#first vs third person

[ao3-shenanigans]

I think this is often for a few reasons

- it leaves a lot less room for characterization errors (if thats something readers care about, which sometimes they don’t mind)

- most shows and visual media is naturally done in third person so to read fan works for that media in first is unusual

- most fan works are done in third person and so it’s sort of seen as a default where as books have a full mix

For clarification

1st person: I sat in the chair and looked over to the window. “What’s Jon doing here?” I asked.

2nd person: You sat in the chair and look over to the window. “What’s Jon doing here?” You asked.

3rd person: She sat in the chair and looked over to the window. “What’s Jon doing here?” She asked.

Which works together with Past, Present, and Future tenses too. They aren’t the same things, but they do go together.

Past (3rd): Jon pulled out a chair and sat down.

Present (3rd): Jon pulls out a chair and sits down.

Future (3rd): Jon will pull out a chair and sit down.

#I think this is so interesting #first vs third person #my sister prefers first person for books actually #which I can respect #it’s better for introspection in books #vs action #sometimes at least when done well #anyways #ao3 #archive of our own #fanfiction #English language #writing

[reylosaurus]

it would probably cause me irreparable emotional damage if I ever witnessed the “you know I’d die for you” locklyle scene from the hollow boy in live action

#lockwood & co #lockwood and co #anthony lockwood #lucy carlyle #touched upon this like 100 posts back but the love confession vs the nail on the coffin solidifying Lucy’s decision to leave #like seeing that from an audience/third person POV vs. Lucy’s first person POV #irreparable! emotional! damage! #and u already know the actors would be acting down like I would be in tears screaming crying sobbing

[lucasfang]

Gold Survives AU

First Pages

#gold survives au #animation vs minecraft #avm fanart #avm #avm king orange #avm mango #avm gold #alan becker #I told you guys it would be angsty #the main first bits will be first person from gold #but eventually we will go third person #maybe #I’m not sure yet

[grishaverse-chaos]

For the ship game if you like: Malina

yeah I ship it!

I kind of always shipped it but I started liking it even more when I got in a debate irl about malina vs darkl!na, and realised just how good it was

fav things: the ORPHANAGE, how supportive Mal is of Alina (and ik people don't think he is, but he IS), how they are literally the embodiment of "your partner should also be your best friend", that one line from the show "Mal and I changed the world" which I could scream about for DAYS.... basically I love this ship it's so fucking cute

does shipping malina count as an unpopular opinion? I feel like it kind of does lmao, but my real hot take is that Alina shouldn't have lost her powers at the end of r&r! her ending is perfect APART from that - me and my best friend irl decided that she should have lost only the power from the amplifiers and kept what was hers originally, and honestly that's replaced canon in my mind

#ty for the ask! #sparkling #answered #mayhem.txt #grishaverse #malina #to elaborate on the debate thing: this was so funny bc me and a bunch of my friends do debate at school #and we went to the session one week and the activity was 'in groups of 3‚ pick any topic and do a 3 minute speech about it' #and the other two people in my group were both grishaverse fans so we said 'okay for our topic we need to pick something grishaverse' #and we IMMEDIATELY thought of malina vs darkl!na #one of them asked 'so what do we think' and me and the other girl said at the same time 'malina!' 'darkl!na!' and just Looked at each other #and we did the speeches but the whole point was that we could offer counter arguments by raising our hand during the other person's speech #and it was CHAOS #me and the darkl!na girl were SCREAMING at each other lmao #she went first and i went second + then the third girl went up and said 'okay hear me out. NIKOLINA' #and we just both went '🤷 can't argue with that' #but our teacher was SO CONFUSED about why we were fully SCREAMING at each other #(it's chill we're literally besties and she doesn't ship darkl!na anymore 😭😭) #anyway! fun bit of #mayhem lore

[kendallroygf]

your tags in every ken/stewy post always make me laugh because yes- stewy definitely calls his grandma and starts going on a lengthy rant about ken and occasionally shittalking the roys. she doesn’t know what he’s on about half the time but you’re right, the main takeaway is always ‘make dua sadegh:)’ he’s still gonna call and complain though. never beaten those down bad allegations since high school im afraid.

FOR REALLLLL HSFHJHGGGH. i just know he spent half the time of his weekly phone calls to his grandmother complaining about his best friend kendall and his fucked up family and i just know that every female relative in stewy’s life is sooo doting that they’re just like awwww he has a friend mashallah🥰 so cute. even when it’s decidedly not ‘cute’ anymore for stewy to be this obsessed with his best friend. like it doesn’t even cross their mind to think stewy might be a tad not normal about kendall. five year old stewy was like . i wish me and kendall wud be best fwends forevar and when we grow up we live together and have a kitty:) and stewy’s maman is like. awww say inshallah sadegh🥰.

#i think stewy’s dad was a bit more 🤨 abt it . like he used to come in to stewy’s room sometimes with like. cut up fruit or chai or something #while him and kendall were hanging out #and then just stay there . until stewy’s like dad you are EMBARRASSING me . but also stewy’s dad is like. my son is NOT gay🙄✋ he’s just #creative ! #also continuing to think about how stewy is kendall’s ‘third oldest friend’ (i kind of think that’s bullshit tho) vs kendall being stewy’s #oldest friend . bc like kendall is the first person stewy ever made a connection with outside of his family .. like that’s insane. ik a lot #of it is probably feeling the odd one out like. being the only brown kid in an all white school (ik that feeling) and to think something in #baby kendall was like . idc if nobody else is talking to him i wanna be his friend . is so sweet idk #then again it most likely was them both being othered from the kids at buckley bc they were both respectively ‘weird’ and they found each o #ther. literally the brown kid autistic kid friendship of the century #stewy #p

[pallases]

goddd it feels so good when you finally find that part of the program that makes it all click together

#personal #the engineering chronicles #working on a keypad processor and i swear i shifted around my col = / row = / key = etc and break statements a million times and the Gasp i #gave when i reloaded it again and it finally worked <3 #extra unexpected part of the confusion was the hardware in that i accidentally had two of the wires switched and it was like wtf why is this #getting stuck on the second column of all things it doesn’t make sense if it’s getting stuck anywhere it should be either the first or third #column. <- third as in just finishing out loop and staying at those last values vs first as in breaking from loop too soon. second made no #sense. but then it turned out it WAS getting stuck in the first column my wires were just crossed so the first column was getting assigned #to what was supposed to be the second column’s pin. and so on. pretty proud of myself for finally figuring it out actually #<- not the wires that was a stupid mistake LMAO but the code since even after i caught the wires there were issues

[inkovert]

a challenge I'm currently experiencing in my (re-)writing is how to reveal certain things about a new secondary character to the readers through the lens of Cami, my main and sole POV character. Especially when said secondary character is very private and reserved (and doesn't currently like Cami but that's a whole different story...).

I've heard of the concept of like 'character viewpoint synopses' which is to look/think about the story through the eyes of each of my major characters and what they're doing/thinking about in and in-between each scene. I've *kind of* been slowly trying to do that (hard to convince my lazy self to do that extra work even though I know it will be good for my story development), but I wonder if that will solve the issue of figuring out how to or what to reveal to the reader through Cami's perspective. There's only so many times she can *overhear a conversation* or something along those lines before it starts to feel forced. So yeah just realizing this is one limitation of writing in first person vs third person. don't expect to change the POV I write this story in but trying to brainstorm ways to deal with this new challenge 🤔

#inkoverted thoughts #I'm aware that there's a lot of exercises I could be doing to improve certain areas of my story - esp this one #but I've never been one to be eager to 'try writing in another characters POV' or 'write a chapter in third person vs first' #or any of those common writing exercise prompts that are pushed forward #im too eager to just write directly to my story to try those things out lol #so I guess I have to find a compromise that I'll be satisfied with

[sharkneto]

I've been listening to Harrow the Ninth at work and just hit the POV reveal with the use of second-person this whole time and I am Losing My Mind Over It

#god I already really liked the juxtaposition of the second- vs third-person #and I'd thought it was for grief and unreliable narrator reason for what Harrow had done to herself #to avoid the guilt and grief of gideon #but!!!! that ''I''! that... its not even really switch to first-person because its actually been first-person this whole time! #but disguised as second-person! #im fucking obsessed #locked tomb #harrow the ninth #i had to pause and get up and walk around i was so excited about it

[mxanigel]

I am not my characters, but without my characters, I wouldn't know myself as well as I do.

#random thoughts #dwelling on first-person vs third-person POV #and why some aspects of Neri's story hit home for me #compared with certain aspects of Lynn's journey #don't mind me rambling in the tags more than the actual post

[whoslaurapalmer]

i did not mean to keep planning college au today but that’s what i’m doing. right now i decided to give lemony a blog and am trying to come up with narrative reasoning to justify it but god i want him to have a stupid blog 

#it does not NEED to have a narrative reason. i can just do it bc it's fun. but. like. okay look #the......narrative function of a character having a blog vs having a pov section is inherently different. #and like i've said before. i can't personally fathom writing lemony in third person. i can't do it. third person isn't lemony. #but if i write the fic from everyone's third person pov (bc everyone can't be in FIRST. like. no one else vibes in first!!) #then lemony can't have a pov. he can't be the ONE in first person. #but if lemony has a BLOG. then he 1) gets a pov space 2) funnily enough remains outside and inside the story in the way he is in canon #but what is WRITTEN in the blog that makes it IMPERATIVE to the function of the story. what is TOLD in the blog #that can't be told in ANY other pov. that's what i'm trying to figure out. #IT WOULD HELP IF I DID NOT JUST HAVE COLLEGE AU PLANNED IN BROAD STROKES. IF I HAD MORE OF THE PLOT POINTS DOWN

[imaginarypasta]

one of the things i’ve noticed that changes between this series and the last is the newfound emphasis on diplomacy & decorum. i do understand why, both in how the narrative changes w the introduction of new ideas and frameworks as well as how it might want to adapt to have its own voice, themes, etc. but gone are the days of yes-anding oneself into strange situations and in are those of yet another scene highlighting the importance of a letter of introduction—and that was personally a huge reason why i liked the original series so much. i don’t even mind like diplomacy as a narrative device when it’s equipped in interesting ways but when it’s constant introductions to new characters that go relatively similarly every time & a very clear narrative voice insisting that original solution wouldn’t work when it’s 1. more interesting to me personally and 2. not even working any better practically, then that starts to get super boring

#personal #even when i was a middle schooler reading these books i was never much a fan of the roman camp but i just didn’t have the skills or words #to put together why. i think a lot of it comes from this. because i certainly enjoy the characters a lot but this aspect just makes them #very boring to read about. i’m invested in the characters’ emotional lives but when it comes to practical stakes i find it draining & dull #which i want to emphasize is not my natural response to these things being present. it’s these specific characters in this specific world #written by this specific author that makes it not really my thing in this instance #bc stuff like political intrigue is probably my favorite type of conflict (besides like deep personal ones) and yet i’m SO picky in how it’s #done and so the stuff i like i really like #but it’s also very hard to come by #that’s not the only reason i struggle with it. i think esp coming into the third book (i’m a little under halfway through) #that it’s a bunch of things: the huge cast that sticks with us the whole time (i do like how they’re constantly broken into smaller quests #like i think that’s well done but it’s just so many characters to deal with for so long) #the rotating perspective. the emphasis on relationships (and how that’s framed w/i the text. shadow & bone s2 did something really similar #to this). etc. but yeah. in good news: the writing is much improved from tlh even for the characters i really didn’t likes’ perspective #chapters. i do think the way the cast is broken up is good and so is the conflicts between them (with some exceptions. insecurity in #relationships is kinda boring to me but so are ships in general so that’s not a surprise). there are still characters i don’t like but they #are much improved by this book (although you can basically figure out which ones i like vs. don’t based on which book they first appeared in #in this series). #so yeah that’s my review so far :p we’ll see if i stick with it because i remember not really enjoying the next two books either when i #first read them. but my tastes have changed a lot (i say. keeping nearly my exact same rankings thus far)

[symbologic]

currently going through the Wano arc with @brovado, and maybe it's because i'm still in Act 2, but i honestly don't understand how Matt Owens can rank it as B-tier??

the story is SO ambitious and has a lot to chew on. it reminds me of this dense, classic novel with lots of intrigue, a rich cast of characters that are all thematic parallels and foils to one another, and TONS of dramatic irony. also, the visuals? are a damn treat, since it leans so heavily into Edo-period aesthetics and art

#i can't quite shake the feeling that this arc somehow reflects the history of the D Clan and their relationship with authority and freedom #especially after that execution scene holy shit #also? i'm enjoying this arc more than whole cake island #there i said it #wci is a solid arc that achieves its narrative goals with themes of chosen vs. bio family #and how we're affected by the stories we grow up believing about ourselves #plus i ADORE twisted fairytale motifs #but to say it's leagues better than wano?? c'mon #tho tbh any arc where half of the SHs are absent b/c they're setting things up for the next arc #just isn't going to be as fun for me personally #it's a big reason why baratie is my least-favorite east blue arc (after the rest of the crew peaces out to find nami anyway) #at least dressrosa has the full cast for the first third of the arc you know?? #also doffy #along with some genuinely hilarious character moments #one piece #wano arc

[jiatism]

THE 10 STAGES OF GENOCIDE, AND HOW FAR PALESTINE IS ALONG WITH THEM

This will be using the UN's ten stages of genocide map (as seen above) as a base for each stage.

So far, palestine is within its ninth stage of genocide.

*although I do not believe isreal is a real or valid country, this will be referring to its citizens as "isrealis"

First Stage: Classification.

This stage is about us and them narratives. In the Holocaust it was Jewish vs Germans, in this it is Palestinians vs israelis.

The ‘us vs them’ narrative has been drilled into young israelis' minds for decades and has only gotten worse.

Second Stage: Symbolism

I do not believe there are any symbols to tell an israel apart from a Palestinian person.

Most of the time it is based off their religion, however not all Palestinians are Muslim nor are all israel Jewish.

Instead of symbols, they segregate.

Third Stage: Discrimination

This stage is about taking things away from their target group. israel has taken away their housing, their land, and their property as seen in the west bank.

Fourth Stage: Dehumanisation

Dehumanisation refers to distancing the target group from humans, and making people less inclined to empathize with them.

israel refers to Palestinians as both animals and derogatory words such as "whores" or "monsters."

Fifth Stage: Organization

This stage is about planning the genocide, and training.

Many israeli students are taught in order for them to grow up and become IDF soldiers. They are taught how to kill without remorse and enjoy it.

Sixth Stage: Polarisation

Polarisation is about the media and spreading hate about their target group in media.

The IDF not only go on international TV and talk about palestinian "terrorists" but also spread misinfo on social media.

(see this post)

Seventh Stage: Preparation

When preparing perpetrators use code words in order to make their intentions seem brighter.

israel calls it "land disputes" or "self defense" when it is a genocide fueled by colonialist ideologies.

Eight Stage: Persecution

Persecution is about rounding up their target group and committing mass killings.

israel has rounded Palestinians up into Gaza, an open air prison, and continues to bomb their homes, shelters, and hospitals.

There is nowhere for palestinians to go.

Stage Nine: Extermination

This is the stage we are on. israel is destroying hospitals, relief centers, communities, and families.

They are attempting to find and kill every palestinian. Class of 2024 has been canceled due to all students dying.

This cannot continue.

Stage Ten: Denial

If we continue to let israel kill off Palestine, we will get here. To the point where zionists will deny the genocide entirely.

SPEAK UP. DO NOT LET IT COME TO THIS.

Thank you for reading. The original post can be found under the Twitter/X account @aligaytor_. OP has given me permission to share it to Tumblr.

#palestine #palestine news #from the river to the sea palestine will be free #free palestine 🇵🇸 #i stand with palestine 🇵🇸 #free palestine #news on gaza #save gaza #gaza genocide #free gaza #gaza #gaza strip #gazaunderattack #i stand with palestine #stand with gaza #genocide #info post

[skzdarlings]

bets and situations ; skz ; minho x reader

original ask: requested by anonymous: minho and “is that how you usually get out of these situations? by fucking your way out of them?” please

pairing: lee minho/reader content info: rivals to lovers. street racing. stubborn!reader. placing bets, betting sex (still explicit consent), fucking vs making love. outdoor sex. sex on a car. explicit sexual content. word count: 3400 words.

masterlist. part of the valentine’s day stories series. credit to prompts. requests are closed.

enjoy! <3

-

Sure, you are a little insufferable. 

But Lee Minho is worse. 

He carries himself with an elitist pomposity, like he is above the other drivers just because he once raced professionally.  Trophies or not, he is out here with the rest of you, illegally racing cars down desert roads, placing bets in the dead of night. 

You were content until this fucker came along.  Lee Minho and the stupid pretty face that won him fan clubs and brand deals.  Ugh.  You hate him for having that life and for giving it up when it is a fantasy for you.  The world of professional racing is notoriously hostile to women.  You admit there is a tinge of bitterness on your side of every interaction, but he goads you like an asshole.    

He arrives with his usual entourage.  A couple of them are racers, though not professionals, and a couple just spectate and mind his vehicle.  He has a nice car, almost as pretty as him.

You whistle as he approaches.  He looks at you with his usual exasperation, delicate features pinched with annoyance.  His hair was a vibrant red in his racing days, quite the act of showmanship, but it’s a natural dark brown now, framing his mean, stupid, handsome face.

“Hey, pretty boy,” you say.  “Finally gonna grow a pair and race me?”

His scowl turns to a bitchy little sneer.  He laughs sarcastically. 

“Not worth the mileage,” he says.  He shoulders past you, his leather jacket against your denim.  “Winning against a little girl does nothing for my massive ego.”  He says this with a sarcastic flourish, mocking your derision of him. 

You know the comment is a deliberately cheap shot.  Unfortunately, in reality, Minho is the least chauvinist racer you have ever met, treating the women here with the same basic dignity as the men.

It’s just you he hates, because you hate him too.   It was inevitable.  You were hostile when first meeting.  You challenged him to a few too many personal races.  You were a sore loser and even worse winner.  What started as an effort to prove something spiralled into a rivalry. 

You won the last couple races.  You gloated a little too hard and now he is refusing to race you again. 

“Sure,” you say.  “Sounds to me like you’re scared to lose for the third time in a row.” 

He just keeps walking, ignoring you, which is so much more infuriating than when he snaps back. 

You decide to keep your distance tonight.  If you continue to agitate yourself, you are going to develop a stress aneurysm.   So you keep to your own group, race your own races, and collect your own winnings. 

But, ugh.

He is right there. 

Just in the corner of your eye, just skirting the periphery of your space, just breathing the same night air.  When you are looking at him, he captivates you.  When you look away, he is like an impossible itch, begging for your attention again.  You constantly catch him looking at you too, which does not help matters. 

By the end of the night, you feel like a live wire, all electricity and unbound energy.  Not a single race has satisfied you.  You won three of four, making way more money than you lost, but it is not enough.  It is never enough.  You already know how good you are.  You know you can beat most of these guys blindfolded. 

Your only perfect match is Lee Minho.  The only victory that matters is that one. 

As the crowd disperses and everyone departs, you march towards him.  He is saying goodbye to his crewmates, his back to you, but his buddy cracks a grin when he sees you coming.  He smacks Minho on the shoulder before turning away. 

Minho turns around with a befuddled look on his face.  When he sees you, it slackens to that unamused vexation.  He pockets his hands in his leather jacket and slouches against his car.  He shakes his head as you stomp up to him. 

“One race,” you say. 

“No,” he replies, without missing a beat. 

“Why not?”

“Because I said so,” is his insufferable reply.

“That’s not an answer,” you say.

“That’s too bad.”  He gives you a final shrug then turns, opening his car door, preparing to leave. 

“Wait,” you say. 

You heart is racing.  Somehow, you feel like tonight is different from every other night.  Maybe it is the perfect crispness on the breeze, the remarkably clear sky, or maybe just the way those jeans seem to hug his thighs.  Stupid hottie.  You will have him and his attention.  You will get the better of him, one way or another.  It was all leading to this. 

“One race,” you say.  “A bet worth the mileage.” 

“I don’t need your money,” he says.

“I’m not offering money,” you reply. 

Finally, he closes the car door.  He sighs, a very loud and dramatic sigh, like you are the biggest inconvenience on earth. 

“What are you offering?” he says, facing you.  The disinterest in his tone is betrayed by the curious sweep of his gaze, an up-and-down perusal like he expects to find his prize somewhere on your body. 

Oh.

You feel flushed inside, realizing that it exactly what he is thinking.  Looking at you with a hungry, lecherous gaze, anticipating you are about to offer up yourself as a potential prize. 

It makes your heart stutter and your lips do the same, your next words all tangled up on your tongue.  It did not even occur to you to offer such a thing.  You hate him, so of course you would never think about him that way.  But now that he is looking at you like that, his expression coloured with interest and suggestion, you find yourself too shocked to even parse your feelings. 

The only thing that is obvious, abundantly obvious, is the punch of heat in your gut.  No, lower.  Heat that curls up inside you and makes you second guess.  Heat that is curious about the look in his eye. 

Then you shake your head.  You resist the urge to smack him for throwing you off.  You were in control and now you are flustered. 

“Not me,” you snap. 

His eyes, which have made their way down your whole body, follow the same path up.  He meets your gaze eventually.  Then he says nothing, because he is the worst, and just lifts an eyebrow at you. 

“My car,” you say, with no-nonsense finality.  “I bet my car.” 

He blinks at you.  Long, slow blinks like a cat.   It takes him a second to find a sentence. 

“Your car,” he says.  He tilts his head and squints, looking at you with scrutiny, like he is trying to see through your ploy.  “And what do you want if you win?” 

“Admit I’m the better driver once and for all,” you say.  The words feel a little foolish leaving your mouth.  You have been chasing the high of that confession, aggravated every time he dodged it, but saying it out loud makes you feel needy.  You clear your throat and stand straight like you are unbothered.  “That’s all I want,” you say.

He rubs a hand across his jaw, laughs incredulously, then swings his arms out at his sides. 

“Fine,” he says.

By now, everyone else has gone.  It is just you and him under the streetlights, the long empty road stretched across the dunes ahead.   You stare at one another, like there is no road and no sky, no world at all outside each other.  It is intense and all-consuming.   

You hold out a hand.  He takes it and yanks you closer to him.

“I would have told you that for free,” he says.  “Since it’s the truth.  You just had to ask.”

Now it is your turn to blink, looking at him with shock.  You would have been less stupefied if he called you a tirade of rude names, or tried to weave doubts in your mind.  Instead, he smiles at you, and it is not half as smarmy as usual.  He drops your hand and turns away, leaving you gawking at the air as he ducks into his car. 

He honks the horn, snapping you to attention. 

The heat rushes back in a hurry.  You swallow, then walk to your car on suddenly shaky legs. 

-

He wins.

Of course he wins.

You were distracted by his parting words.  You and him are so closely matched in skill that a fleeting weakness is all it takes for one to overtake the other.  You were faring well at the start, but his engine revved and your attention strayed.  Your prize was somewhat nullified by his confession, your behaviour embarrassing in hindsight.  You bet your car.  What were you thinking?

You weren’t.  And it was all his fault.   

Your car skids to a screaming halt just seconds after him.  You smack the steering wheel with frustration. 

Maybe I should have just bet my body, you think to yourself, a thought that has you shivering from something other than adrenaline.  Thoughts like that are not like you.  And Lee Minho is the last man on earth you could ever want.  Even though he is simultaneously the only man you want, or at least the only one with an opinion that matters, the only man whose attention you ever want.  He is always the highlight of your night. 

Oh god, you think with a nervous twist in your gut, I like that arrogant loser. 

Facing him is hard and it has nothing to do with losing your car. 

He is not gloating because he is not the type.  He is just leaning against his vehicle with his arms crossed, watching your nerves and passion get the better of you.  He does not flinch when you get right in his face, huffing from exertion.

“Do-over,” you say.

“Absolutely not,” he replies. 

“You got in my head on purpose.” 

“I can only do that if you let me in,” he says, looking smug.

“One more race,” you insist. 

“You have nothing left to bet.”

“Me,” you blurt.  “I bet myself.” 

You feel some satisfaction at the flicker of surprise that creases his brow, but then he is just staring and blinking again.  Your heart still thinks it is in a race, stampeding so far ahead that your whole body is awash with heat. 

“You,” he finally says.  His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip, then he tilts his head in that studious way. “What does that mean?” 

You feel so hot it is making you a little woozy.  It’s just aftershocks from the race, you tell yourself, even though that heat comes from somewhere much more intimate. 

You cross your arms stubbornly.  You look away.  You even stomp your foot. 

“You know what I fucking mean,” you snap. 

“Is that how you usually get out of these situations?” he asks in a teasing tone.  “By fucking your way out of them?”

You refuse to answer.  You arms are still crossed, your face still turned.   

He touches your chin, a painfully delicate touch.  Whenever you do fuck someone, it is hard and fast, like everything else you enjoy.  Your greatest rival should be touching you with the roughest touch of all, but it is the very opposite.   It is a suggestion of a touch, little more than a caress as he turns your face to his.  You swallow until the intense focus of his sharp eyes. 

“I don’t fuck like that,” he says.  He bats his pretty eyelashes while smirking like a devil.  “I don’t have to make bets.  I make love to people because they want it.  Sorry.”  He rolls his eyes and turns away, wiggling his fingers in a sarcastic good-bye wave as he slides into his driver seat.  “You can keep your car.  I don’t want or need it.  Good night.” 

You put yourself between the door and car, stopping him from closing it.  He looks at you, eyes narrowed more intensely. 

“Now, now,” he says. 

“I’m a big girl,” you snap.  “I don’t need you protecting my honour.  I wouldn’t offer to let you fuck me if I didn’t mean it.” 

He stares at you, contemplative behind those dark eyes.  He has just returned your vehicle so you have no reason to make another bet, other than to prove the veracity of your previous offer: that you do want to fuck him, even if you don’t want to admit it.

“I told you that you can keep your car,” he says. 

You are amazed smoke is not blowing out of your ears, considering how hot your face feels. 

“I heard you,” you say. 

He gets out of the car slowly, holding your gaze the entire time.  You take a step back. 

Then he walks at you, which forces you to take another backwards step.  Step by step across the tarmac.  The breeze tousles a bit of his hair, but nothing stops his stride and his eyes never leave yours. 

You find it difficult to catch your breath.  Garnering this man’s undivided attention has been your only goal for months, and the reality of it is heady.  He is intoxicating. 

It seems the feeling is reciprocated, given how he looks at you, which just makes you stumble in your backwards trek.  He catches your wrist, tugging you upright, yanking you closer.  You collide with his chest, disoriented from so little. 

“So,” he says.  “If you win, we fuck.  And if I win, we make love.  Is that correct?” 

“Whatever, there’s no difference,” you say.  You are instinctively combative when flustered, redirecting the source of your embarrassment to confrontation. 

It seemingly works.  His attention diverts and he says, “Yes, there is.”

“No, there isn’t.” 

“Yes, there—”  He stops himself from retaliating with the same childish rejoinder.  He props his hands on his hips, shaking his head at himself as he stares up at the stars.   

Eventually he huffs, rakes his teeth over his bottom lip, then looks at you. 

“Fine,” he says.  “We’ll race.” 

Your heart is already revving like an engine.  You take another couple steps back to smirk at him triumphantly.  You walk right into your car, that smug face dropping in surprise.  It gives him the opportunity to crowd you against it, planting his hands on either side of your head.  You hold your breath. 

“You have to pass my test first,” he says. 

“Excuse me!”  Your own incredulity resounds.  You smack his chest but he does not move. 

“It’s just two questions,” he says.  “You’re a smart girl.  You’ll figure it out.” 

He is tormenting you.  You hate him.  You hope he never stops. 

“Fine,” you snap.  His smirk makes your whole belly swoop with anticipation. 

“Good,” he says, then stands back. 

You hold his stare, refusing to show any weakness.  At least you can catch your breath in the space between you. 

Then he says, “Get on your knees.” 

Your legs are already shaky – from nerves, from the dwindling adrenaline of your race.  There are a lot of reasons your knees buckle.  Plenty of explanations for why you do not hesitate, sinking to your knees right there on the road. 

Your gaze drops, flustered by his demand and your response.  You look at his shoes, all black, well-worn, scuffing the tarmac as he steps towards you. 

“Now tell me,” he says, then gathers a fistful of your hair and yanks your head back.  He meets your gaze as he says, “Is this fucking or making love?”

Then his fingers are in your mouth.  You let him in without any hesitation, like your whole body is instinctively attuned to his.  His grip is firm, his fingers relentless, undoubtedly fucking your mouth with the sloppy, mean thrust you would expect from an enemy.  Still, it feels good, unbelievably so, your mouth wet and hot and his fingers sliding over your tongue, the soft suction of your lips making his eyes blaze and his throat bob as he swallows. 

When he slides out, a trail of spit connects his fingers to your lips.  Your lips quiver with a shuddering breath. 

“Well?” he says. 

You swallow, but eventually manage a weak, “Fucking.” 

“Good,” he says, grinning that wicked grin.  “That’s one out of two.  How about this one?” 

He drops to his knees.  You are face-to-face now, kneeling on the road in the dead of night.  There are no witnesses to this scene except maybe the stars, the clear night revealing all your secrets. 

His face is as open, his expression suddenly so devastatingly soft and vulnerable.   Your breath stutters before he even moves.  He cups your cheeks with both hands and draws you to him.

Your eyes close when your lips touch.  He strokes his thumbs across your cheeks and licks into your mouth with decadent slowness, like he wants to savour every second of your taste.  Your mouths move together like they were made for each other, never racing too far ahead. A perfect give-and-take. 

When he stops, you feel dizzy and bereft, but only for a second.   He cups your jaw and tilts your face just so, then his fingers are parting your tender lips and the taste of him is on your tongue once more.  Your eyes close and you moan thoughtlessly, bobbing your head to the gentle rhythm he sets. 

“This,” he says in a feathery-light voice.

You shiver as he slowly withdraws his fingers.  He wipes his thumb across your lips to clean you.  You let him cup your chin and tilt your face, this time so he can look you in the eye. 

“Tell me what we’re doing,” he says.   

The suggestion makes you throb.  You are hot and aching when you admit, “Making love.”

“Good,” he says, then pecks your lips before rolling onto the balls of his feet and shooting upright.  “Now we can race.” 

-

It is a perfect draw. 

You are both distracted.  When you slam on the brakes in the same place at the same moment, it is with a singular purpose in mind. 

Doors slam.  You meet in the space between your vehicles. 

“I won,” you say, just to be argumentative. 

He is shrugging out of his jacket.  It his the ground.  He does not break his stride, already going for his belt.  Your knees nearly buckle again. 

“Fine,” he replies.  “Then get over here.  I’m fucking you on the hood of my car.” 

Fucking you is exactly what he does.  It is not making love.  He strips you methodically, your jacket and shirt and bra.  Your jeans get shoved down past your knees and he bends you over the hood, still warm from the purring engine.  You are hot and frantic, cheek pressed to the hood of your rival’s car while he works you open and shoves himself inside you. 

You make a sharp sound then a low moan, hands plastered to the hot hood.  He fucks you like he races you, without holding anything back because he knows you can take him. 

It feels as primal as a race, the animal instinct that conquers you in a rush of adrenaline.  It is your singular focus, the steady thud of him inside you.  You do not care about appearances, about seeming ridiculous, meeting every thrust and moan with your own.  He sounds good and feels better, your bodies in harmony, chasing each other to the finish line. 

He yanks you up, your back arching as he turns your head for a kiss.  It puts you over, clenching hard around him, setting him off.  He makes a soft sound then groans with pleasure.  He stays there for a minute, both of you breathing hard.

“I want you to keep your car,” he finally speaks, “because I need you to come back tomorrow and race me again.” 

You gasp when his hand moves between your legs, working you up again, slowly but surely.   

“Because next time I’ll win,” he says.  “You sounded so good getting fucked.  I want to see your face when you come on my cock again and again from making love.”

“Won’t happen,” you say, even while your on the cusp of doing just that. 

“Mm,” he says, then laughs that light, evil laugh as you come all over his hand.  He kisses the side of your head and says, “Wanna bet?” 

#lee know x reader #lee know smut #lee minho x reader #lee minho smut #skz x reader #skz smut #stray kids x reader #skz x you #lee know x you #lee minho x you #valentinesdaystories

[ride-thedragon]

Third-person vs. First-person perspectives.

#hotd #house of the dragon #matt smith #ewan mitchell #aemond targaryen #daemon targaryen #this might be my favourite part #cus why is it he and I #matt is plotting

[bakuhatsufallinlove]

Omae: Complexity of Self-Expression and Intimacy with the Japanese “You”

(Update: I have written a follow-up to this post wherein I exhaustively examine Katsuki's "you" pronoun usage, including every time he uses omae. Please be sure to read both posts! :D)

The anime adaption of chapter 322 is rapidly approaching, so I wanna talk about something really interesting: as far as I can tell, Izuku is the only person Katsuki has ever used the pronoun omae (おまえ) towards in-canon. Furthermore, he has only used omae towards Izuku on three occasions.

The first time is after Deku vs. Kacchan 2 in chapter 120.

The second time is right after his apology in chapter 322. (Katsuki actually uses omae four times in a row in this scene.)

(We'll get to the third time later, just you wait.)

Why does Katsuki address Izuku differently in these scenes? To answer this, we’re gonna commit some language nerdery.

First, let’s be real about the fact that Japanese pronouns can be complicated. There are a ton of them. You learn the common uses—like you could say that, broadly, omae tends to be used by guys for their friends and romantic partners. But the reality is that in a high-context language like Japanese, pronouns can come across wildly differently depending on who uses it, to whom, with what tone, and in what context.

It is difficult to generalize real-life usage, so to be clear, I am talking about MHA as a piece of media. I could try to tell you that omae is rude but also friendly but also condescending but also comedic but also confrontational but also affectionate—and so on, but that wouldn’t help you understand what Katsuki’s omae to Izuku means and why it feels significant.

The thing is, Izuku and Katsuki can each say omae and mean completely different things, because their normal way of speaking tells us how to interpret their words.

When Izuku speaks, he is polite and considerate. He uses the boyish first-person pronoun boku (僕). In Japanese, avoiding second-person pronouns is the polite thing to do; you use the person’s surname and an appropriate suffix instead, and this is the tactic Izuku uses to address others. When he does say “you,” it is usually the familiar kimi (君) towards Katsuki.

We see Izuku use omae in only a few circumstances: he uses it towards himself during inner monologues when he is trying to figure out what to do or compel himself to act, and he uses it when he faces All For One.

Both of these involve what I think of as “tough talk”—Izuku talks tough to himself to push past his fears and be a hero. With AFO, he is talking to a villain, someone he has to defeat. From someone like Izuku who speaks with such politeness and humility, omae reads as aggressive and confrontational.

Katsuki, on the other hand, is always aggressive and confrontational. He uses the masculine, somewhat boastful first-person pronoun ore (俺) and the second-person pronoun temee (てめえ) towards just about everybody. Temee is an extremely rude, combative word; Japanese descriptions usually point out that it reads like fightin’ words—it’s what you’d call an opponent, someone you are confronting, challenging, or belittling. As mentioned, you’re supposed to avoid “you” words to be polite, so the fact that Katsuki whips out temee constantly and makes up insulting nicknames instead of using anybody’s real name is just like, damn, dude!

Unlike Izuku, Katsuki sounds like he is challenging everyone all the time. This means that, coming from him, omae actually seems gentler.

After Deku vs. Kacchan 2, he opens his sentence with omae, and Izuku looks startled by this.

They just had a huge, emotional fistfight, and Katsuki… isn’t addressing him as an opponent, like he always has before. For once, he is addressing Izuku not as his enemy, but his equal.

This scene is the first time Katsuki properly grapples with the truth of their mutual weaknesses and comes to an understanding about it. It leaves him frustrated and unsure, but he walks away seeing himself and Izuku as being on the same side.

Because he takes All Might's words to heart: they are two halves of what makes a hero. They need to learn from each other and push each other to truly reach their best—as rivals, not enemies.

In chapter 322, Katsuki talks Izuku through how he felt about him all these years. He goes over all the things he's had to face to see how wrong he was, to see his own weakness and Izuku's strength. The whole time, he uses the "you" word he always has: temee.

But when it comes time to tell Izuku his true feelings, he calls Izuku by his given name, apologizes, and then right away he says this:

This is a direct call-back to the core question that Katsuki posed to Izuku during Deku vs. Kacchan 2: "Is my way of admiring All Might wrong?"

The second half to that question has always been, implicitly, "Does that mean yours is right?"

Here, Katsuki acknowledges Izuku fully as All Might's successor and affirms that Izuku's path is not wrong, using omae to tell him so. And then he uses it three more times to convince Izuku to come back with them and fight together, "because saving people is how we win."

To me, omae in this scene comes across with such softness. He's speaking with more humility than we've ever seen, both in what he's conveying and his word choice. (There is a whole other conversation to be had about Katsuki's word choice for "I'm sorry," but that is for a different time.)

This omae is not just a sign that he sees Izuku as his equal, it's expressing care for him. Katsuki sacrificed his life for Izuku, telling him, "Stop trying to win this on your own." He is trying so hard to make Izuku understand: Come back, I was wrong. Come back, I care about you.

Which brings us to the third time Katsuki uses omae: chapter 362.

That's right, the infamous "Can I still catch up to you?" / "Can I still reach you?" line uses omae.

Here's the thing that's unique about this omae: it's in Katsuki's head. This is internal monologue; he isn't talking out loud to Izuku, he isn't trying to convey something to him face-to-face, he is just thinking about Izuku.

The word choice isn't for anyone else's benefit or any external purpose: this is just how Katsuki sees him.

I can't overstate how soft, vulnerable, and sincere this moment is for Katsuki. And what gets me about him thinking of Izuku as omae is, it makes me wonder, "How long has he thought of Izuku this way?"

When did Izuku stop being temee in his head?

Changing how you address someone is a big deal in Japanese. Whether it's a name or suffix change (Deku -> Izuku) or a pronoun change (temee -> omae), it represents a significant shift in the emotional dynamics of a relationship.

It crops up a lot in media as a dramatic moment of intimacy, sometimes even being a part of love confessions. This heightened drama is exactly what we see with Katsuki's apology when he calls him Izuku.

Katsuki addresses only Izuku with his given name and omae, and in the whole run of the series, he only uses omae in a few select instances. I would argue that this is really important, subtle character writing.

Looking at the scenes, at least to me, each omae reads as progressively more honest and intimate. Each time Katsuki uses it, he is reaching for Izuku. Each time, it means more.

#bkdk #bakudeku #dekubaku #dkbk #mha spoilers #bnha spoilers #mha manga spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #bkdk apology #meta #mha 120 #mha 322 #mha 362