issues aren't an excuse for what she's done. They don't erase the harm that she caused. At the same time, understanding her issues makes us hope that she can be better now and Scarlet Lady took a moment to give us that hope. To show us the START of Chloe's true story.
That is the kind of ending that I have wanted to see in so many properties!!! It was so wonderful to finally get one that did this right. A story that understood that full redemption to the team and damnation to death/suffering are extremes on a scale of possibilities. You don't have to go to extremes! You can fall in the middle and the middle is a perfect, natural place for Chloe to land in this kind of story. Fully redeeming or even fully damning Chloe simply doesn't work in lighthearted formula content. It's too big a lift as canon has already demonstrated.
I also loved Zoe's take on Emilie. I've mentioned that I don't like evil Emilie in part because it makes her revival feel like the start of a new story. She's back and she'd bad, so we have to take her down now! But I don't want that. I want the story to end when Gabriel is stopped. Zoe does this by giving us an Emilie that is another perfect middle ground. She matches canon's uncomfortable implications without feeling like a true villain who is a threat to society.
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Oh boy.
#it's a creepypasta called wii deleted you written in like 2017 by this guy named IceyPie#but it only began to truly get traction once this guy called The Masked Chris began to make animatics#using readings/voiceactings of the creepypasta as audio#it spawned a whole community and got its peak in around 2021#when the fnf thing was happening and the Chris guy made two fnf mods with his ocs and the bald mii guys#of course since friday night funkin has been touched the creator obviously had to turn out to be a terrible person#(not a groomer i believe but he did a lot of emotional manipulation and severely crunching people who worked for him.#and also this whole drama with the guy who made the songs for the mods)#the creepypasta itself was poorly written with an ''i said'' after literally every line of dialogue#and it had the fnaf thing where they weren't planning to write more of it but they did and the new things just crash with the old ones#but like. the story itself that was trying to be told did improve significantly once Chris was also on the writing board and not just drawi#g. and also when the guy that wrote it literally grew up lol#but still since they couldnt just change what was already established. if your foundation is bad your house will end up bad#but despite its flaws it was somehow able to invoque this huge ''this story could be so good if it was good'' feeling#to. seemingly everyone who saw this.#the fanfiction scene on this thing is insane#everyone is rebooting it adding their own spins and making this thing a thousand times better than what is actually was#it's like mcu fans writing bangers yknow#THEY EVEN TURNED THIS INTO ANALOG HORROR AND OTHER REBOOT ANIMATICS#IT'S LEGIT INSANE. PEOPLE LOVE THIS STORY BUT NOT ITS CANON LMAO#speaking of canon.#the gay shipping is also rampant. and 98% of it is just this one ship#people took the two adult thin attractive white boys that had the most interactions and shipped them together#even though if you want to write anything remotely close to. anything that happens in this fucking creepypasta.#these two should not have fallen in love at any point of the story#it's literally like the onceler situation people liked this guy so bad but there was no one to ship him with#so they pulled the ships outta their asses#and yes it still infuriates me to this day because if you want to write this creepypasta in a remotely good way just. they just cant be#a thing#and this is a hill i will die a thousand times over on
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✧ the gambler and his knight.
aventurine can't stand having his outfit exposed to the elements nor to the rude hands of clients that won't cooperate – luckily for him, he has you to take care of it all. { aventurine with a bodyguard!reader. }
⎯ fluff & angst. 2.9k wc. headcanons w/ some written scenes. the plot is vv subtle but it's there a.k.a aventurine simps for you (jokingly) but you both end up catching feelings (not jokingly). mentions of violence, death & russian roulette. pre-penacony timeline. a self-indulgent piece to celebrate this blog's 2nd anniv! ★
★ 〜 masterlist.
© seelestia on tumblr, june 2024. please do not repost, plagiarize, translate, use for AI-related purposes or claim as your own.
aventurine who graciously welcomes you under his employment with a game. just a little something to ease your nerves and get you used to his ways. you look at him with such incredulity as if he just fell and hit his head silly. he pays no mind to this – finds it to be amusing a great deal, actually. keep it up, newcomer!
“heads or tails?” he asks, flipping a coin in the air and catching it seamlessly. a routine for him, you would've figured from the sight. “that's. . . an odd way of saying hello,” you point out but your tone bears no hint of protest. he notices that.
“i've heard that one before,” aventurine tilts his head with a smile, nonchalant. “so what's your guess?”
“tails,” you reply without any delay. it's a mindless answer; getting it wrong this way would prove to bear less disappointment compared to putting actual thought in it. “heads for me then,” he whistles.
aventurine opens his palm. it's heads. you frown as if to suspect foul play—but you don't because you know about his notoriously good luck—and your new boss chuckles, almost placatingly.
“looks like i win,” he grins without a care in the world at all. “aren't you starving? let's fetch ourselves a meal, friend.”
a loss rewarded with a prize? you blink. with grace so in contrast to the whiplash you feel, aventurine walks past you with a trail of expensive perfume in his wake. obviously, he expects you to follow and you do after a moment's reluctance.
(this guy is more confusing than the stellaron.)
aventurine who grows quite fond of seeing you acquiesce to his wishes, whether serious or trivial. could you ward off those reporters? could you pour him a drink? could you play a game of poker with him? could you join him for lunch? you're always so professional that he starts to find some mirth in pushing your buttons (never too much). unlucky for you, he does it to be affectionate and lucky for him, you always say yes even if you roll your eyes every single time.
aventurine who trusts you with his credit card. . . to a worrying degree. when asked if he's sure about this, he just waves it off and says it'll be safer in your hands. seriously, this card has been in your possession longer than it's ever been in his. sometimes, he does ask for it back – only to drop some 200k credits to your account. “a tip for doing a good job,” he'd wink casually while you're flabbergasted beyond belief.
aventurine who finds it extremely attractive whenever you step in to protect him from harm. dealing with uncooperative clients is a day in his life, yet some are so brutish they resort to getting physical – but he has you to make sure their hands stay off him. a gun in his direction? knocked off before the trigger even has a chance to get pulled. reaching out to grab him by the collar? they're already on the ground, your foot threateningly pressed on their back as a warning. what a dashing sight – and thanks to you, his pristine outfit has been saved more times than he could count at this point.
aventurine who likes to call you his “knight in shining armor” teasingly. awh, you don't like it? he thinks you're more than deserving of that title with the way you always swoop in to get him out of trouble. if the thousands of credits he gives you aren't enough yet, won't a cute title suffice? “it sounds corny,” you tell him with a grimace—and maybe, yes—but he just chirps coyly, “dunno. i think it's fitting.”
aventurine who makes it his responsibility to check on you after a rough mission. credits are no problem, he'd even reserve the most expensive private doctor in the cosmos if that means you'll recover faster. sadly, he has little to no medical skills – so the most he can offer you is bandages. sure, you can take a bullet to the stomach and handle a punch or two, that's your job, but what about tiny scratches? . . .don't tell him you're about to reject his kind offer.
“what's your favorite color?” he queries, somewhat out of the blue considering the situation where he is helping you tend to a minor cut on your finger. you raise an eyebrow, “why do you wanna know?” as he gently plasters a plain-colored bandage on your skin (which he's only been granted permission to after minutes of begging you to let him do it).
“for the bandages,” aventurine answers. he finds no need to hide his intentions as he runs a thumb over the bandage, softly as to not hurt you, to keep its position secure. “so that the next time you ask, i'll have some in your favorite color for sure.”
“how. . . thoughtful of you,” you snort, amused.
(briefly, he resists the urge to ask if he can place a kiss on your cut for 'luck'. but if he does, you might have his head. so, he'll try another time.)
aventurine who slowly begins to find a sense of comfort in your company. maybe, it's the way you scoff at his quips with a smile or the way you always tell him to be careful. maybe, it's the way you take him seriously or the way you stay by his side—is your job description the only reason why?—or maybe, he's just pathetic and reeks of so much loneliness you feel sympathetic. he can't tell, but he hopes the luxuries he has can persuade you to stay just a little longer. even if you don't actually care. (you do.)
aventurine who notices how anxiety brims in your gaze when you watch him gamble at the table – with a sum too high to be considered sane and sometimes, his own life. he can see it all; how your hands shake as if you want to reach out, how your lips tremble as if you want to tell him to stop. but this is what he's made for, is it not? he'll survive one way or another. . . until fate decides the bill for all his past good fortune is finally due. and when the time comes, he'll be ready for it. (will you?)
a game of russian roulette.
it always starts with thrills only to end with carnage spilled all over the table. luck is the only thing worth praying for at that point and oh, is luck not the dearest friend aventurine ever had? hence the reason why he always agrees, not with a yes but with a “why not?”.
you're there as his protector, yet utterly condemned to the role of a witness as soon as aventurine nods along to that darned game. panic rushes through your veins as the gun is passed around so relaxedly, so easily with laughter all around. aventurine's next in line, you realize grimly. the next decision that comes after is spontaneous, so different from your usual calculated nature – you drag him out of the casino in a frenzy before the weapon even lands in his hand. in your head, there is no other thought louder than: he could've died.
“a shame i didn't get to the fun part,” you hear him hum from behind you, too disturbingly calm for your liking. the bustling noises inside the establishment have all but faded into the background. “that was close, hm?” he laughs, a sound you would've found endearing if this was another occasion. any occasion that doesn't involve teetering dangerously on the precipice of death.
you stop in your tracks and aventurine, behind you, naturally follows. your silence is something he first takes note of and the way your hand shakes as it holds his is the second. you still haven't let go. what's going through your mind? he calls out your name softly, perplexed at your lack of explanation.
“. . .why did you say yes?” you respond with a bitter question. “you could've died. you almost died,” you try to hold back a shout – yet, your words are spat in such a fusillade he feels a seed of guilt starting to bloom inside his lifeless heart. he discards it in favor of putting on a frivolous smile.
“oh, relax,” he lets out a chuckle, one that sounds so ignorant of the taut tension in the air. “it's just some russian roulette. why so serious?” he shrugs as if to physically brush off any seriousness clinging to his figure. his remark gives off the assumption that every single hint of your worry has flown over his head.
“it is serious. . .” you bite your bottom lip. he sneers in return, “yeah? since when?” as if to challenge you to give an actual answer. his life is full of risks, to say otherwise would be a lie. “you're sweet for worrying but you don't actually care about me that much, do you?” he snickers to himself. like the thought of your caring about him can't possibly be true, like it's all just a terrible joke.
but he's the only one laughing.
aventurine falls quiet and finally, genuinely meets your gaze for the first time that night. he doesn't like what he sees. your lips are downturned, unamused and saddened—you do care, a realization that has been left unsaid—and all remainders of levity in him are replaced by immediate dread. it only now registers that the anger, concern, frustration on your face are for him; they're the unavoidable consequences from caring about him.
(his eyes widen. no, no, no.)
“c'mon, you—” he covers it up with a carefree smile, as feigned as it came. he shoves his hand in one of his pockets. it's shaking. “. . .worry too much. you've seen me play a handful of games before. i've never lost a wager, remember?”
you don't look convinced at all. in fact, you look as if you've arrived at the brink of seething. “and if you do? for once in your life, you lose?” you prod him for more. for something, for anything – perhaps, for a promise that he won't do it again.
(but you know aventurine, you know there would be no such promise.)
“then i lose,” he says, final and resigned. “there's really nothing else to it,” he tries to offer you another smile but it didn't quite reach his eyes. “hey. at least, you'll be there to witness my spectacular fall, right? it'll be a show to remember.”
he nearly doesn't manage to keep up the façade. it's already as precarious as it can be. you don't reply to him this time – instead, you let go of his hand to wipe at your cheeks. his gaze trails after your fingers and it freezes upon seeing the pearly tears falling free from your eyes.
aventurine has never seen you cry before. you're always so stone-faced, so hard to break that he recalls almost cheering when he heard you laugh for the first time. that was when you finally won a round of poker against him. a pity, he would've reminisced about the memory more. . . if only the matter of losing and winning a game isn't as serious as it is now.
“don't say that,” you mutter, harshly wiping away at the incessant tears pouring from your eyes more than you'd ever allow them to. some make their way into your mouth, they taste just as bitter as your current frustration. does he truly value his life so little? you can't fathom it, you can't fathom him at all.
but there is one thing you were certain of, at the very least: “you hired me to protect you,” you shake your head unrelentingly, “so i'll do it. until you throw me away, i won't let you die.”
you've stopped crying then. aventurine feels remorse; the tears that you shed because of him are starting to dry. the selfish part of him wants to reach out and brush them away with his thumb – but would you let him? would this lead you further down the rabbit hole that is him? in the end, he decides against it.
“. . .i'm sorry,” he sighs instead, raking a hand through his messy blond hair. whatever it is he is apologizing for, he doesn't have a clue either. he lets his eyes slip shut. he can't bear to look at you, can't bear to look at his pitiful reflection in your eyes.
(he's not worth caring about, can't you see? he dances hand in hand with death – there is no need to subject yourself to being a spectator.)
the two of you then part ways that night with shallow pleasantries on your tongues. no inside jokes, no evident yearning for the other to stay, no more than an awkward exchange of “i'll see you tomorrow.”
on his way 'home', regret and relief clash to form something inexplicably hollow inside kakavasha's chest. he wanted to wipe away your tears—what a regret—but if he did, they would've burned on his skin and became another mark to haunt him—what a relief he didn't. and frankly, if destiny is about to reap his debt, he'd rather go with no regrets at all.
whether those regrets include you? he doesn't have an answer just yet.
(the name at the bottom of his contract with fate is signed as kakavasha. but you wouldn't recognize that name. not as him, at least.)
aventurine whose eyes can't flutter close at night ever since thoughts of you fill his mind more than they already do before. you care for him, you want him to live—all his fault, he allowed himself to get too close—but these realizations are rooted in too deep and refuse to leave. what to do, what to do, what to do?
it isn't supposed to turn out like this.
what he and you have is meant to be transactional; he'd be spared from unnecessary scuffles and you'd be compensated with monetary payment. he means to keep it superficially fun; for him to tease you with jests—so you'd stay and save him from the deafening silence in his head—and for you to dismiss him with that adorably annoyed look on your face. just some silly banter, that's it.
so then, since when are there rounds of poker where he'd coo over your frown when you lost? or the sound of your lecturing after he secretly got you a high-end item? or meals shared together where you'd bicker over the bill? or bandages in your favorite color kept inside his bedside table? since when do you start to care? . . .since when does he start to care?
think of something else.
kakavasha tosses and turns in his bed, but the soft pillows and blanket do nothing to quell these bothers of his. are feelings always this complicated? he places a hand over his eyes, tired and exhausted, and stares at the ceiling as if it could provide him with an answer.
but there's no use.
in a moment void of logical thinking, he reaches for his phone and hovers a finger over your name in his contacts. he is usually good friends with bad ideas – but not this time, he sets his phone down and lets out a frustrated sigh that only his expensive pillows are there to hear.
(for gaiathra's sake, he hasn't even told you his real name yet.)
aventurine who becomes awfully distant the next time he sees you. you accompany him to meetings with clients per usual, but it's different. . . he talks to you succinctly, not verbosely with that trademark grin of his. his face is bereft of the things you grow to like seeing on him. a sincere smile instead of one just for show, for example. but even that's difficult to ask for since he only speaks to fill the silence with empty chatter. he doesn't look you in the eyes either; you feel a pang of hurt, you've always loved his eyes.
aventurine who discards all thoughts of you as soon as he steps inside pier point to be assigned a project. a conclave between the stonehearts is a matter of top confidentiality and you, dutifully, are ordered to wait for him outside the office. though, he'll admit; your absence by his side actually does leave a gaping void—such hypocrisy, really—but at least, those pesky voices in his head know how to shut up when it comes to work.
“penacony. . . is diamond finally ready to do something about it?”
aventurine rests his left hand on the small of his back, fiddling with the clubs-shaped detailing on the fabric there. it looks like an act of idleness from afar, but anyone observant enough would know it's a way to subdue whatever nerves he wishes to hide.
he waits for the person in front of him, gazing at the purplish-red sky of pier point at sunset, to speak. for their next words shall mark the start of his next journey in fate's course.
aventurine who hesitates to let you come to penacony with him at first. but it'd be poor reasoning not to, since some might have a bone to pick with him as the corporation's representative. . . and he knows you'll protest to come with anyway. fine then, situationship discomfiture be damned – not even a second after he steps out of the meeting, his neon eyes finally meet yours. “so, how does a trip to penacony sound?” he announces with a confident smile. you blink, noticing how his lips are wobbling at the sides. you don't say no, however. (if only the two of you know what sort of ride you're getting yourselves into.)
— thanks for reading! reblogs with comments are most appreciated. why don't we all sob over this man like it's a cryfest ♡
#hsr x reader#aventurine x reader#—stellaronhvnters.#honkai star rail x reader#aventurine x you#hsr headcanons#hsr imagines#hsr fluff#hsr angst#seelestial.inks#gambler & knight 🎲
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