#like when his writing is good then it's REALLY good and the pitfalls in the character wouldn't be so jarring otherwise imo

[biancadavri]

Do you get it? The way Orzammar ended up loathing Oghren because he was everything his home demanded him to be? Listen to me he's too violent and hot-blooded and reaches for the nearest weapon far too quickly to be allowed to live peacefully in a city still standing because of him and people like him listen. He's a hero and he's no use to anyone like this. Is it really a surpise that he's left behind by his family? And really, it's kind of sad watching him try everything in his power to get them back. He leaves and it's better this way for everyone and he doesn't even miss Orzammar (he does) and he settles into a different life until he doesn't and listen. Do you understand? He's so resentful. He's still clinging onto it all he knows he is and he can't do anything to stop I am gripping you by your shoulders right now do you get it? He joins the wardens he's no longer a dwarf he's a Grey Warden and he wants you to side with the Architect because maybe, maybe that'll help keeping the darkspawn away from Orzammar. Do you get what I'm saying. He doesn't want anything to do with Orzammar anymore. He wants his home to be safe so bad. Can I put whatever the hell was going on in that writers room on a petri dish.

#there are (many) fair criticisms about the way oghren was handled but i don't love this idea that there wasn't. you know. an effort #like when his writing is good then it's REALLY good and the pitfalls in the character wouldn't be so jarring otherwise imo #dragon age #dragon age origins #oghren #my posts

[in-my-feels-probably]

Home - Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

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Request: Have you considered Benedict falling for a friend of Daphne's? Like if they're as close as Pen and Eloise but maybe with a little less drama? I think it would be funny for Benedict to ask for advice on how to talk to her and Daph being done. Just "you've known her for as long as I have."

Hi! Thank you again for the request, this is such a cute idea. I hope you don’t mind, but I made the reader a Featherington. I went a little off track too, it was easier for me to write that way. If this isn’t what you were looking for, I’m happy to take another request or alter this one. Sorry for the long wait on getting this out, but I hope you enjoy this :)

(Warnings: insecurity, middle child trauma, nothing else i think? idk, let me know if i missed anything)

—

Living in Grosvenor Square certainly had its ups and downs.

On one hand, you were mere steps away from your best friends. The Bridgertons lived right across the street, and you could visit them practically whenever you wanted. On the other hand—the not so nice hand—your family is the Featherington’s. Which isn’t an inherently bad thing. You loved your family, and could ignore most of the negatives. It just certainly has its pitfalls, being a Featherington daughter.

The Featherington’s—while rich and somewhat dignified—aren’t considered to be the most respectable of families. There wasn’t any one main reason why members of the ton didn’t much like your family, they just didn’t.

It wasn’t a personal grudge with you they had. In fact, you were quite liked by the ton.

More often than not, however, they didn’t pay much attention to you. It was easy to forget you were there when the rest of your family was the center of attention.

You were born soon after Phillipa but before Penelope, making you a middle child.

Your Mother seemed to connect with her eldest far more than her youngest, and that put a strain on your relationship. Not only that, you were much more akin to Penelope, having a lot more in common with her than your older sisters and your Mother combined. You were a bit of a wallflower, like Penelope, and it was a hard trait for your Mother to get past.

It wasn’t all negatives, though.

One of the biggest perks of being a Featherington was the fact that you lived directly across from the Bridgertons. You had spent most of your life over at their residence since the day you developed the ability to walk.

And, subsequently, the ability to walk across the street.

Violet Bridgerton’s first girl—Daphne—was born right around the same time as you were, and she decided Daphne was going to need a friend. Being the first girl born to a family of three brothers was a challenge, and Violet thought it best that Daphne should be able to socialize with a girl her age.

By the time you were both able to talk, you became inseparable. Just as your sister Penelope had come to develop a deep friendship with Eloise Bridgerton, you had come to develop your own with Daphne.

And by extension, you became good friends with her eldest brothers.

Anthony was the oldest, quite a bit older than you. He was already a handful of trouble by the time you showed up, and he already had plenty of practice teasing girls with his sisters as victims. In your first few years, he’d make it his mission each time you visited the house to fluster you, and annoy Daphne. It was harmless fun, and it never really bothered you, although he tried his hardest nonetheless. But as you got older, he became quite protective over you. It was like you were another sister to him, and you definitely bantered and squabbled like siblings do. As annoying as he could be, you loved him like a brother.

Colin was a similar story, although you saw something more to him. It was easy to, with the way Penelope talked about him endlessly. She could ramble for hours, making you listen to every painstaking detail. You definitely understood her affection for him, though. He’s charming and kind, much like his other brothers, but he’s also fun and witty. Daphne tended to favor him the most. They were closest in age, after all. Between her and Penelope, you spent quite a lot of time with him, and you certainly enjoyed his company.

But—besides Daphne—you enjoyed no other Bridgerton’s company like you did Benedict’s.

Benedict was different. He was more.

He was just as kind and charming as Anthony, and just as witty as Colin—certainly as annoyingly beautiful as Daphne—but he was more than that, too. He was sensitive and sweet, far more so than the rest of the Lords of the ton. He was passionate about art and love and valuing the little things. He didn’t care about marrying the prettiest girl for advantage, or inheriting her dowry. He cared about pursuing his dreams, and inspiring others to do the same.

Just the way he talked about his passions and values was enough to make any girl swoon, and yet he was still genuine with his words. It wasn’t for flattery or manipulation, he meant every word. Everything he did, he did for himself and the people he loves.

If it weren’t for Daphne currently holding the number one spot, you’d consider him your best friend.

He’d consider you the same.

You spend just as much time with him as you do with Daphne, and over the years, he’d come to cherish your company.

You saw him for him, not for his title. You listened to his endearing ramblings about his passions because you genuinely enjoyed hearing about them, not because you felt obligated to listen. You treated him like a person, not a prize to be won. It was all he could ask for in a best friend.

But that’s just it. That’s all you were to him. A best friend.

He was so sure that was all you’d ever be. Perhaps one day you’d be his sister in law, considering how close Penelope and Colin had gotten. You’d be family, and that was alright with him. It was what he expected. And then the unexpected happened.

He started falling.

—

The first time he noticed his feelings for you had shifted was the evening of a ball the Queen was throwing.

You’d come over early to get dressed with Daphne, wanting to help make sure she was perfect. She had finally revealed to you her ruse she was sharing with the Duke, you being the first person outside of their agreement to know. You were shocked at first, but as you listened to her speak, you gave her a knowing smile.

“You love him.”

Her eyes widened in shock, her cheeks blushing a rosy pink. “What? Why would you say that?”

“You love him,” you said again, smiling gently at her. “I’ve never seen you speak with such passion. With the way you talk about him, there’s no other possibility. One couldn’t possibly think that highly of another without feelings being involved—”

“You speak of my brother like that,” Daphne interrupted, chuckling when you swallowed your words.

You chose to ignore her statement, continuing to advise her on the best course of action for how to get through the remainder of her agreed upon days with the Duke. If the way he looked at her without her knowing was of any consequence, you were sure he felt the same way about her. All she had to do was make him see that.

When it was time to leave for the ball, all the Bridgerton’s piled into carriages. Daphne was hurried out the door, and she left with her Mother and Anthony, leaving you behind. When you tried to head back home to be escorted by your family, Benedict stopped you.

He had opened and closed his mouth a few times before he was able to choke out any words. Normally, he found it pretty easy to talk to you. But for some reason, the sight of you standing by his front door made his knees weak.

“I’m afraid they’ve already left,” he finally said, stopping you at the door. “They must have assumed you’d be accompanied by us.”

You groaned, feeling a pit form in your stomach. “I have no other way to get there. I promised Daphne I’d be there for her. Pen, too. She seemed quite nervous about attending tonight.”

“Not to worry,” he smiled, offering you his arm. “You can ride with me.”

You sighed in relief, thanking him profusely. “Well, aren’t you a lifesaver? Thank you, Benedict.”

“Of course,” he nodded, helping you into the carriage.

As you settled into your seat, a thought occurred to you. “Benedict…why are you still here? Not that I’m not grateful, but I don’t understand. You’ve been talking about going to the palace for days to see the Queen’s gallery. I would have expected you to be the first one out the door. But here you are.”

He was quiet for a moment as he took in your words, his eyes softening on you.

There were many things he could have said to you to easily explain it away. I’ll see the gallery soon anyways, or, I promised my Mother and yours that I’d make sure you got there safely. Numerous excuses he could have come up with to satisfy your curiosity, and yet, all that was coming to mind was, I can see the gallery another time, but I may never get to see you alone and sitting in front of me looking this beautiful with your undivided attention again, and I won’t pass up on the opportunity for anything.

“I don’t know,” he finally said as he shrugged his shoulders, feigning innocence. “But here I am.”

—

He didn’t truly acknowledge his feelings for you until months later, after attempting to ignore it for so long.

The second time he noticed was when he found out that the only reason he got into art school was because Anthony made a sizable donation to the Academy.

You had found him alone during yet another ton gathering, sulking on the edge of the party. Daphne had already gone home to Simon, and wouldn’t return for some time. Besides Penelope—and occasionally Eloise—Benedict was one of the only people you actually liked enough to be around. And seeing as both Penelope and Eloise were nowhere to be found, Benedict was your only hope.

You just hadn’t expected to find him nearly in tears, anxiously tugging at the cufflinks at the bottom of his sleeve.

It didn’t take much to get him to spill, and you found yourself pulling him inside to keep him away from prying eyes while he was in such a state. He told you all about Anthony’s meddling, and you knew it had crushed his heart to find out that he hadn’t actually achieved anything on his own.

“I know he did it out of the good of his heart…but I wish he hadn’t done it at all.”

He brought his hands up to cover his face, groaning into them. You reached for his wrists and tried to pull them away, but he wouldn’t budge. He finally relented when you said his name softly, letting you take his hands in yours.

“Benedict, it doesn’t matter how you got in. You’re an incredible artist, that’s all that matters,” you said softly, squeezing his hand in yours.

He shook his head, sighing in frustration. “I’m not. My work is child’s play compared to the other artists at the Academy. They all knew why I had even been given a spot in the first place. I’m an imposter, Y/N. A fraud. It was humiliating.”

“That’s a bit dramatic, darling,” you lightly chuckled, your smile fading when his defeated look didn’t waver.

“Alright, that’s it. Fess up. This can’t be all that’s bothering you. I know you, and I know you’re not one to give up that easily. You’ve been flustered all week, so what is it? You can tell me. Not that I have anyone to tell, but I won’t tell. I promise.”

His eyes softened on you as you spoke, and you could feel his grip on your hand get tighter. “I just…I’m tired.”

“Of what?”

“Of being second.”

You frowned, swiping your thumb across the back of his hand. “I don’t understand.”

“It’s just something Anthony said,” he murmured, keeping his eyes on your joined hands. “How I may be the second son, but that it doesn’t mean I am any less required to do my duties to the family. It’s rich coming from him. I’ve been second to him literally my entire life, and he’s only recently started taking his role seriously. I’ve played Father’s role since his passing. Isn’t it just my luck that he’s getting the credit for it?”

“You may be second to him in birth, but that is the only way you’re second. You’re every bit as good as him, Benedict,” you said firmly, but you weren’t sure if your words were sinking in.

He was uncharacteristically quiet, though his grip on your hands hadn’t wavered. His eyes were still on the floor, and his shoulders were shaking as he took uneven breaths.

“I know what that feels like, you know,” you finally said, making him glance up at you. “I’m a Featherington. A middle child at that, and it’s no secret my Mother favors my older sisters.”

Benedict let out a small laugh, shaking his head. “She’s wrong to. I don’t mean to be rude, but you and Pen are worlds more interesting and gracious than your sisters. The eldest, at least.”

“You don’t even know them,” you said in shock, but you couldn’t stop yourself from laughing, too.

“I don’t need to. You’re the only one I’m interested in knowing. Middle child or not.”

You couldn’t help but smile, although his kind words weren’t enough. The more you thought about just how second to the world you were, the more your smile faded.

“It’s not just being the middle child,” you continued, speaking softly. “I love your sister more than almost anything in this whole world, but I have always been second to her, too. She was the diamond of the season the second she was let out of leading strings, and now she’s my Duchess. I’m so happy for her, but it does put a damper on your confidence. Watching your best friend grow into this person everyone loves, and it’s like she didn’t even try.”

“Y/N—”

“Sometimes I feel awful, thinking this way. I know she tried, I was there for her every time she’d get overwhelmed. But she made it look so easy. I don’t know how she did it,” you rambled, taking a shuddering breath as you stopped yourself from speaking.

Benedict’s eyes softened on you as you spoke, making you want to shrink away from his gaze. He was being kind, and you didn’t know if it was genuine or not. If he was faking it for your sake, that was much worse than his actual pity.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make this about me, let’s get back to you—”

“Y/N,” he said again, this time effectively silencing you. “You can’t possibly feel that way.”

It was your turn to look at the floor. “Why shouldn’t I? It’s true.”

“That is the furthest thing from the truth,” he said gently, taking your hand. “You’re every bit as good as my sister. I know she makes things look easy, but she spoke just as highly of you as you do of her.”

You raised a brow. “Really?”

“Really. She used to tell me how kind you were to her, even after Lady Whistledown printed her supposed scandals. You were never judgemental.”

“I have no right to judge anyone, especially not her. She’s never said a bad thing about anyone, it isn’t right that people just took a scandal sheet as truth. And, if anything, she was kind to me. She, Eloise, Colin, and you are pretty much the only members of the ton that treat me like a normal person and not an outcast because of who my family is.”

Benedict smiled, squeezing your hand. “I would never dream of treating you any other way.”

You fought the flush that crept up to your cheeks, feeling the heat settle in them. You cleared your throat, shaking your head.

“Anyway,” you smiled, meeting his eyes. “I don’t mean to keep you away. Should we go back to the party? Someone may be looking for you. You’re quite popular, you know.”

Benedict couldn’t help but smile. And as he watched you look up at him through gentle eyes and an open heart, he couldn’t bring himself to move. It was like his feet were stuck to the floor, and he didn’t want to do anything to pull them up. He shook his head, keeping his hand in yours.

“No,” he finally answered, taking a seat. “Let them look. I’d much rather spend my evening with you. If you’ll allow me to, that is.”

You shook your head, taking a seat next to him. “I’ve got nowhere I’d rather be.”

—

The third time he noticed was when you, Daphne, and he accompanied Penelope and Colin to promenade throughout the square. She and Simon had come to visit, and she wanted to spend time with you and her family.

This time, he couldn’t ignore his feelings.

You followed behind Colin and Penelope, giving them enough room to speak privately without feeling like their older siblings were on their backs. You smiled as you watched Penelope look up at him, Colin being as gentlemanly as ever.

“It took him long enough,” you said, making Benedict chuckle.

“I thought he’d never figure it out.”

“Me either,” you agreed, grinning as you watched Colin smile down at your sister. “I should bash him over the head. I’ve listened to Pen spend countless hours rambling on about how utterly oblivious Colin can be. He owes me a debt.”

“He isn’t the only oblivious person I know,” Daphne piped in, making your eyes widen.

You had told her countless times about your feelings for Benedict, and how he never seemed to reciprocate them.

What you didn’t know is that he had done the same, on more than one occasion going to his siblings for advice on how to address them. Pushing them down until he couldn’t feel them seemed to be working, at least until now. And as far as he knew, you didn’t reciprocate his feelings either.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said nervously, silently pleading with her to drop the subject.

“Neither do I,” Benedict added, making Daphne chuckle.

She just grinned, ever so slightly raising a brow. “I mean Anthony, of course. It took him quite a while to realize that what he felt for Kate was much more than rivalry. I practically had to beg it out of him.”

“You’re a little matchmaker, aren’t you?” You asked, smiling at her. “Who’s next? Eloise, perhaps?”

“Perhaps…you?”

You immediately stilled, making them stop, too. “Me?”

“Don’t look so surprised, Y/N. You’ve been my best friend for ages, and I know what’s good for you. You’re lonely. And as awful as it is, the ton will start to talk. If the only people you talk to outside of your own family are Benedict and I, they’ll begin to notice.”

You frowned, nodding. She was right. Harsh, but right. The threat of becoming a spinster was looming over your head every season, and it had only gotten worse after Daphne married in her first season. Your second season came and went, and you were now in your third.

Without any prospects.

And it was looking like your baby sister was going to beat you to the punch as well. You were silent, a small frown on your face.

Thankfully, Benedict broke the silence. Just the thought of you marrying someone—especially someone who didn’t deserve you—made his skin crawl. He felt like he could keel over, and by the look on your face, he could tell you were feeling similarly. He couldn’t keep himself from turning you away from Daphne’s advice.

“Why settle?” He asked cautiously, giving you a sympathetic look. “Don’t let the ton pressure you. You’ll know when it’s the right time.”

You had fully made it around the square, now back in front of your house. Penelope was saying goodbye to Colin, at least for the moment. His Mother invited you and Penelope to dinner to welcome Simon and Daphne home, and so they’d see each other again in mere hours.

You gave Benedict a grateful smile, nodding. “You’re right. Thank you. If you’ll excuse me, I think it’s time to pull our siblings apart before they actually become attached at the hip. Mother wants us home before we join you later.”

Daphne chuckled, taking your hands in hers. “I think you’re right. I’ll see you soon, dearest.”

You squeezed her hands in yours, before going to gather your sister. You gave Colin a knowing smile, turning and heading inside with your sister in tow. The Bridgerton’s did the same, filing into their house one by one.

The second Benedict shut the door behind him, he collapsed against it, groaning. “What was all that for, Daph?”

“What? I was simply giving you both a little nudge. God knows you needed one. You’re even worse than Colin was, brother.”

“I don’t need a nudge. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

Colin laughed, taking off his coat as he headed up the stairs. “I could hear your stuttering. It was laughable.”

“Oh, piss off,” Benedict pouted, waving away Colin as he chuckled the rest of the way up the stairs.

Daphne offered him a small smile, letting out a sigh. She took his arm, leading them to the sitting room. After promptly sitting down, she gave him an expectant look, and he reluctantly sat next to her.

“Out with it,” she urged. “Why did our conversation with Y/N bother you so?”

“I don’t know,” he huffed, shaking his head.

Daphne narrowed her eyes, speaking gently but firmly. “You do know, Benedict. Admit it. You feel something for her.”

“Does it matter? She doesn’t feel the same way.”

“How could you possibly know that?” Daphne exasperatedly asked, nearly bursting at the seams.

She knew of both your affections for each other, and yet, she couldn’t bring herself to tell either of you about the other. It didn’t feel right, going behind the other’s back. She had decided the moment she knew of each of your feelings to let the matter run its own course. What she hadn’t anticipated was it taking this long.

It was getting near impossible to keep the secret, and she decided a little meddling was excusable.

“She’s never said anything to me that would allude to her feeling anything for me. What would you have me do? Ask her directly?”

“There’s an idea,” Daphne shrugged.

Benedict sighed, trying to shove down the anxiety he felt at the thought of confronting you. “You saw me out there. I wouldn’t even know where to start. How do I talk to her?”

“You’ve known her as long as I have, brother. She’s your best friend! Just talk to her. She’ll understand, I promise. She won’t hurt your feelings if that’s what you’re worried about. You know she won’t.”

“Then why do I feel like I’m going to be sick at the mere thought of talking to her about it?”

Daphne smiled, her eyes softening. “Because you love her.”

Benedict’s shoulders fell, like Daphne just saying it out loud was the first time he was admitting it to himself. Like his feelings hadn’t fully sunk in, and now they were hitting him all at once like a freight train. It was a realization for him, and it both excited and terrified him at the same time. His emotion was clear on his face as his mouth fell open, making Daphne’s smile widen.

“Don’t worry, brother,” she reassured him. “It will all work out. I truly believe that. Take the afternoon to yourself, and keep your mind off of it till dinner. You’ll know the right thing to say when it’s time.”

—

That evening, you returned to the Bridgerton’s residence with Penelope.

The family gathered in the sitting room before dinner was ready, but Daphne pulled you away before you could follow. She took you all the way to the backyard, sitting down on the swing. She motioned for you to follow, and you took a seat on the swing next to her.

“I wanted to apologize about earlier,” she said softly. “I saw your face, I know I upset you. That wasn’t my intention, and I hope you can forgive me.”

You shook your head. “Don’t apologize. I needed to hear it. I might not like it, but I needed to hear it.”

“It hurt, Y/N. You don’t have to minimize that to spare my feelings. It’s alright to admit it. Do you…do you want to talk about it? I think there’s something more to it that’s bothering you, love.”

She was right.

Of course she was, she was always right. You sighed, turning to look back through the window into the house. You could see Penelope standing with the rest of the family, laughing at something Colin was telling her. He was smiling down at her like she had hung every star in the sky, just so he could have the chance to watch them sparkle. It was beautiful.

And it was painful.

“I just,” you started, keeping your eyes on Penelope. “I’m happy for her. I’m so happy for her. But I’m feeling a bit left behind.”

Daphne took your hand, leaning closer. “What do you mean?”

“I feel so selfish saying this, but…it’s what I want. She’s getting all that I want. All my life, I’ve wanted what you and your family have. You’re all so loved, and you love each other so deeply. Pen deserves that, I want her to have that. And I have no doubt that by the end of the season, she’ll have it. She’ll marry Colin, and officially be a Bridgerton. Part of the family. But she won’t be mine anymore. And I won’t be hers.”

Daphne frowned, squeezing your hand in hers. She turned you to meet her eyes, giving you a knowing look.

“I have a feeling this has more to do with a certain brother of mine. And I don’t mean Colin.”

You frowned, and she knew she was right.

“This is about Benedict. With Penelope being with Colin, it’s a reminder that you’re not with him. And you want to be with him.”

You couldn’t deny your feelings any longer. “I do. God, I really do. But it’s more than that. I want to be his family. I want to be your family.”

“And you’ve had to silently watch Penelope get what you’ve been waiting for,” Daphne said in realization, her heart breaking when you nodded.

Daphne stood up, pulling you with her. She wrapped you into a tight hug, refusing to relent until you hugged her back. You sighed in frustration, letting her gently rock you back and forth.

“Y/N,” she said softly, pulling away. “You’re already my sister. Regardless of who you end up with, whether it’s my brother or not. Wherever you end up, it doesn’t matter. You will always be my sister. You never have to worry about that. Not ever.”

You smiled softly, squeezing her hands. Just as you opened your mouth to speak, a throat cleared behind you. You quickly turned to see Benedict standing at the door.

“Mother told me to come collect you both. Dinner will be soon. Daph, Simon is asking after you.”

Daphne nodded, turning back to you. “Come along, then.”

“Actually,” Benedict interrupted, his eyes falling on you. “Could I have a moment alone with Y/N, please? If it’s alright with you.”

“Of course,” you said nervously, nodding towards Daphne.

Daphne smiled, nodding back. She patted Benedict on the shoulder as she headed back inside, closing the door behind her.

When she was gone, Benedict gave you a sheepish smile. He motioned for you to sit down, and you took a seat on the swing. He sat on the swing next to you, turning his body so that he was facing you. His knees brushed yours as he settled.

“What is it?” You asked, giving him all your attention.

“I just wanted to make sure you’re alright.”

Your eyes softened on him, and you laid your hand on his arm. “I’m alright, Ben. Better now, since you’ve arrived.”

“Cheesy,” he smiled, but his heart was fluttering in his chest. “You know how to make a man smile, don’t you?”

“I didn’t think I was doing anything in particular,” you shrugged.

Benedict’s smile widened, and he couldn’t help but ponder his feelings for you. From the moment he found you alone on his doorstep, to when you took care of him at his lowest. From the way you treated his family, to the selflessness you never failed to put before your own wishes. From the way you made him feel, to the way he so desperately hoped you felt. He couldn’t stop himself from confessing, hoping his words wouldn’t come back to haunt him.

“I have to tell you something,” he murmured, taking a shuddering breath after he realized what he said, and what he was about to do.

You nodded. “What is it?”

“I think—and in case this is a huge mistake on my part, please forgive me—but, I think…I think I’m in love with you.”

You stiffened, standing up from the swing. “What?”

“I,” he stuttered, standing up as well. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was—”

You cut him off, taking his hands in yours. “Say it again.”

Benedict’s eyes widened, and you had caught him at a loss for words. He felt like you had punched him in the gut, sending him to his knees. But he nodded, squeezing your hands in his.

“I love you,” he said again, softer this time as he looked at you through gentle eyes. “I’ve loved you from the moment you got into that carriage with me, and I’ve loved you every moment since. I love you.”

Your shoulders fell, and you could feel the tears welling in your eyes. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, clinging tightly to his hands. You felt like your knees could give out, and the only thing holding you up was him.

“You’re not lying? You’re serious?”

Benedict almost laughed, nodding. “Yes, Y/N. I’m serious. Do you really think I would jest about this?”

You couldn’t help but laugh as well, bringing a hand up to cover your mouth. “All that time. All that time, and you couldn’t tell me? You certainly waited long enough.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand, darling,” he said, cocking his head in confusion.

You were starting to worry him now, concern written all over his face. It made your heart clench in your chest.

You smiled, wrapping your arms around his neck. You were so happy, you couldn’t help but hold him close, smiling wider when you felt his arms wrap around your waist, despite his confusion. You held him tight, standing up on your toes so he could hear you loud and clear.

“I love you too, Benedict.”

He instantly pulled away, holding you back at arms length. “You what?”

“I love you,” you said again, taking his hands. “And I’ve been waiting ages for the day you’d finally tell me you felt the same. I never thought I’d hear you say the words, but I am so happy that you did.”

It was his turn to ask. “You’re serious? This isn’t a joke?”

You shook your head, and he squeezed your hands. You brought one of your joined hands up to press a kiss to the back of his, smiling up at him.

“I’ve never been more serious about anything in my entire life.”

—

A/N - Hi! I’m so sorry this took so long, it took me a long time to figure out what I wanted to write. Not sure why this one was so difficult, but I finished it! I hope you enjoyed it :)

#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton imagine #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton

[ghosts-bandwagon]

Hellllo, I saw this post from you about the 141 with a reader with past sa, and I wanted to ask if you could do one where reader mentions something that happened to them, without realizing it was sa (pls with König, I just love him). I hope this is ok for you to write

Ooh that’s a good one! I love writing for him honestly!

tw: mentions of sexual assault, mild description but nothing graphic, trauma, comfort

König loves your voice. He especially loves all your stories of your life before him, all the highs and the lows, the victories and the pitfalls, and everything else in between. His favorite part of getting together with you, is learning about you. He just loves you so damn much.

So when you’re lying in bed with the TV playing and you’re curled up against him, head on his chest, gently tracing the skin of his pecs under your fingers, he’s in heaven. He’s indulging your guilty pleasure of watching trash TV, he could never understand these dating shows but he gets a laugh out of seeing you get so worked up about them and maybe he gets a little invested too.

“Ugh poor girl.” You sighed watching the couples argue, “I feel for her, my ex was the same way.”

“How do you mean?” He’s running his fingers over your arm, drawing figures absentmindedly,

“He was just kind of manipulative and gas-lighty, always got what he wanted.” You shrugged, “Like, he’d initiate things and I wouldn’t be interested or I’d be too tired and he’d still keep trying and we’d wind up doing it. Like I said always got his way.” You seemed nonchalant about what you said, so much so that it took him a second to process what you said.

And then König’s blood went cold and his feather touches slowed to a halt,

“Schatz…” he breathed, his heart starting to race, he wasn’t sure how to handle this new information. Were you aware and just putting on a brave face? Or…

“Don’t sweat it, Köni, for all his aggressive persuasion he was a shitty lover.” You chuckled, confused as to why he stopped stroking your skin, yet as the words came out of your mouth paired with his reaction, you started to wonder if you messed up.

“Liebling, is that true?” His voice was even as he continued rubbing your arm, he moved to sit up and brought you with him,

“It’s fine, sweetheart. I’m over that asshole anyway.”

“Have you talked to anyone about it?” He turned to face you, brushing a strand of hair out of your face

“About what, my ex?”

“About his ‘persuasiveness’.” His tone hardened as the word came out of his mouth, he’s not big on sugar coating, but this is delicate and should be handled carefully,

“Not really? I mean, I’ve mentioned it to a friend before but that’s about it.”

He watched you carefully, eyes tracking every centimeter of your face, watching, waiting for a reaction, waiting for a response.

“Why do you ask?”

He stayed silent, still watching you. Waiting for you to piece things together, waiting to catch you should you realize what you just said. He watched gears turning in your head but still you struggled, is it worth bringing this up and helping you realize it? Would it do more harm than good to protect you from the truth? He wondered if a part of you realized but you’re protecting yourself from the truth so it’s forcing your mind to stop from connecting the dots. Is he even equipped to deal with the fallout after you piece it together? Would it be worse to encourage you to speak to a professional?

“I’m just worried, liebling, what you’ve described isn’t exactly a good thing.” He hated picking and choosing his words so carefully, it only made his anxiety worse and he worries he wouldn’t be able to help you with how busy his own mind is. But for you, he’d do anything. Whether it’s choosing his words carefully, gently guiding you to a point of realization, or finding your ex and breaking every bone in his body.

“Well, yeah, I know that but…” and then it hit you, he watched your eyes widen as the gears all clicked into place, “it wasn’t like that, König. That’s different.”

“It really isn’t, schatz. I’m so sorry, but it’s not different at all.” His voice is so soft that you wouldn’t have heard him if you were so close. He pulled you in to sit on his lap, his arms wrapping around you, holding you tightly against his chest. He’s got your head tucked under his chin, one hand pressing your head against him, his fingers running through your hair,

“That’s not what happened.” Your voice was small as your own arms came up to wrap around his back, your body preparing you for the tears you were fighting to shed,

“It’s ok, liebling, I’ve got you. You’ll always be safe here.”

#konig x reader #könig modern warfare #konig #könig #könig mw2 #könig x reader #könig call of duty #cod x reader #mw2 x reader #cod mw2 #cod mwii #cod one shot

[ivestas]

Hello. I saw your post and would you be up for doing a bit on a reader who cares little about themselves but cares deeply for the team?

love deterrence

Summary: You care about the 141 more than yourself to a worrisome degree. 

Tags: platonic!141 x soldier!fem!reader, mentally ill reader (implied), headcanon format, reader implied to be young, unedited

Word count: 1.3k

Notes: ANON... THE MOMENT I SAW THIS I DROPPED EVERYTHING. the requests I get r always top tier, BUT THIS IS S +. also my bad for this being price/soap/ghost-centric, theyre the characters im most confident in writing---and, also also, SEND REQUESTS. you guys are so slay w reqs its actually insane

You were a soldier—a good one at that. 

Thorough in your assignments, fearless on the field, and reliable. Truly, it’s something any enlister would seek out. 

That was Price’s initial thoughts—everyone else’s, really. You liked to get shit done and you were determined to always, always see through a mission’s completion. 

It was a trait that, at first, wasn’t noticeable, but it intensified the longer you stayed with the 141. 

Many things increased the longer you were with them: you went from formal to friendly, quiet to outspoken, frigid to warm... you grew comfortable. They each took notice in their own way—with Soap being the one to constantly reciprocate and encourage in his own way; despite his loud character, he was subtle in pushing you out of your bubble.

Even Ghost encouraged you... in his own way. 

“You look like you wanna say something, spit it out, kid.” 

It was hard not to warm up to them, and vice versa; the team was as tightly knit as they come, and you could confidently say that you’d trust your life in their hands...

...but, you’d much rather they worry about you last.

And that was when Ghost was the first to notice your recklessness on the field when it came to them; the moment you heard one of them was in danger, you’d be quick to finish the area in such a careless manner and rush to them—and many, many times he’d berate you about it. 

“Kid, when I tell you to stay put, you stay put.”

“But—“

“No fuckin’ ‘buts’, you shut up and listen, understand?!” 

“...yes sir.” 

But you always disobeyed. At one point, Ghost demanded Price to put you on temporary leave because of how worrisome it was getting—you’d listen to every single order and follow through in quick succession, but the moment it came to your safety, you just..?

And that’s when it clicked to Ghost: you didn’t care. It was their lives over yours, and something about that just pissed him off. 

(Maybe it was because he understood the feeling, and he hated knowing that you felt it too. You were young, you shouldn’t feel that way—not now, not ever.)

Price would catch on later around the same time Soap did—although the two certainly weren’t dumb, it’s just the mere fact that they didn’t understand the way Ghost did—they’ve had their mental pitfalls, but not the abject depression that pushes one to feel so little about themselves. 

They’d find out much later—you’ve become sneakier in protecting them, something that Ghost still catches from time to time but can’t butt in since you were so damn clever with it—and it was when an enemy tossed a bomb in your and Soap’s direction that your nature dawned on him. 

You were quick to toss the bomb back, and not only did you do that, but you shielded him from the blast by throwing yourself onto him despite the fact you were smaller than he. 

Luckily, the blast didn’t harm you, only leaving you with a few scrapes and ringing ears. 

But, the moment he got back up on his feet, you were fretting.

“You okay, Soap? You’re not hurt, are you—?!” 

“Lass, worry about yourself, I’m fine!” 

“Are you sure?” 

It was like talking to a brick wall: terribly frustrating.

Price, having been a few feet away and had shielded from the blast, saw the spectacle and almost laughed. 

It was ridiculous to him—you threw yourself, but you’re worrying about the muscle-bound soldier? 

He didn’t like soldiers who tried to play hero—especially soldiers who were hardly grown. Especially soldiers who seemed to lack care for themselves.

So, Price would start sneaking in sentiments of care: complimenting you outside the field, (”You made that, sergeant? Great job, it looks wonderful.”) trying to hear you communicate your own interests, things about you. 

Soap already does that, and Ghost soon follows too, though slowly. He wasn’t good at praising—his compliments were always so awkward, no better than his fucked up jokes that he cracked at the worst times. 

Price always made sure to give you the best cots, Ghost would give you a portion of his food because...

“I’m watching my weight.”

“What?” 

“You heard me, sergeant. I’m watching my weight.” 

“...you’re literally a soldier—“

“Just eat the food kid, don’t make me repeat myself.” 

Soap was the only direct one—the other two didn’t want to make it uncomfortable for you, but Soap was, well... Soap. 

“Look, kid, lass, you need to start lookin’ out for yerself.” 

“I am already, don’t worry—“

“You stood in front of Price when you thought there was an enemy sniper.” 

“He’s the captain! I gotta protect him!” 

“You could’ve just told him—listen, I don’t like using threats, that’s the L.T’s thing, not mine, but if you continue to treat your arse like a meatshield, I’m gonna make sure you’re put on leave again, okay?” 

It becomes a struggle after that: you felt overwhelming guilt for feeling guilt, for being ‘selfish’, or feeling guilty for taking risky actions in order to protect them because you know they’ll feel bad. 

It’s a perpetual struggle that you didn’t know what to do about, and it’s at the worst time you broke down. 

You and Ghost were cleaning up the mess hall since Soap won a bet against him, and when you picked up an extra plate more than Ghost, you began overthinking.

Was this gonna piss off Ghost? Were you going to make him feel bad? Were you doing this for yourself or for him? Why did you do that—should you give him the plate? What should you do? What’s the right thing?

As much as the guys tried to ease your mind, I think they did the opposite: and, at that moment, you couldn’t stop the tears.

That made you even guiltier, especially when Ghost noticed. 

But, all he said was “talk.” His voice was uncharacteristically soft, and with that allowance, you spoke. 

It was incoherent: a babbling mess of “sorrys” and admissions of guilt for shit he didn’t even know one could feel guilty for—you shook, moments would jump where you would collect yourself for a few seconds before bursting once more. 

Taking the dishes from your hands, he set them back on the table and engulfed you in an awkward but strong hug. He didn’t trust himself to say anything right, but he hoped—prayed—that you knew the sentiments. 

And you did—you reciprocated immediately, burying your face into his bulletproof vest; heaving, shaking, breaking. 

He was then at a crossroads: you were unstable. Guilt like that—this faux selflessness that was really something more tragic—it only leads to one thing, a thing he couldn’t bring himself to name. 

So, the same night when he was sure you were asleep, he went straight to Price. 

“Sir.” 

“Yes, Ghost?” 

“The kid—she can’t stay. She needs to see a professional.” 

Price sighed. “You don’t think I’m tryin’? Been trying to reach a psychologist—therapist—whomever. Laswell’s said she’s workin’ on it, so we’ll see.”

“But she can’t stay, this type of job, it’s not good for her mind.” 

“That’s up to her. You can’t just kick someone out—it’s ain’t that simple.” 

Ghost opened his mouth, ready to spit back, but Price cut in, stern. “It’s up to her. I’ll make sure she sees a professional at least bi-weekly, but you can’t force a leave on her.” 

Ghost settled with that, though not completely satisfied. 

When you eventually do see a professional, you get a little better—you recognize the patterns, the triggers, the reasons. It’s easier to dissemble the mess that your mind is and just understand. 

Although you’re a little more careful now, more thoughtful about your own body, there’s always a level of protection you place on them that they know is irremovable: it’s care. 

And they reflect that care right back at you, both in and out of the field. 

AO3

Masterlist

Requests are open

#modern warfare 2 x reader #modern warfare x reader #mw2 x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #captain price x reader #price x reader #soap x reader #john mctavish x reader

[ethanhuntfemmefatale]

spent a bit of time today writing out some thoughts on ford as a character and thought it might be fun to put them here. I think ford is a really interesting commentary on heroism and his role in gravity falls is specific and pointed. theres a lot more i COULD get into (the way he and Stan act as foils for example) but here I just want to explore the fundamental ideas of his arc which includes parts of his dynamic with Bill Cipher and Dipper.

I really love the way gf combines the ideas of the lone hero/adventurer (a classic hero trope) with the ideas of the mad scientist (a classic villain trope) to reveal the way they're really based in similar lines of thinking and emotional pitfalls. Ford's isolation & paranoia, his tendency to put his own body on the line, his (relative) willingness to endanger others for his cause...it all points out a neat overlap between the guy who wears all black and carries a gun at his hip and the guy who WOULD inject himself with some kinda substance in the name of Science. I think that's part of why from what I've seen the fandom can be pretty conflicted on Ford--even on a basic design level, he evokes strong and conflicting feelings.

A key moment to me in establishing the ideas of Ford's arc happens at the very beginning of Weirdmageddon--a strange point to choose maybe since it's so late in the show, but I feel like those three episodes beautifully encapsulate Ford's failures and his development. After realizing what's happened, Dipper is desperate to find Mabel and make sure she's all right. Ford tells him, there's time to find her later--right now we have to stop Bill before the weirdness spreads. I love the way that the show presents throwaway moments like this: they're not questioned in the moment, but they stick out to you anyway because they run so counter to the philosophy of the show. Through the past 2 seasons, not only has the show proven that saving Mabel is more important than stopping Bill, it's also proven (and proves again after this) that saving Mabel is essential to stopping Bill. Evil isn't defeated by one guy being brave enough to shoot a gun at it, it's defeated by a community that works and fights together. And, hilariously, Ford is captured within the first 7 minutes of the episode, making everyone else's jobs way more difficult.

To be clear, it would be a complete misunderstanding of the character to say that Ford prioritizes stopping Bill first because he doesn't care enough about Mabel or her safety. It's precisely because he cares so much that he doesn't look for her right away. Ford has bought thoroughly into the lie that Bill fed him, which is that devastating personal sacrifice is not only right & good, but necessary in order to accomplish great things. As long as Ford believes that lie, he remains Bill's perfect prey—even with a metal plate in his head, even 30 years after the initial manipulation. Ford will easily give up sleep, food, friendship, family, sanity, and his own life, if he can be convinced he's doing it for the right reasons. And he's very easy to convince! Ironically, despite being arguably one of the most formidable characters in the show, he's also arguably the weakest and most gullible of the main cast, because he's so obsessed with the idea of giving up everything for something greater than himself.

That lie of the moral necessity of self-sacrifice, the lie that makes it possible for Ford to give up his brother, lock himself in his basement, be angry when he’s brought back home, and nearly destroy the world, is heavily in the offing through the Ford-Dipper plotline of Dipper and Mabel vs the Future. Ford offers Dipper apprenticeship and tells him that he’s capable of handling it—but it would require personal sacrifice, giving up his childhood with Mabel to join Ford in his self-imposed isolation. A test of Dipper’s aptitude for that kind of sacrifice occurs in that episode: Ford nearly dies, and orders Dipper to let it happen so that the rift is kept safe. Dipper doesn’t even think before disobeying him. He doesn’t seem to consider it a decision. There's no thought of the greater good when his uncle needs him.

Later, talking to Mabel about the idea of joining Ford as an apprentice, he says how ridiculous it is--sees it for a fantasy. The image of heroism Ford presents is appealing, but it's a lie.

For Gravity Falls, a show with two central protagonists, a show arguing over and over that the only way to change things for the better is to work with, trust, and care for your loved ones, Ford's position is an interesting one. I'd argue that thematically he stands in a more relevant antagonist position than Bill Cipher. He represents everything that the show is poised against. He's set up carefully as the epitome of Cool, with a masterful buildup to his entrance, badass styling, and hero worship from Dipper (the closest thing GF has to an audience insert.) And then, slowly and subtly, the show reveals how the lie of the lone hero has convinced him to hurt himself and everyone around him, nearly to the point of destruction.

I love him dearly. The best awful guy of all time

#gravity falls #ford pines #stanford pines #cecil meta

[arschbiene]

Idk if someone ask this to you before but do you think gilbert is albino?

Unpopular opinion, but I do not HC him as Albino. Cut for length.

Albinism is more than coloring in human beings, it comes with a host of other complications such as eye issues and skin vulnerabilities. While people with Albinism are typically healthy and live normal lives, I think we all know that warfare means you are out in the sun and elements and I just think that would be very difficult for someone with Albinism and make him particularly vulnerable, so if you're gonna do it, I think that good representation is realistic representation and these challenges should be woven into the fabric of his character.

Petty, but one of my pet peeves is having to reading excessive epithets in fanfic and 'The Albino' has become a kneejerk for me. I think it's a sign of writing that needs to mature and grow and often can be an instant backspace for me. The main reason is that I do not think that people should be pared down to their disabilities, I find it robs people of their personhood. I feel the same way of things like "The dwarf/little person", "The amputee" etc. Someone's condition or appearance really ought not to be the choice when we need an epithet. If you find you are heavily using epithets in your fanfic, you may need to work on the fluidity of your style to avoid over-use/over-reliance.

I have worked over 7 years with the disabled and mentally ill community and I think there needs to be more understanding of how to approach disabilities with sensitivity and awareness. If you really want to lean into the albinism head canon you need to do your research, including hearing out voices of those in the community and learn about the objectification/romanticization of disability and educate yourself on biases and pitfalls you have. Of the top of my head, Stella Young has a lot of ted talks jumping into the issue that you can use as a spring board.

Last but not least, I don't think due to recent coloring shifts from himaruya that was his intentions, he has gotten more gray/ashy blonde in official art work and his eyes are losing their red hue with the introduction of a blue splash he has been favoring recently. We haven't seen official colored piece from himaruya in a hot minute and he is so inconsistent in general with hair colors and eye colors so I do not think it's confirmed canon at all. I do think his looks are striking/unusual as he references it one time in the canon strips that he'd be recognizable due to his appearance while pointing at his eyes/face but yeah! It's up to interpretation until otherwise indicated.

I personally just do not see him that way but like I always say, the fun part of hetalia is that no one is right and wrong. My only point is that if you do it, make sure you are coming from a place of knowledge! But in general otherwise, do what you want, life is short <3

#hetalia #hws prussia #aph prussia

[lunariamv]

this is a writing test lol

desc: yandere x fem reader (but hes quirky); obsessive + possessive behavior, manipulation, implied violence

˚➶ ｡˚ Him falling for you was pretty fast. It only took a few interactions between you two to get him hooked, and once he was, he was down bad.

˚➶ ｡˚ Maybe it was in class, or at work, but once he took an interest, he’d start finding himself looking forward to seeing you again with delightful anticipation. Though, that would quickly spiral into a dire need to satiate himself.

˚➶ ｡˚ He’d befriend you as quickly as he can. As he’s a charming personality with a good-looking face, yet down to earth enough that it's easy to trap you in an unsuspecting pitfall. Sooner or later, he’ll woo you into dating him. Incredibly cocky, he’s overconfident in his ability to make you fall for him. So much so in fact he doesn’t feel at all threatened by your potential suitors. Why do they even bother? It’s not like they have a chance when you two are clearly made for each other.

˚➶ ｡˚ That being said, he has a lot of odd mannerisms that confuse you. For one, he has no problem saying grim or odd things with a straight face. To name another, he’s overly interested in everything about you, though you could just write that off as him being a doting boyfriend. It’s nice to have your partner pay this much attention to you. But still, does every girl have a boyfriend who knows their exact measurements by heart…?

˚➶ ｡˚ “Can we hold hands? I have a tendency to get lost.” He smiles nonchalantly.

˚➶ ｡˚ His sudden request bewilders you, and has your brows instinctively furrowing in response. Huh...?? First of all, you’re in an open park. Second of all, does he really have that poor coordination?

˚➶ ｡˚ He’s amused by your confused look. “Come on, if you’re not quick, I might just wind up in another dimension.” Even though he’s clearly joking, he says it with such a sincere straight face.

˚➶ ｡˚ Maybe it’s his stupidly attractive looks, or the ridiculous way he talks, but it inclines you to reach out and take his hand. Whatever odd spell he cast on you with that dumb rizz, it worked. On the inside, he’s smirking with victory. He’s a genius.

˚➶ ｡˚ “My girlfriend, sorry. My girlfriend, sorry. My girlfriend, she… sorry.” Like a broken record, he keeps comedically repeating himself on purpose in front of the stranger that keeps looking at you. The two of you went out, and this random guy tried to get your attention. However, in informing the poor guy about something else, he felt he needed to clarify to the man that you were taken. A lot.

˚➶ ｡˚ He does this often, reminding everyone that the two of you are in fact dating. It’s one of his favorite hobbies, to your embarrassment. With how much he says it, you’re pretty sure the entire world knows by now.

˚➶ ｡˚ He’s also very overly affectionate. He’s a degenerate, so he likes holding your hand quite a lot. Often, he’ll surprise you by hugging you from behind or placing a hand over your eyes. He enjoys everything from head pats to kissing. Honestly, he just likes any sort of physical contact. Any excuse to touch you, he’ll take it without hesitation. More often he’ll say the dumbest things to win your affections, like the getting lost thing.

˚➶ ｡˚ Extra: if he’s like the gamer/internet guy type, he’ll ironically call you weird pet names or his “waifu” just to confuse you/freak you out like “Oh my god, it’s (Y/N), my precious waifu~~~~!!!”

its foreshadowing cuz he wants to wife u haha

˚➶ ｡˚ He’s very stupid, but that’s part of his charm. Though, he does have his 10000 iq play moments.

˚➶ ｡˚ He’s not really the violent type of yan. Contrary to his dark jokes, he’d rather not get his hands dirty if he doesn't have to. He’s a funny man, not a fighter;;

˚➶ ｡˚ Which means he’s more of the manipulative type, which requires a ‘sharp intellect’ and smooth moves. It’s a multi-step program to get to you, as he’s constructed. First he’ll befriend you to gain your trust, second is getting to know every single one of your friends, and then finally winning over your parents (or guardian). Bonus points if they tell you they think he’s husband material. 

˚➶ ｡˚ By carefully intertwining himself to so many aspects of your life, it’ll be much harder for you to leave him.

˚➶ ｡˚ Not sure why you’d ever want to leave him for anyone else anyways. After all, he’s a self-made man… talented, kind, a good cook, and he’s always looking out for you. He’s so sweet! Just marry him already!!!

˚➶ ｡˚ Though, perhaps he might’ve paid someone to push you in harms way once or twice, but really… that’s nothing but baseless conjecture.

˚➶ ｡˚ If he somehow ever does get driven to maybe, I don’t know, ‘off somebody’... He’ll be extremely careful, but he’ll also have some fun with it. 

˚➶ ｡˚ That friend of yours with a mild crush on you? The poor guy had an axe-ident. The creep hitting on you at the store? He took a trip and had a good fall…..

…..Onto an active sawblade HAHA WOOPS

˚➶ ｡˚ He really likes to make you laugh and hates to see you upset. He’s always trying to lift your spirits with his dumb jokes and playful, childish personality. Though, he also enjoys saying and doing the wildest things to get you flustered. There's just something so fun to him about being a rat and catching you off guard.

˚➶ ｡˚ As long as he pretends to be a ‘normal’ boyfriend though, and keeps his darker infatuation under wraps, the two of you will be together for eternity. He’s done a good job so far, as you don’t (or hardly) suspect a thing.

˚➶ ｡˚ Though, should you ever get an inkling of suspicion, or he’s unfortunate enough to make you fully dubious of him, he’ll brush off these notions very easily. Gaslighting must be in his genes, because he’s crazy good at it.

˚➶ ｡˚ He cares about you so much, so it truly hurts to see you so wary around him. What reason do you have to suspect him? Lovers need to trust one another. People make mistakes, can’t you forgive him for being just a little bit selfish?

˚➶ ｡˚ And even if you find yourself distrusting him, exactly who’s going to believe you? He has your family and friends wrapped around his finger. If you so much as imply that your loving boyfriend, the friendly neighborhood golden boy, the witty man who doesn't look like he'd harm a fly, is actually evil… you'll be laughed off. And if you persist, they’ll start to think you’re crazy. Are you crazy? If that's the case... he’ll gladly play the part as your devoted lover, and make sure to take good care of you.

🔥🔥🔥🔥 i love this type sm

i wanted to try to write one of these, maybe ill write more? idk

follow for more content of a similar nature;;

♡ more writings (in an x-reader series style) on my quotev ♡

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x y/n #yandere oc x reader #yandere oc #yandere male #male yandere #fem reader #x reader #x female reader #yandere x female reader #yandere headcanons #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere writing #writing #one-off writing

[writingquestionsanswered]

I plan to write a story about heists, often from the point of view of the investigators' side, but I don't know where to start (or at least, my brain cannot make anything as interesting as I see in the media). Is there any advice on how I can plan it? Thank you very much!

Writing a Heist Story

A Worthwhile Score - The most important thing you need for a good heist story is a worthwhile score. What is the object/thing they're after and why is it important/valuable? How can everyone in the crew get a cut of this object/thing? What makes this thing valuable enough that it's so protected/hard to get in the first place?

Stakes - The second most important thing you have to establish is why the heist is taking place and why it matters. What does the heist crew stand to gain if they're successful, and/or what do they stand to lose if they're not? In Ocean's Eleven, Danny stood to win back his wife's affection while ruining the man who stole her from him. If he failed, not only did he not achieve either of those things, he also risked losing everything by going back to prison.

Sympathetic Motivation - If you want the reader to root for the heist crew, you need to make sure they have a sympathetic motivation--or at least one the reader wouldn't disapprove of. For example, in Ocean's Eleven, the heist motive is revenge against the guy who stole Danny's wife, so not the most sympathetic cause, but not a despicable one. And when we see that Benedict is a jerk who doesn't even treat Tess well, and that there's still something between Danny and Tess, we're able to root for him.

A Solid Crew - Another important element of good heist stories is a solid crew, meaning each member of the crew has to have a solid reason for being there. That means they need to play a vital role in the heist by providing a vital skill no one else can provide. They also need to have a believable motive for wanting to be part of the heist, especially if they're not being hired or rewarded with a large sum of money. And finally, it's nice to give each crew member a compelling personality, interesting characteristics, and unique relationships with other crew members.

A Complex Scheme - If your characters are trying to steal a piece of art from a museum, they can't roll up on the museum, break a window, knock out a guard, disable the alarm, obscure a camera, take the piece of art and off they go. That's too easy. Anyone could do that. There needs to be big, seemingly insurmountable obstacles that only the skills of the unique crew can overcome. Like, instead of breaking a window, one crew member's unique knowledge of the tunnels beneath the museum could get them in--but only if they can avoid detection from the night crews who work in the tunnels. And instead of knocking out a guard, there are several guards, and only the super stealthy wraith-like martial arts expert can do it without being caught.

A Backup Scheme - The one thing that's true about complex schemes is they almost always go awry. That said, you need to figure out what goes wrong, why, how it affects the original scheme, and how they re-route in the moment to get things back on track. Really good heist masterminds will have a Plan B and Plan C, but even these won't be without their kinks. All of these unforeseen pitfalls, unexpected obstacles, and potential failures keep the tension high and make things interesting. Watching the crew deal with things when they go off track is part of the fun of heist stories.

I hope that helps! ♥ •••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

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#writing tips #writing help #writing advice #wqaadvice

[fourraccoonsinacoat]

FourRaccoonsInACoat Masterlist

Thanks for stopping by my masterlist, I am thrilled there are people who are interested in my writing! You may be asking, did I really create a logo for a nonexistent book series that only exists in the BG3 universe and features Malta the crime-fighting cat, all for the sake of a gag?

Yes. Yes I did. I will speak no more on the matter.

My fanfiction is centered around Baldur's Gate 3 and explores the romance between Astarion and the Dark Urge. The Durge MC in my works is based on my first BG3 Durge, a female half-drow warlock named Eli. I currently have one ongoing chapter fic, as well as a few one shots that all take place in the same universe.

I write fanfiction for myself as a way to decompress from life and because I enjoy sharing my stories with others. It legitimately makes my day when someone is entertained by my writing, so thank you for every comment, like, message and kudo. Much love and appreciation to you all!

Also, if you're here for BG3 Incorrect Quotes, follow that link for the masterlist.

____________________

AO3 Account - All of my works are crossposted to AO3.

Ongoing Work

Head Full of Ghosts:

Current Rating: M

Chapters: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

Eli has spent a lot of time combing through her fractured psyche, trying to piece together any semblance of facts about who she was before she awoke on a mind flayer nautiloid. In all that self-reflection, she has concluded there are two things she is very good at. Killing people and drinking.

Neither of which is proving very useful as she tries to navigate interpersonal pitfalls after being appointed leader of a ragtag group of maladjusted misfits who are trying to source a cure for the illithid tadpoles in their heads. As if that isn't problematic enough, she's also having to contend with the growing affections between herself and the group's resident vampire spawn, Astarion.

Between fanatic cultists, goblin raids, murderous urges and cryptic memory loss, Eli figures a relationship is the last thing she ought to get herself wrapped up in. And from what she's seen of Astarion, the cavalier rogue seems to have his own breeds of specters haunting his steps.

Neither one of them has any business mucking about with romance. But, neither one of them is particularly good at staying away from things that entice.

____________________

One Shots

In chronological order:

Fall for Me ---> Faint of Heart ---> Midnight Prayer

Fall for Me

Rating: E NSFW18+

Astarion wakes from a nightmare and goes to Eli, seeking reassurance as he struggles with the denial of his feelings. The last thing he wants to do is give someone else control over him, not after he’s so recently regained a taste of freedom. Over the past 200 years, every relationship Astarion was involved in had been nothing more than a means to an end, with Astarion either playing the role of manipulator or the one being manipulated. Attachments were leverage, giving someone a hook they were able to dig their claws into in order to gain ground. Isolating himself from connecting with others was how he had survived.

This, however…this was different. 

Rating: M

Faint of Heart

Somewhere along the way, more and more truth has begun to slip into the words Astarion has been using to charm Eli into his bed. He's not sure when it started, but sometime between their passionate nights and hard fought days, genuine feelings began to stir.

It all comes to a head after the crew stages a prison break out of Moonrise Towers. Now, during a rare evening of respite, Astarion is determined to make a confession, regardless of his fears over the fallout.

Rating: M

Midnight Prayer

Neither Eli nor Astarion knows what they're doing when it comes to romance. Their combined histories with healthy relationships adds up to an unsurprising total of zero. Astarion once admitted to Eli that he couldn’t remember ever bedding the same person twice. And Eli…well, she can't remember anything, frankly. Her memories of past lovers are nonexistent…at least…

At least until today. Today, when they’d finally met the infamous Enver Gortash.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldur’s gate iii #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 spoilers #astarion #astarion bg3 #bg3 astarion #astarion romance #astarion fanfiction #astarion fanfic #astarion x dark urge #astarion x durge #astarion x tav #astarion headcanons #bg3 headcanons #bg3 fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #ao3 writer #ao3 fanfic

[junebug-jamboree]

ROLLBOTS LOST EPISODE CREEPYPASTA

Author’s note: I’ve been rewatching @indigosfindings' video about the pitfalls and virtues of creepypastas over and over again for a good long while. I found it a bit late, but it’s managed to find a spot on my endlessly rewatchables playlist. Because of all of this, I was inspired to write a creepypasta of my own in an attempt to hit almost all of the pitfalls at once. I also decided to make it about RollBots because of the line about it during the “empty replica” segment. I’ve never heard of this show, and I deliberately chose not to watch any of it in order to keep it as out of character as possible. I looked at the TV Tropes page for basic plot information and character names, but that’s it. Hopefully I did alright! :)

Quick note: This pasta has themes of murder and violence in it, and is not suitable for kids. Other than that, hope you all enjoy! :D

PART I: rollbots lost episoad Spin the Killer

I is was HUGE fan of rollbots when i was a kid, it was my favotire show ever, everyday after school i would wach it on the tv and i loved it so much. My favotire charcater was always Spin and i wanted to be just like him when i growed up. Oneday after shcool my mom took me to a garage sale at our neibors house, he was selling lots of old stuff, i was bored. I looked around and saw some old webkinz plushies, but i didnt want them because wekinz is for babys anyways. Suddnely i see a amazing sight, i see a dvd case with a familar round red charcater on it… it was a rollbots dvd!!!! I broght it to mom and sayed “mom can i buy this plz!!!!!!” mom sayed “NO” and i sayed “PLZ!!!!!” before mom could say no again the neibor comes over and says i can have it for free. I sayed “REALLY!!!!!” the neibor sayed “yes”, i was so so so happy!!! I went back home with my mom and i went to my room, i put the dvd into my mini tv, the menu had all the episoads! But thing that made me confusde is was that there was a extra episoad at the bottom of the menu,it was called “Spin the Killer”. Thats weird i thouhgt… I thouhgt the tittle of the episoad was just a glitch, I decided to wach the episoad but i shold not of wached the episoad! The begining of the episoad was just like any other it had all of the charcaters i know and love, but was diffrent was the theme song had words now. But not normal words… scary words! The words sayed in the song were “Killer spin is coming!” “You hide now! He come for you!” “Time to die!!!” i was creeped out. After the theme song it shown Flip City than it zoomed into the charcaters. Captain pounder was talking to Penny about what they were going to do today, penny sayed something about doing training to fight Vertex and the bad guys. What was weird thing was that her voice was all echoy and stuff. Suddnely Spin busts down the wall, he is holding an knife. I thouhgt that was weird because Spin is a good guy! Spin than says “Hello friends! Or should i say… GOODBYE!!!!” His eyes goes hyper rellistic and Spin then stabbes Captain pounder with his knife, black oil goes flying every where! I was so scared! Penny screams and trys to run away but then Spin pulls out a chainsaw and chasing her. Lance then come in and sayed “Spin what are doing!!!!” Spin then slice penny in half with his chain saw, covering every one in oil and sending metal parts everry where. Lance got chain swa away from spin, but Spin then pulled out a gun and sayd” You cannot stop me weakling!” Spin shoot Lance in the face, there was a hole on his four head that leaked oil. I thouhgt i was gonna throw up… Suddnely Spin looked staright at me and sayed “YOUR NEXT SAM…” the episoad ended right there. The dvd went flying out of tv and nearly cut my head of! I toke the dvd and smashed it into one millon pices, put the pices in a shoebox and burryd it in the back yard. That episoad was so scary that i didnot sleep for two days. If you see a rollbots dvd at a yard sale, DONT WACH IT!!!!! You will be scared for your life……

PART II: RollBots Lost Episode: “Spin the Killer”

I had a horribly traumatic memory from when I was a child. It involved my all-time most beloved TV show. It was a show called “RollBots,” and I watched it every day after I got home from school. The rich themes within the narrative captured my heart at a tender young age, and the characters were all well-rounded and three-dimensional; as if they were real people I could meet. Far and away, my favorite was Spin. The heroic leader of the noble bots, his mission was to keep Flip City safe from the clutches of Vertex and his army. When I was but a mere child, I greatly admired the round, red bot, and I wanted to be just like him one day. Heroic, noble, and having shoes the size of my head.

When I was about six or seven, I’m not exactly sure, I was at a yard sale with my mother, and I happened across a DVD of RollBots. The individual who was hosting the sale offered me the DVD for free; not a cent did I owe. At that moment, I felt like I was the luckiest child alive. Luckier than a five footed rabbit with fur made of four leaf clovers. Oh, how my little heart did backflips within my chest; the endorphins rushing from my brain to every other part of my tiny body. It was a high that I, in all of my years, have never been able to replicate. Not with mushrooms, weed brownies, mushroom brownies, or any other intoxicant substance. However, my RollBots related ecstasy was not meant to last.

An utterly wicked sight awaited me when I put the DVD into my TV, one that would haunt me for decades to come. A truly accursed episode of my beloved cartoon; an episode that felt as if it had crawled from the depths of the fiery underworld itself. It was as if the pixels on the TV screen were dyed from the tears of orphans, the polygons making the characters’ models carved from the calcified remains of man’s arrogance. It was not an episode of my dearest cartoon show, nay; it was a foul hallucination woven by Lucifer himself.

To this day, I haven’t, and don’t think I can, forget the sensations I felt while watching it. The sweat from my forehead seeped into the panda eared toque I wore, the wispy golden hairs on my arms stood on end, and my eyeballs went as wide as wide could go. They were like emerald colored satellites; in that they forcibly received and converted the data from the cursed episode and sent it to be branded onto the inside of my cranium. If I were to have my head cut open, the image of Spin with a knife would be found on my cerebellum; no doubt about that.

At the same time, I’d found myself at odds with my disgust, for I was deeply fascinated by this episode. I’d had an insatiable desire to know more about this episode, and who could have possibly created such an abominatious affront to Canadian CGI animation. Countless hours were poured into scouring the bowels of the internet for any information on the episode, and countless hours proved to be fruitless.

My biggest breakthrough yet came when I returned to my childhood home. When I looked out into the backyard, the memory came back to me; the memory of destroying the DVD, as if I were Hercules slaying the Hydra for the benefit of the world at large. I had sacrificed my childhood innocence by subjecting myself to such a rancid episode, and so I destroyed the only copy I knew of to prevent any other innocent souls from being snuffed out by that foul thing.

The shattered remains of the plastic disc cried out to me from their, what I assumed at the time to be, permanent, resting place. Like a moth to a flame, I found myself drawn to the voice. I got the shovel from the shed, and I dug into the earth in search of Pandora’s shoebox. Beyond the everpresent weeds, the forgotten plastic bits of toys, and the unmarked graves of hamsters long past, I found the patch of ground where not just the DVD had been laid to rest, but my own childhood innocence by proxy. The shovel tore through the soil and tossed it to the wayside as I made my way down.

The sight of the withered shoebox filled my head with emotions I thought were only perceptible to the mantis shrimp. An overwhelming sense of relief washed over me, in knowing that I hadn’t imagined the whole incident after a particularly nasty sugar binge. At the same time, I felt a strong sense of hatred for the DVD that ruined my life. I scooped up the shoebox with the gentle hands of a mother carrying her firstborn child, and I brought it with me back to my new house. Far away from the memories of the past, and into new horizons.

Once I arrived at my humble abode, I set the shoebox down on my desk. I knew what was to come from such an unholy process. Tonight, I was to take the shattered corpse of the DVD, and reanimate it. Super Glue would serve as the sutures to my very own monster, and I was to make myself into a proper Frankenstein. The task was a delicate one, so I couldn’t afford to let my emotions take me over like I did all those years ago. It was mind over matter; and I knew that logic and reason would triumph over the irrational fears of a young child. I channeled my rationality into my hands as I applied glue to every edge of the pieces of disc, unifying them once more.

20 grueling minutes passed me by, as if the time had been late for school and had rushed out the door with toast in its mouth. I looked at my finished handiwork for the first time, and I shed a single tear upon seeing the disc whole once again. It was time to face my childhood fears and play the disc one more time.

I delicately inserted the disc into the DVD slot, the euphoria of which was comparable to a night of passionate romancing with your mother. The inner workings of the machinery within my TV did what was required of them, and they read the disc without fault or error. The familiar episode layout appeared on the TV screen, and taking caution, I hovered the remote’s cursor over the last entry; the episode to end all episodes.

“Spin the Killer.”

I brought down my thumb against the play button on the remote with the same passion and fervor of a judge bringing down his gavel after sentencing a serial killer to the electric chair. I braced myself for the episode which was to come. I braced myself for all of the old wounds which were to be opened by the re-exposure to the cause of them.

To my surprise, the screen was completely blank. The TV screen was as dark as a moonless night. No stars, no sun, no galaxy. Nothing. I looked at the empty void portrayed on the screen with wide, spherical oculars. The more I observed, the more I began to see. The faint image of a red-hued sphere began to creep out of the shadows within the TV, icy blue eyes peeking out from the darkness like a tiger about to pounce on its prey. A grin crept across the round face of the red sphere, bright white teeth shattering the monotonous pitch black with their glow.

“Hello, Sam,” A voice spoke from behind me. I whipped my head around to see what the source of the voice had been.

“Or, should I say, goodbye,” the voice spoke again. This time, I knew the exact source of it. The moment I turned around, I was met with the vicious visage of the red robot that had shattered my childhood dreams.

It was Spin, live in the flesh (er, metal?), standing in front of me. In his robotic right hand was a Teruyasu Fujiwara knife, the stainless steel blade reflecting the light above in an odd fashion due to its rough-hewn texture. At that moment, I knew the last thing I would see in my short life would be the juxtaposition of the slightly bumpy texture of the blade with the delicate calligraphy on the side.

“Spin… it’s you,” I ejaculated.

“Who else would it be?” He announced as he held out his mechanical arms in a triumphant pose.

“But… Why are you here? How are you here?!” I interrogated. “You’re not real! You’re supposed to be a cartoon character!”

“I have my ways, dear,” Spin answered with a scoff and a crossing of the arms. “I’m here because I have something to say to you.”

“What is it?” I furrowed my brows in confusion. The robot cleared his throat before speaking once more.

“11 14 11 24 24 33 31 53 22 14,” he beeped in a series of mechanical whirrs.

“What does that mean?” I questioned.

“Here,” he answered, handing me a sheet of paper. “Use this.” 

I carefully inspected the document he handed me. This is what it looked like.

“This makes no sense,” I articulated confusedly.

“It’s actually really simple,” Spin began. “You take the numbers I just said and run them through the cipher.” His black tipped finger pointed at the first tile of the square.

“I said 11, so that means you look at the square with 1 on the top and 1 on the side. Then I said 14, so now you go down to the one with 1 on the top and 4 on the side. Keep doing that until you’ve figured it out.”

“Oh, that makes more sense,” I articulated, knowledge-havingly. I decoded the cipher using the numbers Spin had beeped. Once I figured out the hidden message, all of the color left my face.

“Oh, my God…” I let slip, even though I’m a stone cold atheist. I believe in science, thank you very much.

“It’s true,” Spin hummed. “And I intend to do it to you, too.” He pointed the tip of his knife towards my colorless face.

“But… why? What did I do to you?” I fell to my knees and pleaded with the red sphere.

“It’s more about what you didn’t do,” He began. “You forgot about me.”

“I did?”

“Yes! You did!” Spin’s rather large sneakers squeaked against the floor as he paced around in front of me. “You stopped watching me and my friends. One thing led to another, and all of a sudden, no one was watching me anymore. No one even remembered my name.”

“No one? Not a single person?” I asked.

“No one. They were all busy playing Webkinz!” He shouted with a stomp of the foot for emphasis. “It’s like no one even cared about me.”

I bit my lower lip, realizing the error of my ways.

“It was horrible, being forgotten,” the bot continued. “It’s like I meant nothing to anyone. Not even you.”

“Me?!” I sputtered.

“Yes, you! Being forgotten by you was a fate worse than death. Worse than the heat death of the universe. Worse than pulling a hangnail too far! And do you know why?”

“Why?”

“Because I loved you.”

“Excuse me?” My jaw went slack as I did a double take.

“I looked forward to spending those after school days with you. I loved putting on a show to entertain you. You were my favorite human. I saw so much potential in you, and I wanted to mold you into someone I could be proud of. But you just… left.” The sadness was evident in Spin’s sapphire eyes, but behind the dual walls of blue was a burning hatred. 

“So I came to a decision,” Spin decided as he slowly approached me. “I’m going to kill you. Just like I killed everyone else. And what fun I’ll have doing it.”

Without warning, the robot swung the knife at me. I narrowly dodged it, the tip of the blade grazing ever so slightly against my cheek. I took several steps backwards, bumping against the TV that I’d forgotten about.

“Don’t make this difficult, Sam,” Spin taunted as he approached.

Seeing an opportunity, I kicked the robot in the face and bolted out the door to my room. I practically flung myself down the stairs, momentum working both for and against me in my plight down the flight. Once I had reached the bottom, I scrambled back to my feet and booked it for the front door, the sound of squeaking shoe rubber following closely behind me. I quickly shut the front door and locked it, my hands trembling as I fiddled with my keys. The tip of Spin’s knife penetrated the wood of the door, which was my cue to run for my car; a 2004 Vauxhall Astra that sat parked in the driveway of my house.

I flung open the car door, got into the front seat, and pulled the door shut once more. I slammed the keys into the ignition and peeled out of my driveway faster than a bullet train, not bothering to fasten my seatbelt until I’d made it out of my neighborhood. Before I could think about where I could go next, a single antenna rose in my rearview mirror, followed by a pair of navy blue eyes.

“WHAT THE HELL?!” I screamed as I lost control of my vehicle. I swerved into a wooded area and flipped the car over several times. The various objects within were sent flying; a travel mug full of days old coffee that I’d forgotten about popped open and splashed its contents all over the walls of the car. Broken glass pierced my skin, like the shadow version of having my ears pierced at Claire’s for my eighth birthday. Time seemed to stop, but also play in fast forward at the very same time. Such a paradoxical predicament would not go unnoticed by the universe at large, and so the car finally settled down in a wooded ditch.

I clamored out of the wrecked vehicle, battered and bruised from the experience, yet unharmed deeper than a superficial level. I rested on my hands and knees, trying to process all that had just happened. Numbers crunched in my head as I tried to reverse engineer the trajectory of the car and calculate the probability of my survival, but none of the numbers made any sense; not even to my intellectual self.

The area around me was an absolute mess. Copies of my resume from job interviews of the past lay scattered on the grass below. The cup holder between the front seats had popped out, revealing a cartoon shark imprinted on the bottom (I had always wondered where the hidden shark was on this particular model). Glass shards littered the ground like the workshop of an amateur mosaic artist. The car itself, my trusty steed in my quest to rid myself of the red robot, lay upside-down like a turtle flipped on its back. I shed a small tear upon seeing my prized Astra in such a sorry state.

My thoughts were interrupted by one of the rear doors opening, and a somehow completely unharmed Spin stepping out.

“Wow,” he remarked. “That was quite a ride, wasn’t it? Now, where were we?”

The red robot slowly approached me, knife still in hand. At that moment, I felt an overwhelming surge of emotions all in conflict with one another. Fear of my impending doom, rage at the betrayal of my childhood hero, thoughts of what I would say to my relatives if I had the chance, and who I would meet on the other side. But at the forefront of all of them, one emotion stood strong and true.

Logic.

I knew Spin was no match for my intellect. None of his dirty little tricks could even hold a candle to my divine wisdom. Not even one of those tiny candles that are put in jack o’ lanterns. Not even a candle made by the world’s smallest candlemaker for the world’s smallest candelabra. All of Spin’s candles were the smell of a body shop, while mine were the smell of cold hard facts.

So that was exactly what I decided to use to my advantage. I stood up and adjusted my collar before speaking.

“Fine, then,” I spoke. “If you want to kill me, then kill me. I’m ready for you.”

“Well, alright then,” Spin responded. “I just might have to take you up on that offer.”

“Yes, indeed,” I declared back. “But I have just one thing I want to say first.” 

“Oh?” Spin asked, bemused. “And what would that be? What are your final words?” I grinned with delight, as he’d fallen straight into my trap.

“THIS! STATEMENT! IS! FALSE!!!” I bellowed at the top of my lungs. Spin seemed taken aback by my outburst.

“Is… is that true?” He asked again.

“Yes!” I shouted. “It’s true that this statement is false!”

“But- but- that doesn’t make sense!” The robot took a step back, dropping his knife and clutching his head in confusion. “How can it be true if it’s false?”

“It just is,” I retorted with a confident smirk.

“N-no! It can’t be!” Smoke began to seep from Spin’s circular head. “It’s just not right!”

Those ice blue eyes, which moments ago had instilled fear into my heart, now had a look of utter terror on them. The frightener had become the frightened, it seemed.

“How does that make you feel, smart boy?” I asked the round robot, who at this point was now in a desperate frenzy. The circuits in his head were in overdrive, trying to comprehend my prior proclamation.

“This is… this is…” He stammered as his eyes jittered in place. “THIS IS ALL WRONG!!!”

Without warning, the robot’s head burst into flames, shards of metal being sent in all directions. His metal arms were blown off to either side, and the flaming remnants of his lower half fell to the ground; knees first, followed by the lower half of the head.

I looked on at the display in front of me, and I couldn’t help but smile. I had slain the beast with nothing but my wits. Such a feat, I believed not even the cosmos itself would be able to replicate; not even in billions of years. I had proven to myself, and the world at large, that once again, facts and logic prevail over all adversity.

Once the fire had died down, I knelt down at Spin’s lower half, removed his large sneakers, and put them on myself. I then began to walk out of the woods in search of the nearest gas station.

It was time to treat myself to some coffee.

#junebug-jamboree #op #sfw #writebug #crappypasta #trollpasta

[unsoundedcomic]

Hey Ashley! A question born of pure curiosity. I find myself to be a very visual and descriptive writer, in that if I can't get the words to get across what I'm picturing/what I'm picturing seems beyond the scope of my writing abilities, I get incredibly frustrated. I often wonder if sometimes the things I find difficult to get across with words (action scenes, mostly, my beloathed), would be easier if I had the ability to draw instead. Which finally brings myself to my question: do you find art or writing more difficult? Of course both is an option, as well as both of them having their own pitfalls and difficulties. Purely curious, as someone who can only just barely manage one of those art forms!

Hey superstar!

I absolutely find the art to be more... I wouldn't say difficult, but frustrating and time-consuming.

"Lemuel had too many lines in his brow to fall for the fiend's feint; when he jerked sideways, Lemuel flowed in the opposite direction, and steel was there to meet steel when the crooked backhand came. There wasn't a second. The foeman fell to the ground, neck gouting blood."

That would be half a comic page to illustrate coherently and take an entire day to make. Writing is faster and a more economical use of time. What you miss out on is spectacle, and appealing to the wide swathe of readers who really want visuals with their story. And so we make comics :)

It seems that people who really enjoy action wind up writing great action. Do you enjoy it? Or does it feel like something you HAVE to write for the sake of the story or characters? Does it feel like a chore? I LOVE action in video games; fantasy action, when the gore flies and you got heads and limbs hitting the floor in red chunks. I like a badass who gets to cut people down and then feel pretty good about it. That catharsis, man! Sublime!

Guys, who are some novelists or fanfic authors who write great action? Rec some stuff in the comments!

[txtmetonight]

Francis Forever

call summary ⋆ ★ The first time you’ve unofficially officially met Choi Yeonjun was when you had hit rock bottom and flailed helplessly against the dark deep waves of the drowning ocean.  And now you're sinking deeper than ever.

pairing *. * Choi Yeonjun x Fem! Reader

genre⋆ ★ Angst

warnings *. Death, Crude Language, Panic Attacks, Bad Grammar

call duration⋆ ★ 3.4k

a/n*. * Erm I'm not very satisfied with this one but whatever cause dialogue is def not my strongest suit lol...hope you guys like it tho

taglist ⋆ ★ @kflixnet//@oreoqueen // @woncheecks//@probably-too-obssessed

The Mitski Diaries Masterlist

The blearing lights of the convenience store did not do much to help your throbbing temple as you stumbled in with a hoodie and a pair of shorts. It was already nightfall, and the shining stars were sprinkled on the blanket of darkness. This was the first place you’ve ran into Choi Yeonjun unknowingly.  

Grabbing the Advil and Red bull that you came here for, you stood right behind Choi Yeonjun and his bright blue hair that caught your interest for a second. You watch his delirious state help the cashier ring up his very few items before he walks out of the store. You had only caught his eye once that day. 

The second time you’ve met Choi Yeonjun was by pure accident–a mistake. Failing your psychology test was purely an accident. Almost getting evicted from your apartment because you were unable to pay the rent was an accident. Losing your best friend from an illness was an accident.

Running into Choi Yeonjun with your stacks of failed papers in hand was an accident. Accidents on top of accidents continued to rot into your life, but this one was a good accident–or not you would soon later to think.  

Letting the Choi Yeonjun that made his way into your life was an accident.  

The third time you had encountered Choi Yeonjun, you were sure that fate had been playing her malicious cards with a sly bitten smile, on her vicious lips. Your mascara streaming down your slightly flushed cheeks, sinking into your skin as you melt into the brick wall behind you. Puddles of tears slop down along your muffled cries, the thick droplets of sorrow staining the pink blouse you wore that day.  

The surroundings around you were a blur, almost like when you were seated on a carousel when you were younger, happy eyes watching the streaks of color mush into a blurry mess that made you dizzy. So, it was really no surprise that you jumped in fear when Choi Yeonjun circled his warm arms around you and that feeling of wooziness slipped away. He grounded you on that stupid fucking carousel of misery.  

You cried harder finding comfort in his mellow chest, and you swear that was the last time you’ve let tears shed on yourself in such a gruesome matter–perhaps you thought.  

With the nights growing darker and the morning lights blinding more than ever, you're shocked to find the wet streams land in your black attire and rather not in the hands of another that you’ve grown to love.  

I don't know where to put my hands 

I've been trying to lay my head down 

But I'm writing this at three AM 

With the nightlight on, you don’t think that you can lay your head down to slumber. A pooling of helplessness fills deep within you and you’re not sure how long it was going to take before it consumed you whole, eating you alive. 

Yeonjun was your whole life. He was perfect, from head to toe, and you love him. You love him so much that it hurts. Feeling like thorns and spikes claw its way up your throat, it hurts to laugh. It hurts to talk. It hurts to cry. It hurts to feel. It hurts so much that you feel like each day you feel yourself being ripped to shreds. You think you’re on the verge of a pitfall of doom.  

Every day a certain scarf is pictured to be on your neck, as if it was strangling you. On days that it was too cold for just a thin piece of fabric around your neck, onlookers ogled at the purple stained fabric in wonder–what were you doing? Yet you let them stare, Yeonjun to you was a man of remembrance, and he suffered quite much to have you be the only one to reminiscence about him–so you let others ponder about him through that scarf.

Logically illogical, you’re about to go insane, everyone knew but never had a clue when. But they would too, if all you were forced to feed on was on the scraps of the imprint of him. No not him as a person, but instead the mere shadow of Yeonjun that seeped through the cracks of your brain whenever it liked. 

You wish you had met him a little earlier, given him a little more to chew into you as a person. 

The day after he found you in that alley, you’ve been forced to avoid him. But you significantly remember that he was everywhere that you went. At the grocery store, in the mall, in your communication skills class, in your dreams.

And every time he had the uncanny ability to spot you but when he did, you had the skill to scurry away like a coward. You resisted and you regret it more than ever now, maybe you should’ve let him in a little sooner–a little earlier would’ve meant that you could’ve spent a bit more time with him, cherish him more.  

Nevertheless, the stubborn fucker made it through your (not-so) tough defenses whether you liked it or not back then.

 

“I’m Choi Yeonjun and I'd to take you out for a cup of coffee...if you’re up to it.”

You don’t think your heart has ever leapt out of chest as much as it did now, but you’re hoping that the heart-attack induced scare takes your life rather than facing whoever that was.

But it doesn’t, so you’re dragged through your conscience to look up from your drawn in textbook, to meet a sharp pair of eyes that widen ever so slightly at you. “Excuse me?” You mutter, scooting a bit away from the familiar man, gasping shocks rumbling internally when he takes a step forward.  

“If you want to, I’d like to take you out somewhere–anywhere you’d like.” He sighs and then pauses. “Please” The blue-haired boy adds.

“I–that’s a bit direct,” You chuckle, shutting the book shut with a tremor of your chin. You don’t know if you’re about to sob or lash out in a serious case of anxious chokes. “Please” He parrots dumbly, gulping when he starts to gather your scattered pens and pencils, which you thank him for with a small smile. “I don’t even know you.”  

“Sure, you do. You ran into me with those stack of papers.” You freeze for a second and relax. “I barely even remember that.” That was a lie. He stills before laughing quietly. “Okay. I’ll get you to your front doorstep in an hour max. And wherever we go is your choice.”

Yeonjun was albeit weird, but you’re intrigued and so you turn around with the straps of your bag over your shoulder, weighing you down while you fight back a smile, walking through the various alleys of books.  

He follows right behind you with a small pep in his step, still keeping a bearable distance. "I don’t know. What if you kill me or something?” He laughs at that and stops, which slows you down to a completely unmoving being.

“But I can’t even I wanted to. I’d go to jail.” He watches your shoulders shake, rumbling in silence. “Please...I don’t think I’ve ever said please to a person that many times before.” He says, eyebrows furrowing when your feet start to walk again at a faster pace. 

“Where are you going, is that a yes or a no?!” 

And without looking back, you shout back, “Well we’re gonna have to walk to get to whatever place we’ll be going to...no? And you choose the place, I’m a little indecisive.” 

Soon enough by your side, he leads you to a coffee shop and leaves you at your doorstep in exactly fifty-six minutes, with your number in hand. And around your neck is a lilac scarf that hides your reddening flush.  

I don't need the world to see 

That I've been the best I can be, but 

I don't think I could stand to be 

Where you don't see me  

By the very corner, a red booth sits in its glory. It holds about six people max, yet usually two occupy the peeling cushions. A piece of gum sticks the edge towards the window and on the bottom a very happy smiley face and a picture of a very badly sketched fox is drawn on the wood with a red pen.

On the top, packets of sugar are placed neatly in a black carton, and if you move it from its original place, you could spot two initials scratched in, exposing the sandy splinters.  

Yeonjun believed that, sitting next to you was more endearing than across, because he was a man of touch. He wanted all of you, he craved your warmth and every single second not beside you were described to be feelings that mirrored the brutal actions only in hell.

So, he fixed himself to be linked arm in arm with you all times, and even while you were sipping on the drinks. He always said that he didn’t have to look at your face, as long as you were touching him in any way, he would be content and happy for the rest of his life.  

You hope he’s still happy wherever he went, but you’re surely not. You’ve heard about phantom limbs before a person feels as though a missing limb was still by their side even though they had lost it through a horrific accident.

Eerie.

Yet you’re not sure what was worse. Feeling a phantom limb of Yeonjun’s who arguably was your other half, or not feeling him at all. The brush of a ghostly arm sends you through a shockwave as you jump, hiccuping down another cup of caffeine. You’ve never ever had a taste for bitter drinks, but your love insisted on his favor for them and now that’s all you gulp down.   

You also trace the peeling letters, more than thrice, wincing when the wood gets between your skin. You suppose that’s what you're sobbing at recently–the pain of the blistering splinters, instead of your grieving heart at his beating love, but the others know better.

Sympathizing looks don’t go unnoticed by you, but you tend to ignore them, and it was easy when all you had to do was immerse yourself in... agony. When the waiter just told you that the cold coffee was on the house, or the old grandma gave you a distressing hug– you just must pretend to wonder why. Ho–hum.  

“You’re here every single day for a month, dear. You do realize that?” 

You look up and retch back a slack jaw at her words. 

“I–I haven’t, I thought it’s been a few days.” 

She widens her eyes, and opens her mouth to say a few words, but eventually stops herself. Then she serves you your coffee before leaving you in a deep pool of bother. 

“Hey (Y/n), how are you holding up?”  

When Soobin’s contact makes its way to your phone you hesitantly pull it up to your ear, but you press the answer button anyways. That night, when the devastating news had reached you, it was through a panicked call from Choi Soobin.

You distinctively recall the cracks in his voice or the blaring in the background. You could almost imagine the blue and red lights that emit much light to blind, and you could almost smell pungent smell of rust and rain.

And this time on the line with the man you could call as your brother, you’re drowned in the memories of that night that haunt you every single second of the day. You could hear the screaming in your head, and the blunt pain in your toe as you scrambled around and stubbed it.

You could feel the car keys in your hand and the driver's wheel in your fingers, steering to the hospital. Perhaps you could also taste the pure fear that coursed through your tongue, at each swipe it to at your bitten cheek and the aftermath of a bile attack that spilled on the pristine white floor.  

“(Y/n)? Are you there?” 

Shaking your head, you sigh into the phone, blinking back another wave of tears. You would assume you’ve cried all the liquid out of your system, but more appears when you least expect it. “Yeah, I’m here. And I’ve been fine...or maybe near it? I dunno. How are you and the boys?”  

It goes silent and suddenly, you're met with sniffling that has you reciprocating with big fat globs. “Us too, I guess. I j–just can’t believe it, I don’t know how to come to reality with anything anymore. Beomgyu doesn’t even talk to me, Huening is fucking quiet all the time, and Taehyun keeps coming back dead at night, sobbing.” He weeps. You finally close your eyes and hit the sofa. “I’m so sorry” You say.  

“And I’m so sorry too. I actually don’t know why I even called. I won’t bother you anymore.” Soobin mutters and you desperately want to tell him that he’s not bothering you, and to please stay, but you don’t. You instead say, “Ok, sure. Please don’t ever contact me again.” You meant the last part as a joke and you’re sure that the man on the other side knows that, yet he cuts the line as soon as your last word hits the receiver.

And just like that, you’re back to your pitiful desolation. To tell the truth, you’re envious. You’re starting to get pissed. With Yeonjun gone...you don’t have anyone on your side. Soobin has the boys, and he says that you do too, but you both know that isn’t true. Without your lover, you’ve succumbed to loneliness of yourself. You will forever live in vain alongside your life with a nasty ring on your finger and the comfort of your brutal tears.  

On sunny days I go out walking 

I end up on a tree-lined street 

I look up at the gaps of sunlight 

I miss you more than anything 

“You’re perhaps the most stunning woman, I’d ever seen in my life” Yeonjun mutters against the expanse of your skin, nuzzling into your warmth as you both lay under a cherry blossom tree. You bite back and smile and flush against the bark of the tree. “That was out of no-where. What’s wrong?”

He twists a little and makes an effort to stare into your eyes–which to him wasn’t too hard, not when your eyes pooled the depths of heavens themselves, and all the beautiful things it beheld. Not when they twinkled like bright stars and Yeonjun internally promised to map out each and every gleam himself.

“Nothing much. Just making some very obvious observations. Did you know that you’re also so very very kind, and fucking gorgeous, and cook up some mean meals, maybe a little stubborn, oh and that you’re my lucky charm of a girlfriend?” He snickers, grabbing your hands to land a small kiss on your ring finger, the pads of your skin, burning against his blood-red lips.

The sunlight beams at the gesture and opens up its lovely rays for the world to share, especially for the two lovers that sit side-by side; one blushing ferociously and the other just admiring.  

“Well–er–did you know that you’re the most handsome man I’d ever seen in my entire and probably ever will, that you’re so exquisite that sometimes it makes me want to puke, that you have the most loving voice anyone would be pleased to here, the same one I believe that could perfectly sing my heart’s tune to where it yearns out for you, oh and that you’re my stupidly bitchy but exquisite boyfriend?”

He scoffs at the last part but turns shy at your giggles and so he pulls at your cheeks, unable to keep himself from kissing them. Meeting you was the most wonderful thing that happened to him, and he plans to keep you around forever–if you’d let him.  

It goes a little silent for a while. 

Then Yeonjun coughs and subtly moves closer, your palm lain across his thigh where he’s kept it from earlier, his own fingers wrapping them against yours. “Did–did you know that you may soon be my fiancé?” Yeonjun murmurs. He watches your lips quiver for a second as you try to comprehend his words.

“I wonder how soon?” You whisper and suddenly you go quiet as you watch him stumble with his arms, clumsily pulling something out of his pocket–a ruby red box that glitters spectacularly. “Holy fuck, I–” You choke, and he just laughs at you before sincerely gazing at you. “(Y/n) I know that this isn’t the most romantic thing, and I’ll make it up, I swear! But will you marr–”  

You cut him off and kiss him. You’re crying you both notice and the salty tears stream down your face, but you don’t stop them as you pull back from the lack of oxygen, heavily panting. “I–what the hell, of course I’ll marry you” You cry, and he starts to bawl as well, grasping the ring from the box so he can slip it on your finger, the same one he just put up to his mouth to smooch.

“I love you much” It was just a huge mess of blubbering tears and wailing voices but you both tackle each other to the ground, embracing one another as though it was just you two left in the damned world.  

Yeonjun’s favorite trees were always the ones with the most flowers that smelt alluring because they always reminded him of you–so his first choice was a cherry blossom tree. The petals were always so magical...and they still are from the way that the branches bow down to you in grief and pity.

You take it that they also miss the same person as you, and you can’t blame them. This is the first time you’ve been here since his demise. You’re so used to the never-ending tears that you can’t even tell if you’re crying or not anymore.

Eyes scouring the ground below you, your eyes widen as a very familiar rock sticks out from the dirt, right near your shoe. You kick at it ferociously ignoring the ache that travels up your foot, but it's all worth it when the sight of purple paint flips around, contrasting it's dull background.

Feb 10...the new valentine's day! Y.J & the love of his life

Today was supposed to be your fifth anniversary–just a few days before Valentine's Day when he was too impatient to confess to you on the day itself, though he had it all planned out for months on end. He was just too sweet you suppose.

"I didn't forget, by the way Junnie. Happy Anniversary, I–I have a gift for you, yeah?" You mumble.

Your hands touch the bark and watch the little ants that scurry the ground. Your lips exhale a loud sigh before you lean down and pat the soil beneath you, nails digging into the rich brown mud. A stray eyelash irritates your skin so with the unsoiled part of your hands you wipe it on to your palm.  

Taking a second you close your eyes and wish, ‘for wherever my sweet Yeonjun is, I hope him to be a cherry blossom tree in his next life, how much ever dumb it sounds’. And then you blow and grab a ring from your breast pocket. The gold band is lovely, and it was your lover’s, the one he wore on his own ring finger.

And before you have any more regrets, you place the jewel in the small hole and cover it up once more. With a piece of your heart gone with Yeonjun’s flatline, another had just been buried along with the ring; and you wonder how much of it you have left to spare.  

Happy Fake slash Non-fake Valentine's day.

I don't need the world to see 

That I've been the best I can be, but 

I don't think I could stand to be 

Where you don't see me 

You stand in the heavy pouring rain staring at the sky. And you’re praying that the dusky clouds clear up; for the reason that Yeonjun might not have a clear view of the world below and maybe you.

You itch to feel his comforting gaze on you or else you just might not make it through. It’s been a while you think since all the saddening phrases said by others have eased up. The spring season has evolved into a daze of heat and the summer warmth made you feel dizzy.  

But now fall is throwing itself out in the air. The sugary scent of apple pie wafts in and out of a nearby bakery. The wet-colored leaves underneath your feet serve as a reminder.

And so, the rest of the boys have been arriving at your door with freshly made pumpkin wine to share as you five bond over an early shitty Christmas movie. You started to cry when the dog passed away in the film and another four pairs of eyes chuckled at your sobs. Beomgyu supplies his comfort, but you’d rather have your lover, fiancé, and the boy too good for this world and for you.

You just want Yeonjun back. 

Meeting and letting Choi Yeonjun become yours was truly an accident–but it’s safe to say that all the years you molded with him weren’t ever regretted.  

And autumn comes when you're not yet done 

With the summer passing by, but 

I don't think I could stand to be 

Where you don't see me

#txt x reader #yeonjun x reader #k-labels #txt #tomorrow by together imagine #tomorrow x together #tomorrow by together #yeonjun imagines #choi yeonjun #yeonjun #yeonjun fluff #yeonjun angst #yeonjun ff #choi yeonjun x reader #kpop x reader #kpop ff #kpop fanfic #kpop #txt imagines #txt ff #txt post #tubatu #light angst #drabble #one shot #angst #mitski

[pseudonymphomania]

The Seven Apples

I've wanted this card since NB came out and I traded in my HDD tickets for it even though Diavolo's birthday banner is coming up... AND.

I DONT CARE IF I GET DOUBLE ON DIAS BDAY. THIS CARD NEEDS TO BE BUFFED AF SO I CAN ALWAYS SEE IT.

It starts off normal enough. I'm invited to hang with Diavolo and pick apples so that Barbatos can make apple pie.

1) You already know that the Glory Days Lucifer card is my favourite card from OG, so this continuation of that storyline is squeezing my heart. This card implies that Lucifer visits Diavolo often and that Diavolo had not been to the Celestial Realm himself at this point. Diavolo enjoys Lucifers company and talks about him enough that Barbatos comments on it.

2) Lucifer simply telling him a story about golden apples in the Celestial Realm is enough for Diavolo to want to plant his own tree and in his memories, he toils hard, digging a giant hole, tired and sweaty, just to show Lucifer what apples in the Devildom are like (and guys, apple trees dont grow overnight. This is a LONGTERM Plan. He intends to see this angel far, far into the future). This man can summon meteors. He doesn't have to work hard. He chooses to work hard.

3) Reading about Diavolo's childhood in this context means that Diavolo is the metaphorical tree, especially from Barbatos's eyes. He's growing himself, learning, finding a new vision, and being the best of himself that he can be. He himself seems to regard this tree as his toiling efforts and we are supposed to clue into the fact that he will build the school, have the exchange program and work hard toward his goals, but his "All good things" comment doesn't FIT. Because it doesn't rely on his actions but seems to toss the happening into the hands of luck and the universe. Barbatos calls him out on it and he responds almost evasively, reminiscent of the way he does when he doesn't want to lie but he doesn't want to tell the truth. It's an interesting choice, but you know where it could fit?

It could fit if we understand it in context, where he's planting this tree for Lucifer's sake, someone apart from Diavolo who has his own intentions, but whom Diavolo cannot compel. It's not a coincidence that he needs exactly seven apples for his pie and that he compares a particularly shiny apple to MC.

The man is growing relationships to people, something he's always wanted despite the traps and pitfalls that his Demon King father inflicted on him.

But the real Subtext: all that^^^ is really to impress Lucifer at the heart of it. I'm choosing to take this metaphor to the ends of the earth. Diavolos character is just so interesting and they can take him so many places but his interpersonal character development is so intrinsically entwined in his relationship to Lucifer that I can't write fanfic fast enough.

#dialuci #obey me diavolo #diavolo x lucifer #obey me dialuci #obey me lucifer #obey me shall we date #obey me #obey me nightbringer #fanfiction #meta #all to say is that i fucking nailed the Diavolo and Demon King relationship in my fanfic The Sex Shop damn #its me I'm the cats #my thinks

[musashi]

Hey, you're really the only person I follow who appreciates Manfred in all his glory, so just a quick question but do you have any tips on characterising him when writing?

genuinely, we see very little of him in canon, so a lot of how you characterize him is up to you! some people make him evil incarnate, cruel just for the sake of cruelty, and there is really little in canon that contradicts that. others, like me, prefer to make him a very over the top villain in mannerisms alone but with a good deal of humanity still buried within.

i tend to be INCREDIBLY selective with the words i read RE: him so i don't exactly know what pitfalls people fall into other than just kinda making him a horrible child abuser who does what he does for no reason other than to cause pain. off the top of my head though here's some things i think to keep in mind abt manfred:

he believes he is on the side of good. i feel like miles is one of the only prosecutors who people really keep this in mind about. even though the prosecutors of AA are antagonists by definition, they believe they serve a vital role, that of punishing evil. from the perspective of the prosecutor, they are handing down justice and putting away evildoers. this might seem very 'duh' but because you play as a defense attorney in AA you are predisposed to see them as their own sort of evil, coming after innocents. it's important to remember there are two sides to every story.

adding onto this, his proteges see him this way! miles and franziska both view him as a noble man who fights for justice. in the anime, franziska says of him, "he's basically like a superhero. he never lets the bad guys get away."

manfred is charismatic. a lot of people playing the game dislike him outright because of how tough an opponent he is right from the get-go. but he has both the charisma and the domineering attitude to get the courtroom to hang on his every word. there is a reason he commands attention and is revered as the legend he is.

manfred is not serious all the time. he makes stupid dad jokes in court. he likes karaoke. he has incredibly strong opinions on fashion and berates the other prosecutors for not dressing better. people get so tunnel visioned on all the bad things he has done that they forget he is in the ace attorney series, which is a very silly series alongside all its seriousness.

many canons show that manfred loves his family. this includes miles. even if you want to make him manipulative and abusive, it's important to remember this. abusers can and do love their victims, and it makes for a much more compelling story!

manfred obsessively plans ahead. if he wants something to get done, he has likely thought of every single obstacle that might stand in his way and taken care of it pre-emptively. remember that phoenix might have called that parrot to the stand, but manfred predicted he would do it. a lot of people pretty erroneously claim that manfred got where he did by lying, cheating, forging evidence, etc--this is, again, something that is not present in canon before 1-4. even the penalty that caused DL6 was something that manfred was actively misled about. he was good at his job.

manfred is a control freak. when he begins to lose control of a situation, that's when his mask is likely to slip.

he is stony, cold, calculating, and dismissive of that which he's disinterested in. manfred views most things as below him & his ilk. he is passionate about what he loves and has little tolerance for what he doesn't.

like his proteges he is wordy and overly formal in his speech. if you can write franziska & miles' dialogue you can write manfred's, he's the reason they talk like that. the biggest difference is that he tends a little more toward finding different ways to call something ridiculous. franziska will say foolish every time. manfred will say asinine, infernal, trifling, anything in that general area of 'why do you talk like a fucking video game villain'

honestly if you can write franziska you can write manfred. they are very similar. the biggest difference is that franziska is young and has a more flexible worldview--her concept of what justice is can shift and change. manfred is set in his ways, he believes in good and evil and little in the area between. franziska is also a lot more loving and protective. the biggest difference between them is their prosecution style: manfred wants trials done quick, franziska wants to drag them out as long as possible and follow every thread, crushing each argument one by one. to manfred, "perfect justice" is exposing the truth as quickly as possible, clean and succinct. to franziska, it is making sure no scrap of it remains unexplored.

this literally only applies to court scenes but its a huge pet peeve i have: manfred does not refer to the judge as 'your honour.' he exclusively and informally calls him judge, likely as a power move. little thing but it can make all the difference. iirc he also does this to a lot of others ie 'defense attorney' 'detective' etc but most of that is in aai which is very take it or leave it canon with some weird localization choices tbh.

thats all i can think of i am so bad with general questions but if you have any questions in particular please hmu

#wendy rambles #manfred von karma

[jenneferofjengaberg]

I've been watching SurrealEstate on Hulu and really enjoying it. It takes a couple episodes to really get going, but when it hits its stride, it's really good. It's another one of those quirky, fun, poorly promoted (I had never even heard of it until I stumbled over it on Hulu well after the first season had completely finished airing) SYFY shows, but it's definitely got something special as far as the writing and cast are concerned.

The show stars Tim Rozon (Wynonna Earp, Schitt's Creek) as Luke Roman, a real estate agent who deals with "challenging properties", re: haunted or cursed houses.

Together with his motley crew of unusual weirdos, including new hire Susan Ireland (Sarah Levy, Schitt's Creek), he takes on haunted houses, cursed properties, and occasionally demons or other malevolent entities.

It does very well blending humor and horror. And unlike many television paranormal shows this one has actually produced some genuine jumps and gasps from me. It can be quite scary sometimes. It also has made me tear up a few times, although it avoids the treacly pitfalls of some shows that deal with ghosts. You're not going to have to hear an extended sob story of some dead person every week and witness them "crossing over to the other side" in a shower of heavenly light. This is not Touched by An Angel. In fact, for a show that does routinely deal with haunted houses, it's oddly, but satisfyingly more concerned with the living than the dead.

If you like paranormal shows, and especially haunted houses, this is definitely one you should check out. Apparently, the show was briefly cancelled after season 1, but SYFY changed their minds and uncancelled it. Season 2 began airing on October 4th.

#surrealestate #show rec #review #my words

[flowersandbigteeth]

Hiiii 😭New in blog!

Do you have any tips/source in writing orcs?

Bc planning to do some bc got the spark your fics an inspiration 😩😩🙌

Halllooo! Welcome! 🥰 I started answering this question and it got so long 😭 I could honestly write an essay on this, there's so much to think about. So my candid thoughts are below 👇🏽

As far as pop culture goes: I generally like Durotan in the warcraft movie as my favorite Orc "look". I'm not too inspired by Tolkien's Orcs personally, but technically the DnD Orcs are based on that description. I started out basing my Orcs and half Orcs on the DnD races and elder scrolls online (orsimer are an orc like race) and then it grew into developing my own lore.

The DnD community is great because there are a lot of OCs to consider for reference and spin off games and lore, though (not saying you would, just for those who need to be reminded) you shouldn't steal other people's OCs. You can browse OCs on toyhouse and Pinterest, as well. Warhammer, Magic, and Warframe also have orc type characters to look at for character design ideas. Tolkien originally developed his Orcs from old English monsters, so that would be an interesting rabbit hole to jump down for inspiration.

Aside from the aesthetics there is a big pitfall to look out for when writing Orcs specifically:

Orcs started out as a villain race, but I find that extremely reductive. Orcs deserve culture, art, motives, and a spectrum of personalities. Tolkien's Orcs have been criticized as well as DnD rules about Orcs. I'm not going to do a deep dive into that because there is a lot to parse through. You can look it up if it interests you. There is far, far more discussion on it than I'm going to get into right now.

But my ultra, ultra simplified take away from what I've read is it's important to acknowledge the personhood of any character you write. And that's true for any writing really. Not to say you can't write an orc as a villain, but, for example, there is difference between writing a mindless killing machine and a villain with a personality, motive, strengths and weaknesses, and backstory if that makes sense.

If they are a mindless killing machine, there should be a reason other than Orc=bad. What happened to them to make them that way? Is there a societal expectation that they are trying to live up to? Do they have an internal struggle about it or do they feel justified for their violence? Are they under a spell or brainwashed? Why is that?

Villains are tricky because you want a satisfying ending, the villain may be complex, but they have to reach a point of no return where the hero has to act. So what was it that sent them off the edge? Vanity? Greed? Revenge? Etc.

Separate from Orcs it is a good way to look at all monster writing. As the counterpart to "born sexy yesterday" I think "born evil yesterday" is also kinda blah.

I'm not at all going to say I am great at this, it's often hard to create full, complex characters in short fiction but it's something to strive for. I'm sure I have characters on this blog I could have developed better, but I try to keep it in the back of my mind the more I learn about writing.

It's the same for an Orc hero. Orcs aren't dumb, malleable studs. I personally like expanding on Orcs canon skills (strength, loyalty, stamina, leadership) and flesh them out. Saber is strong, but he's also nimble and charming. Reven is big and can be scary, but is skilled in style and fashion, as well as being steadfast and loyal. Cedar is a warrior but studious and kind. Golmad loves weapons and is a leader but also gentle and good humored.

For visual ideas, I look at a lot of different styles and cultures, but it usually has a lot to do with the environment. I like to look at ye olde hairstyle and clothing ideas relevant to the place the Orcs are from, if that makes sense? Like if they lived in the artic you'd look for cultures that live in cold weather and draw inspiration from the materials they would have at hand for processing, sewing, and decorating.

In general, I tend to lean on more traditional depictions of mountain Orcs, but jazzed up? I don't like ripped, careless dirty rags, but clean, utilitarian and neatly cut leather and furs, as they are big hunters there rather than farmers. If they live in a village or town they'd wear whatever is in fashion, cotton or linen. Where are they from, their social class, and what types of clothes would be best for that environment are good questions to ask when developing costumes, next their personality. Whether they are vain, utilitarian, or cocky and like to roll around with their shirt off. 😸 I think keeping the environment and personality at the forefront of your mind, you won't fall into cliche traps. There's nothing wrong with having dirty ripped clothes but if it doesn't make any sense in the context of the world you're building it flattens the character. The assumption that Orcs are filthy or unskilled at tailoring by nature doesn't work for me.

Idk without going on too long, I hope some of that helps?

#sweet asks #sweet anons #orc lore #orc headcanons #orc boyfriend #monster romance