Canon Characters vs OC vs x Reader
Disclaimer: This is just my two cents, and my perspective on things, and I'm not trying to lay down the law for everyone. I needed to just put this to words though, in order to sleep.
I was thinking about this because of a post I saw, and some, we'll say, kind of useless comments associated with the post. Mean-spirited stuff.
Normally, in one ear and out the other, but the vibes just kicked me off down a rabbit hole of sorts an I wanted to try to put some of my thoughts to words.
First, some style vibes:
Canon x Canon Canon/Canon stories are, to me, like reading an episode of that show. I'm sitting down in front of a TV or whatever, and I'm experiencing the story As A Viewer. I like this style because I don't really have to expend much energy and I just kind of roll with whatever's happening. Generally some sort of 3rd person perspective.
OC x canon OC/Canon stories are like being on a carnival ride. I'm sitting in a car on a roller-coaster, and maybe the OC is sitting next me. I'm experiencing the story more deeply than strictly canon stories, but my connection with the OC is no deeper than say, my connection with Katniss Everdeen when I read The Hunger Games. Sometimes 3rd person, sometimes first person.
Reader x canon Reader/Canon (or Reader x/ OC) is like putting on a VR helmet. I don't get much physical input about the "Reader OC" because I'm experiencing the story through their eyes. I don't expect the reader to be me, but there's a bigger feeling of immersion to be had. Some description might happen cause it's relevant to the story, and it's still a type of ride, I can't jump the rails on the roller coaster, after all. (Even with a VN you still follow the tracks). Sometimes first person, sometimes second person (I'm partial to 2nd person perspective, but that's just me).
I love Fan Fiction, I love it. All of it, and man even more than anything, what I love is that I'm going to dislike 80% of it. Because that 80% was written for someone who is not me. (Hell, that number's probably closer to 99% if we're looking at ALL fandoms, but I digress).
Second - The VENT:
What got me the most in the post that prompted this, was someone saying "Bring back the Mary Sue OCs!" and then they went on to describe something more detailed, and I just -
Look, respectfully, fuck you.
The point is, you're not going to be happy no matter what. Whether it's "mary sue" OCs, or x readers, or alternative universes, or a ship you don't like, you're going to find something to be unhappy about.
Cause people have been bitching about all styles of fan fiction since the first "You've Got Mail" chimed in 1991. And until 1998 and ff.net you really had to hunt for it, and until 2007 and Ao3 the idea of tagging a fic for any reason wasn't really a thing. Every click was a surprise! \o/
I just have seen the same song and dance a dozen times. It's exhausting. People become okay with OCs and decide x readers are the enemy, and before that OCs were *all* Mary Sues and cringe and people who made OCs were the enemy, and before OCs people who wrote even a little OOC were the enemy, and people who wrote AUs were the enemy, and you can write fan fic but it HAS to be Canon Compliant, and everyone MUST be in-character at all times - "They would not fucking say that" was the enemy.
Look, just please - please - in any capacity, stop it with the "All X style of story telling is crap" mindset. There's over a dozen different ways to do x readers alone. I know 20 x reader writers and I don't think any of us have the same style, preferences, or vibes.
I've had a lot of comments along the lines of "I thought I hated x readers, but I really loved this." on a few different fics I've written. Sometimes it's not the style of the fic, sometimes it's the style of the writer, and my Brother In Christ - you're going to have to read some awful shit to shuffle through the thousands of writers out there to find the vibes that resonate with you.
Ostracizing entire swathes of fan fic because you need something to be "The Enemy" so you can lift up something else, and then bitching you can't find anything new to read seems like a personal problem.
And I know y'all are scrolling by TONS of posts that don't interest you, every day, as a matter of course. So don't give me that "clogging up the tag" BS, because we deserve to be here same as anyone else in the fandom.
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An Uncanny Resemblance
➢ pairing: Silvio Ricci x MC/Emma [Ikemen Prince]
➢ prompt: Forced to wear an ugly Christmas sweater
➢ word count: 1,950
⚠️ content warnings: minor language and slightly suggestive content towards the end, otherwise it’s just tooth-rotting fluff
This is my first time writing for the Cybird games, but I read the list of prompts for @xxsycamore and @voltage-vixen’s ‘Tis the Season for Love challenge and it gave me Ideas™ so I hope you don’t mind me joining in! It's super self-indulgent since I'm currently experiencing Silvio brainrot, but thank you both for giving me an excuse to try writing for IkePri and to embarrass him the way he deserves. Happy holidays :)
Silvio took a long look at the sweater laid out in front of him, feeling his nose involuntarily crinkle up in disdain.
Christmas was as lavish a celebration as any other in Benitoite, so every year the prince was used to receiving gifts of the highest—and most expensive—quality from nobles and foreign merchants looking to gain favor with the royal family. He had admired some gifts before, sure, but he couldn’t remember ever being so astonished by one. Nothing had ever left him as speechless as this… nauseatingly colorful heap of wool.
The very thought sent another wave of frustration through him.
Damn it, why should this be the thing that finally gets to him? And what sentimental value could that woman possibly find in it?
He could still see the look on Emma’s face when she came up to him in his study, the way her eyes were sparkling with anticipation as she presented him with the sweater. She’d admitted herself that it was ugly, but according to her, that was supposed to be the charm of it. Apparently it was a tradition in her country to cozy up during the holidays with an ugly festive sweater. So much for Rhodolite being the land of refinery, he’d thought dryly, but held his tongue.
Or, at least, he meant to hold his tongue, but then she said something about how it reminded her of him and he just couldn’t withhold his indignation at that. The moment he snapped at her, however, he regretted it immediately, watching her face fall.
But why would she be so hurt that he was insulted, anyway? She wasn’t expecting him to be flattered, was she?
He knew perfectly well that Emma saw the world differently than he did, and on some level he’d already accepted that he might never understand her completely, but that didn’t mean he would give up trying. It made him deeply uncomfortable to watch her and that damn dog giggling together over the sweater without being able to understand what they were going on about (that damn dog, who was all too quick to agree that oh yes, it looks just like him, though whether he was trying more to appease Emma or insult Silvio was anyone’s guess). As he scrutinized the sweater now, he searched for anything they could possibly see that he couldn’t.
Roughly knitted into the center was a little humanlike blob in a red suit, sitting on something green. It appeared to be Santa in his sleigh, which was being pulled by what was definitely not a reindeer, although he couldn’t quite tell what it was supposed to be. A dog, maybe? It had four legs, at least… and it was white with black spots... and if that part there was meant to be its face, then it looked somehow smug and self-satisfied, with a lopsided half-smirk.
It didn’t look like him at all. Emma was just crazy, and the design made no sense, and it was a sorry excuse for proper craftsmanship. He’d have to go find whatever merchant she bought it from and get her money back.
But still... he couldn’t stand knowing that he’d made her upset.
Emma looked so dejected when he refused to take the sweater from her, pushing it away when she held it out to him. He’d insisted that she take the sweater and the damn dog and leave him alone, because he was busy and he had no time to waste on something so childish. If only he’d known that this was actually important to her, maybe he would’ve been more careful about what he said. The truth is, he wasn’t offended, he was just confused and embarrassed to be given such a gift in front of the dog. He never actually meant to hurt her feelings.
In fact, he had no idea how much he did hurt her feelings until the dog came knocking on his door later, shoving the sweater back into his arms and angrily demanding that he go apologize to his mistress.
Apologizing was never Silvio’s style. But, well… maybe there was something else he could do to make it up to her.
He gingerly picked up the sweater, holding it at arm’s length like he expected to catch a disease from it. To his dismay, as he stood there with it awkwardly, he could feel his cheeks starting to burn in that telltale way. He had to ask himself again, why was this such a big deal? He was someone who had survived the roughest journeys at sea imaginable. He’d been everywhere and seen everything, and his presence alone was enough to command a room, no matter where he was. If he could do all that, then he could at least put on a stupid sweater.
Before he could change his mind, Silvio cussed under his breath and tossed his shirt to the side. Yanking the sweater over his head, he tried to ignore his discomfort at its scratchiness as he pulled it down to cover his body. He smoothed down his hair, which had been ruffled up in the process, and adjusted the sweater a little bit, finding it itchy and roomy and—oh, well, actually... it was warm enough, at least. He tugged at the sleeves, rubbing the fabric through his fingers to test the quality.
Well... it wasn’t terrible. That much he could admit.
But when he turned towards his mirror, any semblance of appreciation he might’ve felt vanished immediately at the sight of his reflection—himself swimming in a frumpy, oversized sweater, the long sleeves dangling down past his hands. His hair was frizzy, standing up in all directions from the static. His face was still red, and the more he looked, the more it deepened until it seemed to match the exact shade of the sweater itself.
If he didn’t know better, he’d even say that the doglike creature in the middle was looking at him with that smug smirk.
Hell no. Screw this.
Silvio tore his eyes away from his reflection and began fumbling around, clumsily trying to pull his arms out of the sleeves so he could get this thing off him already. Emma would just have to get over it on her own, because no way was he going to let her see him like this.
But then, at the worst possible moment—
“Silvio?” A knock on the door. “Are you here?”
—karma struck, and the prince was frozen in the middle of trying to remove the sweater when the door opened and Emma poked her head inside the room.
“I just wanted to...”
Whatever she was about to say, she trailed off abruptly when she caught sight of him, her eyes widening. For a second, they only stared at each other in shocked silence. Silvio was the first to snap out of it.
“You’re supposed to wait for an answer before you come in, woman.” His voice came out too flustered for his liking. Suddenly remembering how red his face was, he spun around to turn his back to her, muttering a stream of profanities as he continued to wrestle with the sweater. “Damn it... Are you just gonna stand there or what? Close the door!”
He heard the door shut quickly, and for a second he was relieved that she was merciful enough to make sure no one else saw this. But then she began to do the only thing that could make this even more humiliating.
“Hey—don’t laugh at me!”
She was obviously trying to hold in her string of giggles, but somehow that made it even worse. Giving up trying to rip off the sweater, he turned back to face her with an exasperated sigh, the empty sleeves swinging around in the process.
“I’m serious!”
But oh, the sight of Emma smiling sweetly, eyes glimmering with delight as she tried to cover her laughter with her hand. Seeing her like that, he could almost forget about his embarrassment for a moment. But then she was crossing the room over to him, and his guard was back up again.
“Sorry,” she managed, though she didn’t sound sorry at all as she continued to giggle. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing. And you didn’t see anything, either, got it?”
“Well, I did see something.”
“You—hey—”
“I saw my fiancé trying to make me smile, right?” Once she was close enough, she leaned up and pressed a kiss to his bright red cheek, and Silvio was stunned into silence by the adoring look on her face when she pulled back. “Or were you just trying on the sweater because you love it that much?”
He glared at her, but she only smiled back at him softly, understanding his silence as enough of an answer. “Silvio... thank you.”
“...You’re a weird woman. This kind of thing impresses you, seriously?”
“You did it anyway.”
“Yeah, I did. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to wear this thing in front of anyone else, you hear me?” Silvio pointed his finger at her for emphasis, forgetting that his arms were still inside the sweater, so the action was hardly noticeable. “And you better not tell that damn dog, either.”
Emma smiled, shaking her head. “All right. But Rio will probably come looking for me soon, so you should hurry and take it off if you don’t want him to see.”
“Then help me out already, will you? This thing’s like a wool prison.”
Emma reached up and helped him tug the collar of the sweater over his head, the rest of it quickly following suit with her guidance. She didn’t realize until too late that he wasn’t wearing anything underneath and flushed when she suddenly found herself face-to-face with a shirtless Silvio, who tossed the sweater onto the bed with a sigh. The moment he glanced back at her, saw her expression, and realized what was happening, though—
“Hm. Not laughing anymore, huh?”
The smirk that graced his features was undeniably gorgeous, and Emma had to admit that she was glad to see his confidence restored, as endearing as it was when he was flustered. She didn’t even have time to be amazed at how quickly their roles had flipped before Silvio’s hand was around her waist, pulling her closer to him.
When his lips landed on hers, their kiss was full of its usual heat, but this time there was something else, too—gratitude. On Emma’s part, because Silvio had swallowed his pride to take part in a tradition from her homeland and cheer her up. And on Silvio’s part, because Emma was the only woman in the world who could catch him looking so foolish and love him even more because of it. Besides, she was the only woman in the world he would risk looking so foolish for, anyway.
“Ah, wait, Silvio—” Emma broke the kiss not without reluctance, her face now as red as his as she looked away embarrassedly. “Really, Rio will be here any second. You need to get dressed.”
“Fine. Hand me that shirt over there.” Silvio’s smirk only stretched across his face, pleased that he was able to get such a reaction out of her so easily. “We’ll continue this later.”
He chuckled at the way her blush deepened at that last remark. As Emma scrambled to grab the shirt, trying to hide her flustered face from him, he turned slightly to cast one more glance at the sweater lying in a heap on his bed, still oblivious to any resemblance he shared with it but inexplicably satisfied when his eyes landed on that little knit dog.
That’s right. Who’s smirking at who now, fido?
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