#no hq this time bc i feel like i've been writing them a lot lately !! always gotta come back to the bnha bias 🤍

[jackrrabbit]

[excerpts of upcoming works.]

so as i discovered on @dream-theory the other day, i have over 63,000 words of wips right now??

i'm trying to rev myself up to post more, so here are a few excerpts from some of my favorite unfinished works, ranging from smut to fucked up smut! if anything here looks interesting to you, lmk so i'll be extra motivated to finish it ♥︎

pairings included in this post: [BNHA] Hawks x reader ✧ [BNHA] Todoroki x reader ✧ [BNHA] Overhaul x reader ✧ [BNHA] Shigaraki x reader (iwcb p4!) ✧ [KNY] Sanemi x reader (x Rengoku).

cw for all works: 18+, f!reader, all characters are adults. (btw these are the usual shitty first drafts, please have mercy 😭)

[BNHA] Hawks x reader /// Champagne Room

Summary: A petty thief gets more than she bargained for when she tries to take advantage of a pro.

Warnings: stripper!reader, love-drunk Hawks

Status: 2.5k words written out of ~5k total

You wouldn’t call yourself a villain, but sometimes you get jobs. At first it was all anonymous: letters in your mailbox with no return address, voicemails from blocked numbers. A time and a date, a name, a list of questions. And a number. Your reward. You ignored the requests at first, but then the numbers got bigger and bigger—and hey, if they knew your phone number and your address you were already screwed, so…

You made it happen. You did your thing (seduction, interrogation, et cetera) same as usual, except this time you did it on command. It was just one time, and then then two times, and—wow, the money was good. Way better than what you were getting skimming cards. You’re saving up for a house now. You’re gonna retire early. Maybe all the times you got called a tease or a slut or a bitch in high school because of your quirk were worth it, because now the newspapers are starting to call you Heartbreaker. For a villain name, it has a nice ring to it.

Hawks isn’t a job like those, though. He’s more of a vanity project, an impulse target. You’ll go easy on him—you’ll just get his savings account info and take a few rent payments out of it. No harm, no foul. Won’t even make a dent in his hero income, you’re nice like that.

“So…Keigo…do you trust me?” You rub your ass against the stiff bulge and trace fingers down the rigid bones at the top of his wings. You’re laying your quirk on so thick you can almost smell it in the air, you can almost taste it. So can he.

Hawks breathes in and his whole body trembles. “Course I do, angel, of course…fuck, I…” He blinks quickly. You can see it bearing down onto him, pushing away his self-interest: your influence, your charisma. Your quirk. The lights change and the melted gold of his eyes is slashed pink-purple-blue in the reflection. Wings curl around you, closing you in like an embrace.

“Can you do something for me?”

“…sure, if you want…?” Anything you want, anything for you, his hands say, hovering, almost touching your thighs, but Hawks won’t touch you until you give him permission, he can’t.

“Anything?” you ask, staring deep into his eyes like this is a romance novel and not a private room where you’re about to steal from the #2 hero. It’s like hypnosis, to be honest. Needs a connection.

“Anything, angel,” he breathes.

[BNHA] Todoroki x reader /// Experience

Summary: Todoroki knows his relationship with his boss will only work as long as there are no strings attached, but the arrangement gets a lot more complicated when her ex comes back into the picture.

Warnings: office relationship, alcohol mention

Status: 5.3k words written out of 8k (??? who fucking knows) total

They’re both laughing now, giggling like schoolchildren testing out curse words for the first time. The look on Todoroki’s face must not be as neutral as he wants it to be, because Kaminari notices—turns toward him and asks, “what do you think, Todoroki?”

It’s harmless. Todoroki knows that, knows Kaminari and Ashido don’t mean anything by it. It’s the same thing the other students do in university with good-looking professors and TAs, the way they’ve always done. And even though Todoroki doesn’t really understand the way they see you (hot for teacher? ice princess?) he can’t really admit he disagrees.

“Todoroki? You okay?” Ashido frowns and waves her hand in front of his face. “You’re totally zoned out tonight.”

“…I should go,” Todoroki says, standing suddenly and collecting his coat from the seat next to him. Ashido and Kaminari protest (“it’s early! you’re not even drunk yet!”), but he ignores them. “I have to go back to the office.”

“What? Don’t tell me you’re going to work even more,” Kaminari moans while Ashido nods ruefully along with him. “You’re making the rest of us look bad.”

Todoroki doesn’t need to work. He needs one of the account files for a deadline this weekend, and that’s what he tells them while he calls a car to take him back. He could get it tomorrow, Saturday—which is what he was planning to when he left this evening—but he wants to be there now, for some reason…it’s past 9PM on a Friday, and there’s no reason that you’d still be there, but…

There you are, sitting alone in your office, facing the view of the late-night skyline through your window. The sky is flat purple-black—there’s too much pollution to see the stars here in the city, Todoroki knows that—but the surrounding buildings are shimmering in the dark. You turn when you hear the door to the office open, and the expression on your face is like you’ve been caught in a private moment, something you didn’t intend for him to see.

“…Todoroki.” Your mouth moves around his name like you’re testing it. “You’re back.”

“I need to pick up the Steubens file,” he says slowly, hoping you can’t hear any hint of uncertainty in his voice. He didn’t drink much (two, two and half maybe, and his tolerance is always better than people think it is) but he doesn’t want you to think he’s been irresponsible.

“You should take a break this weekend. Don’t worry about the deadline, I’ll take care of it,” you tell him, letting your gaze flick over him. You frown a bit and he wonders what you’re seeing—his dress shirt unbuttoned under his collarbones and the sleeves rolled up past his forearms; his hair a little rumpled out of the style he puts it in for work. “Were you out with the interns? You didn’t need to come back to the office.”

Todoroki pulls long fingers through his hair and you follow the movement. “I don’t mind.”

You have this way of looking at him—always appraising, evaluating him against some secret standard that he may or may not measure up to. Kaminari’s theorized that it’s an intimidation tactic. It makes the other interns squirm, but Todoroki doesn’t have trouble holding your gaze. “If you insist,” you say finally. “But you shouldn’t work too hard. You should enjoy life while you’re young.”

The file is in the cabinet at your right, exactly where Todoroki knows you keep it. He should just take it. He should leave the office and go home, go to sleep. He should stop—standing here, in front of your desk, looking down at you, wanting you. Your hands, your voice, the soft bow of your lips… Maybe he’s less sober than he thought he was. He wants to touch you. He wants to be touched.

“(Y/N),” he says. It isn’t supposed to sound like it does, like a sigh. “I’m sorry…I’ve been drinking.”

You’ve already turned back to the screen of your computer, but you still shrug. “Why are you sorry? You’re an adult, what you do on you own time isn’t any of my business. As long as you’re getting your work done…”

“Not for that,” Todoroki says. “I’m sorry for this.” And he leans down, folds his hand under your chin, and kisses you.

You’re stiff for a second—he can feel the surprised intake of breath with your mouth against his—but he pushes closer to you and you relax, fraction by fraction. Your mouth tastes fresh and sweet, like peppermint. His hand finds the desk—bracing himself, he feels like his knees might give out—and the edge of one of your documents bites into the side of his palm. Let this be real, he thinks. Don’t let her move.

Closer, he has to be closer to you.

Todoroki kisses you harder.

[BNHA] Overhaul x reader /// do no harm

Summary: He'd forgotten what it feels like to want something this badly. (—over the course of his imprisonment in Tartarus, Chisaki develops a fixation on a young researcher sent to rebuild his arms.)

Warnings!!!!: prison setting, ableism, mentions of injury and unethical medical/prison practices, mentions of drug addiction, Chisaki's mental state is not healthy, this one's gonna be pretty fucked ngl

Status: 1.8 words written out of an infinite amount total...seriously I have no idea for this one, it's been marinating in my head since I first created this blog :x

Red—

Lights, cold. His eyes are already open. In the exam room. Someone’s speaking, not the doctor, not one of the nurses, someone else.

Someone else?

White, white. Someone’s hand hovering over his shoulder, latex gloves brushing his skin. Not a doctor. You don’t feel like a doctor. You keep— skimming over his chest, too nervous to really touch him. Your hands are warm in the center, cold at the fingertips. You touch him like you’re afraid. You feel—

He can—he can smell you. Everything here smells sterile and chemical and he got used to it, let it fade into the background until the millisecond of metallic blood smell after they take the needle out of his leg makes him ill. Overhaul breathes in and smells you, smells the soap you washed your hair with. Something—something sweet? He can’t— he can’t— why are you so close? You want him to lie down. Why are you touching him? You’re not a nurse, not a doctor. He feels dizzy breathing you in.

Your voice. You’re telling him to lie down again. He’s trying to ignore you like he ignores everything here but your voice is—

softer, lighter. Different. Don’t look. Don’t listen. Close your eyes, Overhaul thinks to himself, ignore her.

“Please,” you say. “Chisaki.”

You’re touching him now, getting ready to push him flat on his back like an invalid, and with the phantom limbs he can feel sometimes itching and aching in thin air, he wants to wrap his fingers around your wrist and break it.

You pleaded. You said his name. He hasn’t heard his own name in—a year? Two? How long has it been?

He lies down.

He wants to sleep again. He knows what they give him—he knows the name of the drug cocktail and all the chemical compounds that make it up and he knows the effects it can have when taken long-term. It’s a sedative, it makes him feel numb and sometimes if he’s numb enough he can even manage to enjoy it. But if he’s not he feels himself lying there while the drugs crawl through his circulatory system and into his brain, eating away at the parts of himself that he used to think were worth keeping. God, god, it feels filthy. He would purge himself—rip himself to shreds and put them back together clean—if he could.

He wants to sleep, but the smell of your soap—

“Chisaki, do you know why I’m here?”

I don’t know, he thinks. I don’t care.

“It’s about your arms.”

Overhaul doesn’t have arms. The prostheses are controlled externally by people who think Shigaraki should have finished the job. He can barely feed himself without assistance, can’t even piss without getting permission from one of the penal officers to activate the bionics. They’re not his arms.

“I’m here to see if I can…fix them.”

Overhaul closes his eyes. Black.

[BNHA] Shigaraki x reader /// it will come back [pt. 4]

Summary: You have a bad habit of picking up strays, and the half-dead villain you find bleeding out in a dumpster is no exception. [Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

Warnings: mentions of injury, pain, fear, this is an extremely rough draft ngl I really need to edit :/

Status: 5.2k words written out of maybe 8k total

His bedroom looks like you would’ve thought it would look like if you had ever thought about it. Nice computer with two monitors, some books, lots of gaming stuff. A map above the computer pinned with documents, newspaper clippings, pictures, some of which extend past the wall and onto the ceiling. Serial killer shit. Fitting. The window is blocked out with heavy curtains, and the only light in the room comes from the purplish gleam of the monitors. Tomura sets you and your bag down on his unmade bed and pulls your ankle into his lap along with some ice cubes in a towel, a roll of Ace bandages, a white plastic pharmacy bottle that rattles when he drops it on the mattress.

“Um—I can do that,” you say, but Tomura ignores you, peeling your sock down and wrapping the bandages around your ankle. “You don’t have to—it doesn’t have to be that tight.”

He ignores that too. You’re almost glad that you’re in pain. It’s giving you something to focus on besides his hands.

“Why were you at the bar?” Tomura asks.

“I…don’t know, I got lost on my way back from work.”

“You don’t get lost.” He coils the bandage around one more time before tucking the edge under to hold it in place. “Were you looking for me?”

You inhale, counting out three beats to make sure it doesn’t sound too fast. “It was just a coincidence.” He doesn’t look convinced, so you shrug, hoping you look more nonchalant than you feel. “Really.”

Does he know?

He couldn’t. There’s no way. Stop talking, don’t tell him anything he doesn’t need to know. Stop thinking about him killing kids.

Tomura’s done wrapping your ankle, but he’s not moving away from you. “You shouldn’t go out in the rain like that. You could get sick.”

“You’re…you’re one to talk.”

“You’re different than me. You break so easily.” His grip moves up from your ankle and his hands are cold from the ice. Your ankle feels stiff, achy. You can’t remember the last time you were in this much pain.

How much will it hurt if Tomura touches you? You can’t take your eyes off his hand, stark white and threaded with blue veins against the dark fabric of your skirt. You saw the cast Aizawa was wearing, the gauze taped on his face, the way he winced a little bit whenever he moved quickly back at the hospital. You can’t even imagine how that feels…to have your living body flake off into dust, from your skin all the way down to your bones.

Oh god. Oh god, oh god. Don’t cry. You’ll get out of this. He’s not going to hurt you. Just play along.

Tomura runs a hand over your ankle again and a sound comes out of your mouth that you can’t even categorize. “Is it really that bad?” he asks, and it’s almost worse to know that he’s asking out of genuine curiosity. God knows what he’s been through in the past week—the gunshots. the infection—must have felt a thousand times worse.

You try to slow your breathing but you’re having a hard time remembering what it’s supposed to sound like. “I think I need to see a doctor."

“You’re acting weird.”

You let out a high, tense laugh. “It really hurts, Tomura, what do you expect?”

“No…you’ve been acting weird since I called you earlier.” Red eyes narrow into slits and move over the strained look on your face. “Maybe you did get sick.”

“Sure. Maybe.”

Tomura lifts the back of his hand to his own forehead and then reaches out to you to compare your temperature to his, only—you don’t see that. What you see is the leader of the League of Villains with his hand out, so close to your head that you can make out the dirt under his fingernails. You see the police sketch of his villain costume from one of the articles you read, those grey embalmed hands trapped in rigor mortis around his limbs and his face. You see the news photo of the kids from UA. High school first-years, but some of them looked younger. Like the green-haired kid…you would have guessed 13 years old, 14 maybe. They did an interview with the girl—the cute one with big eyes and a frog quirk? The one he almost killed? She said she could smell the dead hands on Shigaraki’s costume when he was two inches away from her face: chemical antiseptic almost like perfume, layered over something rotting.

Tomura’s not wearing his costume now. He’s never worn it in front of you. But you almost feel like you can smell it anyway.

[KNY] Sanemi x reader x Rengoku /// to the hilt

Summary: After an injury that ends your career as a demon slayer, you struggle to adjust to your newfound vulnerability and the protectiveness of the the two Hashira who consider you their responsibility. (—Sanemi makes threats, and Rengoku enforces them.)

Warnings: protective/patronizing behavior, mentions of injury, dependent reader, possibly coercive vibes??, Rengoku doesn't make an appearance in this excerpt (he shows up later)

Status: 2.8k words written out of 6–7k total

"How many times do I have to tell you you’re not strong enough to be using your hands?” Sanemi's voice is thin with anger, and he lets you hear it. Of course he’s angry. It’s like you’re doing this on purpose, making yourself sicker, forcing him to force you to give up already. The flash of pain that passes over your face is almost enough to make him feel guilty, but you should know better by now. What’s the point of trying to go through the motions? You’ll never fight again. “You don’t need to be useful.”

“I know! I’m not… I know I’m not healed enough, I get it. Do we have to talk about this?”

He glares—do you really understand?—but he lets it go. Settles back, keeps the peace, for your sake. For now. “Just keep eating.”

You oblige gratefully, digging into the food that’s left as quickly as you seem to be able to. Sanemi watches and keeps his mouth shut even when you fumble. He’s too angry with you, too pushy sometimes. He knows. But how else is he supposed to keep you from making your injury worse? If you didn’t need him—him and Rengoku, at least—you’d just leave. Sanemi’s never suggested it himself (to be honest, he doesn’t even let himself think about the possibility of you leaving the dojo), but you could. You’re here because you want to be. Because you’re not strong enough to set your own limits, follow the boundaries you’ve been given in order to heal. You need them. You need them to keep you safe.

Through the window, the moon is rising little by little, saturating the courtyard outside with watery light. There’s a lamp in your bedroom but it’s unlit—seems like you prefer the dim light of the outdoors and the faint glow of the hallway through your door. Were you just sitting here in the dark before he came?

The image comes to his mind too easily—you sitting at the window in your thin kimono for hours, staring blankly as the world outside dips into night. It doesn’t fit you…or at least it doesn’t fit the person you’re supposed to be.

(the person you were before.)

“Why is it so fucking dark in here? It’s depressing,” he asks, stacking your discarded dishes and setting the tray to the side once you’ve finished. The only thing left is the sake bowl, which you lift to your mouth very carefully before patting your lips dry and offering it back to Sanemi.

He takes it, still waiting for your response, but you wait for him to drink before you answer. “It isn’t that dark with the moon out like this.”

You’re right, in a way. By now Sanemi’s vision has adjusted enough so that he can see everything from the moonlight alone—weeds poking out from the stone slabs outside, rippling movement from the wisteria flowers, and…

…the unbound hair unfurling like a halo around your face, your rumpled kimono baring a little too much of your throat, the shadows that your eyelashes paint down over your cheekbones when you close your eyes. Sanemi exhales, shifts back and takes another sip from the bowl. “Are you tired? Did you want to sleep?”

“No, I—“ you turn to the side, looking deeper into the bedroom so your face is caught in shadow for a second. Like after all of this, you can’t look him in the eye when you say it. “You’re leaving for a mission tomorrow, aren’t you? I thought…maybe you would come. And we could have a drink.”

Ah…she doesn’t want to say it. That’s fine. Sanemi knows what you need.

You extend a hand out for the bowl that the two of you have been trading back and forth, but your fingers don’t meet the ceramic—he’s already reaching out for you, pulling you in toward him, and when you bite your lip and nod he lies you down until your back meets the tatami below. Here, right here. Your body underneath his, the only place where he can really convince himself you’re safe.

You fumble to untie the sash of your kimono, slipping awkwardly over the bindings every time you try to get ahold of them, but Sanemi settles himself over you and pins your wrists down and forces your trembling hands into stillness. “Let me,” he says.

if you reached the end of this post, thank you for reading!! please tell me if there were any wips you liked/want to see more of :]

#hawks x reader #todoroki x reader #overhaul x reader #shigaraki x reader #sanemi x reader #no hq this time bc i feel like i've been writing them a lot lately !! always gotta come back to the bnha bias 🤍 #bnha x reader #demon slayer x reader #bnha #demon slayer #kny #kny x reader #hawks #todoroki shouto #chisaki kai #overhaul #tomura shigaraki #shigaraki #shinazugawa sanemi #yandere #tw alcohol #tw ableism #tw prison #tw drugs #tw violence

[iwaasfairy]

anon said: fairy i jus cried four times in a two hour tutorial class on zoom,,,, rly wanted some comfort rn so i came to your tumblr to find some hq love :( if its not too much trouble (i know uve been writing so much and answering so many asks im sorry :c) can i ask for how meian/iwa would take care of us when we’re feeling down? i hope this is cathartic for u too since u havent been feeling too good lately too <3 🌼

i didn't include your explanation bc i wasn't sure if you wanted me to but i'm so sorry you've been having such a tough day :(( it's totally okay to be upset or to cry about what happened, i probably would've too. that all sounds super overwhelming. but it's okay,, you'll be okay ♡ your teacher sounds like a lovely person so that's a good thing, and don't feel too bad about those girls bc you'll forget about them by the end of the day and so will they!

and i'm not great with fluff but i'll give it a try ( ⌯◞◟⌯)♡ hope it helps a little

iwa

you've both been having a really long day by the time you get home

usually hajime makes food himself but he's already got takeout

so when you stand in the hallway for a few seconds and take off your shoes, he instantly knows something's wrong

he quickly puts the plates aside to walk over to you, carefully opening his arms just a little in case you want a hug

and when you slump into his hold and wrap your arms tight around his waist, he'll softly rock you on your feet

"Hey baby," he breathes, pulling back a little to watch you. But you hide your face into his chest, just letting it all out as he rubs little circles on your back. "You're okay, I've got you." After a few minutes of silence he'll kiss your crown. "Here, wanna come up?"

You let him pick you up to his body and wrap your arms around his head, feeling his kisses on your neck as he walks you past the living room into the bedroom. "The food," you mumble, but he just pulls you closer.

'We can heat it later. Let's get you a nice shower before anything else. And while you do that I'll-"

"Stay with me," your voice is small when interrupting him, but it doesn't take much for him to agree when you're like this. So he only chuckles when putting you down on the toilet, and letting out a breath.

"Okay, we'll both take a shower then. You can wash my hair, would you like that?" A nod. "Good. Now come here, I'm not letting you out of my sight for tonight." Even though he's just as tired as you are, the smile he gives you is so genuine, leaning down to give you a few gentle kisses and brushing his fingers along your jaw. "We're cuddling after this."

"I love you, Hajime."

And a little blush still comes to his cheeks and ears when he looks back at you over his shoulder, turning the shower to warm. "I love you too.

meian

shugo comes home at weird hours sometimes, really early or really late if practice ran out that day

it makes you miss him a lot, definitely if you didn't get to call him at all

and when you have a tough day you usually deal with it on your own, though you know he'd love to help he just can't

you're so physically and emotionally exhausted after your day that you just toss your bags aside and collapse into bed, only thinking of a nap

it's not even dinner time yet, but you already want to curl up and sleep the rest of the day away

When you wake up it's to a few kisses to your lips, feeling pressed into the mattress like there's a weighted blanket on you. You open your eyes, meeting your huge boyfriend's pretty ones. "You're sad." It's no use trying to deny it, and a pout comes back to your face when he frowns. "Aw baby, c'mere. Why didn't you call me?"

He shoves the blankets aside to pull you onto him so you can rest on his chest, then tugging the blankets back over you. 'Hm?' he mumbles, and you rest your face into the crook of his neck. "Didn't wanna bother you when you're busy too." You feel the tears at the corners of your eyes again, his heavy hand on your head keeps you in place.

"S'not, I wanna help my pretty girl. 'S easier to deal with when ya've got your big, strong boyfriend to help ya. Unless ya think 'm too old to work and help you in the same day?" A little chuckle falls from his lips, and it makes a little laugh come through your tears too. "Gonna nap some more?"

"Mhm, but I gotta take off my make-up first."

"On it, little lady." He sets you aside in the bed, pressing a few kisses to the bridge of your nose and your forehead, before disappearing into the bathroom. When he comes back he's got all your skincare in his arms, balancing them carefully with his tongue out, and you can't help but laugh at that too. "Okay, instruct me, 'cus ya've got a lot more than I thought."

"Thank you."

"Yer welcome."

#honey mail #🌼 nonnie #AM I A FLUFF WRITER OR WHAT #kjHBDjhzfeo mY heart is soft #this was really nice to write so thank you baby #i hope you get to cheer up a little #<33 mwuah #and never feel bad to talk to me! that's why i'm here

[spacenintendogs]

warning: LONG AND RAMBLE-Y POST

i've been thinking lately about the way i look at star fox and how i make my headcanons and art and what i share with my writing and stuff.

i notice i... tend to be a lot more... "light hearted" (i can't think of a better word) than most people, i think. basing off what i see on twitter, on tumblr, on discord, from fanfics and fanart or to the current independent projects going on such as afis, ppl like diving into the "darker" side of things for one reason or another, whether it's for personal reasons or just emotional potential if sf was made to be more than nintendo's testing ground for new game mechanics they want to try, or bc it just sounds cool.

i see it a lot, and while not one thing is a universal headcanon, i always can't help but feel like

i'm missing smth.

everything i make the majority of the time is a shitpost (i'm hilarious) or when i do something more serious it's nothing extremely deep or has layers, nor do i ever truly go into the "dark" territory (dealing with complicated or sensitive subjects). my "serious" stuff will be vague art or it'll be extremely straightforward or not the most devastating thing in the world.

i question myself as to why i have a habit of shitposting so much, of why whenever i'm constantly thinking of scenarios i see sf and sw being more relaxed with each other when they're not fighting or whatever or that they'd even eventually become friends and sargasso becomes star wold and star fox hq with the great fox being their main transport and fox and wolf are both in charge and work together- anyways

i constantly worry that the more genuine stuff i make is ooc. constantly. it's smth i can never truly shake and if i will, it's going to take a while. i've been trying to hard to not go and delete all of my fics from ao3 bc of that fear. i fear me projecting onto wolf so much has skewed me being able to see him for the character he is. i fear that i'm so off with my portrayals with everyone bc i tend to be so silly that when i try to be more serious no one will take it... seriously.

i don't hate deeper stuff or thinking abt the potential of there being layers or a darker side to things or more serious stuff. i have my own hcs and stuff i haven't shared, mostly out of again, fear. i have a bunch of stuff abt wolf, fox, all of them i haven't shared bc i'm scared, and i also don't see a point in me sharing my personal thoughts beyond simple things (except when ppl ask) or simple hcs bc.... mine?? in the grand scheme of everything i think don't... matter.

and ik i need to stop thinking that.

but?? darker stuff isn't my strongsuit. i can think and visualize in my head like no tomorrow, but putting everything into words when asked, i'm AWFUL. i always feel bad whenever i reblog those ask memes asking my opinions bc my mind blanks and idk how to explain. but when no one asks i can write a whole fucking essay with details that don't matter

i think the reason i tend to do more light hearted stuff is bc... i want to make ppl smile. that's rlly all i want. and i want to have fun doing my hobbies like drawing and writing and i want to extend the fun to others. even my more serious stuff, like my most recent fic i posted to ao3 wolf and fox have ptsd, i can never ever dive ALL the way in, i can never have a sad ending with what i post even if i think of a thing and it had a sad ending. bc of that, honestly my most recent fic's writing feels super choppy and ooc to me.

i like being optimistic, but i don't want to come across as naive. i don't want to come across as a stupid, happy go lucky idiot. i don't want to come across as annoying. and if i stop being optimistic on here, then my cynical nature will be here full force. i'm more pessimistic irl, i rlly am. i'm not all doom and gloom but i tend to dwell on the negative and that's probably why i hate everything i create despite enjoying creating

but if i'm so happy in my portrayals and everything's fine.... but everyone else tends to look deeper, not even all dark and stuff, but more layers and more meaningful, either my critical thinking skills are shit or i'm just missing smth. i'm not sure it's a bad thing bc my friends enjoy what i make and they say they love what i do.

but i don't want my silliness with sf to make my serious stuff have less meaning to it bc all i do is be ridiculous.

so am i missing smth?

#rose rambles hard #long post #EXTREMELY long post #i'm not putting this in the tags #this all doesn't make any sense eithet way #but everything i make feels so surface level and i want to make stuff that's meaningful like everyone else #it's not BAD that i do what i do (i think) but #when ppl say wolf is a chronic smoker or an alcoholic i can't see it #then again i project onto him way too much so bad example but #idk #i'm not MAD or anything at everyone for hcing what they do bc??? i WISH i could do stuff like that #and have it be good #also like by 'am i missing smth' i mean am i not seeing what other ppl see and am i missing that from the content i make