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leclerc-hs · 5 months

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the blueprint - cl16

pairing: architect!charles leclerc x coworker!reader (fem) summary: in which you and your co-worker can't help but constantly butt-heads on projects warnings: 18+! SMUT! (obvi), kinda mean!Charles, squirting, language, some French (badly translated prob) word count: 4.1k author's note: hi I absolutely LOVED writing this. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do. i didn’t proofread so if there’s any typos please let me know!!! xoxo!! please let me hear your thoughts!!!! don’t be shy

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YOU COULD’VE SWORN you’ve never been so irritated in your life.

“Can’t you just, I don’t know, ferme ta guele for once!” Shut the fuck up. You stood in the door of Charles’s office, a crescendo of emotion echoed in your voice, almost reaching a fervent shout. Your face, now tinged with a reddish hue, reflected just how frustrated you were.

For a little over a year, both you and Charles had been integral parts of the same company. You, an interior designer, who occasionally delved into architecture every blue moon for fun. You never got the degree for architecture, but you loved to sketch building ideas from time to time just for fun. And then there’s him, an architect, with a stick too far up his ass sometimes.

Anger painted Charles’s demeanor, evident from the subtle reddening in his ears and the clench of his jaw. With matching frustration, he strolled behind his desk, easing into his chair. His green eyes narrowed at you, a silent yet potent communication.

“Moi?” Me? His tone was incredulous at he pointed his own fingertips at him, tapping them directly into his sweater covered chest. “Porquoi tu ne le fais pas?” Why don’t you? His voice dropped lower at the end of his sentence, while he directed his fingers to now point at you.

You took a step further into his office, not bothering to shut the door behind you. “Tu es incroyable!” You’re unbelievable! The sarcasm dripped off your tongue as you ran a hand through your hair, your chest slightly heaving up and down.

To which, Charles only smirked at, ignoring your sarcasm, and responded with a cocky “J’ai beaucoup entende cela.” I’ve heard that a lot.

The memory of the initial cause of the argument had become hazy but it was likely that it stemmed from the inherent clash that seemed inevitable whenever the two of you worked together on a project. The two of you were constantly perplexed by the company’s decision to consistently pair you two together, especially because it was not a secret that you didn’t get along. However, the undeniable reason might be rooted in the remarkable success followed. Almost every building, house, or structure designed by the both of you stood out as some of the company’s best creations.

Charles couldn’t help but trace his eyes along every crevice of your face while you ranted on. He honestly wasn’t even listening as you bitched on about something you claimed he did. Instead, he was too enraptured with the way your cheeks reddened, the way your eyes narrowed at him, and the way your breasts moved with every exclamation you made. Because really, he is still a man after all and the tight button up shirt you wore was almost sinister. Like seriously, he could’ve sworn the buttons were about to pop open with each breath you took.

“Mon dieu! Even now, you’re still not listening!” You noticed the distant look in Charles’s eyes as he leaned back into his chair. It was like he was looking at you, but not at you.

You snapped your fingers repeatedly, leaning over the desk, your breasts even more in Charles’s face now. He swore it took everything in him to look at your face, and not your perky breasts dangling in front of him.

“What?”

You stormed out of his office immediately with a loud groan. You didn’t see him for the rest of the day.

“Mamma mia,” Oh my god. Charles exclaimed to no one except himself as he stood tall, his hands tapping the sides of the heavy machine before him. It felt like an eternity, although it had only been about 5 minutes. The matter at hand was perfecting the model of his latest project, but the 3-D printer seemed to be malfunctioning.

Taking a step back, he began to stare at the machine as if it were his enemy, one hand rested on his hip. A million thoughts ran through his mind as to what could possibly be wrong with the machine. No matter how many times he tried, the layers seemed to be separating far too much, deeming each piece of his model printed earlier as garbage.

The fragrance of sandalwood, laced with a subtle sweetness of vanilla, announced your presence before he could even lay eyes on you. The warm and captivating scent enveloped him, much like it always did. He squeezed the bridge of his nose between his thumb and pointer finger in annoyance that he knew it was you without even having to turn around. Without turning his head, he spoke up, catching your attention abruptly.

“Sais-tu comment réparer cela?” Do you know how to fix this?

It was one of the rare occasions when he addressed you without any trace of hatred in his words. Your mouth hung slack in surprise, and you almost felt the need to rub your eyes in disbelief at the fact there was no back-handed comment involved.

For a few moments, you just stared at the back of his head. Unable to understand why he was even asking for your help in the first place. When he got impatient of waiting for a response, he spun his body around, his eyebrows slightly furrowed, and eyes pointed at you.

“Hm?” Snapping out of your surprise, you urged him to continue, seeking clarification on what he was referring to. Charles couldn’t help but take note of the tight black jumpsuit that you wore, a black and gold belt cinched at your waist. He felt his heart pound in his chest just a little bit more than normal at the accentuation of your curves as you stepped in front of him, acknowledging the curve of your ass before him.

“It, uh..” He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed away his thoughts of your ass. You turned to look at him, waiting for him to finish his words. His cheeks slightly tinted pink as he offers a sheepish smile to you, “it keeps separating the layers too much.”

You nodded your head slowly, “Je déteste quand ça fait ça.” I hate when it does that. You quietly agreed with him, before playing with some of the buttons on the machine. Without any luck of fixing it on your own, your eyes lit up like a light bulb as you remembered Josh, one of your other co-workers, solved this issue before.

“Let me get Josh!” You uttered the name with such excitement that Charles felt an involuntary growl building within him. Josh, a fellow architect at the firm, seemed uncomfortably close to you for Charles’s liking. Not that he cared or anything, but few things irked him more than witnessing you and Josh together in the office like two peas in a pod. The way Josh shamelessly flirted with you constantly only added to his irritation. Not that he liked you or anything, but that didn’t mean he hasn’t thought about shoving you face down over his desk and stuffing you full of his cock. Or that he hasn’t thought of you pressed against the windows of his office, your bare chest against the glass as he slips his cock into your wet folds. Or that he hasn’t thought about shoving his cock so deep into your throat just to get you to be quiet sometimes.

It was like the flip of a switch, Charles’s irritation pouring out of him, as he spontaneously stomped away from the printing room. Trudging back to his office, leaving you behind in confusion. The last thing he wanted to see was you and Josh fixing something for him.

“She’s such a fucking know it all,” Charles groans to a group of his co-workers, bringing the neck of the beer bottle to his lips before taking a swig. His eyes have been following your every move since you stepped foot in the banquet hall tonight.

It was the 42nd annual office party, which may sound boring at first, but it always ends up with some chaotic story. Last year it was Jane, one of the executive assistants, who got way too drunk she vomited right by the CEO’s feet. The year before that it was Nick, a man who is part of the custodial staff, who went almost too crazy on the dance floor that he knocked a handful of people down and resulted in multiple broken glasses around the place. All in all, the office party is usually the opposite of a bore.

And tonight, Charles decides that it’s definitely not a bore when he spots your outfit for the night. Charles doesn’t miss the curve of your ass as your back faces him, or the fact that Josh’s hand rests lightly against the small of your back either.

You’re dressed to kill tonight. A long silky black gown rests tightly against your skin, aside from the bottom that fans out much like a mermaid tail. The neckline wraps around your neck much like a scarf, a long tail of it falling at your side.

Charles was so focused on Josh’s hand on you, that he didn’t even hear his co-workers speaking to him until they shoved his shoulder lightly.

“Dude, do you like her or something?”

“Or something.” Charles said with such disgust and hatred laced in his voice. “I don’t know why I always have to get paired with her.” He finished his beer in a hasty speed as you head towards the bar, excusing himself from his friends as he made his way to the same area.

The grip he had on the neck of the empty bottle was so tight, it was close to breaking in the palm of his hand. He leans against the bar, staring straight ahead as he waits for the bartender to acknowledge him.

“What’s got you all wound up?” Sandalwood and Vanilla.

He turns his head, to you and a smiling Josh at your side. He wants to roll his eyes almost immediately. What he would give to be able to punch him right in the face for even being able to touch you. He doesn’t bother to respond to you, turning his head back to the bar.

He’s sick in the head, honestly. He knows he approached the bar only to be closer to you but then ignores you as soon as you’re near. To get some glimpse of you. To smell you. To hear your voice.

You hate the rejection. No matter how much he grinds your gears, you always try to be polite. You don’t want to argue with him. It’s honestly exhausting to stay arguing with him almost every day. On your first day of work, you actually thought you could be friends, until he opened his mouth and rudely dismissed you. It only made you work harder.

Charles got his drink and made his way back to his group of ‘friends’. He didn’t look at you the rest of the night.

At least until you both crossed paths outside the venue. Josh had left earlier in the night due to not feeling well, leaving you alone, with no jacket, as you tried to call for a ride home.

Charles’s hands were shoved in the pockets of his dress pants as he approached you, awaiting for the valet to pull his car around. “Where is your jacket?” He questioned, simply curious.

“Why do you care?” You remarked back, a hint of annoyance in your voice. “You ignored me earlier and now you want to talk to me?”

Charles felt his patience wearing thin, especially at the sight of the goosebumps all over your skin and the chatter of your teeth between each word you spoke. Your nipples were rock hard, something that didn’t go unnoticed by Charles. He felt the blood rush to his cock as his eyes quickly glanced at them.

He rolled his eyes before shoving his suit jacket off and tossing it over your shoulders. “Can’t have my partner getting sick.” He began, “The project is due too soon for you to call out.” He pulled the excuse out of his ass. Because really, how was he supposed to say that he cared? That he cared about the woman he’s an absolute dick too.

You wanted to argue, he could see the detest in your eyes, but you snuggled into the jacket anyways. Appreciating his gesture and the warmth of the jacket.

The valet pulled his car up, opening the door for Charles, to which Charles handed him a crisp bill for fetching the car for him. You stood on the sidewalk, Charles’s jacket swallowing your body whole, a small breeze blowing the front pieces of your hair off your face. You looked beautiful, and Charles’s knew it was a complete lie if he said other.

“Get in,” He motioned the passenger door open, not bothering to wait for your response before he grasped your small forearm and ushering you into the seat. The car smelt just like him. A smell you wanted to bury yourself in, regardless how annoying he was.

Charles wove through the streets at a leisurely pace, one hand on the wheel and the other resting on his knee. The radio volume was low, playing a song you couldn’t remember the name of, as you stared out the window and directed Charles to your home.

He wanted to argue that he knows where it is. That he’s already been there before because one time he went to check on you because you didn’t show up to work without calling in (which was very abnormal). That it’s the building right next to his. But he doesn’t say it and just lets you direct him anyways, just so he can hear your voice a little more. He was greedy when it came to you.

Within a few minutes, he pulled in front of your building, placing the car in park and unbuckling his seat belt. You sat silently after unbuckling your own seatbelt, trying to decipher his mood. You never knew what mood you were going to get, but most of the time it was annoyance and anger.

You turned to look at him and your eyes instantly met with his, as he was already looking at you. “Merci.” Your words were soft as you spoke, reaching for the door handle, he stopped you.

“You should dress warmer,” His lips lifted into a small grin, “It’s too cold and I can’t handle this project without you.”

Although it was work related, it was probably the closest compliment you’ve ever received from him. If you wanted to count it as a compliment. You felt your cheeks turn pink at his confession. Who are you? You don’t blush at Charles Leclerc. The architect with a stick up his ass. The guy who grates your every nerve. The guy who is undeniably hot and smells so good, you think about it more often than you want to admit.

“I’ll remember that.” Your hand goes to reach for the car door handle, but he stops you. His muscular arm stretches across your lap, grabbing the door and holding it in place from opening. He’s now practically stretched across the small space of the car, his scent enveloping you, the warmth of his body heating you right up. A small smirk formed on Charles lips as he noticed how flustered you were getting towards his proximity.

“Are you and Josh dating?” It was a simple question, but the words felt like acid on his tongue. You couldn’t help but notice the displeased look on his face as he straightens his body, providing more space between the two of you.

Your eyes widened in shock before muttering a quick, “No!” You coughed slightly, almost choking on your shock.

“Bien.” Good. Was all he said, before unlocking the doors, giving you the go ahead to get out of the car. It was when you were about three steps from the car door that he rolled down the window and said, “You can return the jacket at work.”

It’s today, that Charles decides he has had it up to here. If he must witness Josh’s fingers graze your skin one more time, he swears he will combust. So, to make himself feel some relief of his anger, he starts a fight with you. Naturally.

“It’s a shitty plan and even you know it!”

Honestly, it is a shit plan. And Charles knows that it’s a shit one too, but he would never admit that to you. Not when he is this pent up over fucking Josh. Not when it gives him an excuse to spend more time with you.

Which is what led you into his office, the clock nearing midnight, as you both are sprawled (as much as you can be) around his desk. The current plans of the project are scattered everywhere and not one other person, beside the both of you, are within the offices floor.

Your hair had made its way into a clip, leaving your neck uncovered and exposed. Charles’s found himself often staring at the nape of your neck when you weren’t looking. His desire to litter marks all over it was growing with each second that he spent in your proximity. Sandalwood and Vanilla.

“Is there a reason you’re always so mean to me?”

The words caught him completely off guard as he lifted his pencil, leaning back in his chair to face you more. You looked beautiful, like always. He could feel the burn in his chest as the words left your lips.

He was silent for a moment. Contemplating if he’s supposed to tell you that he’s mean to you because he doesn’t know how to act around you. That he’s mean to you because he wants to fuck you so badly, it consumes his every thought. That he’s mean to you because you are mean to him too.

“You’re not innocent either,” He remarks. His eyes shifting back to the drawing in front of him. Honestly, the plans weren’t looking much better but you both refused to give up.

You nodded your head slowly in agreement. You couldn’t deny that sometimes you were snippier towards him for no reason. It probably had to do with the fact that almost every week since you met, you’ve had to use your vibrator to the thought of him to ease the burn in your stomach just enough to get through the day.

You both didn’t know what it was about each other. You got under each other’s skin like no other.

And it wasn’t until he brought his eyes back to you, green meeting yours, that he noticed the dilation in your pupils. He could no longer pretend that he didn’t want you. It was killing him.

His hand grasps the back of your neck in a tight grip, asserting his dominance, as he pulls you into him. Your lips smashing into each other. He wasted no time before slipping his tongue directly into your mouth, moaning in the process as you let him in with such ease.

Your taut nipples poked through fabric of your bralette underneath the silk top you wore. Charles kept one hand on the back of your neck, pressing you into him, while the other slipped into the buttoned shirt, pinching your nipples between his thumb and forefinger.

He groaned hotly into your mouth as he grabbed a handful of your breast, something he’s always wanted to do.

You crawled your way into his lap, the short skirt riding up your waist as you straddled his lap in the desk chair. You grinded against his thigh, moaning into his mouth. He swallowed every moan you gave, his hands eventually sliding down to your hips and guiding your movement.

“You drive me fucking crazy, chérie.” He spoke the words in between kisses, the sentence sounding broken as your tongue swirled around his.

“Are we really doing this?” You pulled away, unable to stop the motion of your hips as you stared at him. His hair was in complete disarray, lips swollen from kissing you so hard, and his eyes were half-shut like he was drunk off of your kisses.

He didn’t respond with words. Instead, he places his hands onto the backside of your thighs and lifted you as he came to a stance, placing you directly on the edge of his desk before him.

You both were frantic, ripping off each other’s clothes as fast as you could in between the wet, hot open-mouthed kisses. It wasn’t long before you were almost completely nude, aside from the mini skirt bunched above your waist, and sprawled along his desk with his hard cock stretching the velvet walls of your pussy with a delicious burn. His thumb pressed tiny but firm circles on your swollen clit, leaving you delusional on his desk.

His lips trailed all over your body. They moved from the spot right below your ear, to the underside of your jaw, up to the corner of your mouth.

“Feel so fucking good, chérie.” He groaned. His hips moving at a fervent pace, you don’t think you would last much longer, especially with his hot words whispered into the shell of your ear.

He pulled away from you for a moment, just to stare at how fucked you were. Your hair was no longer in a clip, seeing as he pulled it out of your hair and tossed it across his office just mere minutes ago. Your cheeks and chest were flushed, and the bounce of your tits almost had him cumming on the spot.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” He confesses. The words jumbling off his lips as he ruts against you, the large wooden desk pushing forward with each powerful thrust of his hips into you. The office walls echoed your moans, you were practically screaming in pleasure for the entire world to hear.

You nodded your head repeatedly, unable to form the words, too drunk off the feeling of his cock pressing against the very spot that ached the most for him. Because you too, wanted this for so long.

“Yeah?” He smugly asks. “You wanted this too?” He slows his hips down, but it doesn’t lessen the effect of just how good his cock feels against you. Your walls are clamped around him tightly, not wanting to let him go.

“Mhm,” you groaned. “Needed this so bad….needed you” You words were almost incoherent as he spits directly onto your clit, his thumb now speeding up the little circles he’s been doing all this time.

He had to pinch his eyes shut at the confession, almost sending him to release his cum right into you. “Mon dieu,” His voice grumbles, reverberating in his chest as he leans over your body on the desk, trailing his tongue and sucking on your nipple.

“I’m gonna,” you begin. “fuck, fuck,” It takes a few seconds of Charles sucking on your nipple before the burn deep in your stomach completely takes over, sending your legs spasming around his waist. Your orgasm was explosive and wet. You don’t think you’ve ever experienced this before as you squeeze around Charles’s cock so tightly, he feels like he can barely move his cock.

“Fucking, mmm,” He can barely get full sentences out as you squirt all over his cock and onto the papers of his desk. “That’s a good girl,” He stands up tall, watching you thrash around on his desk, and the now soaked plans beneath your body.

“Doing so good for me.”

“Feels so fucking good”

“So fucking beautiful”

“Does my cock feel as good as you feel to me?”

With a few more mumbled phrases spewing out of Charles’s lips, his own orgasm hits him, as he pulls out quickly, his hot cum landing directly across your stomach in a gooey string.

You both were panting, unable to form words as he collapses his chest down onto you. The ability to stand lost on him as his pants rest at his ankles. Your chests move in sync as you catch your breaths, Charles’s cum pressed to both of your skin.

“Looks like we need to re-do the plans again.” Charles jokes which quickly earns a soft chuckle from your lips in response.

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc #f1 x reader #f1 imagines #charles leclerc angst #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc fic #f1 imagine #f1 x female reader #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 one shot #f1 fanfiction #cl16 x you #cl16 x reader #cl16 imagine

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quincywillows · 1 year

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like i remember the vitriol that came out when the mere PREMISE for ballad of songbirds and snakes came out bc it was “about the villain” and wasn’t instead a novella of one of the many cute likeable faves of the masses. i remember how fast people were to tear down the book before it even came out (and still do now). and it’s like look, i get it, suzanne created so many interesting characters that it would be incredible to learn more about and get more content for. but her choosing to write about snow for a prequel isn’t like Romanticizing The Villain or whatever bullshit y’all are claiming as hot takes on twitter -- ballad fits right into the common themes and tone of the series in that its not a romanticization but a reflection on how snow became what we know him as in the original series. both in how he already had some less than charming or healthy traits (just like katniss does -- suzanne is always clear that people are not inherently good nor evil and parallels were drawn between how snow and katniss view the world and think strategically, etc, from the second book), but also in how society and the choices of the greater community in panem created snow. like ballad is a really interesting piece of lore and history and worldbuilding for an already rich and elaborate setting that suzanne created, allowing us to see how that world even came to be and the kind of toxic impact it had on the people surviving in it while still pointing out that those people are human and that everyone has humanity and yet can still cause unfathomable harm to one another based on circumstance and need to survive and pressures of all kinds and like i have lost the plot here now but suzanne is one of the best authors of our time who actually gives a shit about creating layered, nuanced characters and worlds rather than black and white good and evil and unfortunately the hyperpolarization of our hot takes social media culture nowadays just can’t handle her anymore. suzanne im so sorry we don’t deserve your storytelling. anyway i’ll be seated for this movie y’all can skip and keep giving lukewarm takes on twitter to make urself seem so smart for hating a book you probably didnt even actually read

#suzanne collins is one of the only mainstream authors these days who clearly writes for purpose rather than profit #and puts thought into her writing always 100% of the time. but we as a regressing online society are not ready for her anymore #people are so scared of nuance in their media its incredible (derogatory)#the hunger games #ballad of songbirds and snakes #maggie.txt #fandom crit #to the people who are actually looking forward to this film + enjoyed the book i respect YOU

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zapreportsblog · 10 months

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Hi, so, I'd like to request a one shot with Billy and Stu x Reader who looks cute and innocent, she can even trick them into thinking she's a sweet lamb, they are kinda friends? Like, the boys like to hang around her house, since she's almost always alone, and they watch horror movies together and all, Billy being creepy as always and Stu weirdly cute. Anyways, she looks so sweet and innocent, but, in reality, she has some dark thoughts and when a guy from school treats her bad or something like that (I'm think of her bing like a hidden Pearl) she kills him, but no one knows, after that she starts to go into a killing spree and the boys get worried she'll be a victim of this new killer, until they catch her killing, being stained with blood. I'd love if you could write it, so thanks ❤️ (English is not my first language, so sorry for any grammar error)

Oh no this was perfect so even if English isn’t your first language I got what you had in mind

↳ devil in disguise ↲

✭ pairing : billy loomis x reader x stu macher

✭ fandom : scream

✭ summary : billy loomis and stu macher befriend the new girl, there something about the innocence in her that has them wanting to keep her close, but what they don’t know is that underneath all that innocence is a psycho killer watching and building up.

✭ authors note : this will be pretty fucking long let’s be honest but I hope you enjoy :)

Appearances can be deceiving, a truth that resonates throughout the intricate tapestry of human nature. In the complex dance of life, the most innocent of individuals often harbor the potential for both light and darkness, a duality that echoes the very essence of existence.

Beneath the gentle facade of a kind smile, the spark of laughter, or the softness of a touch, lies a spectrum of emotions and desires that can lead down paths both virtuous and treacherous. Each person is a canvas painted with shades of morality, their choices a brushstroke that can create beauty or chaos, depending on the journey they choose to undertake.

The predator lurking within, the shadow of primal instincts, is a reminder that human beings are products of evolution, shaped by eons of survival instincts and genetic predispositions. In the heart of every individual, there exists a part that craves power, control, or fulfillment, a yearning that can manifest as ambition, passion, or even obsession.

Yet, it is important to recognize that the coexistence of light and darkness within us is not inherently sinister. It is a reflection of the human experience, a reminder that every choice is a crossroads, offering the potential for change, growth, and transformation. The predator within can propel us forward, driving us to achieve our goals, protect our loved ones, and forge our destinies.

In a world where appearances often mask the intricacies of the human soul, it becomes crucial to acknowledge the duality that resides within each of us. By embracing both our capacity for kindness and our susceptibility to darker urges, we gain a deeper understanding of ourselves and those around us. The predator lurking within can serve as a cautionary tale, a reminder of the importance of self-awareness, empathy, and the conscious choice to channel our instincts toward the betterment of ourselves and society.

Ultimately, the dichotomy of light and darkness within us mirrors the complexity of the world we inhabit. It is a testament to the richness of the human experience, the endless potential for growth, and the ever-present opportunity to shape our narratives, whether we tread the path of the predator or harness the power of our inner light.

The sun hung lazily in the sky, casting its golden rays over the idyllic small town of Woodsboro. In the heart of the town, the high school's courtyard was a hub of activity, a place where friendships were forged and teenage dramas played out against the backdrop of lockers and laughter.

Stu Macher and Billy Loomis, the quintessential charismatic duo, leaned casually against the fountain. Their respective girlfriends, Tatum Riley and Sidney Prescott, stood nearby, laughter and conversations weaving a tapestry of youthful energy.

"Hey, ladies," Stu greeted with a grin, his bleached-blond hair catching the sunlight.

Billy's dark eyes sparkled as he echoed the sentiment, "Looking good as always."

As the quartet exchanged banter and shared glances, a figure caught their attention. Randy Meeks, known for his encyclopedic knowledge of horror movies and his perpetual enthusiasm, approached with a wide grin that stretched from ear to ear. At his side was a girl who looked almost ethereal—a new face in a town where everyone knew everyone else.

"(Y/N), meet the gang," Randy said with exuberance, presenting the girl to the group.

(Y/N) stood shyly, her presence an aura of innocence and warmth. Her eyes were like open books, wide and filled with curiosity as she took in her surroundings. A white dress, loose yet gracefully hugging her figure, accentuated her delicate beauty. The boys, Billy and Stu, exchanged glances that spoke volumes—here was someone who radiated innocence and gentleness.

"Hey, (Y/N)," Tatum greeted with a friendly smile, extending a welcoming hand.

Sidney's eyes held a soft kindness as she added, "Nice to meet you."

"(Y/N)," Stu's voice was friendly, his grin never faltering.

But it was Billy who couldn't tear his gaze away. In his eyes, (Y/N) appeared as if she could do no wrong—a portrait of purity in a world where darkness often lurked. Her eyes reminded him of Bambi's, wide and open, untouched by the harsh realities of life.

"Hi," (Y/N) responded, her voice soft and sweet, as if her words were a whisper carried by the wind.

As the introductions and pleasantries continued, a sense of intrigue filled the air. The new girl was like a breath of fresh air, and the boys found themselves captivated by her presence. Billy's heart stirred, his curiosity piqued by the enigma that was (Y/N).

As the days stretched into a week, the dynamic between Billy, Stu, and (Y/N) began to evolve. To the casual observer, it seemed like the boys were constantly bothering her, popping up unexpectedly and causing her to jump with exaggerated "scares." (Y/N)'s jumpy nature only seemed to fuel their amusement, and they reveled in the opportunity to tease her.

"(Y/N), you really need to work on your reflexes," Stu teased, a wide grin playing on his lips.

Billy joined in, smirking, "Yeah, seriously, what are you so jumpy about?"

Inside, however, their thoughts took on a darker undertone. Each little expression that flickered across (Y/N)'s face was dissected in their minds, and they toyed with the idea of involving her in their sinister games. But deep down, they couldn't shake the notion that she was different, that her innocence was genuine, and that she deserved more than the fate they had planned for their victims.

One night, as they lounged around in Stu's living room, the topic of their potential victims came up, their voices hushed as they spoke of Ghostface's next target.

"You know, man, I've been thinking," Stu mused, his tone contemplative.

Billy's eyes met Stu's, curiosity gleaming within them. "About what?"

"(Y/N)," Stu replied, his voice surprisingly serious. "I mean, yeah, we've joked about her being our next victim, but... I don't know, there's something different about her."

Billy's brows furrowed in thought, his expression mirroring Stu's. "Yeah, I've been thinking the same thing. Her innocence... it's real, isn't it? I mean, it can't be faked."

Stu nodded, a somberness settling over them. "She's the only one in this school who doesn't put on a facade. I mean, just look at her. She's not trying to impress anyone or play games. She's just... herself."

As the two friends contemplated (Y/N)'s genuine nature, a decision began to crystallize within them. The idea of involving her in their deadly plans felt wrong, as if they were tainting something pure. The darkness within them seemed to clash with the light that (Y/N) exuded.

"Maybe she's the exception," Billy mused. "Maybe she deserves something better than what we had planned."

Stu's gaze was resolute. "I agree. We can't touch her. She's... untouchable."

And so, in the midst of their twisted games and hidden motives, (Y/N) emerged as a beacon of authenticity, a figure they couldn't bring themselves to tarnish. Their dark thoughts and desires were held at bay, overruled by the recognition that some innocence was too pure to be tainted.

As the days continued to unfold, the bond between Billy, Stu, and (Y/N) deepened, shaped by unspoken understanding and the realization that appearances could indeed be deceiving. In the shadows of their minds, they grappled with their own darkness while protecting the fragile light that (Y/N) represented—an innocence they couldn't bring themselves to shatter, even in the midst of their sinister games.

The bond between Billy, Stu, and (Y/N) deepened with every passing day, an unspoken connection that drew them together. As the days grew longer, they found themselves gravitating toward her house, seeking her company whenever they could. They had adopted a role of self-proclaimed bodyguards, protecting her from a danger she didn't even know was real.

"(Y/N), you seriously need to upgrade your horror movie tolerance," Stu laughed one evening, sprawled on the couch as a horror movie played on the TV screen.

"Yeah, seriously," Billy chimed in from the armchair, his eyes fixed on (Y/N) with an intensity that sent shivers down her spine.

Despite her jumping at some of the movie's more intense scenes, (Y/N) laughed, trying to play it off. "Hey, don't judge me. I'm just not used to all this scary stuff."

Stu grinned, an idea forming in his mind. "You know what would be fun? A horror movie marathon. We'll toughen you up."

Billy's eyes gleamed with a sinister amusement, his gaze lingering on (Y/N) as he added, "Yeah, that's a good idea. Get you ready for the real thing."

Unbeknownst to (Y/N), their intentions were far from innocent. In their twisted minds, they envisioned her as the ultimate victim—the damsel in distress they could play out their darkest fantasies with. Billy's creepy stares and Stu's vivid imagination blended seamlessly with their supposed role as protectors.

As the marathon continued, (Y/N) did her best to keep her composure, laughing off her jumps and enjoying the company of her friends. She glanced at Billy and Stu, both absorbed in the movie, their expressions revealing something she couldn't quite put her finger on.

"Hey, you guys aren't actually planning to scare me for real, are you?" (Y/N) quipped, a playful glint in her eye.

Billy's lips curled into a charming smile, masking his true thoughts. "Of course not, (Y/N). We're your protectors, remember?"

Stu's grin was genuine, his gaze softening as he added, "Yeah, we're not gonna let anything happen to you."

Despite the odd tension in the room, (Y/N) felt a genuine warmth emanating from them. The camaraderie they shared was precious to her, and their presence was a comfort amidst the backdrop of uncertainty.

As the days turned into weeks, (Y/N)'s interactions with Billy and Stu continued to deepen, their friendship a blend of innocence and darkness that seemed to mirror her own conflicted thoughts. Beneath her sweet exterior, a hidden pearl of darkness lay dormant, waiting for the right catalyst to awaken it.

One day, after school, (Y/N) found herself crossing paths with a guy from school who had treated her with disdain. His words had been sharp, his actions cruel, leaving a lingering bitterness within her. As she walked away, her fists clenched and her thoughts turned dark. Anger simmered beneath her surface, and a newfound resolve began to take hold.

That night, the moon hung low in the sky, casting an eerie glow over the town. (Y/N) moved with a determination that belied her innocent appearance. Her actions were swift, her thoughts cold and calculated as she carried out a plan that would forever change the course of events.

The next day, news of the guy's death spread like wildfire. Whispers of foul play and shock resonated through the school corridors. Nobody suspected the innocent new girl, the one with wide eyes and a demeanor that seemed incapable of harm.

As the days turned into weeks, the incident faded into the background, but (Y/N)'s newfound darkness lingered within her. She grappled with the conflicting emotions that surged within, a duality that remained hidden from the world.

Billy and Stu watched from the shadows, unaware of (Y/N)'s secret but sensing a shift in her. They continued their roles as her protectors, the twisted bond between them growing stronger. Little did they know, they were not the only ones harboring darkness.

The trio continued to spend time together, their connection both genuine and unsettling. (Y/N)'s thoughts were a storm of conflicting desires, her actions a reflection of the hidden Pearl within her—a darkness that had tasted blood and now hungered for more.

In a town where appearances were often deceiving, (Y/N) navigated the delicate balance between innocence and darkness. The lines between right and wrong blurred as her hidden thoughts and actions remained shrouded in secrecy, while the world continued to see only the sweet, innocent new girl who could do no harm.

As (Y/N)'s dark inclinations grew, so did the trail of bodies left in her wake. The once-hidden pearl of darkness had been fully awoken, and her actions took on a chilling rhythm. Each victim was carefully chosen, their lives extinguished with a methodical precision that sent shivers down her own spine.

Billy and Stu, the twisted duo who had unknowingly played a role in (Y/N)'s descent into darkness, began to notice the change in her demeanor. Their concern grew as they realized that the one they had deemed untouchable was now capable of unspeakable acts. The irony was not lost on them—the protectors were now the ones who feared for her safety.

"(Y/N), are you okay?" Billy's voice held a note of unease as he approached her one afternoon.

She smiled sweetly, her eyes glinting with a hidden intensity. "Of course, Billy. I'm fine."

Stu's eyes were sharp as he added, "You seem... different lately."

(Y/N)'s laughter was almost melodic, a stark contrast to the darkness that seemed to dance within her eyes. "Oh, just exploring new aspects of myself."

As the bodies continued to pile up, news of the new killer on the loose spread throughout the town. Fear and paranoia took hold, and Billy and Stu's concern for (Y/N) grew exponentially. They watched her closely, trying to discern the truth behind her smiles and the shifting shades within her gaze.

One evening, as they gathered at Stu's house, the topic of the killer came up once again. "(Y/N), have you heard about this new killer?" Stu asked, his tone casual.

She feigned innocence, her voice dripping with sweetness. "Oh, I've heard. It's terrible what's happening."

Billy's voice was strained as he pressed, "You haven't seen anything suspicious, have you?"

She met their gaze, her eyes a storm of hidden secrets. "Oh, nothing suspicious. Just a town gripped by fear."

The tension in the room was palpable, a silent recognition passing between them that (Y/N)'s dark thoughts were far more than they could have imagined. In their quest for power and control, they had inadvertently unleashed a force they couldn't fully comprehend.

As the days turned into nights, the town continued to reel from the new killer's actions. While the trail of bodies grew, (Y/N) remained a step ahead, her innocence a perfect mask for her true nature.

Billy and Stu's worry for her safety intensified, their twisted roles as protectors becoming a desperate attempt to shield her from a danger they were unaware she posed herself. In a chilling dance of fate, the lines between predator and prey blurred as (Y/N) navigated her dark path, leaving those around her to grapple with the realization that appearances could indeed be deceiving.

The tension in the air was thick as the night sky hung like a heavy curtain over the town. Billy and Stu's concern for (Y/N) had reached a fever pitch, each body that dropped heightening their anxiety. Their roles as protectors had been twisted beyond recognition, their concern evolving into a fear they dared not admit.

In the midst of their own murderous pursuits, the two boys stumbled upon a sight that shattered their perceptions. Moonlight cast an eerie glow on the scene before them—their sweet, innocent friend standing amidst the remnants of a fresh kill, her hands stained with blood.

Frozen in their tracks, Billy and Stu stared at (Y/N), their breath catching in their throats. A palpable tension hung in the air, a silent acknowledgment of the darkness that now bound them all together.

Stu was the first to break the silence, his voice a mixture of confusion and desperation. "What... What the hell, (Y/N)?"

(Y/N)'s gaze remained steady, her eyes holding a mix of defiance and something deeper, something that Billy and Stu struggled to grasp.

"Billy, Stu," she said softly, her voice carrying a weight that belied her innocent exterior. "I know you've been worried about me. But you don't need to be. I've always known what I am."

Billy's voice trembled as he managed to speak, but it wasn’t from fear. No, it was something else he was feeling his heart pounding in his chest. "What are you talking about, (Y/N)?"

A knowing smile tugged at the corners of (Y/N)'s lips, her eyes glinting with a chilling clarity. "Predators and prey, Billy. It's the natural order of things. Carnivores feed on herbivores. But there are also omnivores—predators that feed on both."

Stu's confusion was etched across his face as he demanded, "What does that have to do with anything?"

(Y/N)'s gaze turned piercing as she took a step forward, her presence exuding an aura of both danger and inevitability. "I'm an omnivore, Stu. A predator that feeds on everyone and everything. It's just the way I am."

The stand-off continued, a twisted tableau of secrets, revelations, and darkness. The boundaries between their roles as predators and protectors had blurred, leaving them all to confront a reality they had never anticipated.

Stu's hand trembled as he reached up and pulled off his Ghostface mask, his expression a mix of vulnerability and confusion. "Why, (Y/N)? Why are you doing this?"

(Y/N)'s smile was haunting, her words carrying the weight of centuries of history. "Because, Stu, it's survival of the fittest. The world is full of predators and prey, and I've chosen to be a predator."

Billy's fingers gently grazed (Y/N)'s cheek, his touch sending a shiver down her spine. His eyes were filled with mischief as he moved her hair to the side, tucking it behind her ear. With a smirk playing on his lips, he leaned in closer, his voice barely above a whisper.

"You enjoy that, don't you?" he said, his words dripping with anticipation. "The thrill of killing."

(Y/N) stared up at him, her Bambi-like eyes wide with a mixture of fear and excitement. She nodded slowly, her heart pounding in her chest. It was a dark secret she had kept hidden from the world, a part of herself she had never fully embraced until now.

Stu, having observed the exchange, stepped forward after a moment of contemplation. He moved silently, his presence sending shivers down (Y/N)'s spine. As he stood behind her, his body pressed against hers, an unexpected warmth spread through her veins.

He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly. The embrace was both comforting and electrifying, a mix of tenderness and danger. (Y/N) found herself leaning into him, her breath catching as she surrendered to the darkness within.

Together, the trio began to explore the depths of their twisted desires. A newfound bond formed, fueled by their shared secrets and the thrill of the unknown. They reveled in the chaos they created, leaving a trail of darkness in their wake.

As the nights grew longer and their actions more audacious, (Y/N) realized she had found her true family. In Billy and Stu, she had discovered kindred spirits who understood her in ways no one else ever could.

Their connection went beyond the realm of friendship. It was a dark and wicked love, forged in blood and mayhem. They would stand together, united in their pursuit of chaos, forever entangled in each other's embrace.

And so, (Y/N) embraced her dark side fully, relishing in the exhilaration of the hunt, and finding solace in the arms of those who shared her twisted desires.

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princesssarisa · 6 months

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Some thoughts on "Little Women" and the "Little House" books

In the endless discussions by Little Women fans of the issue of "Jo vs. Amy," I've noticed a slight recurring theme, both when Amy's defenders discuss Jo and when certain Jo fans put Amy down. It's the idea that the books' narrative inherently favors Jo and is biased against Amy. That Jo is the character whom readers are clearly "supposed to identify with," as if Louisa May Alcott expected most of her young girl readers to be free-spirited, ambitious tomboys who struggle with gender expectations. And that Amy's portrayal is "negative," or at least that we're supposed to view her femininity and love of refinement as slightly silly and annoying.

Not too long ago, I found similar sentiments in an essay by a woman writing about her childhood experience of Laura Ingalls Wilder's Little House books. She wrote that she never identified with spunky, tomboyish Laura, but as a girly girl and as an eldest daughter who felt pressured to be "the responsible one," she related more to Mary. Then she complained that the books seem to expect readers to identify with Laura, and that we're "not supposed to like Mary."

I'm not sure those claims ring true for either of these literary works.

Both Little Women and the Little House books are autobiographical. Louisa May Alcott based the March family on her own family and Jo on herself, while Laura Ingalls Wilder wrote explicitly about herself and her family without changing the names.

In Little Women, I don't feel as if Alcott expected readers to identify more with Jo than with the other three sisters. Yes, Jo gets the most emphasis of them all, but that's because Alcott personally identified with her. Likewise, in the Little House books, Laura is the protagonist because she was the author. It's only natural that she wrote about her childhood from her own viewpoint, not because she thought readers would relate more to her than to her sisters.

Nor do I think Little Women is overly biased against Amy. Is her portrayal complex, and does it reflect Alcott's complex relationship with her sister May? Yes. Does Alcott use Amy to make fun of May's childhood foibles? Yes. Does she make it clear that May often drove her crazy when they were young, and does her envy of May's charms and social life sometimes bleed through the text? Of course! But none of it seems really mean-spirited; her affection and respect for May also come through clearly. Besides, she's just as willing to use Jo's foibles to make fun of herself.

And in the Little House series, do we really think Wilder set out to insult the memory of her beloved and by then deceased sister Mary? Just because she was honest about their childhood sibling rivalry and made readers feel for her envy of her "perfect" sister doesn't mean she wanted the readers to dislike her.

Maybe I'm giving these authors too much benefit of the doubt. But "An author writes about her own family, makes herself the protagonist, and honestly portrays both her closeness and her sibling rivalry with a sister who was very different from herself" doesn't inherently mean "The author expects all readers to identify with her self-insert and dislike her sister."

#little women #little house on the prairie #the little house books #louisa may alcott #jo march #may alcott nieriker #amy march #laura ingalls wilder #mary ingalls

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chloeangelic · 10 months

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Angelic Joels' appearance and 🍆 HCs !!

Here's a general overview of my main Joels, including visuals of how I see them in my head as well as some useful stats. Hopefully this aids in your reading experience.

🍆 info and dirty spicy HCs are under the cut!!!!

LET'S ROCK OUT WITH OUR 🍆 🍆 COCKS 🍆 🍆 OUT, LFG !!

Choose your fighter aka tell me who you would bang first 💕

Love Me Back

Overall 🍆 appearance: Very thick. Head is wider than the shaft. Only a few veins that bulge out, also thick. Length: 8.9” Manscaping situation: Trimmed, even coverage. I imagine this to be the hairiest Joel overall (chest, legs etc), but def trims to keep things neat. Dominance level: Low-moderate, takes on the dominant role just by virtue of being very touchy and vocal, giving praise/compliments, tossing his girl around, massaging etc. Notes: Most Javi P-like in bed (see Narcos S1 E2), out of all the Joels, in terms of passionate-touchy-feely-tendency. This is the Joel I would most like to bang.

Belong to me

Overall 🍆 appearance: Smooth texture, one bulging vein along the top surface. Length: 8.6” Manscaping situation: Trimmed. Dominance level: High, but not degrading. Notes: Highest exhibitionist tendencies, most into semi-public and public messing around/fucking.

Reflection of the Moon

Overall 🍆 appearance: Looks like a standard big ass dick, nothing to write home about in terms of appearance. Slightly smaller tip than shaft, but looks proportional. Length: 8.2" Manscaping situation: None, he has more important things to do. Dominance level: Dominant ish, but in a low commitment way. Likes to speak in a mocking tone. Notes: Probably the most into dirty talk, shoots the biggest loads in terms of volume.

Without a Warning

Overall 🍆 appearance: Probably the prettiest, most dildo-looking. The veins are evenly distributed and overall skin texture is smooth. Even thickness from base to tip. Length: 8.4” Manscaping situation: Trimmed down to probably 1cm, described as “Short, thick, neatly trimmed” . He's a bit vain tbh. Dominance level: High, but depends on his mood. Can be very aggressive/degrading if desired/if brat taming, otherwise can be pretty chill. Is good at reading the room and determining which style is most suitable. Notes: Highest body count out of all the Joels by far - this guy fucks, and should be sponsored by Durex.

Yes Father

Overall 🍆 appearance: Least thick. Underside of the head is very curved, highest amount of veins. Length: 9.3” Manscaping situation: Short hair, meticulously and neatly manscaped to the point of neuroticism. Dominance level: Weird and fucked up inherent dominance from being an authority figure, otherwise not heavy handed. Notes: Second highest body count.

#joel miller smut #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x reader #joel miller HCs #dirty HCs

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queerprayers · 6 days

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1/2- Sorry if this is a weird ask. You're a person of sincere faith who doesn't judge and I'm desperate for outside opinions. I've recently learned that many modern tarot readers don't believe in divination or spirits, but rather that the images on the cards can help us think about things and bring out deeper ideas from our own subconscious. Zero future telling, only for self reflection. That sounds ok to me, and using the cards for visio divina has done really good things for my prayer life.

2/2- But still I worry- what if the more conservative types are right and all use of the cards is bad? What if it's displeasing to God? I beg and pray but I can't seem to find any peace or inner sense of guidance on the topic. Can you please pray for me, and share any wisdom you might have about this? Thank you so much.

Hello, beloved--I don't think this is weird at all! There's so much fearmongering among Christians about things being Satanic or pagan or whatever else, and it's important to not give into that panic while also taking our faith seriously.

None of the people I know who have been interested in tarot do it as a religious or really even spiritual practice--for most of them, it's been a fun thing, like getting your fortune read at a county fair, and it's not something to "believe in" so much as do and think about. I also know people who, as you said, find it useful for reflection, usually for finding new ways of looking at things. I'm not scared of tarot, and I don't think it's demonic.

Christian history is full of things like opening your Bible to a random page to see what God has in store for you or protecting yourself from evil spirits or saying a certain prayer so that a saint will do something for you. Everyone has these superstitious instincts, to find stories in chance, to not waste the few things that are in our control. I don't think there's inherent evil there--evil comes when we trust these things more than God, when we look in our own actions more than God's, when we think we can know the full story, when we try to pin God down. And I don't think superstition with Christian wrappings is any less superstitious, or any more truthful, to be honest.

A lot of people fearmongering about stuff like this are scared about where it might lead--that you'll end up somewhere chanting around a human sacrifice. And of course there are people who start with harmless religious experiences and end up in evil places--lots of Christians go to a potluck and end up believing in prosperity gospel and putting their kids in conversion therapy. But I don't hear you in danger of abandoning God or of harming anyone. And any religious practice can go too far, no matter how pure its roots. What you bring to the practice makes up most of whether you are reaching out toward God with it, and we can balance it with other traditions and other impulses.

In case someone's using the Bible to scare you: what the Bible tells us about fortune-telling/magic/communing with spirits is from a very specific Ancient Israelite perspective that I'm not qualified to unpack, but we don't find it an applicable worldview today. We have different ideas of how to live in community with other religions, and religious practices serve very different functions. We don't follow Ancient Israelite cultic practices--nor do modern Jewish people, for that matter. Christian practice has developed in the past two millennia in so many directions, and barely any of it would be recognizable to the Biblical authors. I obviously trust that God gave us these writings for a reason, and am not saying to ignore them--we can find useful ideas, but not a rule book.

The tarot deck most people know was created in 1909 by an occult secret society, who used symbols from Christianity and astrology. I think it's misguided to find truth in them as they exist, but neither do I think they're inherently evil--they're archetypes, stories. They're just human. I find occult secret societies generally more silly than demonic--although there is lots of racism/cultural appropriation in their histories. I respect those who avoid tarot based on its origins, just as I respect those who won't do yoga because it's a Hindu practice. But so many things come from non-Christian origins, and we cannot throw away the world if we want to live in community with it. (Yes, we are called to be set apart from the world as Christians, but also to love it--there is the line we must walk.)

There is real Biblical precedent for avoiding a practice associated with things outside of your faith--ancient Israelite religion was very concerned with these associations. Paul did not think meat that had originally been offered to pagan gods was sinful to eat, but basically advised people not to eat it because of how it would affect others or perhaps normalize idol worship. These are things we're continually navigating, and in any Christian community you're gonna have to be clear where your faith lies and probably answer some questions. I think it's a good thing that we're called to be purposeful, and to be aware how our actions affect others.

So my general advice would be to really think about it, to do it all purposefully, paying attention to how it affects your life, relationships, and practice, and whether it's bringing you to the life you know God wants from you (one of love). But this sounds like what you're already doing! I think you care more about this than most people I know, and you're coming to God genuinely--these are gifts.

Prayer is sensory, story-filled, interactive. It's a way of moving through the world. You say this has done good things for your prayer life, and I believe you. Contemplation is a major Christian prayer tradition. Anything can give us a new perspective, anything can shove us toward the truth. You're not causing harm, and neither are you abandoning your faith. There are other people navigating the same things as you--Contemplative Tarot is a book by a Catholic tarot practitioner, and it looks really interesting. I know people who have made their own tarot cards, and I wonder what that would look like with more intentional Christian symbolism/stories, even saints. Sometimes I pick a random prayer card to say--this is coincidence, and while it's not something I'm depending on, it does affect how my day goes.

Don't fall for anything or anyone that claims to know the ultimate truth, don't fall for the people who say that tarot has ancient Egyptian/kabbalah roots, don't fall for people who are just selling you things, don't believe anyone who tells you the truth is inside you if they aren't making clear that it's God that's living there, don't base your entire religious practice on something like this. But don't throw away a way of looking at things if God has led you through it. Don't put your life in the hands of cards, but move through your life with stories and new perspectives and contemplation. God's mercies are new every morning.

I don't know if I've given you peace--maybe just more questions. The good news is, you don't have to figure it all out now, and the bad news is you'll never figure it all out. Religious practice is a continuous dialogue and negotiation with the world. I have faith in you, and in the ways God is moving in your life. Bring Jesus with you, wherever you end up--he'll come regardless, of course, but see it happening. A man with a sword or a cup doesn't know your future, nor is he doing anything--but you know that. You're seeing more of the story, you're contemplating the wonders of God, you know the swords and cups that matter, and they are present with you, and seeing them everywhere is a gift.

Something my mother says before I start anything new, or go anywhere important--what she said when I went to the psych ward, and on the first days of school, and when I go to a protest--is "remember your baptism." I think my grandfather said it to her, too. I don't know whether you've been formally baptized, but remember your calling. Remember the beginning of your journey, and why you're still on it, and how you're being a representative of it. Remember your baptism, whatever that means to you. We have been marked with the cross of Christ forever.

<3 Johanna

#asks

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prosaic-dust-bunny · 2 years

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Envy and Jealousy Part 1

Genshin Vignettes

Genshin!men x Male reader

Characters featured: Albedo, Alhaitham, Ayato, Cyno & Diluc;

Content: Fluff and a little suggestiveness in the Ayato one.

Discussion: Envy and Jealousy are hard to work through. It is possible to end up projecting your insecurities on the people surrounding you if you aren't self aware. However, all these things aren’t inherently linked to possessiveness and toxic relationship patterns. Why am I writing all this? As I’m making silly littles vignettes on envy and jealousy about 2D characters, I want to clarify that those feelings can be traced back to the values centered in our societies - namely individuality and ownership in a patriarchal and capitalist system. Traced back, not excused. All in all, we often confound acts driven by jealousy as proof of love. Jealousy in relationships is common, but I believe the way it is addressed - with open communication, is a testament to one's ability to love. In other words, if someone reflects on their jealousy and recognizes their possessiveness or need for control as issues they need to work on, that’s the real commitment towards the relationship. Jealousy can be endearing, but left unchecked it can lead quickly to a toxic relationship.

Albedo - Seated at a table near Good hunter you had your nose in a book and from time to time you glanced over at Albedo who was sketching something in front of you, probably an unsuspecting subject that had caught his eyes. You were truly grateful for those times spent in his company mostly because you had reached a point you didn’t feel the need to talk and could simply enjoy the time going by slowly in his company.

After some time, Timaeus, who was operating the alchemical crafting bench on the other side of the fountain plaza, approached and interrupted Albedo’s creative process to ask him some questions about the technicalities of the procedures he used to brew a certain potion. You didn’t make out the details, but took the opportunity to leave for the bathroom since you had been sipping on lemonade all afternoon.

When you returned you noticed how Albedo seemed somewhat displeased at answering the growing pile of questions from his colleague. When Albedo noticed your presence, he immediately excused himself away from Timaeus and pulled you by the hand in direction of the Headquarter of the Knights of Favonius. He mentioned not being able to finish your portrait because he was disturbed by the other man and wanting to make a new one somewhere you wouldn’t be bothered by anyone. Nobody encroaches on his time spent with you, those moments are yours and only yours. Leading you to his private quarters, he made sure you were the sole subject of his attention.

Alhaitham - On an early morning in Port Ormos, you and your partner made your way into a dusty library in a secondary alley of the marketplace. You were looking for a particular essay studying the theological implications of the Sefer Yetzirah or Book of Formation and the author was said to have a position that dissent from the many scholarly theories on the matter. Sadly the book itself didn’t have a lot of print and it didn’t seem like a new edition would be coming. You pushed the door of the library which made the little bell attached to it resound into the small room filled with books from floor to ceiling. You and Alhaitham went toward two different sections, browsing for the desired book from shelf to shelf.

You were soon joined by the library clerk who seemed about the same age as you. He came up to you and asked for what you were looking for. Hearing the title of the essay, he smiled and nodded, impressed that you were looking for a book about a quite controversial subject. He smiled and added that he knew as soon as he first laid eyes on you that you looked like trouble. He left momentarily to go fetch the book in question from the backstore and brought with him a piece of paper and a pen. He took a second to scribble on it and mentioned how the topic itself was quite complicated and how the essay involved advanced notions.

As he extended his arm to give you the book and the paper with his name and address on it, he offered to give you some pointers and maybe take you on a date afterwards. He was interrupted by Alhaitham, who came up from behind you. With daggers in his eyes, he said in a monotone voice that since you were a very capable researcher in the field of philosophy, early mysticism and occult traditions, you wouldn’t need him to coach you. He added that as for a date, it was something reserved for him only; his arm reaching for your waist to add weight to his words. You paid for the book with as few words exchanged as you could, not to make the transaction any more strained. Once out of the library you raised a quizzical eyebrow at your partner who still had his hand on the small of your back, seemingly pushing you the furthest away from the library clerk as possible. When it was time for you to open the book later that day, Alhatitham insisted for you to rest on him while you both read your respective publications. He also made it clear that he was available at any time for any question you could have. When you teased him about whether he was confident in your reading comprehension skills or not, you could see him try to hide the plink flush of his face behind the hardcover of Aristotle's Physics.

Ayato - Getting ready for formal events with Ayato couldn’t be considered easy. Knowing that you would be hooked on his arm during the reception or meeting related to his functions kinda instilled in his brain he had to make the most of it. You were currently putting on the exquisite kimono he had custom made for you at Ogura Textiles & Kimonos. The silk felt sumptuous to the touch and the patterns sewn into the fabric were elegant.

You emerged from behind the folding screen and Ayato placed himself a few feet in front of you to admire the view. The commissure of his lips stretched into a smile and his eyes reflected fondness and a hint of pride. He closed the distance to adjust the opening of your kimono, taking the opportunity to feel your pecs under the fabric. His forthright action caused a tremor to spread across your body. You pulled him into a kiss to which he answered with impetuosity. Soon you were left breathless, letting him explore your jaw and neck as he was leaving trails of kisses. In the haze you left your neck fully exposed allowing the Yashiro Commissioner to seal his lips on the sensitive skin at the base of your neck and suction forcefully. So that’s what he was after from the beginning.

You lightly push against him and turn your head to get in his way. He paused to calmly look at you. He then tentatively reached for one of your hands and brought it in front of his lips to kiss it tenderly before closing it in a way that allowed him to suckle on your index finger - maintaining eye contact at all times. You giggled at the sensation and with a whisper you asked him what he needed to say to have your assent. A simple «please» escaped his lips and you used your free hand to part the silky material in a way that made your neck even more accessible. Ayato released your hand, but waited for you to nod and seductively expose your neck for him. This time, Ayato took extra care to make you feel even better trailing his teeth across your neck. He once more sealed his lips near your collarbone and sucked the skin while adding little nimbles and swirling his tongue on the yet to be bruised area. In the end, the hickey was only visible if someone paid you close attention. In a way, if someone had the audacity to look at you for too long, it would be clear you had someone in your life, and that was the man’s goal.

Cyno - Who was that? Why were you walking with them in such a decontracted manner? Cyno knew your friends, but he had never met that man walking next to you. You were strolling down the streets of Port Ormos and often stopped at the various stalls along the way. He wasn’t really spying on you and he told himself repeatedly that you would never do something bad behind his back. Cyno had tailed you since he saw you in the distance with the other and couldn’t decide what was your relationship to him. Was he a former colleague? Someone you studied with? Maybe he was an ex of yours. That would explain your physical proximity and general openness. He saw you burst into laughter, not just laughter, you were cackling and needed to steady yourself by placing a hand on the unknown man's shoulder. He caught himself wishing you laughed like that to HIS jokes.

The General Mahamatra remained hidden for the rest of your stroll and watched you climb the stairs that lead to the higher floors of Port Ormos. Soon your destination was made evident, you were going directly to Shapur Hotel. A hotel of all places, the place of predilection for extra marital relationships. You weren’t married, but that wasn’t the point. You halted in front of the building and hugged the other man. Cyno knew he could trust you, but that was playing with fire at that point. You bid your goodbyes to the other and turned back.Cyno left his hiding spot and made it straight to your shared apartment.

Once he was home, he didn't have to wait long before you arrived. Cyno steeled himself in place; the interrogation was about to begin and he would have answers. As soon as he saw your face and even before you had the time to greet him properly he fell to his knees - panic stricken, and asked if you were seeing someone else. You looked at him in confusion, clueless at what would have prompted this until you put two and two together. You made him stand up and explain that you were previously with your cousin who was visiting Port Ormos and that you were showing him around. Cyno felt as relieved as he was embarrassed. He apologized and said that the outburst wasn’t really rational of him. You reassured him and hugged him tight, even though it was a misunderstanding you could feel that your lover was quite shaken about the idea of you leaving him.

Diluc - As part of the Mondstadt branch of the Adventurer Guild you had your fair share of commission and had gained a little bit of notoriety within the city of freedom. Even Katherine praised you for your versatility and hardwork. About one month ago after clearing some hillichurl camps, you took a commission from the Knights of Favonius for whom you had to make an inventory of the supplies and rations stocked at the Knights of Favonius Headquarters. You ended up being paired with Bernhard and the task took you most of your afternoon. Thankfully the knight was friendly and reliable and you were able to finish the inventory while making some arrangements to the procedures so that the inventory was systematically balanced based on consumption and replenishment of the stock. After that commission and for the following weeks Bernhard made sure that you would be asked personally to execute the Knights of Favonius commissions. Today you received one such commission from Katherine. You had to help Bernhard visit Mondstadters to raise awareness on the new evacuation measures in case of emergency in the city. The goal was to review the evacuation plan leading to the designated safety areas in case of fires or other natural disasters and what could be done for prevention and the different methods of control that minimize the damage and risks.

After all your hard work during the previous month, Bernhard wanted to emphasize that he was grateful for your help and gifted you with a basket of baked goods and sweets. You thanked the knight and left with the delicious reward to go meet your partner at Angel’s share. Diluc was already outside of the tavern and ready to go home to Dawn Winery with you. He gave you a chaste kiss as a greeting and led you towards the main gate. He noticed the basket you were holding and foraged into it trying to snag a snack for himself. You half slapped his hand saying those were gifted to you for your efforts and that if he wanted some he needed to ask for permission first. After he used the magic word you graciously offered him a flavourful moon pie.

Walking next to him you told him about your day and the commission you had taken and finally explained the gift was from Bernhard because you were the finest adventurer in all of Mondstadt. Since Diluc didn’t react at all to your playful boasting you elbowed him to get a reaction out of him. The red head apologized for lacking consideration and you continued the conversation thinking nothing of it. Your partner was probably tired after working all day. The next day you were woken up by Diluc bringing breakfast in bed. You asked what the occasion was and he answered he just felt like it. You were taking the day off so you had nothing planned and were able to enjoy the act of kindness. Your partner was a great chef and the grape juice was also a recognizable personal touch from the man you loved. In the afternoon, you were given a Cecilia bouquet most romantically and even if you tried to know what this was all about, Diluc deflected the question. In the following days you received many more gifts, little notes and it all culminated one evening when you received new gear for your adventuring duties and an invitation to spend the evening with him and a glass of apple cider.

Diluc brought you to the balcony adjacent to his room on the second floor of the manor. Once in the intimacy of his room, you stopped him in his tracks and demanded that he tell you why he was showering you with gifts. You liked everything he picked for you, but you stated you didn’t need all of it. Diluc took you in his arms and answered that he was reminded not so long ago that he had a wonderful boyfriend and it would be a shame if only some work colleagues were the ones to give him gifts. Not missing a beat Diluc suggested you both leave on the following day for a romantic getaway to Dornman Port where you could relax and spend time together without the pressure and responsibilities of Mondstadt.

#genshin impact x male reader #genshin x male reader #genshin impact fanfics #genshin headcanons #genshin fanfics #genshin fanfic #genshin ff #genshin fluff #genshin impact queer #genshin impact imagines #genshin imagines #albedo x male reader #al haitham x male reader #ayato x male reader #cyno x male reader #diluc x male reader #genshin #原神 #genshin impact

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wylanslcve · 1 month

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So if you've been following me on Instagram you would have seen me say recently that I've decided to take a step back from posting/sharing/creating Grishaverse content due to what Leigh Bardugo said (or rather what she didn't say) about the situation in Palestine. For context, during the press tour for The Familiar, an audience member asked Leigh about the justification for non-BIPOC authors profiting off BIPOC stories yet not advocating for real-life BIPOC people (since Leigh has been silent on Palestine since October, despite having expressed solidarity with Palestine in the past).

The video (which you can watch here) has been circulating the internet for a while, and I've already spoken about this on Instagram. I just forgot I had Tumblr for a second there, hence why I'm only addressing this now despite having already spoken about this. However, as someone who has an entire online presence dedicated to Leigh's work, it would be wrong and rather hypocritical of me to not address this.

Disclaimer: This is not a conversation about whether or not white/white-passing authors should be allowed to write BIPOC stories, as many people both in the comments of the original video and online generally have taken it. The issue isn't that Leigh is writing BIPOC stories - it's that she's writing them and choosing not to advocate for real BIPOC people.

The audience member asked a confronting but necessary question, and isn't harassing Leigh as many people online have interpreted it. Holding your favourite people accountable isn't "harassment", especially when that person is a successful author profiting off stories that reflect issues in the real world. Art is inherently political whether or not you want to acknowledge it. This also isn't about specifically asking Leigh this question because she's Jewish - it's because she profits off these stories and yet when these exact same issues are prevalent in the real world, suddenly they're "too political" for her to speak up about despite having expressed solidarity in the past. It has nothing to do with her being Jewish.

However, what's going on in Palestine isn't a political issue. It's basic human rights. It's about humanity, and acting as if posting about this issue is "performative" is ridiculous. I don't know what she's doing behind the scenes, so I'm not going to act as if she isn't doing anything outside of social media because I simply don't know, but when you have an online presence as big as Leigh's you should be using that platform to raise awareness and express solidarity. I understand that it's very easy to come across as "performing activism", especially on social media, but Palestinians have asked us time and time again to use our platforms to help raise awareness and amplify their voices. When you're someone like Leigh who profits off stories of the trials and tribulations of BIPOC people, the very least you can do is talk about the atrocities being committed against BIPOC people in real life.

No one is expecting you to be an expert on what's going on. If you've previously posted misinformation, why not learn from it and actually educate yourself and do better? You're literally an author who profits off stories of colonialism, oppression, dissemination, apartheid, segregation and genocide and suddenly that happening in real life is "too political"? And the amount of privilege you have to not want to get involved in talking about a real-life genocide because you "stopped being political on Instagram" is laughable. Just feeling sad about it isn't going to do anything. It doesn't erase the fact that an entire people are being ethnically cleansed in a genocide you refuse to talk about.

The Grishaverse means so much to me, it's gotten me through some extremely tough periods of my life, but I cannot in good conscience continue to support an author who chooses silence over her own humanity. All she had to say in response to that question was "free Palestine", but she instead said something akin to "I know about what's going on and I know silence and feeling sad about it probably isn't enough, but I'm just not going to do anything about it". Again, I know she's advocated for Palestine in the past, but why not continue doing so? No one is stopping her - she's actively chosen to stop.

As for my accounts? I'm still deciding what to do with them. I won't be deleting them, I'm not going anywhere, but I won't be posting edits or sharing analyses or general posts about the Grishaverse until Leigh decides to do better. This blog will probably turn into a multifandom blog, but who knows at this point. All I know is that I won't be promoting Leigh's work.

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olderthannetfic · 1 year

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While we're having discussions on this blog about POC in fandom and white fans being assholes about depiction of POC: I'm Pashtun. Many of us have red hair. Many of us in more culturally diverse areas have married darker skinned Central Asian people or married Arabs who have moved to areas we live in, or, in the US, married Arab people who exist alongside us in the same immigrant majority communities. I've gotten some snide remarks about how ridiculous it is that one of my OCs is redheaded and not white, but that happens. It's not the most prominent gene or universal, of course, black hair is a more dominant gene, but it's not unheard of for a Pashtun/non-Pashtun family to have one kid with red hair. My brother is married to an Arab woman and three of their kids have black hair, but one of them has red hair just like his.

Before people say things like "you're not committing to having him be a POC" or "that's not how that works, redheads are pale", I think people should pause. A lot of things exist in places you aren't aware of, because the Earth is huge and human beings exist in an endless combination of places and appearances. There are Amazigh people with light skin and 4c hair, even if media featuring Amazigh people almost never shows that. There are Pashtun people with red hair and dark skin. Blue eyes exist in some people in Egypt, like Bassem Yusuf, for instance.

I know some character designs aren't great. Some people sexualize only their non-white OCs, which is always weird, or write their black OCs as dressing unprofessionally in whatever the author thinks is cool hip-hop clothing despite being a lawyer (shoutout to people in my fandom who just all got flashbacks), etc. But a combination of traits you may not be used to isn't inherently bad character design. Sometimes it's just reflecting a part of reality you're unfamiliar with. Instead of assuming the worst, maybe try asking, "Is this character [insert race you assume them to be]/mixed race?" so the author can reply without the awkwardness that comes from being told, "I thought he was Arab but you're not committing to having him be a POC". That sets a confrontational tone that is really not necessary imo.

As hostile as fandom is sometimes, I know this might not be easy, but I think people should extend others some good faith before jumping to the worst possible conclusion.

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nautilusopus · 2 months

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Do you have any advice for anyone trying to get into writing?

Not really a motivation thing or anything, just for improvement. Your writing has captivated me, and I felt like it's better to get advice from an author that is reachable than reading a ton of articles online regurgitating the same steps.

Aw, thank you, I'm honoured!

Apologies if this is kind of a mess, I mostly went through stuff I come back to a lot that helps me. Also tumblr seems to have removed the ability to do indented bullets. Fucking great.

In General:

When I'm first starting out writing a story I'm excited about, I usually don't do things in order -- I'll instead pick one scene I can see extremely clearly and am super excited about, one of the things that made me want to write the story to begin with, and then build the entire outline out from there to set it up (what needs to happen to set the scene up exactly how I want it to be? How do I justify that stuff? What would happen afterwards that would add to the scene even more in retrospect?) This not only helps keep the energy going for parts of the story that might not necessarily be fun to plan, but will inherently cause you to start building a story that is either circumstantially or thematically building to something. It can be something as small as a single conversation but it should be the bit that you personally want to see realised most strongly.

On that note, people like when they can see foreshadowing! That's what it's there for! This has been said by other people plenty, but I'll restate it here: the audience potentially being able to piece together your twist after a while is not a failure in writing, it means you put information into a story that allowed them to engage with it and conveyed something that made sense.

I personally sometimes (but not always mostly due to laziness and because I do try to approach shit chronologically so I don't have to double back and do massive rewrites, also due to laziness) like to write big keynote moments of character arcs in full in advance once I have the whole plot more or less laid out. That way, I know what's coming emotionally speaking and can have characters start clearly building up to things, do stuff like plant specific phrases that come back in big ways or are recontextualised later on, and it makes the story feel more cohesive as a whole and helps the scene hit a whole lot harder when you do get to it. Like I said though I'm lazy and I also don't like creating more work for myself if I don't have to, and if by chance the story doesn't shake out the way I thought it would by the time I get to that moment then god is it a pain to rewrite that sort of thing.

¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Mostly I find it helps keep me focused on where it's going. It's a late stage thing though, I don't start doing this until I'm sure I know how the story will be laid out more or less chapter by chapter, which brings me to:

GO BACK AND CHECK IF YOU HAVE A MIDDLE OF YOUR STORY. ARE YOU SURE? GO BACK AND CHECK AGAIN. This is like the number one pitfall I see basically everywhere across any genre, both with fanfiction and professionally (and in movies always winds up manifesting in reviews as "the movie gets kind of aimless after a while/the third act kinda starts out of nowhere after a really slow part). People have an idea for a strong beginning, the rising action and the big dramatic moment when the stakes are raised, maybe a quiet moment in the middle reflecting on all the tension of the plot and how it's reflecting on the characters, a thing that sets off the end, probably an idea how it ends and how things resolve, et cetera -- and they will forget that at no point did they actually create any connective tissue between their plot development points. Travel! Character beats! The actual events in between big beat A and big beat B, no matter how barebones! Go back and check if you've made any!

As someone that writes a lot of heavily character-driven stuff I'm very biased here, but: in my opinion, if you have good, solid characters, they can carry even the most barebones dogshit story because they are the lenses that the audience is experiencing the world from and through, and whose actions are potentially shaping the course of the story, and of course who the reader is getting attached to. Conversely, even the richest, most lavishly detailed world and story is going to land with a thud if your characters aren't any good and don't have any more to them than making various political developments happen, because at that point you don't have a story with different elements interacting with each other to create events and tension, you have a lore wiki, which is not the same thing as a story. Maybe you could use that for a tabletop RPG, but people aren't necessarily gonna want to read it.

RELATED: JRRT was a linguist and historian first and a writer second. Lore is great and all and can help your world feel like it's a living breathing place, but think about if it's a good detail to include onscreen or not, or if it's just there to "flesh out the world". Stop to consider if this actually has a demonstrable effect on the things happening in front of the reader or not, and if anyone would notice if it were removed outright. Can some things be assumed? What might need to be explained?

Keep an eye on narrative voice versus character voice! If I stripped the dialogue tags from your story, could you still tell who was talking? Does everyone just talk like the narration? Like each other? Like you? Everyone is gonna sound like you at least a tiny bit because you're the one writing it, but at least try to keep an eye on how much you're doing that. It can be pretty boring to just listen to one guy talk the entire time across multiple mouths haha don't look at how long this post is getting shhhhhh

Any story (but especially horror, and especially especially cosmic horror), lives and dies by its suspension of disbelief. The rules don't need to be realistic because it is all made up, and they can be any rules you want, and if you establish them clearly then the audience will buy in as best they can because they want to engage with your story on its own terms (or they SHOULD grumble grumble but that's another discussion and not really something the author can control), but then once you've made them you need to stick to them, or when you do break them it should wind up meaning something.

Suspension of disbelief in horror or fantasy can be trickier, especially when it's something weird and the rules aren't even mechanically sound in their own setting. In that case, the important thing to preserve is emotional stakes the audience can buy into, about how this situation might feel to be in, or if there are any things in real life it might feel similar to. This one's more intuitive than you'd think. Sure, you might not know that the veil of reality is flimsy and all it would take to destroy it all is to get noticed by something much vaster than you could ever imagine; but you probably DO know what it's like to be one missed rent payment from losing everything and realising your safety was really all that never sound. I don't even flinch if someone's head explodes into gore in a movie, but I'll always wince and look away if someone has their fingers crushed or their eye pierced, because even though the violence is lesser I can imagine that happening to me and I don't like it one bit!

Horror can potentially struggle with this pretty badly. Unless you're writing a slasher where the point is to watch some dumb teens bite it, your movie won't actually be scary unless the audience can in some way feel endangered, and they won't be able to do that if what is going on is too disconnected from anything a human could experience. Writers tend to get fixated on making a Really Gross Scary Thing(TM) or Biggest Evilest Threat Evar(TM) and assuming their job is done.

There's no one right or wrong way to do something, but be aware that sometimes things tend to come up in stories a lot for a reason. The tools you have are just tools. Complaining a story has tropes in it is like complaining a tree is made of wood.

That said, if you're thinking of your story entirely in terms of which tropes you want to use, it may be time to take a step back and think about what you actually want to accomplish rather than mushing the same paste into the same holes for the 800th time (more on that later).

Dialogue. If it's something you struggle with, remember that chances are you're a person that knows how to talk, and so you inherently know how to create dialogue. The biggest pitfall I see is people overthinking it trying to "Write Dialogue in this Story" rather than just typing an idea the way they know inherently that it would be typed. If you wanna try and capture a much different voice, spend time listening to people -- and I mean really listening. People double back, correct themselves, trail off, change their train of thoughts in the middle, do more or less of these things when they're in a certain emotional state depending on their personality.

Frankly I'd spend time listening to real people anyway. Spend too much time online and characters wind up sounding like Twitter threads, or worst case scenario you wind up with perfectly articulated ideas and Therapy Speak. A character might not have the vocabulary you, someone who has been online for eighty to ninety years (est) would to convey specific ideas, and not everyone is perfectly self-aware about what they're saying. Someone's probably more likely to say "fuck you I had a bad day" than they are to go "gosh i dislike how much your own success reminds me of how my own mother held me to impossibly high standards so i have very high rejection sensitivity which is why i'm lashing out". Or, again, if someone does talk like that make it mean something. It could be a good example of someone either being insincere and going through keywords to shut someone up, or someone that's very socially awkward giving a rehearsed speech, and those are all potentially interesting ways to then take a story.

(Sidenote because I see this come up sometimes: Hate to single out a single genre here, but anime and by extent video games but mostly anime is a bad place to learn to write dialogue from -- if you're listening to a dub, they had to translate stuff from Japanese and then make it fit lip flaps on a screen, and if you're watching subs, not only were the subs translated but anime trends heavily towards melodrama and Japanese people typically do not speak that way.)

You gotta know the rules before you can break 'em! Read books. Actual books I mean, not just fanfic. Broaden your horizons. When you start breaking rules it will be because it's what you want to do.

Personal nitpicks, some fandom specific and some not. I'm aware some of these are basic but also you never know who might need to hear this stuff so:

Hentai is not a good place to learn about writing actual sex. It's a great place to learn about sex that is following pure porn rules, in which case go nuts and godspeed soldier, but unless you want your scene to come off as either unintentionally rapey or full of nonsensical leaps of moon logic when you're trying to write an otherwise somewhat grounded setting, you should probably read actual books meant for actual adults about fucking, or pull from your own experiences if you're able.

* This isn't advice but I want it known at this point I've seen at least three fanfics clearly written by a middle schooler that's never fucked before and honest-to-god genuinely seems to think some degree of omegaverse is how actual sex works. So that'll be interesting to encounter going forward. If you aren't committing to porn rules (there's that "the rules can be anything you want so long as they're internally consistent" bit again!) do research is my point.

If you started your character creation with their outfit and can tell me their star sign, bust measurements, the four shirts plus jacket plus socks plus shoes they're wearing, the kind of weapon they can summon, eye colour, hair colour, skin colour, height and weight, their agility score versus their magic score, and their favourite ice cream flavour, and yet you have one paragraph about "personality", your focus might not be in the right place and you are making an MMO character. That's fine for something you're going to be staring at the back of for 200 hours but maybe not for someone you're going to need to live inside the head of. Start with personality, and you can tailor all that fun back cover dossier stuff around who that person is and how it would inform the way they dress.

Bad child dialogue is my biggest pet peeve personally and I will immediately put a book down when I encounter it lol. A bigger portion of people are around children than you think and will notice if you've never interacted with a kid before. Children are not cavemen and do not talk like them. The gaps in their vocabulary tend to come from them having a limited amount of it and adapting new phrases into the few existing frameworks they have. This carries over to their psychology, by the way.

Specific to cosmic horror: you can't just make a Gross Thing, your horrors need actual motivations. Nobody cares how big of a squid you can invent, and going "uhhh it's so scary I don't have to bother can't describe it" can only work so many times and is not an excuse to at least not try to describe something. How it makes the characters feel, what the experience is like, whatever. Now, you don't ever have to tell the readers directly what the motivations of your old gods are, but you the writer should come up with some to shape their behaviour so the readers can see the inscrutable ghosts of clear patterned actions that almost make sense yet remain just outside human comprehension oooooooooo. Also readers can generally tell when that's missing and all you have is Large Squid Scary doing random gross shit so it's not an excuse to skimp.

Stop using hair epithets. Stop using hair epithets. Stop using hair epithets. Stop using hair epithets. Stop using hair epithets. Stop using hair epithets. We have pronouns. We have context clues. We have sentence structures that convey what is going on to the reader. We have nouns. If you are going to constantly refer to your character as The Brunette it better be hugely massively goddamn significant that her hair is brown or it's gonna become clear real fast that you just ran out of ways to phrase things and it's gonna take people right out of the story. If the only way you can think of to describe your character in an intense emotional scene is "uhhh this is the one with the brown hair remember I hope you didn't forget" then that's code fucking red. Stop using hair epithets. Stop using hair epithets. Stop using hair epithets. Stop using hair epithets. Stop using hair epithets. Stop using hair epithets.

And the two biggest bit of advice I can come up with for people trying to improve their craft that I give out every time:

1 Have a point. Have a clearly identified reason in your mind about what you want to accomplish with this story. This will help you get your thoughts in order when you are stuck, it will help you outline the story if you're not sure where you want it to go next, it will help other people troubleshoot with you if you aren't sure how to start solving a problem, it will help you make decisions about what and what not to include to help it feel complete, and it will help motivate you when you start to lose track of why you even started this project. Saying "well it's a Vampire AU and I want to do Hurt/Comfort with an ambiguous ending and a BAMF!Scrongus with Soft!Cromgle" doesn't tell me a damn thing, either as a reader OR as someone potentially trying to help you whip the thing into shape. That's a bit like asking, "How do I write a Cute yet Cool character?" like bitch I don't know it's your story there are a million ways to write this stuff and yes that is a real question I got asked once.

Instead, have an actual, identifiable goal that is personal to you, what you want to write, and what you have to say. That can be anything from "I have a lot of strong opinions about why gender is, across the breadth of experiences possible with human consciousness, a zero sum game that must be internally and deliberately engaged with before one is then able to determine their own relationship to it" to "oh man i love the idea of Mark from Accounts Receivable one day going apeshit and beating Jake from Auditing half to death with an office chair and the fallout that would generate and maybe also someone FINALLY FINALLY asks him for the first time 'hey dude are you okay do you wanna talk'" to "god it'd be so hot if this guy were bent over a pool table drooling onto the velvet and i am going to do everything in my power to facilitate that somehow". Either way, clear mission statement and goal that isn't just telling me what tags you're slapping on the finished product! If you have that kind of clarity of vision it will come across in your piece and resonate with people because it's a complete thought that the work is able to deliberately showcase, instead of just churning out Content™ that fits certain templates that are popular, even if you like said templates. What do you have to say? Why did this idea stick in your brain so hard you had to write it down and tell the world about it? What parts of it especially did you want to convey so badly? Show us!

2 Writing is vulnerability by proxy. Until we get the technology for brain uploading, you are only going to ever be you in your own head with your own thoughts, experiences, biases, and worldviews. If you think you can write something without exposing a lot of really revealing shit about yourself to an audience that notices it, perish that thought now. Quentin Tarantino and HP Lovecraft weren't slick about it and you won't be either. This is neither a bad thing or a good thing, it just is, and whether it affects the work for better or for worse is honestly dependent upon how you engage with that fact. I will say trying to back away from it generally leads to problems (unexamined prejudices showing up in stories, worldviews that it turns out most people don't share going stated simply as fact rather than being supported by the writing around it). It can also lead to a stronger story, though, if you're willing to engage with it. Engaging honestly with what scares you and why, what you find comforting, uplifting, upsetting, et cetera. All of these require vulnerability, and allowing other people to see that, and it's going to happen with your without your consent because you're the one writing the thing, so you may as well make peace with it and lean in. "But what if it's cringe" too late baby most things are cringe and that shouldn't be your focus. You are fighting a losing battle. We are all cringe. But we are free.

Hope this helps. I just know I've left half a sentence fragment in here that I said I'd come back to and then forgot oh god

#asks #Anonymous #spitegarbage

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cloudbells · 10 months

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Fantasy racism is one of my least favorite things in fiction writing, ever. Because why do 90% of people attempting to tackle it do it so wrong and honestly their depiction makes me wonder about their real life views.

Like the biggest reason why real life racism is so evil and nonsensical is because the only inherent different among races is the pigment of someone's skin.

So when you, as a writer, attempt a racism allegory like "Oh this race of people were once VIOLENT and DESTRUCTIVE SAVAGES, but are now docile and there's no reason to fear them anymore 🥺" it really gets on my last nerve cause that's not the take away!

Imma bash Zootopia for a bit, okay. The predator class (literally predators God help me) are being given this drug that reduces them to their base instincts which is kill and eat the prey class in the movie. The prey class has very real and very valid and historical reasons to fear their literal natural predators. And the lesson is "You shouldn't discriminate against people different from you just because of what they were born as" but that's horrifically awful for a racism allegory because oppressed races in real life did NOTHING to justify the fear and ire of their oppressors!

I saw someone else say this, but a better example of fantasy racism would be in a cat world. Where all cats live in harmony except for black cats because they're seen as a bad omen and a sign of bad luck because they are born with black fur. Nothing INHERENTLY wrong, but simply an aesthetic difference and baseless stereotypes that causes them to be discriminated against.

"But user cloudbells fiction is fiction and not everything is meant to reflect the real world-" don't care + authors literally cite their inspiration being real world bigotry + writing doesn't exist in a vacuum + it's just bad thematic plotting + ur wrong and probably annoying.

#me my mine #ramblings of the a.m.#racism #fantasy racism #im going to sleep now #no nonsense allowed in my notes

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reductionisms · 11 days

Text

circle, line

A circle and a line look different, right?

What about now?

Time in gintama is a useless subject. Unfortunately, it is also a prerequisite to the gintama-human ontology. Thus, with a heavy heart, I look at lines, loops, and other unlikely time-mechanics in order to construct a gintama time for the gintama-human.

Throughout this pseudoscientific inquiry, I locate gintama time– which I eventually call [time], for lack of better notation– in my thematic abuse of two mathematical concepts: irrationality and uncountable infinity. To give away the end, [time] is an uncountable infinity born in irrationality. Which, even to its own creator, makes little sense.

Finally, this is my defense of the gintama time loop. Why? Well, I like loops and loop-like things, and, after all, we want good things to last, to repeat. So this turns out to be a love letter to algebraic topology. Sorry time loop fiction.

Onto more interesting things.

preliminary time notes

To think about time in gintama, I bracket [real world time] from [the narrative structure of gintama, which follows a time] and [time as characters in gintama experience it, i.e. personal time]. The latter two time-categories reflect [real world time] because gintama is written by an author, who, by virtue of existing, lives in [real world time]. That is, while narrative is fun because you can play with reality to make something new (e.g., time loop, time travel, non-chronological narratives in general), creation still requires building blocks, which are ultimately some sort of known assumption, that inevitably require some understanding of actual Time.

All this to say I look at [narrative time] and [personal time] through philosophies about [real world time], which themselves are not especially real; in other words, my methodology is kind of shit.

the situation– personal time

Otae announces the whole of gintama in chapter one.

This is gintama’s genetic code.

To speak of time here is to note a few things:

1. amanto possess advanced technology;

2. humans are forced to throw away their physical swords;

3. the sword of the soul.

The sword is a tool*; later chapters tell us that it “carries the soul”. So the sword represents, or, rather, is, something irreplaceable to humanity, that relates to the soul and personhood. This much is corroborated by the plot cycle.

With contrast to the sword, time appears impersonal. We conceive of time, at least scientifically, as the movement between past to present, present to future, stretching infinitely before and after, where our existence does not matter to its flow.

But would “time” exist without anyone to observe it?

Alternatively, how can “time” be experienced as time– as a movement– without anything to measure it?

The human must “create” “time”, if only because it would not be “time” without a person to observe and call it as such. What this person perceives, they conceptualize as movement (measurement); and thus there must be a prior position to reference, or, in the least, a default– a memory.

So “time” requires the present to be given by a prior; that is, for “time” to be experienced, the human who observes it needs already given into a past. The past itself (“knowledge” of the histories that make us who we are, “knowledge” of the tools that allow us to intend various things)– i.e., its inherent “given-ness” to us– depends upon it outliving those who live it. Thus various contexts, with their technologies, arts, and writing (though these are not really separable), function also to contain the essential past-as-memory for those who use and engage with them.

Alright, great, but what does this have to do with the dick-and-balls manga? Nothing, really, except for everything. The amanto (with futuristic technology, in futuristic contexts**) force humans to give up their swords. It would be ridiculous to talk about what the “sword” means here. Suffice to say that it carries (an assumed) cultural-historical weight, an (idealized) memory. We would expect that its dispossession disrupts temporality. And it does– hence the “time loop”.

People love to talk about cyclical time in gintama. It is the same situations, over and over again; that no one ages, injuries heal by the next chapter, and, more than serial-typical regressions, that there is a sense that things won’t work, that important change won’t last, that life “just gets worse and worse”. Time as lasting change– or what we like to call “linear time”– doesn’t feel like it exists.

To return to chapter one. Here the central conflict is not actually between amanto and human; it is between Shinpachi and Otae. Their dying father tells them that even if they give up their physical swords (memory, past), they are not to lose the sword in their soul (?unknown). Sword-less Shinpachi resents him. Rather than “cling to the past”, he tries to adapt to the “linear time” of the amanto: he works in modern food service, gives up on the dojo, and, most importantly, opposes Otae.

What does Otae do? We might expect her to inverse Shinpachi, that is, to “embrace” cyclicality, which would be to give up. She doesn’t. Otae tries to adjust, to make a living and survive, but, unlike her brother, she does so also to protect the “thing she can never take back”. This, as Shinpachi points out, is ridiculous, unrealistic, and makes no sense. And yet it is Otae who is thematically vindicated in the end.

From the first chapter, then, we can construct a sense of [personal time (to the characters)]. Again, for change to exist, there must be a prior form; that is, a certain sort of time is what makes change (technological, political, situational advancement) possible. Further, the self is involved in the process of time. Thus when the self is not whole (lacks the sword), time, and thereby change, becomes cyclical. So “time”, to the amanto, advances, because they can work with their external “selves” (technology, worlds, knowledge-memory) to “make change”. But time, to humanity, loops back on itself, is stopped, because humanity is bereft of its self and can only return to the starting point.

We notice that humans still live in a world where time progresses– where time goes on without them. There is a split between the time of the self and the time of the world. Shinpachi decides to do away with memory and join the world-time, the “linear time”, that is, the time of futuristic technology and change; but his sister, who goes along with this and drags the past with her, does much better.

For a more thorough application of this thought, please rewatch the monkey hunter arc.

*It is also (obviously) a dick. **This reveals some connection between the concepts of “tool”, “context”, and time. Though I say so inverse-facetiously, since nothing about gintama can be taken as if it were serious.

time loop– narrative time

So what about infinity?

Personal time is not infinity. In a first sense, it simply is not infinite– characters die. In a second sense, even considering that memory can be (haphazardly) preserved beyond a lifetime, especially in a story, humanity as a whole is finite– there comes a point, eventually, where no one is left to do the remembering. And in a third sense, personal time is still a string of pasts that were once presents, into futures that will be presents; though this finite string might divide into an infinite number of presents, its divisibility renders it still essentially patterned, which is to say that it is not really “infinity”– it is still mathematically countable.

I mentioned a dysfunction of personal time into cyclical (“un-change-able”) personal time. This is associated with sword-less-ness, equivalently memory-loss, equivalently not being a whole self. The fun of stories is that “character” can be projected into the structure of the story itself; it would make sense for cyclical personal time to have some correspondence to, or at least effect on, narrative time, that is, narrative structure.

At this point I should be more general about the time loop.

The time loop is thought to stand opposed to “linear time” in the stagnation-change, lack-presence, circle(hole)-line([censored]) dichotomy. Specifically, the time loop is opposed to “linear time” in the sense that nothing (usually) changes in a time loop. Or, more exactly, change is slow, nothing gets “better” in any real sense. Again, only where time flows “linearly" can we build off of what is prior, can we intend and achieve a future, can we change for the better (or so we assume). Thus the time loop carries a sort of moral condemnation in its very structure— a karmic debt, if you will.

Characters in plots get thrown into time loops because something has gone wrong. Whether or not they are the direct cause, the character must “figure something out”, “learn a lesson”, that is, address the problem that created the time loop, which will almost always be related to a step within the story of their self-development, in order to escape it. The point of the story is to escape it. This is just how stories go.

Then the gintama narrative “time loop” is barely a time loop. It repeats itself, sure, and no one ages, but that’s because no one should age in a wsj serial and sorachi tried to be funny about it. Still, some lingering sense of futility, or maybe just the sheer repetition of the same event for 16 years of serialization, weighs on anyone who reads it. This kind of feels like time loop fiction; there should be a point to the plot cycles. What are they trying to force Gintoki to do, to show us in his character? What are they aiming for, what is driving the “time loop” in the first place?

Takasugi is driving the time loop.

(More specifically, Takasugi’s crushed eye-ball (soul), his eyelid; inaccessible past (memory), is driving the time loop.)

Another clarification. Personal time is time as experienced by the person; it is pure interiority. Thus, while the world moves on– personal time is time as movement– the person may not.

For the person to move on, they must be able to make change, that is, from a prior form, give birth to the next form. This is because only the person can observe, know, and experience “time”, which itself is a movement (a change in position) from past to present, present to future, that is defined by the person. So change and time-as-movement, within personal time, look synonymous.

Further, movement in personal time requires the given past– the memory, from before me, passed down to me by people and places and things and contexts that I outlive– to be held by me, to be part of the “I”, and thus for my bodily self and my non-embodied self to generate personal time together. In gintama, I locate “memory” as the sword. But gintama’s sword is also part of the Self; so personal time in which the Self can move is only born out of a whole self. Equivalently, personal time is not the Self, but it is intimately related to a change that can only be wrought by the Self, which is to say, both my body and my given memory are necessary to the movement of personal time.

In any case, “gin-tama” is about Gin-toki, and, quite literally, his soul, so we would suspect that narrative time is a projection of Gintoki’s personal time. But narrative time cycles weirdly, and Gintoki still has his sword. Alternatively: if Gintoki was not already a Self, that is, if he had to learn some lesson to become a Self through the time loop, how could he have saved any of the endless roster of villains that conveyor-belts around him? So maybe Gintoki holds his sword without remembering– except that he doesn’t, and the story makes this clear (“I haven’t lost a single thing”). He does, however, seem to possess a slightly different personal time. He and his sword remind antagonists of what they’ve forgotten, and these antagonists sometimes move forward with him into the next cycle. In other words, there is some sort of movement, a change, in the narrative, in the structure, associated with each loop.

But cycles stay cycles, up to a very particular moment.

At which point I revert to the most obvious advantage of narrative time: it interacts with the readers. Gintoki “is” a Self (in the sense that an electron is both a wave and a particle), who carries his sword, who remembers, who hasn’t lost a single thing. Yet the time around him repeats the same events, over and over again. Why? Well, in part for the above: every gintama villain needs to learn the same lesson. But every gintama villain is also Gintoki, and even if he remembers, we don’t. To risk being redundant, we, as readers, have no idea what actually happened to him until chapter 519, when it is fished (unwillingly, I think) out of Takasugi’s eyelid.

Then narrative time functions in several senses. It relates to Gintoki’s personal time, but indirectly; more generally it looks like a projection of the Losers’ personal times, where a Loser is one who has lost their sword. Still every Loser is also Gintoki, and every lost sword is lost memory, and even if Gintoki hasn’t forgotten anything– and even if Gintoki carries his past, his sword, with him– we, the readers, don’t. Surely enough, historical time in gintama only begins after chapter 519. The revelation must precede it.

So the gintama time loop is driven forward by whatever it takes for this memory to be revealed. Each iteration brings us closer, but there is no lesson for Gintoki to learn that would speed this up; the heart of it is that he is waiting, he has to wait, for memory to return, for his past to come back to him, and this past is exactly Takasugi.

Why? Takasugi is the past (his eye, his eyelid, is the past); his eye is therefore Gintoki’s sword, the sword of the soul we need for time to move on. But 10 years jump before Takasugi can make the approach, and even then only from behind. Worse, it takes hundreds more chapters for him to work up the resolve to face Gintoki head on. So if Gintoki somehow constrains the world to cyclical time, equally so does Takasugi.

In short, narrative time cannot move until Takasugi’s eye becomes Gintoki’s sword. Thus half of the loop is about Gintoki always standing up again, always waiting for Takasugi to face him, and the other half of the loop, that is, its motivation, is about Takasugi working up the guts, or whatever he does throughout the series, to finally come at Gintoki* face to face. Yes, I’m equating circles and lines, which is silly. But I did this in the beginning anyways. Rewatch the final.

So why does this matter? Readers well-versed in gintama sword theo-ontology may recognize that the sword which is memory is identical to the sword of the human. This is partly because I’ve defined personal time to require the whole Self (the human) to move, which itself requires both the sword-as-memory and its human wielder. It is also because I’ve equated Takasugi to memory instead of treating him like a character (sorry Takasugi). Nevertheless, creation of the human sword (the memory-sword) is now essential to creating time, and creating time is now equivalent to completing the Self, that is, to becoming “human”. Put another way, Shouyou isn’t killed until Gintoki kills him in 519.

More specifically, Gintoki killing Shouyou undoubtedly completes (undoes) his humanity**. It is also the only way for anyone in gintama to have a future, because it creates, gives birth, to time, the time of the series. Further, its revelation births time in the present just as its actuality births time in the past: the Gintoki who swings his human sword, who cries, in Takasugi’s eye, is the one who swings it at him now. Gintama doesn’t actually timeskip until Gintoki kills Utsuro in silver soul.

Then the movement of time, both personal and narrative, requires three things:

1. a memory-sword (the human sword) (the sword of the soul);

2. a human to wield it;

3. and a decision on how to swing

I have discussed one and two to exhaustion. Now we turn to three.

*Gintoki is always Takasugi, in every case. The inverse holds as well. **It also completes Shouyou’s, but that is for later.

in defense of the time loop

Birthing time looks like an escape from the time loop.

This is where the division between time, self, and change becomes essential. Why does the time loop, in many treatments, depress its readers? For the same reason that any tragedy is depressing: fate, un-change-ability, specifically, un-change-ability of things we want to change.

The time loop is a “literalization” of tragedy. The person trapped in the time loop, at best, loses the ability to determine their future, accomplish their projects, do what they want and have it last, that is, to find lasting (exterior) meaning (this is all exterior). At worst, this person carries their incapacity into a loop that is the same tragedy, over and over again, which they are helpless to prevent or change in any way.

This setup is not exclusive to the time loop– other variations could be immortality, reincarnation, oracles, endless linear eternity, et cetera. In every instance, though, the tragedy is that people cannot change the things that matter. And while the time loop usually removes external change to provoke internal change in its protagonist, gintama characters also struggle with the impossibility of changing themselves.

More generally, though, real time isn’t actually cyclical or linear. We move through time, changing form, towards our death– and so the common thought of time is “linear time”, which is really about “linear change” and an inability to “go back”. But time is only known to us, only countable, because of its cyclicality. There are 60 seconds to a minute; 60 minutes to an hour; 24 hours to the day; and then this repeats the next minute, the next hour, the next day; and then the next month, and then the next season, and then the next year; and then it repeats all over again. Time is only measurable, knowable, existent to us because it repeats. If it wasn’t known beforehand, how could we measure the present, the future, against it? And for it to be knowable, it has to be familiar; and for it to be familiar, we must have encountered it before; and here is the inherent repetition– we can’t stop the cyclicality or flow of time anymore than we can avoid our deaths. Real time makes possible our “change” just as it is unchangeable, just as its existence is conditioned on unchangeability.

Gintama is a story, and story time works differently than real time, so maybe in the story we can separate “linear time” (change-ability) from “cyclical time”, from “time loop” (un-change-ability). Even still, what happens after you escape a time loop? Equivalently, what happens after you escape the tragedy? In the usual time loop– at least the usual time loop in our minds– the loop is escaped into linear time, or, more appropriately, it is escaped into the time where linear change is possible. But why is “linear time” the happy ending? Even granted that it exists (which is questionable), what makes linearity better than repetition, that is, why do people love “linear change”?

The Joui 4 lived “linear time” during the war. They fought enemies, and won. They progressed towards something, and believed in it, too; they were the main characters of a power-scaling, battle-shounen manga. And yet, their linear time ended, or more accurately, was never “linear”. Shouyou’s death, if anything, only proved the inherent impossibility of their shounen dreams. So narrative time twists into defeatist cycles, and Takasugi is doomed forever to repeat, and this is probably more accurate to the condition of the actual world they inhabit, because, most importantly, time was always like this, linear change as linear time never existed.

But again, the tragedy was never about the time loop. From its inception, the tragedy has always been about intentionality versus ruination, “I” as capable actor versus “I” as acted upon, and the utter inability of anyone to change any of this. We want out of the time loop because we can’t do anything; we want out because we can’t act out of ourselves to make external change in any way that lasts. Ultimately, we want out of the time loop because we discover that our intentionality actually means jackshit. The world does what I don’t want it to, and traps me in this; I cannot act, and yet it acts on me. My despair at the exterior world which rivets me to itself quickly translates to despair in, at, my self. I can’t make change, so what does being [x person] matter, so this is my fault, so there’s no point in changing myself, so I can’t change myself in any way that matters, because even if I do everything right, there’s no meaningful effect on the world that holds me captive, et cetera. Thus everyone wants out of the tragedy, the time loop.

Including gintama villains, who usually try to get out of it by killing themselves. This never works.

The time loop is tragic because it makes its inhabitants absolutely passive to it and acts on them eternally. The gintama cast is supposedly full of “losers”; its villain of the week, while beating Gintoki, calls him a masterless dog, a ghost, the one who lost, along with the rest of the samurai, et cetera; and the loser here is inherently passive against a winning actor. Nevermind that Gintoki never fought for the Romantic Japan that lost to the amanto– his loss is even more infinite for the narrowness of its scope.

And yet, you’re not supposed to kill yourself.

Escaping the time loop– or, more generally, the tragedy– never guarantees linear time, because we always have to end the book on the happily ever after. So what really happens after you escape the time loop– is linear time actually a relief? Either things start going wrong, which isn’t the linear time ideal, or you achieve every dream, you make possible every impossibility, and come to the end of the infinite series by continuing on within it infinitely. Is that really “happy”?

Alternatively: the cycles of narrative time drive towards the birth of a new time. But the tragedy of the cycles is intentionality/ruination, and the cycles can’t be escaped into their “opposite”. Gintoki, a human, with a human sword, kills Shouyou, and thereby brought forth a new time. And yet, this new time was still cyclical.

Then what’s the solution– killing yourself? Takasugi, repetition Personified, asks this to Gintoki the entire series. Why won’t you stay down?, [Why are you crying?], [Why can’t I comfort you?], Why keep living in this world? Villainy aside, he does have a point– if you look carefully, living in the gintama world is incredibly, incredibly stupid.

Gintoki says: no matter how many times I fall, no matter how many times I fight the same fight over and over again, no matter if it never ends, I will always stand up.

This is the height of stupidity.

[time]

So narrative cycles aim at the revelation of Gintoki’s memory, which would identify sword with eye, tool with wielder, that is, complete the “human”, and thereby give birth to a new (non-linear) time.

Here we get to mathematical infinity.

Mathematical infinity is not a number, or even properly a concept. It’s more like a sign at the edge of a cliff that says, there’s a cliff here, here’s the end of the world– except that this sign also signifies whatever, and everything, that might lie beyond the cliff, which cannot really be called “essence”, or even be said to exist in the first place. In other words, infinity is a marker for a point of no return, that in of itself is nothing.

Some things are said to be “infinite”. Usually, these are patterns. A line is infinite, as is a parabola; but these infinities are predictable, that is, countable, because patterns are rules. Their comprehensibility allows us to treat them like fancy numbers.

Conversely, some functions decompose into situations that are entirely ungraspable. This edge of knowledge, where it devolves into paradox and nonsense, looks like uncountable infinity.

Uncountable infinity is the infinity whose name itself means nothing. It signifies to something that is, by axiom, impossible impossibility, ungraspable. When infinity “interacts” with the mathematical world– or, rather, when we push far enough to reach it– we come to paradox, chaos, and unintelligibility. Certainly, science could advance sufficiently to reconcile the mysteries of particle physics; but the fun of mathematical concepts is that you can define them in any way you like, even if they’re fake. And uncountable infinity is, by my definition, the “thing” that is always uncountable.

So gintama narrative cycles aim at something, while those in cyclical personal times suffer for them. Cycles, better, change-less-ness, correspond to sword-less-ness, to lack of memory, and historical time only “restarts” when Takasugi brings us the past. Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.

This doesn’t mean our new time won’t be cyclical.

In the end, “time” is associated with sense of Self. This is an unavoidable relation, because time is a human word, in a human language, that describes what is ultimately only known to us as human experience. But “Self” is (itself) a problematic concept. After all, what determines one’s Self? Relatedly, who, and/or what, and/or where, and/or why, gets to possess Selves at all?

Within concepts of Self is often embedded an instinct towards differentiation. The (western philosophical) impulse is to originate this difference in agency: that is, through my free determination of my Will, my Projects, my Actions, and et cetera, I differentiate “I” from “other” and thereby constitute Me. Needless to say, concepts of “agency” are inextricably linked to “change”. Thus, in this particular conception, “time” is bound to “Self”, is bound to “agency”, is bound to “change”, and to invoke any one is to invoke the other three.

Here, “knowing” (as agency) finds itself imperiled. That is, though the “unknowable” would strip agents of acting-ability, “knowing” would also consign existence, life, the universe, et cetera, to determinism. In both cases, “(un)-knowledge” renders the agent passive. Thus someone might long for an unknowable magic in order to undo determinism, just as they might long for the knowledge to successfully determine their life; yet the one who longs for agency could find agency a disappointment, a not-agency. Equally, if the time loop embodies both desires before they collapse into paradox (I can continue into the unknown future if I escape; something is tying me down, my knowledge is insufficient to escape), “linear time” does so as well.

But now we return to infinity, to irrationality, to uncountability, in short, to paradox. The bulk of the previous 5000 words has been to determine that the dichotomy is false. To be straight, knowing and not knowing, agent and non-agent, the linear and the cyclical, are not separable from each other. Their binary is an illusion, and the suggestion of one carries within it the absence of the other; they are synonymous at the exact and every moment they are not. Clearly, this is not not-knowing, and not knowing, and not not-either of them at the same time. I call this uncountable infinity, the mathematically irrational.

The mathematically irrational is paradox. Consider: we can graph, and look at, certain functions, and yet never grasp their value (put x(sin(1/x)) into desmos). Similarly, we know exactly what “pi” is– the ratio of a circle’s circumference to its diameter– and we can define it, use it, find it in every instance. And yet, pi is an irrational number, because its decimals trail off into uncountable infinity. Knowing and not-knowing, united in the same action: irrationality is knowing in not-knowing, not-knowing in knowing, and also neither.

I will be ridiculous and find this paradox in gintama. I want to claim, in the first place, that the self never generated time at all; in the second, that this is never irreducible to agent/acted, knowing/unknown; and in the third, that time is generated by [time]. To do so, we must investigate the moment of its birth, in 519.

the cliff—519

Tools, given memory, etc., together with the persons who hold them, produce an actor-self, a time of possible change (a “linear” time). It is in 519 that Takasugi finally faces the camera.

Now Gintoki grasps the sword (memory, Takasugi). This should give us “linear” time.

But 519 is not so willing. Where we hope for capable agency, we find none. Instead linear/cyclical, active/passive, presence/distance, collapse into irrationality.

Take the archetypical moment. To Takasugi’s why, Gintoki says he’ll stand up. Specifically, he says, too bad– I (you) won’t fall.

Standing up is what Gintoki (a person, with a sword) does. It is how he defeats each suicidal villain, kills Shouyou, and kills Shouyou and Takasugi all over again. This is what the “time loop” would require of him.

Gintama antagonists, those paragons of rationality, tell us that it is irrational.

Otae is also irrational. Her irrationality doesn’t fix anything (⇔escape cyclical time, make change), and she knows so herself– “If I’ll suffer either way, I’d rather suffer protecting it.” 518 chapters later, Gintoki says: “I won’t fall until you [Takasugi] fall, until you stop, no matter how many times it takes, I’ll stand up again… even if I have to walk over my teacher’s corpse, even if I have to walk over your corpse, I’ll protect his disciple, our companion, Shoka Sonjuku’s Takasugi Shinsuke, his soul.”

So Gintoki stand(ing)s up until something– until Takasugi stops, until time is born– in order to protect Takasugi’s soul. This might look like an “end” to the cycle, but it doesn’t feel like one. “Even if I have to walk over your corpse”?

Alternatively, “saving” Takasugi should be the change that the cycles want to make, that would break them in any normal work of time loop fiction. It is “agency” (capable action, material change) at its purest. But Gintoki says he will stand up and kill Takasugi and stand up again. No matter how many times the same thing repeats, no matter if time never moves on, no matter if he is forced to kill the very person he’s trying to protect, Gintoki will stand up. How could Gintoki possibly care about escaping any cycle, when he is the one “perpetuating it”?

So gintama is not actually about escaping the time loop, which is the rational thing to do. Gintama is about, do you have the strength to keep living in the time loop, even if it never ends?, or, do you have the strength to kill your teacher and your friend, and lose everything all over again?, or, do you have the strength to eternally suffer for the thing that can never be taken back? In short: forget the capable actor– gintama is about being foolish, and irrational, and embracing the time loop by standing up.

If we look to chapter one, [standing up] is [protecting the thing that can’t be taken back]. Neither can be appropriately confined to cyclical or linear time. Otae says she’ll suffer either way, and Gintoki says he stands up to protect what Shouyou held precious, Takasugi’s soul.

Otae protects a thing that cannot be taken back. This is the past. Gintoki acts for– and this is also a protecting– the past. Takasugi is, in a literal sense, pierced by this past every moment of his life.

The past that we can recover, that we can fully integrate into ourselves, is the past that can be used to generate the future in “time”. Thus “accepting” the past “to move on” – accepting, making entirely part of oneself, making entirely interior – because only then can the past become knowable, comprehensible, and usable. The person must accept their past to change things, i.e., to make linear time. Time, change, and agency coincide.

Yet Otae’s past “cannot be taken back”. Certainly, even the accepted past cannot be “returned” to. But Otae’s past is the past that pierces Takasugi’s eye– that is, the past whose “revelation”, whose self-same existence, drives the completion/generation of gintama time itself.

So this is the past that “cannot be taken back”, in more than the literal sense. Takasugi is scandalized by its distance, even as he dies satisfied; Gintoki, ever-silent, still loses his composure at its provocation, is emptied by it, cries in 519 (in all of gintama), in 703. It is a past that refuses total use or incorporation; instead it acts on those who carry it, even after person is reconciled to sword (to its memory).

Its paradox in position. Though “the past” is always present (“I haven’t lost anything”, “how long will you keep looking at that crushed eye of yours”), it is simultaneously kept from us by an irreparable distance. Distance, of course, suggests space, which itself suggests a space that is surpassable. But this distance is not spatial– it is temporal. Gintoki carries the past, yet never reveals it to anyone, much less to us; in the end it is Takasugi who has to do the revealing, and even then only after 500 chapters. Further, its revelation actually increases the distance. We grow used to our proximity to Gintoki’s “point of view”, to our role, through him, as protagonist of the story; and here his defining moment is told not through his eyes, but through the eyes of the distant antagonist, whose breaking point is the discovery of the distance between him and Gintoki. Gintoki is reflected– more, revealed to have always been– across a distance that is unsurpassable.

This distance is equally time, because Takasugi and Gintoki were separated always, and only, by “the 10 years”. Takasugi comes to Edo– there is nothing stopping him, spatially, no physical restriction or meaningful law imposed, from making the approach– and yet he cannot make it. Or so we assume. We only know its universal separation axiom: 10 years, a distance between two points that could never be overcome or recuperated.

So the past is across an unsurpassable distance. In this sense, it cannot be taken back. It is simultaneously carried in, pierces, Takasugi’s eye, who struggles because he cannot reconcile it to himself. Just as it is always with him– “every time I look, the beast…”– it is also the one thing he cannot bear to see (your crying face). Though its revelation is necessary to New time, it is also what sent time into irregularity in the first place. And though it is irreparably distant, it pierces every moment of the present, which is to say: it degrades time, it makes things weird.

Its paradox in times. The cliff is pre-originary to everything by narrative position. Gintama narrative cycles press towards its revelation as first dilemma. It is before even the corpse field, before anything else. It drives each time Gintoki swings his sword and reenacts it. The very first moment that Shouyou finds Gintoki, is predated, predicated upon, generated, made possible by, the fact that Gintoki kills him with his sword.

From this past, Gintoki is (in the verb sense). It is ahead of him (in 519) and behind him (before 1). For its sake he “acts” towards a “change” (stands up) that he knows is impossible (“if I have to walk over even your corpse”*). In other words, for sake of this past, Gintoki lives as if he belongs to a “linear” time, even as he knows he doesn’t. The past brings forth itself again.

Finally, its paradox in agency. What is burned onto Takasugi’s eyelid is a single moment he cannot recover or recuperate. Instead, this moment acts on him, it pierces him, against his will. This sort of past is not an empty concept, that could be filled with any given circumstance. Takasugi is tortured because the content matters– because what happens on the cliff that day, matters.

The cliff is not what Takasugi, Gintoki, Shouyou, or anyone else, wanted. Worse, it is not what they fought for: Takasugi to save Shouyou, Gintoki to protect Shouyou’s disciples (in an act that he knows will destroy them), Shouyou to protect his children. Instead Takasugi is stripped of agency, and the eye that would acquire it; in the present he acts on everything because he is, in every moment, acted on. Equally, just as Shouyou tries to protect his students, he destroys them, and Gintoki, who is forced (acted on) to choose (acts on) between two wrongs, two denials of his self** (of linearity), that is, two losses, is the classic agent paradox most of all.

So the past cannot be taken back, and this not only in the sense that no one can return to it. The past cannot be taken back as a memory, nor can it be incorporated as part of the self, nor can it function as the essential memory that projects forward normal time, even as it is known at every single moment. It cannot be domesticated.

Gintoki killing Shouyou, and crying, is unacceptable. It is distance itself, just as it is proximity; it is simultaneously known (Takasugi sees it), unknown (no one can reconcile it), and neither (we still move on). It should not have happened. It is irrationality itself.

And yet, by virtue of being “a past”, in its relation to the present, in its position as driving force of the time of the entire series, it still is time. The human, with the human sword, who cuts off someone’s head, is [time] itself.

Clearly, this is something outside of normal time. The question becomes, who needs to be killed, and where, and why?

The one who gives birth to a future.

*–and he does.

**“No need. They’ll never hold a sword again.”

the future

That Gintoki kills Shouyou is essential.

The start of gintama’s “historical timeline” is the corpse field. Here the time that Gintoki sits in carries a heavy sense of eternity. The moment where Shouyou finds him could be forever; historical time is out of place.

What breaks this time is very particular. It is not that person and sword = human = time in the automatic sense, because Gintoki, who holds a successful sword (“before meeting you, I never lost to an adult”), remains inhuman. Rather, Shouyou, a human (to Gintoki), must give his sword to Gintoki for time to start. This is also what makes Gintoki human. Gintoki, the human, had to be given his humanity– and thereby time– by someone else.

Equivalently, it is not enough for gintama’s [being human] that the right person holds the right sword. Only a human can progress time, that is, give birth to the future, but reconciling self to past, sword to eye, escaping the time loop, is insufficient. That Shouyou finds Gintoki is predicated by the cliff; sword can only become eye through the cliff’s revelation (and the cliff happens concurrently); self and past are reconciled only after Gintoki kills Takasugi; and the Shimura dojo is restored only once the Shimura siblings kill their mentor. It isn’t enough just to hold the sword– you have to actually swing it.

This swing must be something irrational, because everything else is just the natural extension of a person with a sword (it is the person and the sword). Further, the person must make the swing themselves. For it to be a swing they make, they need to choose it. So the swing is a decision made in irrationality.

Swinging a sword at– beheading someone— who is clearly the irrational choice. What goes against the logic of the world, of time, of all the meaning you sought after? Gintoki fought to protect Shouyou’s disciples; but Takasugi tells us that he wanted to save Shouyou more than anyone. Narrative logic says that Shouyou’s disciples should die to save him, and the logic of their linear time– their humanities and their swords– is to rescue Shouyou and progress into the future. Gintoki swings against everything. And cries.

Gintoki stands up, is irrational, for the past that can never be taken back. This past completes his humanity (person, sword, swing) in the moment that it ruins it (he cries). Gintoki kills the one before him(先生) to make them the one behind (into the past); which itself is a loop, is a cycle, but also a line. It is a [being human] that gives birth to an irrational time.

Gintoki kills Shouyou even though it changes nothing. How does this birth time? “Time” comes out of a self, but Gintoki loses his self; “time” is what renders change possible, but Gintoki cannot “save” Shouyou or Takasugi. Certainly Gintoki knows this, and kills Shouyou in spite of it. But how does this bring forth a future at all?

Gintoki does kill Shouyou for something, for some reason, and this is concretely the survival (into the future) of Shouyou’s disciples. Abstractly, though the purpose is less clear– “even if I have to walk over your corpse” – it is still what drives (is the purpose of) every instance that Gintoki, or anyone, stands up.

Gintoki’s purpose is Shouyou’s purpose, and Shouyou dies to give birth to the “future” (a future that is born in irrationality). So when Utsuro comes to kill him, Shouyou sees also Gintoki, and smiles. Sakamoto calls this “hope”.

We are told that Shouyou gives birth to hope– his students– almost as if to invoke the analogy. Shouyou’s disciples– his “children” – are him, because he gave birth to them, and they are not him, because they have a futurity beyond his imagination. Equally, this future is knowable, because the child is you, and time repeats, just as it is not, because the child is not you, and you will not be there to see it. This is the substance of “hope”.

With regards to the structure of his world, his time, and perhaps even his own humanity, Gintoki makes the irrational choice: he stands up. But to stand up is actually for, to give birth to, the uncountable future. Sakamoto tells us that Gintoki “gives birth” to this future in every shounen-bond he ever makes. And here is the paradox, something more generative than irrational dilemma– Gintoki’s “descendants” inherit his soul to be in ways unimaginable to him.

This future pierces every moment, and in the same moment it escapes. Take that Shouyou knows, and cannot know, what his disciples will be. Their possibility is imaginable, in the sense that he can delineate it– “I hope you all find your own bushidous” – but it is also uncountably infinite, because your child is not you and not beholden to your patterns. Equivalently, Otae’s happy memories end when her father dies, but she still keeps the sword of her soul, this unspeakable thing, that past, and it is her purpose in standing up.

Gintoki, with the sword he has been given by a human, kills Shouyou. This gives birth to an uncountable future– uncountable because it is born in irrationality, beyond the possibilities and expectations of pattern, either linear or cyclic– that is an uncountable infinity, and this is [time]. [time] drives, again, pierces, every second of all of time, and in the same moment it escapes. It is also irreparably beyond the one who births it. This is why gintama had to end.

So the human is constituted in the moment of death (⇔the moment of irrational swing), which is to release the future— [time]. In the same moment, humanity, and [time], escapes. But the moment of constitution (⇔ [time]) is what births the next instance of being human, that is, the rest of time.

In the moment before Gintoki’s irrational swing, each [time] was truly infinite. Here possibility is as unthinkable as Gintoki’s heart; there is no better way I can describe this than an uncountable infinity. Gintoki did what he should have (not) (not) have done. Neither he, nor Shouyou, nor Takasugi, Katsura, Oboro, or anyone, could have imagined any possibility for the future that was to come. In its sheer impossibility, this was infinity: the past that cannot be taken back.

But the past that cannot be taken back is also the sword of the soul. By definition, this generates an impossible impossibility, that slips away as soon as it is born; and as the uncountable, that is, the mother of all irrationality, and also its child, [time] has little to say about lines or circles, aside from that they are essentially the same. So gintama never cared about time loops or not: all that matters is if you follow [time] by standing up.

When Gintoki recovers his sword (Takasugi’s eye, Takasugi), he does so amidst a wreckage that looks like pine trees, as Takasugi (the one who finally stood before him, who now will stand behind) dies in his arms. Here, we find that the “cycle” repeats: Gintoki stands up, and the sun rises.

This is the dawn of a new, impossible day.

I don’t think that’s so bad.

#4 months later. i cant articulate the suffering this has brought me. anyways. happy 5 years since 703 LOL #goose tag #gintama

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