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gr1mstar · 3 months

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Timeless lover

notes: i don’t know why but tumblr is just annoying. when i try to edit things they disappear and just… the algorithm is shit. i thought i’m shadowbanned but i don’t think so anymore. whatever, i hope things get better.

content: sukuna ryoman x f!reader, reincarnation, past lovers, curse words (not a lot of them), sfw, human sukuna (from that time when he was actually human), flashbacks, lovers to strangers, mentions of death, sick reader (in the past), sorcerer reader (present time), sukuna has sentiments?, sukuna is soft for reader, past sukuna looks kinda like itadori yuji, not the same tho, but very similar, mention of pills, slightly an au because sukuna will never be this nice, reader is older than yuji but sukuna is older? that makes sense? mentions of blood.

word count: 1.9k

i also have an official masterlist, so check it out here

also now we have a part 2 - here

all your life you felt a very strong sensation of deja vu that you could not explain. you tried meditation, yoga, different activities you thought you were never able to do - but the feeling was still there. so you had to live with it, even though it bugged you every day.

“remember me, because i will never stop searching for you.”

after you discovered you were a jujutsu sorcerer a few years back, you thought that all the things finally were in their place, but you were wrong. after you discovered the world of curses, you started having dreams.

"nightmares" you would tell other people when they asked, but for you, they were never nightmares. a nightmare was supposed to describe an ugly monster, someone evil with blood thirst, so why were you dreaming about a charming man with a beautiful smile and enchanting red eyes?

at first, these dreams were strange, short, and out of context, but then they started to take shape, lasting longer, and having a coherent narrative thread. but you still haven't managed to figure out who that man was. it was strange really, dreaming about someone you hadn’t even met before. you felt a connection with him, your heart telling you that you have to be close to him, but your mind was telling you to run.

you thought you were going crazy at some point. you remembered every single detail from every single dream, but deep down you enjoyed your little “nightmares”, because unconsciously you were waiting for your man with red eyes. you were waiting for him to come back to you, even though you never met him.

they were different every time, the dreams. but one thing was the same in all of them.

him.

the eyes that looked at you lovingly, his soft voice when he was speaking with you, a hand over your waist just to keep you close. you never knew his real name, always calling him nicknames and him calling you ‘princess’.

“kuna, come here!” you shouted, making a hand gesture at the man. he smiled when looking at you, making his way over.

he took a seat beside you, under the cherry blossom tree. the spring season just started and the scenery looked breathtaking. blue clear sky, pink petals, and red, beautiful eyes.

“why are you here so early, princess? you were supposed to rest,” he stated, his hand making his way to your hand, playing with your delicate fingers. you could see he was concerned.

but why? you did not remember. that was the moment you woke up and that was all you recalled. but now, every time you saw a cherry blossom tree you thought about the sweet dream you had.

“kuna, you think we will be together forever?” you recalled telling him one day when the two of you were cuddling under the well-known tree. he was reading a book with one hand, the other playing with your hair.

“i’m sure, princess, that we will. i’ll make sure of that” was his reply, smiling sweetly at you.

“they don’t give me that much time, though.”

you were slowly dying, or better said, your dream version was. the few dreams you had about this were very sad and painful, a strong feeling of recognition being present in your gut.

“when i’m no more, please take good care of yourself.”

the dreams started being more unsettling, more dark, and very apathetic. you started taking pills just to be able to sleep a few hours a day, but after some time you stopped taking them, not working anymore.

and so when gojo satoru asked for your help regarding a cursed object, you agreed.

‘maybe working hard on this boring thing will make me sleepy enough.’ you thought on your way to tokyo, ready to help the handsome sorcerer who proposed the mission. it was not your cup of tea, but knowing him, he would never shut up about that and in the end, you would still help him.

“you remember the first time we met?” he asked, taking a small piece of your hair in his hands, and proceeding to kiss it a moment after.

“you mean the time when you almost killed me?”

“fuck, you know i regret that princess.” he hissed, leaning forward to brush a flower petal that was stuck in your hair clip. “just pretend that was not the first time we met.” he continued, looking away.

you giggled softly, taking his big hands into your cold ones. it was summer now, but you were getting colder as the days went by. you lover was concerned, but he had enough hope that a miracle would happen and make you healthy again.

you never believed in hope.

“how can i do that, my love? that was the time i fell in love with you.” was your response, now your turn to kiss his knuckles.

“i still find myself asking how such a wonderful person as you fell in love with a crazy and broken person like me.” the red-eyed stranger muttered, letting his head rest on yours.

“maybe because i’m too, crazy and broken.”

as you walked your way to jujutsu high, a school that took you under their wing to teach you how to control your power, memories started flowing inside of your head. unfortunately, you had to move right after graduating and never had the time to stay in touch with your childhood friends: shoko, satoru, and… suguru.

you felt bad for what happened because you weren’t there for them and chose to leave them behind when they needed someone to cry to. you would never forgive yourself for that.

“yo, [name]. long time no see.” a white hair shouted in your direction.

“indeed, gojo. i would say i missed your crackhead ass, but i would be lying,” you responded to your long friend, making your way to him to hug him. letting his infinity down, he took you into his arms, spinning you a few times,

“relentless as usual, it's good to know that you haven't changed at all” he added, putting your weight down back on the drown. “still having problems with sleep?”

“yeah. stopped taking the pills too, made the dreams worse.”

“tell shoko that, she started having the same problem.” was his response, but he continued, never letting you adventuring further into the conversation. “let’s go to yaga, i’m sure he is waiting for us. also, you need to meet megumi, he heard a lot about you.”

“i hope good things-” you asked, but seeing gojo’s face making a grin you let out an annoyed sigh, “satoru!”

“good things, very good things. the only thing i told him was that you were in love with sakura flowers.” he laughed.

“you look so funny, ‘kuna” you giggled, eyeing the handsome man in front of you.

“you and your damn flowers, my love. when did you have time for this?” ‘kuna asked, taking his flower crown from his head and putting it on his lap.

“last night. i thought about your pretty pinkish hair and how the sakura flowers would look through it.” was your answer, making your way to steal a kiss from him.

”i wish i could look at this every day and night.” you continued, looking at his frame with admiration and affection.

“be my wife”

“what?”

“be my wife. fuck it, no. be my queen,” he repeated himself, placing the flower crown that stood on his lap onto your hair. he made you speechless. his what?

the high school was packed with kids, remembering you about your childhood before becoming a full-time sorcerer. you and megumi had the task to identify where the cursed object was and bring it back to the principal. simple as that, right?

“fucking hell, where the fuck is this thing?”

it was not simple. not at all. you spent almost all day looking for what? a finger? you regretted coming back to tokyo now.

“cheer up. we will find it.” megumi comforted you, giving you a soft look. he was right, you just needed to look a bit more.

“i don’t want to die” you confessed, looking down at your bloody hands.

deadly. you had a deadly sickness.

the cough you've had all your life suddenly got worse one day, and now, standing in your childhood bed full of blood you coughed up a few minutes ago, you could tell that it was not a pleasant sight at all.

you wanted your last moments to be at the cherry blossom tree, with your lover, watching over the moon at peace, not in your blood-covered bed surrounded by doctors and crying women.

‘please, god. give me strength to remain alive just enough to see my lover again. the beautiful man i fell in love with.” you prayed, closing your eyes and letting a tear glide down on your cold cheek.

the situation was very fucked up, the curses were everywhere and you and megumi had no idea where the cursed object was anymore.

earlier, you two met yuji itadori, a high school kid able to see curses, but now you did not know where he was either. you and megumi were separated and even though you searched for him you could find him anywhere.

‘maybe the roof?”

and so you got there, and oh man, you did not like the view. a gigantic, ugly-looking curse and yuji, in between his fingers. that was a moment your heart stopped for a minute, looking for megumi a few seconds later.

“megumi. where is the finger?”

“yuji. he has it” and at that moment, you saw something that you were never imagining to witness.

yuji ate the fucking cursed finger.

“sukuna” your voice was low, almost like a whisper.

“princess. what in the world happened? how? i-”

“no. ‘kuna, let me say goodbye-” you wanted to tell him, but the red-eye man in front of you interrupted you harshly, taking your cold hand in his warm one, giving it a lovely squeeze.

“no. i’m not going to accept that. what goodbye, my princess? you would not die.” he started lying to himself, almost too afraid to accept the situation.

“it’s not something new, sukuna. i knew this would happen eventually… so i’m not surprised. but i wish, for one thing, my love. please, let me wish for just one thing.”

there was a silence. now, in the peace of the night with your lover, you were obligated to give your last breath, and so you wanted no regrets.

“i love you. i will always love you and i will be born again. i know it’s selfish for me to ask this, god please forgive me, but i wish to be selfish one time in my life.”

the moon was shining bright on the black sky, and the stars were screening for another sister, ready to give her a peaceful death.

“sukuna… let me be your queen in my next life.”

looking now at the man in front of you, you could see a familiarity that yuji didn’t have before. yuji was yuji, but the yuji in front of you, even though he looked like himself, was not the high school boy you met earlier in the day.

red eyes.

the red eyes looked at yours with a familiar feeling, as if he already knew your eyes and had already looked into them a million times by now. the same eyes ‘he’ looked at you on your deathbed.

“sukuna”

the pictures were taken from pinterest

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vaguelyapeanutbutterandjelly · 6 months

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This isn't over, I hope you know.

Price x Male Reader Requested: Yes! But there were some technical issues. Pt 1 (Here! :])/ ??? Warnings: Break-up, Argument, Angsty angst angst A/N: *Drops this and scuttles away* This was intended to be longer but I'm cutting it in half to see if Tumblr will actually let me post it. If it does the 2nd-supposed-to-be-this-part will be out soon after :]

"Look, [Name], I get you need attention-" John started, following your pacing form as you quickly walked back and fourth in his office. Whipping your head to meet Johns gaze dead on. Your eyebrows raised as you stalled for a second. Jaw dropping as you quickly caught up with what he said, your blood boiling with nothing put resentment and frustration, "Attention? Atten-" Taking a deep breath you summoned all you had to just keep yourself from yelling. This was something that stayed between you, and him. "John when was the last time we slept in the same bed? Hmm?" You snarled, arms uncrossing so you could use them to accentuate your point. Anything to try and convey your anger to him, to somehow shove his own actions into his thick skull. John's eyebrows furrowed as he sat back in his seat. A calloused hand coming up to rub his beard like he did whenever a missions plan changed last minute, or a recruit did something stupid. He looked exhausted, and annoyed. Fucking. Annoyed. Like you were just a child that was having a tantrum over not getting a treat. Not like you were his boyfriend of 6 years. Like you weren't the man he'd laid in bed with, whispering honey sweet words of a distant future where you'd settle down and marry. Like you weren't justified for being upset that he'd been ignoring you for months in favor of his beloved taskforce.

"When was the last time we kissed, John?" You spat, "Do you even remember? It was a month and a half ago. 45 days ago." Throwing your hands up you began to pace again. Quickly walking back and fourth to try and do, something. You weren't even sure why you were anymore, your thoughts too muddled to make out anything coherent even if you tried. You were probably working yourself up, probably making yourself more angry then the situation called for. But at this point? You deserved to be angry. You deserved to be fucking pissed. You weren't even looking at Price, "Do you really have nothing to say, John? Do you-" John stood up, slamming his hands on his desk with a harsh slam. Making you jolt to a stop, eyes wide as you stared at him. Johns usual calm, even soft demeanor around you turning into something you didn't recognize. "[Name] for god's sake I don't have time for your shit. I have things to do and that doesn't include you having a tantrum in my office. Get your fucking act together or get out, lieutenant." John practically yelled through gritted teeth as he glared at you standing there. Probably looking like a deer in headlights. With a long exacerbated sigh he sat back down in his chair. His eyebrows knitted together as he looked down to whatever paperwork he was busying himself with. You simply stood there in shock. He looked so much different now then he did when you'd first met. Johns famous mutton chops were starting to grey and all the stress he constantly held made him look 10 years older. His soft baby blue eyes now were jaded and grey. Filled with a hardness you could only get through time. Then it just, clicked. John, your John, was always a workaholic. Against his best interest he'd work himself into burnout just to be overworked and under-appreciated the next day. Only to wake up in the morning and do it all again. But your John would always make time for you. He'd always make sure, even if it was 10, hell, 5 minutes, some part of his day was spent with you. That John would be the first to seek you out after missions and check you over for injuries. To make sure you were alright. His hand resting on your shoulder just a second longer then it should as he passed you a loving look. Grinning ever-so-slightly before going back to his normal stoic appearance. But the man in front of you wasn't your John. Your sappy lover was long replaced by Captain Price, smothering John with his overwhelming force until there was nothing left of the man.

#price mw2 #price x male reader #john price x male reader #cod x male reader #cod

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jaskierx · 4 months

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can i be honest and you can ignore me if you like absolutely it's nothing to do with you in specific you just seem very nice is all. as much as i love ofmd and the people with good opinions are awesome it feels sort of... cliquey sometimes 😭 or maybe a word less harsh it's not a harsh thing it's just like everyone's already settled in. like i know this is a thing in most fandom spaces but it's really hard to try and get an in anywhere i spose and like that post i don't even know if you reblogged said people don't even go into the main tags anymore (bc of racists and stuff which is understandable) they just reblog from each other but it makes everything feel really circular sort of. i know this isn't anyone's fault it's just a little sad complex thing i have lol i have no friends or even mutuals who are into the show and it's my special interest so i kind of just watch everyone from the outside and don't know how to get in without like annoying people.

hey anon ❤️

i know exactly what you mean and i think the cliquiness happens pretty unavoidably in any fandom that reaches a certain size and has a certain amount of Discourse™ (and christ knows we have. so much of it over here)

and i completely get the feeling of coming into a fandom and seeing people who seem to have a really close knit circle of mutuals and feeling really intimidated. but fandom isn't meant to be some exclusive club and even if people are interacting with posts from the same few users all the time that doesn't mean they'd find you annoying or they don't want to interact with anybody new

from my pov folks are always welcome to reply to my posts or send me asks or tag me in stuff or whatever. i rocked up late to the ofmd fandom (almost a year after s1 aired) and i found nearly everyone (bar. a key few. who strongly disagree with me about basically everything lmao) to be really friendly

i don't really have any good advice bc the way i approach new fandoms is to basically rock up in the tag and just start yelling about every semi-coherent thought that forms in my brain but that's what tumblr is for and why this website is a good place lmao. but i know how you feel and it's hard but i promise it'll get easier if you take the first leap and start posting in the tag or replying to posts that you like

💛

#asks #anon

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shadowsandshapes · 11 months

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[Spicy] FFTB | CH 14: Crescendo (Dabi/F!Reader)

Summary: ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) I can't show Tumblr any of the things contained in this chapter Contains: Explicit Language, Body Worship, Fingering, Oral (Female Receiving), Dirty Talk, Spanking, Temperature Play, Self-denial, Mild Edging, Overstimulation, Rough to Sweet, Unprotected Naughties, Creampie, Hair Pulling, Dabi Talks Shit During, Use of the Words ‘Whore’ and 'Slut' in a Praising Manner

[5.3K]

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The door to his bedroom flies shut as Dabi gives it a strong kick, rattling the hinges and frame as it falls into place. You swore you heard one of the members of the LOV curse in the distance but the sound is drowned out by your own furiously beating heart. Tangled in a passionate embrace, your hands were in his hair, pulling at the dark locks as you stumble further into the room. Dabi’s fire extends to much more than just a strong, violent Quirk and determined personality.

You figured that out pretty quickly when he slammed your back into the wall, his lips hungrily attacking yours.

The passion in his kiss was almost all-encompassing, burning with a desire that is difficult to describe. He’d waited so long for this. To taste and feel you like this, to give in to his base desires and make you scream his name. The sensation of your lips against his was both relieving and maddening at the same time. You tasted like heaven, hell and earth at the same time. Nothing would ever compare to the sweetness of your lips and the devotion it inspired in his heart. But it wasn’t enough. Not anymore. Now that he had had a taste, Dabi would stop at nothing to experience all of you.

More – Dabi needed more.

This mounting desperation was made abundantly clear by the way his eager hands squeezed the flesh of your thighs and hips as he presses you into the wall with his body. A sweet, darling little moan breaks free from your lips and the sound drives him crazy. Dabi growled against your lips, his azure eyes opening to read your expression.

Your eyes fluttered as he pulled away – your breath hitching as you gasped for air. His eyes scanned your face, marveling at the pink rising to your cheeks and the way you seemed almost out of it. Like his passion had stolen all coherent thoughts from your mind. The very sight of you sent a spike of arousal directly to his groin.

“Fuuuuck, baby,” he groaned out, voice trembling with raw emotion and desire. “You’re so pretty like that…all messed up from a little kiss, heh. Can’t wait to see what else makes you blush.”

“You gonna stand there talking about it, or are you gonna fuck me good like you promised you would?”

Dabi chuckled. Even with that blissed-out look on your face, you still had enough moxie left to talk shit, huh? Atta girl. He wouldn’t have it any other way. You huffed out a surprised breath as his arms wrapped around you, scooping you up into his arms so he could carry you over to the bed.

“Always talkin’ shit with that stupid little mouth of yours,” Dabi started, his grin growing ever so slightly as you glared at him. “Don’t worry, I’m gonna do something about that later, but I wanna have some fun first.”

Before you could ask what he meant by that, you were on your back and Dabi clawed at your clothes like a wild animal. You’d never seen such ferocity from a man before. He stripped you down, worshipping each article of clothing as he removed it. The tips of his fingers stroked the fabric as he peeled away your bottoms – those darkened blue eyes locked on yours, like he was trying to commit the signs of hopeless desire etched on your face to memory. Oh – but you did look delicious, didn’t you? That sweet, lovestruck little spark flashing in your eyes. It was enough to drive any man mad. And the fact that Dabi was the one who had earned that look? Yeah, that turned him on like nothing else. He wanted to ruin you so badly. The prospect of hearing your breathless, whining moans sent a shiver down his spine.

His cock strained against the inside of his pants almost painfully, aching to be set free. For now, though, Dabi had other plans. He wanted you begging to be fucked. That was gonna take some work but he was nothing if not creative. His fingers traveled down your body, mapping out every inch of it and openly gaping at your beauty. You let out a soft, needy noise and his pupils dilate with a lustful stare, his eyes practically begging you to do that again. “You’re so goddamn hot, baby…” he whispered, placing a searing hot kiss against your bare stomach. His arms pull you to the edge of the bed as he sinks to his knees between your lovely thighs. “I’m gonna fucking devour this pussy,” he grunts, placing his hands firmly on the soft flesh and prying your legs apart.

Dabi is practically salivating at the sight of your sweet, glistening cunt. He can’t help but chuckle when he sees how wet you already are. Good to know he wasn’t the only one enjoying himself for far. The flat of his palm presses down on your lower abdomen as he leans in to admire his meal – the sheer heat of his body telling you he’d getting all kinds of worked up. You gasped as his breath fanned against your lower half. His fingers tensed, digging into the soft flesh of your thigh as your entire body jerked in response.

“Easy, sweet thing,” Dabi teased with a chuckle, the sound thick and dark with lust. “We’ve only gotten started. Don’t tell me you’re already losing it?”

“Fuck you, man. I’m horny,” you retorted – a small, angry pout on your lips. It was adorable. Dabi’s smirk only widened as you glared down at him. Your eyes were so fucking desperate, filled with such unbridled desire and need. It completely undercut the intensity of your scowl.

Dabi hummed thoughtfully like he was considering his options. Leaving you all hot and bothered would be hilarious – but then he’d have to jerk off in the shower and that was no fun. “Then I’d better get started, yeah?” he said, dragging his thumb down the slit of your puffy little cunt. Dabi liked being a messy eater. The first thing he does is pry open your folds and deposit a glob of spit on your pussy before diving in without hesitation. The first taste made him groan. “Fuck s’good, baby. Been cravin’ this for so long,” Dabi breathed out between each sloppy suckle, rutting against your folds like a starved beast. “You taste like candy to me, doll.”

“Dabi – what the hell –” you whimpered. The flat of his tongue drags across your pussy, slowly licking up and down your folds to savor the taste. Each stroke has your breath catching in your throat. The way he’s eating you out is positively filthy. You could hear him slurping and sucking at your entrance, using the tip of his tongue to play with your clit and diving deeper into your cunt whenever he could. Dabi was obsessed with the way it made your thighs shake. All that thrashing made it hard to concentrate on making you scream though – he had to clamp a hand down on your hips just to keep you still so he could enjoy his meal properly. Your chest was heaving, struggling to keep up with your desperate attempts to breathe. “Oh, holy sh– your tongue, Dabi, I –” you sobbed out, both of your hands now desperately clinging to his dark locks.

The sheer agonizing pleasure in your voice made him chuckle. That’s exactly what he wanted to hear: your broken, saccharine moans begging him for more. Dabi devoured your little cunt like it was his duty – like it was the only sustenance he would ever need. It was addicting – you were addicting. One of his fingers slipped into you so easily, coating itself with your slick as he continued to drive you crazy with his tongue. Dabi heated up the digit ever so slightly and smirked when that coaxed a deep, shameless moan from your lips.

“Yeah? You like when I do that, baby?” he asked, taking a break with his tongue to press a second finger into you and marvel at how your back arched at the sensation. Dabi stared up at your beautifully half-lidded eyes, grinning like it was the most beautiful view in the world. “So fuckin’ pretty…” he cooed, curling his heated fingers a little. “You’re gonna look so goddamn good on my cock.”

You tore at his hair like it was the only thing keeping you grounded and even that spurred Dabi on even more. His face rutted against you, two fingers pumping in and out of your leaking pussy. The man’s stitched tongue had reach, using those same fingers to guide it into your entrance so he could truly taste everything you had to offer. You sank your teeth into the soft flesh of your palm – but it was no use: you practically squealed as Dabi sank his tongue into your heat. “Ho-ho-holy shit!” You were losing it and this was only the beginning. His laughter against your sensitive cunt only added to the sensation. “D-Dabi, if you don’t slow down I’m gon–” You gasped for breath as his warm fingers pressed themselves against g-spot, dragging another moan from your lips.

“Good,” Dabi purred, unable to hide his grin as he watched you arch off the bed in pure pleasure. He pumped his fingers faster, returning his skillful tongue to your precious, swollen clit. “Why don’t you cum then, huh? Go on, pretty girl, give it to me…” He pulled your thighs around his head and doubled his efforts until you were shaking and quivering, so close to cumming on his tongue.

Your hands felt like a vice on the back of Dabi’s head as you subconsciously began grinding against his face to help yourself along. Dabi didn’t mind though, simply grunting in approval and keeping that sinful mouth of his sucking on your clit. The grip your thighs had on his face was tight and fierce – he fucking loved every second of it, even if it took his breath away. It didn’t matter one bit. You sounded like an angel with your voice all hoarse and desperate and Dabi was gonna make you cum on his face right now. When you tightened around his fingers, he knew it was over. He buried his tongue as deep as it would go, looking directly into your eyes as you came.

Fuck – you looked so hot. There were tears on your lashes as you trashed against him, battling your own body as it convulsed with each wave of your orgasm. It just moved on its own – your sweet, groaning voice whimpering as Dabi’s tongue fucked you through it. He could barely tear his eyes away from your face. Such a lewd expression painted itself on your features. Brow furrowed, eyes rolling back – and that pretty mouth of yours hanging open as you desperately tried to breathe. It was gorgeous. After a moment, you fell back on the sheets and your thighs relaxed around Dabi’s head, falling slack off the edge of the bed.

Your skin was tingling, electrified by the shattering sensation of orgasming on your lover’s skilled tongue.

Dabi rose from between your legs, chin glistening with your juices and eyes dark with a desire for more. “Oh, I’m gonna be doing that a lot in the future,” he mused to himself, admiring the slick you’d left behind on his fingers. He played with it by rubbing his thumb and index finger together, fascinated by how beautifully it coated his digits. So fucking wet.

You stared at him from your position, cheeks flushed and chest heaving. Normally, you would hit him with a sarcastic retort but you hadn’t quite recovered to be able to do that yet. Instead, you settled for snarling at his teasing attitude. Dabi wasn’t intimidated at all.

The bastard had the audacity to laugh at your little glare, keeping his eyes firmly locked on yours as he swiped his tongue over his hand. “Can’t believe I didn’t do this sooner…you look so fucked, I love it.” A pleased, deep hum rumbled in his chest. The aftertaste of you was divine.

“Not quite ‘fucked’ yet, Dabi, I need you for that,” you fired back, causing him to chuckle. His voice was filled with pure rapture at your challenge. God, he loved it when you got sassy with him. It just made him wanna ruin you even more. That dumb little smirk on your face was adorable. “So why don’t you come and get me, hotshot?”

Oh. Dabi grinned. You just had to go and goad him, huh?

“Say ‘please’ princess,” he demanded, laughing when you glared at him in response. The desperation was plastered all over your face. Dabi simply couldn’t resist driving you a little crazy. He’d warned you, didn’t he? This was gonna be a long night for the both of you: there would be plenty of time to make up for his cruelty right now.

“Please…”

Dabi had to do a double-take. Holy shit. You actually begged for it. No snarky remarks or retorts – just your raspy voice breaking the silence with a single, desperate plea for more. For all his bravado, the very sound of it nearly knocked him off his feet. You didn’t have to ask twice, you’d never seen a man undress as fast as Dabi did in that moment. The man approached the bed, shirt discarded to reveal his scarred chest, battling with his belt like it had personally offended him. The metal clinked and clattered as he practically tore it off and unzipped the front. His desire for you in the moment was unbearable and your sweet voice had broken his resolve to drag this out any longer. You watched Dabi pump his cock in anticipation as he took it out, eyes glued to the row of gleaming piercings that adorned the shaft.

A deep, lustful chuckle rumbled in his chest as he noticed your pretty eyes admiring his cock. You looked so fucking cute like that, drooling over him with those shamelessly aroused eyes. Dabi’s pride certainly enjoyed the attention. Dabi could practically see your breath hitching. How cute.

Not so feisty anymore, huh?

“Look at you all flustered and speechless,” he teased, showing off his girth by squeezing his hand around the base of his cock. You audibly cursed at the sight. Now he was just doing it on purpose.

“Fucking hell, Dabi…a Jacob's ladder?” you breathed out, unable to tear your gaze away from what he was so proudly promising to rail you with.

“Havin’ second thoughts?”

You were almost offended he would even suggest that. A dry scoff leaves your lips.

“If you don’t fuck me right now, I’ll fight you –”

Dabi laughed, kicking off his pants entirely. How could he refuse under such passionate threats of violence? “Fearing for my life here, sweet thing,” he joked before moving into your personal space. You could feel his breath on the skin of your neck. Hot and ragged. Every inch of you was perfect. Dabi’s eyes just couldn’t get enough of it – he needed to touch you so badly. One of his warm hands moved to your chest, squeezing down on your bare tits. The soft, plump flesh spilled out between his fingers and he let out a pleased groan at the sight.

Fuck – you were just too damn gorgeous for words.

It seemed Dabi was just as eager as you were – just a little better at hiding it, but not by much. The man’s eyes were burning as he finally got his hands on you. He’d waited so long to have you. Now that the moment had come, Dabi was unstoppable. With a swift, rough motion, he flipped you onto your stomach and dragged your bare ass toward him by the hips. He gave it an experimental slap – marveling at how juicy it was and how beautifully it moved against his palm.

“Your body’s to die for, baby.” His voice was practically dripping with reverence as he spoke, admiring every inch of your naked body like it was a work of art. Your skin tingled as his nails dragged themselves up your bare back to grip your hair by the roots. He tugged at the strands, coaxing a desperate mewl from your lips.

God – the sound of your voice was addicting.

The way your back arched when Dabi yanked your hair was simply sublime. It made his cock twitch in ways he'd only ever fantasized about. For a moment, Dabi just enjoyed the sight of his hard cock laying against the curve of your ass. Its weight stroked against you a few times before he pressed the flushed tip of it against your slippery cunt, running it back and forth between your outer folds. A pleasured hiss whistled out between Dabi’s teeth as he watched your slick coat him. You were gonna need all the help you would get. His cock was gonna stretch out so good once he finally bottomed out.

“Dabi,” you whined, feeling your thighs quivering. “Don’t fucking tease me, please –”

“Slutty girl –” he praises, beginning to sink his cock into your aching cunt. “Don’t worry, I’m gonna give ya what you want. You’re gonna be feeling this one for days, promise.” With every inch sliding into you, your jaw drops further at the insane girth of him. Dabi is slow about it – grinning at how your arms almost give way as you try to hold yourself up. He’s so big – watching your precious little pussy try and fit him fully is extremely gratifying for Dabi’s ego. Especially when you’re practically whimpering with your face pressed against the pillows already.

And he was only halfway in. Fucking precious.

Oh, you’re clenching around him so well, almost like your insides are desperate to suck him in deeper. It’s flattering how badly you want him. Dabi wouldn’t have it any other way. This sweet little pussy belongs to him now after all. A devious thought occurs to Dabi in the moment and he can’t help but indulge in it. It’s okay – he’s sure you’ll love it. Sure enough, your breath catches as he slams his cock in the last few inches all at once, the slap of his hips colliding with your ass resonating into the silence of the room. “F-Fuuuuck, you feel so good. Didn’t know you were gonna be this tight, sweet thing. Bet this feels better than my fingers, yeah? Ya like how fat my cock is?”

Dabi talks too much. But you can’t deny that his words are driving you up the damn walls. Just the sound of his voice taunting you is making your wall clench around his cock. He feels it too – chuckling when you refuse to respond to his question. You tense and yelp in pleasure as he smacks the curve of your ass once.

“C’mon, baby, why don’t you tell me how good it feels, yeah? What’s the matter, too proud – or is it just too much for ya?”

You can hear the grin on his lips bleeding into his voice – and despite your annoyance at his smug attitude, you respond to his goading nonetheless. “Feels s’good, Dabi…please just move,” you beg, surprised at how needy your own voice sound. If he wasn’t gonna start fucking you soon, you might lose it.

Dabi tilts his head to the side, a cocky smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. His cock is throbbing inside of you at hearing you whine for him like that. It sounds so goddamn sweet in his ears. How could he possibly refuse such an adorable request? You shiver as one of his thrusts makes your entire body jolt forward, hands fisting the sheets in front of you. It’s a warning, a taste of what is to come and you’re not prepared.

Dabi begins rolling his hips against you, gripping the small of your back with both hands so he can slam you into his cock more easily. You let out a quivering moan, feeling the tip of his cock kissing your cervix with each thrust. He can’t keep his eyes off of you – admiring the way the curve of your ass bounces against his abdomen each time he bottoms out. It’s just so perfect. Way better than he could ever have imagined. It’s enough to bring a tinge of red to his own cheeks. The base of his cock is so girthy you feel like you might snap every time it collides with your pussy. He’s too good at this. You can barely breathe as he fucks you down into the mattress at an unrelenting pace. The sound of Dabi’s flesh slapping against yours scratches a delightful itch in your brain that makes you feel almost stupid. All coherent thought is overshadowed by his cock scraping against your insides, filling every inch of you. You’re biting your lips, rolling your face against the pillows as he fucks you from behind – desperate to hold on and ride this out – but the tightness in your gut keeps building.

“O—oh my god…please —” you breathe out when you felt your cunt clenching down. “I’m gonna fucking cum, Dabi — let me, please —”

“Aw, my pretty girl’s close, huh? You’re so greedy. Cumming on my face wasn’t enough for this slutty pussy, was it?” He teased, pausing his movements as he’s balls deep inside of you – chuckling when you try to push your slutty little cunt back on his cock in search of more friction. “C’mon, you can hold out for me, right? Just a little longer?”

You groan into the sheets, twisting your head back to glare at him. “Oh — you bastard, you would edge me, wouldn’t you?”

Dabi’s grin only widens when he sees you pouting like that. It’s cute. “Guess you’ve been pretty good to me. I’ll let you cum, baby – but just so you know –” he leaned in, pressing his chest flat against your back to whisper in your ear, “I’m gonna keep going until you’re fucking raw down there. Dripping with my spunk. You got that?”

He doesn’t wait for a reply. If you had one lined up for him, it died on your tongue the moment he started pounding into you again. Dabi gripped your hips, his fingers digging into the skin with tension that could rival a beartrap, guiding your back into the electric rhythm of his thrusts. It was fast, hard and rough. Like Dabi has something to prove. Maybe he did. The man did say he was gonna make you scream and your voice was already breaking as you felt a wave of goosebumps erupt all over your body. “Go on, sweet thing,” he cooed breathlessly, mercilessly pivoting his cock into your pussy. “Make a mess on me, baby. F-Fuck, you’re really clamping down on this dick…”

His fingers threaded into your hair, yanking your head back as you came on his cock. Dabi started panting in your ear as he fucked the last bits of resistance from your body, dragging you through each pleasurable wave like a champ. Like it was his goddamn duty to make you see stars. He needed to see that blissed-out, stupid little expression on your face. Craved its sight like a man possessed. Watching your jaw drop open and eyes flutter as you mewled and cried his name – it was such a filthy fucking view and the single most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Dabi was playing it cool but when he felt your pussy gushing around him, he was on the verge of cumming his brains out himself. His only saving grace is the fact that he could pull out and rest his length between your asscheeks. Dabi groaned – watching his cock twitch as he fought off his orgasm. It bounced against your ass as he sighed out a shaky breath – attempting to get a hold of himself.

There was no fucking way in hell he was gonna let himself cum just yet.

“Almost lost it for a second there.” Dabi chuckled, his half-lidded eyes glued to your body as you shake and twitch against the sheets. “You really know how to rile me up, don’tcha?”

His fingers are already inside of your pussy again, prodding and caressing against your gummy walls as he admired the slick that dripped from your puffy folds. You whine as he plays and toys with your sensitive cunt. The man couldn’t leave well enough alone. That was two orgasms he’d managed to coax from your pretty little pussy so far and he couldn’t be more proud of that fact. To the point of him being smug about it. You could barely stand the shit-eating grin that was plastered all over his face right now.

“Dabi,” you moaned out – too lost in the euphoria of your orgasm to sound angry or upset at him for overstimming you. “You’re so fucking mean…”

“Why’s that?” He was so utterly pleased with himself. You were determined to do something about that.

“I want you to cum in me.”

Now that makes his dick twitch.

Dabi’s face flushed as he heard those words from your lips. “Fucking hell, babe…” It was the way you said it – all breathless and whiny with that hazy look in your eyes – that did it for him. His throat ran dry as he flipped you onto your back, knees buckling a little in anticipation of filling your tight little hole to the brim with cum. “You’re not using your head right now, are ya? Wanting me to fill that pussy – tsk! Stupid girl. You that drunk on cock already?”

You come face-to-face with his burning blue eyes as he shoves you into the pillows beneath. Dabi was talking a lot of shit but you recognized that hungry look in his eyes. He was more than pent up – he was ready to burst. What you said had definitely flipped his switch – the man was itching to fill up your pussy with a nice thick load. Good. You wanted him to let loose – to lose himself to you as much as you were to him.

“C’mon, hotshot,” you cooed, spreading your thighs apart for Dabi. “You want it, right?”

Dabi looked almost dumbstruck as you ran two fingers through your folds and spread them open for him – inviting him in. His breath hitched. You loved the way his jaw tightened at the sight of your glistening cunt and how he needed to shake off a shiver running down his spine – just to keep himself from losing composure right now. “You fucking whore,” Dabi groaned out – his tone sounded almost reverent, his breath shaking on the way out as he praised your boldness.

No one held this much power over Dabi – only you had the ability to bring the arsonist to his knees in worship. You were a fucking gift from above – a delicious temptress who couldn’t stop making his heart race. Every breath you took, however shaky and brimming with desire, was a work of art he couldn’t help but admire.

The bed dipped as he crawled on top of you, his burning-hot body hovering just above as he propped himself up with his hands. That rough, furious energy from before had waned – morphing into an almost palpable tenderness as Dabi leaned down to capture your lips in a kiss. You moaned against him and Dabi swallowed your enchanting voice eagerly, nipping at your bottom lips with an affectionate little bite. His cock slid back into you, slowly, grinding its way deeper into your aching pussy. The deliberate, leisurely rolling of his pelvis against yours felt like an entirely different beast from how he was fucking you before. This was sensual and relaxed. For that you were grateful: your poor little cunt was already far too sensitive from your previous orgasms to take another pounding. That wasn’t to say this didn’t make your toes curl. Your thighs quivered as your clamped down around Dabi – each thrust making you clench around his cock tighter. A string of desperate, stuttering moans tumbled from your kiss-blushed lips. They were the sweetest, most melodic thing Dabi had ever heard and he was obsessed with the way your lips parted to call his name whenever his abdomen brushed against your puffy clit.

He himself didn’t bother keeping his voice down either, blissfully groaning right next to your ear as he pistoned his thick cock into your precious cunt. Your entire lower half tingled with pure ecstasy and moved on its own accord, matching Dabi’s slow, passionate grind. Despite the dragging pace, you found yourself fluttering around him, your juices squirting out around his cock to soil the sheets below for a third time. The intensity of it hit unexpectedly hard but with how overstimulated you were, it wasn’t that surprising really. Your entire body was on high alert from all the things Dabi had been doing to you. The slightest touch could and would set you off. Dabi pulled back just enough to watch your eyes roll back in your skull – marveling at how tightly your pussy clenched around his pierced cock when you were cumming.

This one had truly knocked the wind from your lungs – you fell back, panting heavily as your eyes fluttered shut and your exhausted body shivered beneath him as each pulse of pleasure make your mind go blank. A hand came to rest on the side of your cheek. You were vaguely aware of Dabi’s cock still fucking you through your orgasm but it was all so much to handle.

“H-Hey…” Dabi grunted out, followed by a breathless, amused chuckle. He held your face, making you look him in the eyes as he fucked himself deeper into your quivering pussy. “C'mon, don't pass out on me now…”

As your hazy eyes landed on him – Dabi cursed, feeling his cock throbbing violently, desperate to cum at the sight of your pathetic expression. “F-Fuck, that’s hot…” You looked so fucked out of your mind – so truly and utterly blissed. “Take it, sweet thing, fucking take it –” A fierce wave of pleasure crashed over Dabi as he finally came, splattering your insides with ropes of thick, velvety cum. The bed itself grunted and creaked as he locked his hips against yours, determined to give you every goddamn last drop of it. Dabi never wanted this feeling to end. You felt so good around him, your tight cunt milking him for every ounce of his cum. He grunted out a pleased moan, head dropping into the curve of your neck where he stayed until every inch of your insides was painted white with his spunk. You felt it spill against your wall, dribbling down the sides of his cock and the curve of your thighs.

Dabi collapses on top of you, crumbling into your chest like a broken man – his own body finally satisfied.

A moment of silence passed – both of you desperately attempting to catch a breath. You could barely move. Not that that was possible with a fucked-out man laying on top of you anyway. Dabi wasn’t kidding when he said he would make it worth the wait. Your muscles trembled with what felt like electricity, still feeling the effect of your many orgasms. Sweat creased your brow as you put a hand over your eyes, attempting to calm yourself down.

Dabi stirred, placing a quick, chaste kiss on your lips. “Told ya I’d make you scream –”

Of course. Right back to being a smug bastard.

“Shut up, Dabi…”

“Admit it. You loved it.”

You raised an eyebrow at him – chuckling. As if that was ever in question. The man had made you cum several times and he still wanted you to say it out loud, didn’t he?

“Yeah…that was fucking amazing…”

A/N: I genuinely, truly hope this was a satisfying smut chapter for you my friends <3 it was a long time coming. There is one more small epilogue after this that I will be posting immediately.

Taglist: @/kelin-is-writing @/dynamars @/dabislittlemouse @/simpysheep @/ohnoitsthatonekid @/tonysttank @/dabislittlesluttyprincess @/when-you-are-just-done @/dabislittlebeaniebaby @/themythicaldisaster PAUSED

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#dabi #dabi x reader #dabi x y/n #dabi x female reader #dabi x you #touya todoroki x reader #touya x you #touya todoroki #touya x y/n #touya x reader #dabi mha #bnha dabi #shade's fftb #dabi smut #touya todoroki smut

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fouroddapples · 2 months

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Sometimes I take notes for fanfic in the middle of the night that end up not very coherent, but the vibes kinda slap. And I wanna do something with them, except I’m too tired to WRITE properly today and turn vibes into prose, so fuck it I’m going to yell things into the tumblr void unedited instead!

This is a theme I always come back to—with more than one of them, but especially with Rajan.

Raj is someone who, to me, seems perpetually stuck in the denial and bargaining stages of grief. He spent his whole life essentially trying to turn back time and hit Undo on something he never got to apologise for, and feeling like he can't ever rest until he's earned the forgiveness of someone who isn't even there to forgive him.

His entire character feels like one big metaphor for that all-encompassing guilt—one devastating mistake that left you with something eating you alive that became so central to who you are that it sits at the heart of you, to the point that you get defensive of it because no matter how destructive, this thing has become so fundamentally yours that you can't even imagine a you without it anymore.

I'm not even going to get into how this low-key applies to both him AND Elsie in very different ways and the weird parallels-and-opposites thing their character themes simultaneously have going on because otherwise I will NEVER shut up!!

TLDR I'm fine guys I'm completely fine.

#candela obscura #circle of tide and bone #candela fanfic #if y’all thought I overuse parentheses in my finished writing y’all should see my notes #candela meta #rajan savarimuthu #character analysis #I guess #sometimes ‘notes’ are a neat list of important worldbuilding details #and sometimes ‘notes’ are a bunch of disjointed not-quotes to illustrate which parts of a character my brain has sunk its teeth into #creative process baby!

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dnfao3tags · 11 months

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Monthly Fic Roundup - May 2023

ok look man this is the third fucking time i've had to redo this entire post i dont give a shit anymore i hate tumblr i hope it and i die a very painful death does anybody have any idea how hard it is to edit these things with the shittiest site and shittiest laptop in the world

anyways. nobody reminded me i forgot about mays roundup. betrayal. leave all the writers here a warm kudos and comment :]

— find me here by womanhunt (mat. | comp. | 9k)

Dream and George through various phone calls across time.

— All paths lead to you by Simplysmitten (teen | comp. | 28k)

When George is stressed, he has nightmares, and when George has nightmares, he sleepwalks. In a subconscious search for relief, George sleepwalks to the safest place he can find- Dream's room. Dream finds out more than he bargained for when trying to decode George's nonsensical sleep-talking, but he struggles to make conscious-George as comforted by his presence as unconscious-George.

— i want you, and that’s the way it is by pondsofkoi (gen | comp. | 4k)

Sometimes George combs his hair with enough force Dream thinks he’s trying to yank his scalp out. “Dude.”

— a wish, a child by heartinhands (teen | comp. | 3k)

George wants a child. If he and Dream wish hard enough, there's a chance.

— every sunset by indigoh (mat. | comp. | 10k)

when George goes to sleep, it’s June 2020. When he wakes up, it’s 8 years into the future.

Part 2 of the past, the future, and everything in between

— what a childish thing by tippysleeps (teen | comp. | 7k)

“What year is it,” George repeats. “Um,” Dream frowns. “It’s 2020?” George just stares at him. “It’s 2027,” he says, finally. “2027.”

Part 1 of not afraid of living on a faultline

— Some Other Beginning's End by Scoops (consciousness_streaming) (expl. | comp. | 5k)

George's family takes a holiday to Orlando to visit Disney. Just before George is set to meet Dream, disaster strikes in the form of a werewolf pack taking over Florida, and maybe more of America. While George struggles to survive, scavenging for food and materials for the few survivors, and at the end of his rope--a miracle happens. He might get to meet Dream after all.

— falling in love in the cruelest way by twostorms (teen | comp. | 7k)

Dream can't remember a time where he wasn't at least a little obsessed with George.

— Maw by shrewtz (expl. | comp. | 1k)

To combine their two selves in one way or another, to blur the line between hunger and arousal, to consume a piece of his lover— would it not be the most romantic gesture possible?

— when you kiss my lips, you'll make it stick by demonstars (mat. | comp. | 6k)

Dream's hero's (MUA) journey.

— Can you make it feel like home (if I tell you you're mine?) by JanetBaby99 (expl. | comp. | 19k)

Dream and George go on a road trip together and the tension between them becomes too much. Eventually, it snaps, and they can’t keep their hands to themselves any longer.

— unbreakable heaven by furculaed (teen | comp. | 5k)

“I didn’t mean for it to get so messy,” she breathes, “I thought we could, I don’t know, just do whatever and we’d be okay. I can live with just this, I promise. I can do with nothing, even. I don’t know. Just don’t ask me to stop.” Dream’s breath stops right at her chest. “Stop what, George?” “You know,” she whispers. George looks at Dream, beautiful and breaking at the seams. “Don’t make me say it, Dream. You know,” George begs.

— fall into me by havocrat (teen | comp. | 7k)

Handing the tube back, Georgina smacks her lips together, and they make a little pop sound. It’s a weird feeling, a little sticky, but she kind of likes it. She wonders if it’s anything like kissing Dream for real. “Nice chapstick,” she says, and her voice comes out a little hoarse. Dream’s throat bobs, and she wets her lips again. “Yeah?” “Yeah. Tastes good, too.” She’s aware she sounds like an idiot, but this is the only coherent thought in her head right now, the only thought that isn’t about Dream’s lips and Dream’s mouth and indirect kisses and direct kisses and– God. She needs to get out of there, before she does something they both regret.

— right through your bones by dizzy (teen | comp. | 3k)

George tries to kiss Dream, and it doesn't go as planned.

— tall man’s burden by alreadyhateyou (expl. | comp. | 4k)

Clearly Dream is tall, clearly Dream is taller and bigger than George, in a lot of ways. Clearly, George is really into this. First it’s Dream’s hands, then his shoulders and chest and thighs. Soon it’s everything. Soon George finds out Dream is big everywhere.

— what a fucked up reality show by brokenlikeastitch (teen | comp. | 13k)

“Have you started studying for the map quizzes?” George asks, shoving some of her stuff over to clear the table in front of the chair next to her like she’s making room for Dream. It’s bizarre, and Dream is caught off guard at the sudden conversation. She’s not sure what exactly she was going to say to George, but now she’s even more unsure what to say. “Not yet, I don’t really like thinking about that class.” George giggles, pushing a loose strand of hair back behind her ear as she does. “Me neither, but I don’t want to fail them because I think I’ll jump off a cliff if I have to take this class again, so.” The giggle makes Dream feel a little faint, and she sits down in the offered seat just to make sure she doesn’t accidentally actually fall out in the library in front of everyone.

— This Ambiguous Edge by Amoxil (expl. | comp. | 21k)

Dream and George don’t care about the label. For months, they do everything that couples do. Everything but sex. George is patient, but Dream’s beginning to skirt the line. George wants to see how far he can push him.

— it isn't new (but it's still you) by mocharex (teen | comp. | 15k)

The slow shift from friends to fiancés to having a family together may take years, but, luckily enough, Dream and George have all the time in the world.

— Reasons Not To Be An Idiot by VicIsWriting (expl. | comp. | 30k)

Dream and George– they used to be friends. Sandbox besties, cradle to grave, ride-or-die kind of friends. Now they’re nothing, just strangers on a college campus who barely look in each other’s direction as they pass by, neutral recognition in both their eyes. When their friendship is revived, something new develops too.

— get busy waiting by alreadyhateyou (expl. | comp. | 17k)

Dream claims he wants to wait until marriage, and while George does his best to respect his wishes, it seems like all Dream does is make them both so, so horny.

if you want a rec of your own on next month's roundup, send it in!

#dnf #dreamnotfound #dreamwastaken #georgenotfound #dnf fanfic recs #dnfao3tags recs #monthly fic roundup #may 2023

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mikelogan · 1 month

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hello. i really enjoy your content, but i have to say i'm kinda disappointed on you still being a ts fan. this woman knows what disney does and yet she still gave them the rights, meaning she either doesn't care or actively supports the genocide. or maybe she decided to turn her morals off because money is more important. not to mention how she consistently associates herself with questionable people and how a person literally died in one of her shows on brazil and she gave zero fucks. this woman is not a good person and there are no excuses to being her fan anymore.

no, i fully understand what you're saying and where you're coming from. over the last like. idk year and a half? ive been pretty vocal about my disappointment, distaste, and disagreement with a multitude of the choices she's made lately. i 100% agree that her silence on the subject of palestinian genocide (as well as many other human rights/social causes) is at best a sign of apathy and at worst a sign of support. especially when miss americana was all about her wanting to be more outspoken and be an activist. that all feels so incredibly performative now -- and has for a while. a lot of things that she's said and done since midnights, which is when i became more active in the tumblr swiftie community, have left a bad taste in my mouth for her as a person.

like i said, i genuinely agree with what you're saying. the only thing i take issue with is that she didn't care that a fan died at her show. she donated money to the fan's family and took time to meet them. regardless of my many issues with her, i do think she can be an empathetic person and i don't think that she just straight up didn't care that someone died before her show. it's one of those things (of which there are many) where we'll never know her true thoughts bc she doesn't talk about things. which is frustrating in itself.

now that's not the point of your message, so feel free to write that off as a digression. i strongly disagree with her making yet another version of the eras tour movie and hosting it on disney+. I'm personally boycotting disney+ and have been for a while. I don't even intend on watching the new version and like the vast majority of everything I gif, that shit is pirated -- that's how I watched the original release of the movie. obviously my consumption/boycotting is just one person compared to blondie, who has influence over millions, who could make real change if she spoke out against genocide.

at this point, im not supporting her financially either apart from listening to her music. which i love. im sorry, but I do. if I didn't, we wouldn't be having this conversation. i think her constant churning out different exclusive versions of the same albums are a transparent money grab and maybe an effort to set more records as far as sales or streams or however that all works. and I'm not just saying that bc I literally couldn't even afford to buy a digital copy of an album right now.

so yeah. I appreciate that you enjoy my content and thank you for saying so, but if you need to unfollow or block, i understand. I've definitely toned down/completely stopped sharing posts about her as a person bc I'd much rather focus on just the music. and maybe that makes me a bad person for continuing to listen to and enjoy her music. im not saying i necessarily feel good about it, but i think the fact of the matter is that a lot of the celebrities, actors, musicians, etc. we like or whose content we enjoy hold views we disagree with and have different values or priorities. nuance exists. right now, im someone who is vocal about the palestinian genocide and I try to share resources/posts about it when they come across my dash and im also someone who is a fan of Taylor's music.

Idk, I hope what I'm saying makes sense at least on some level. I've done my best to word things coherently, but brain fog fucks w me a lot. and like. it's probably whatever, but I do plan on changing my url after ttpd releases. That probably upsets you more and I can see how people might think im a hypocrite or something and yeah, I get it. Idk, I just want to enjoy someone's music without endorsing them as a person, but that's extra difficult when the person in question is the biggest singer in the industry. but you'll never see me making excuses for her on things like this or the m*tty situation or numerous other things she's said and done that gross me out. im not so far up her ass that I think she's perfect or that I feel the need to defend her at every turn. like I said, nuance. anyway, if you feel the need to respond, i welcome you to do so as long as we both remain respectful, which I think we've done. this is a difficult topic, but that doesn't mean we can't discuss it. I appreciate your point of view and I'm sorry that I've disappointed you!

#answered #anonymous #sorry for the novel 😬#i put a lot of thought into this and wanted to be thorough!

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florianwirtz · 5 days

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Emotional junk incoming <3

I am trying to figure out how to put it into words how much Bayer Leverkusen winning the title means to me, so apologies if there is no coherence, correct grammar or whatsoever in this wall of text, but I really have to get this out of my mind <3

This blog started its football journey during the 2018 World Cup. I used to have the biggest crush on Julian Brandt who was also the reason why I started supporting Leverkusen the years prior. Before tumblr, I didn't know a single Leverkusen fan as I was a United fan first and supporting two clubs is a bit frowned up in football culture, especially when you do not have any territorial connections to them. However, I quickly found out that the tumblr community does not care who tf you support and welcomed me with open arms. There are so many lovely people with whom i had the pleasure to interact with and some who I even call my friends now.

I ain't gonna lie, the number of leverkusen blogs I was able to interact with is small and usually, it used to be the same 4 blogs posting content except when non-fans used to post content about popular players such as Julian or Kai, but just knowing that there were like-minded people around here made me appreciate them even more. Finally, I had people, who weren't the typical dudebro football fans, to talk (and complain) about the club I like.

I am not active on tumblr anymore, but winning this title reminds of the times when I used to live blog games with my few mutuals - times when we celebrated important wins, when we lost in some stupid way and we were just happy if we reached champions league at the end of the season or made it far in any competition. Times when we lost an important player and thought this is the end but then we got other players who made this team complete. Hence why I had to log in here again and speak out how much this title means to me.

Never ever in my time as a Leverkusen did I think that the team was capable of whatever this season is. I don't think any of us can believe what is currently happening. I wasn't a fan back then when Leverkusen bottled three chances to win a trophy and the name Vizekusen/Neverkusen was born, but I remember the times we were so close to win one and yet something always came in between and we were wondering if we would ever get rid of this name because we weren't sure if we would ever get a chance like that again.

And today, it finally happened and I am tearing up just thinking about it. Thinking about all the former players who have suffered with us, who gave everything for this club and are part of the reason why this current team is flourishing rn.

So I am dedicating this to my mutuals @musialawirtzrichten @loserkusen @nickcassldy and countless other leverkusen blogs who have either deactivated or most likely have moved on from tumblr or I forgot to mention bc i have the brain of a fish lmao 😭. Thank you so much for making leverkusen tumblr the way it is, i always had so much fun interacting and suffering with you guys ❤️❤️ we mfing deserve this trophy after countless years of suffering.

hopefully this is just the beginning 🖤

DEUTSCHER MEISTER SVB 🖤

#ily all guys #sorry if this sounds like a farewell post lmao i promise it is not #just super emotional after everything today haha 😭#i still can't believe they did that

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sinisterexaggerator · 6 months

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I am not sure why I never posted this to tumblr.

Michael De Santa x Trevor Philips.

Summary: It is nearing the anniversary of Michael's "death" though he never died. Trevor is drunk, lonely, reminiscing on his life, on his lost time ... and on his unrequited love. He goes to Michael to beg forgiveness for his many sins, though his apology turns into something more ... tangible.

Warnings: Trikey. NSFW / 18+ Blowjobs. Smut. Angst. Cheating. Drunkenness. Lust. Unrequited Love. Pining. Kissing.

Word count: 2,770

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It should have been me.

The Unicorn was lackluster; Trevor was on his twelfth beer of the evening; the bartender couldn’t cut him off, it was his establishment. He felt especially low this time of year. It was close to his best friend’s deathiversary, though not really. Michael hadn’t died, he was still alive, and it unnerved Trevor to no end.

A whole decade had come and gone; came and went, and T was worse for wear because of it. He had succumbed to drugs and alcohol, to smoking cigarettes and meth. He’d pop pills, deep dive into his subconscious on peyote, snort cocaine and pharmaceuticals, even heroine. Acid, mushrooms, Adderall, MDMA; ecstasy, but nothing filled the gaping hole - his soul was empty, and his heart had broken into tiny pieces long ago.

He was purposely reckless, feckless when it came to Michael; he was his weakness, though he tried to hide it behind an open, festering sore that resided deep in his center - behind snark and sass, snide remarks that were meant to injure, words full of acidity and retribution, yet they never quite expressed what he was truly feeling. It was nearly too much to bear – especially on days like today, nights like this, his resentment melting into feelings of inadequacy and total, all-consuming self-hatred of himself.

He threw the bottle in his hand against the wall, scaring the poor woman who worked behind the bar; he tossed her a fifty-dollar bill and left; he wasn’t so cheap he wouldn’t tip, even if she was employed by him.

He searched out his keys in his tight-assed hipster jeans, stumbling through the front door and past his bouncer. The man side-eyed him, cleared his throat, meaning to ask him if he meant to drive like that, but Trevor’s wrath was second nature, incomparable to many; if he died, so be it. It was no skin off his back.

T started the Bodhi within two turns of the ignition, cursing out “Start you piece of shit!” and the truck obeyed as if afraid to incur his hatred; if inanimate objects could talk, the Canis would have many a story to tell a listening ear.

It purred to life and Trevor sat there, breathing deeply, trying to regain some sort of focus or equilibrium. It wasn’t working. He felt … sad. Depressed. Venomous. All those missed years, those long days and even longer nights. He had cried, and cried, and cried … and that’s what he felt like doing now.

Trevor burst into tears, then he floored the gas. Swerving, speeding through redlights, green ones, skirting pedestrians, and even a few cops. They couldn’t keep up with him. He was drunk, but an expert driver; he had to be to make quick getaways. He led them through the streets of Strawberry until he made the trek to Rockford Hills; Michael’s lair, his secret hideaway, going by the name De Santa even though he didn’t have anyone to hide from anymore.

The driveway was empty, save Michael’s car; he wasn’t sure, but he didn’t think his wife and kids were home. Maybe he was watching movies, eating popcorn, reciting cheesy lines written by his hero, Solomon. Whatever he was doing, he was about to get interrupted, as Trevor had a few things to get off his chest, and now was as good a time as any.

He parked around a corner, out of sight, just in case. One could never be too careful. He was coherent enough to take precautions, though only for Michael's sake.

He stumbled out of the Canis, lumbering forward, nearly falling, sobbing silently, trying to calm himself as he approached the wrought iron gate. It parted for him as if by magic; he didn’t wait, he slipped right in through the smallest crack as soon as it had opened wide enough; Trevor’s boots dragging as he tried to rub his eyes, the pain away, but he knew it was here to stay; the alcohol only made it worse.

He softly knocked at first, not knowing what he was doing, just knowing he had to talk to M; to him, the man he had fallen in love with at first sight all those years ago on a little runway somewhere up north; they’d shared a moment, or at least he thought they had.

His knocking become a fervid, ardent banging, though he didn’t mean to come off as desperate. His emotions were tied up within the sound, but suddenly his fist met air, nearly met with Michael’s chest, and he gasped as he was brought face-to-face with him.

He couldn’t help it - he was handsome, so ruggedly good-looking in his middle-age, charming, witty, and Trevor wished that he were his.

T fell upon his knees, clasping; grasping Michael’s waist and doing what he did best; beg for forgiveness – soak him in his tears. He sobbed without reservation, dirty, broken nails digging into Michael’s khaki shorts. He must have been relaxing, as he was dressed casual enough, though now he was all worked up.

“What the hell, T?!” He tried to move away, pull himself from Trevor’s steadfast grasp, put he was too powerful, his sadness giving him more strength somehow; tenfold what it sometimes was; Michael would know this from experience.

The man wouldn’t stop his heartfelt display, and Michael was worried the neighbors might hear him, jostling his legs beneath T’s iron grip, though he wasn’t going anywhere.

Trevor just kept on crying, the salty remnants leaking down his scarred and battered face, coating Michael’s clothes as he tried to pry his fingers loose.

“Trevor!!!” he finally yelled, loud enough for T’s breath to hitch inside his throat, glancing up at him with two sorrowful, reproachful eyes as the man asked him in his harshest, heavy-handed tone. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

Trevor nearly choked, his words catching, his voice at a loss at first, but Michael deserved an answer, even in his drunken stupor, and he said the first thing that came to mind; the truth. It was too easy. “I don’t care that you tried to kill me, M. I love you; I always have. I just wish you loved me, too.”

“W-what?” Michael became quickly flustered, caught off guard, a small hint of a blush tingeing his cheeks red. Of all the things he had expected him to say, that wasn’t one of them; far from it.

“It should have been me, not Brad. I should be dead. I wish it was me instead.” Trevor had shoved his forehead into the waistband of Michael’s shorts, his breathing hard and heavy as he began to sink down further onto the ground, lost in the tempest that was his irksome thoughts. In doing so, Trevor’s cheek lightly brushed against the soft mound of Michael’s cock beneath his clothes; it was unintentional, but it stirred within him something else; he felt desirous, even though he felt like dying.

“Trevor…” Michael paused, thinking hard, feeling guilty, and nearly jumping at the unexpected touch, the perception of his face raking against him. He thought it had been an accident, pushing it from his mind, a deep remorse overtaking him as he looked down at the top of Trevor’s balding head.

“… Don’t say that.” He let his instincts take over for a moment; T was sad. Most people would want to be comforted. He placed a hand softly atop his crown, just to rest there. That was all it took.

“I’m so… I’m fucking awful! I’m rotten. I’m a terrible person. I don’t deserve to live … Mikey … I’m so sorry. For everything.” Any attention that Michael gave him was lapped up like water by a thirsty dog; he leaned into his hand, his groin, and pressed his teeth against him. He latched onto the flaccid outline that lay in wait, sinking in his canines, his incisors, gently, awakening something there, as the silhouette began to ripen and get hard - just slightly.

“Mm-Mikey … Is … Amanda home?” he mumbled out, halfway to a moan.

The question threw him through a loop, but not as much as Trevor’s mouth, he was shocked he hadn’t waited for his answer; his fly was down.

Trevor nuzzled his nose against Michael’s blue and white striped boxers, continuing his impromptu mission, the whole of his mouth encircling his limp phallus through the thin, cotton fabric, as the beige flaps of his cargo shorts were pushed to either side.

The button remained intact as he groaned against him, Michael now partially hard, if not more than that, and Trevor was himself - those jeans of his not leaving anything to the imagination if Michael had been looking.

“Just… how drunk are you?!” What could he be thinking?! What was going on inside his head?! He thought to push him off; his fingers reaching out to grasp his shoulder blades. His nails dug in as he only half-heartedly tried to remove the man from his pursuit. “Trevor … we’re … outside for Christ’s sake… Someone’s going to see us!” He was most definitely concerned - for his reputation, the neighbors. He didn’t want to be talked about.

Trevor’s eyes rose to meet his and he suddenly released him. Michael backed away into the open doorway, nearly stumbling into his own foyer, as he caught the look of ardor held within his “best friend’s” gaze. It somewhat scared him.

Michael outstretched one wavering hand as if to ward off Trevor’s ardency, his fervent lustfulness; the drugs, the alcohol having sent him to a place of no return where his mind was overcome with passion, a zealous appetite for Michael, one that he felt he couldn’t stop nor was he sure he wanted to. “T … W-what are you doing…”

The man crawled forward on all fours, never having gotten up from his pliant position, offering himself in supplication; wanting to make up for all the years of abuse and mistreatment he had endured at Trevor’s brashness, his loudmouth, his forceful will, wanting to rob and kill despite M wanting to be a family man. He regretted pushing him far enough that he thought he had no way out, thinking perhaps a physical act of appreciation would be more than enough to show him he meant business; he had always loved him - he had said it.

His fingers clawed for purchase against the mixed red brick of Michael’s mansion, dragging his body forward, one knee after the other, his eyes wild, a burning fire dancing in their depths. His tongue dragged across his lips and Michael fell, his back pushed up against the stairwell. He meant to speak, but he was speechless, Trevor’s mouth being the one to exude words instead of his. “Now we’re inside Mikey… no more excuses.”

Trevor’s dirtied hands were at the button of his shorts; he released the clasp and pushed them down his thickset thighs. Michael was aroused, afraid, unsure of everything. He hadn’t been intimate with Trevor since their North Yankton days. If Amanda saw, if Tracey or Jimmy came home … he thought his life flashed before his eyes as his now hard, aching cock entered Trevor’s maw.

“Oh, fuck, T…” was all he could think to say. His eyes rolled back, and then his neck. He was starting to remember. Amanda could never service him like this. She had tried, he had to give her credit, but his wife had never been as good as Trevor at giving head.

Trevor’s writhing muscle licked and slathered Michael’s rigid member, his hand moving to join his efforts as it wound around him. He pumped his cock like it was his own, shoving it as far back as he could stand it, the tip tickling his tonsils, a rough growl issuing forth from out of his larynx. It vibrated against Michael’s swollen flesh, and he thought he might cum any second now. He sucked in a deep breath and muttered out a light command. “Slow. Down.”

Trevor nearly cried again out of sheer joy and neediness; the fact he was allowing him to do this. There was nothing quite like the taste of M’s dick inside his mouth; he had a distinct flavor; one he had sorely missed.

He obliged, steadying his stride. He dug a hand in underneath his quarry and cupped his testicles. He weighed them in his hand like precious diamonds, carefully massaging the sac that held his sperm; the prize he pined for.

His suction became long strokes; his cheeks were hollowing out. There was such power within his jaws that Michael began to thrust. His hips had joined him in a patient dance. The one where Michael’s penis pumped inside his eager throat.

Michael couldn’t help himself; he grasped at his little bit of hair. His fingers snaked through the short, brown locks, clawing, carding, shaking as he felt a familiar tug that started in his bowels and rose up his engorged, blood-filled erection.

“How the fuck are you so… so…” He was going to say “good at this,” but couldn’t manage to get the words out. Instead, his brain recalibrated, trying to straighten himself out – but Trevor was just too persuasive, though he chided and berated him. “You’re such a…a dick…”

Trevor was getting sloppy now, his spit dribbling down his lower lip, sliding down his chin. He hadn’t come up for air, he wouldn’t want to lose his chance. If he even so much as took one millisecond to readjust, Michael might slip away, come to his senses, make him get off of him, when T was the one who wanted to get him off; he would do so before the end of it.

Up and down, back and forth, a perfect rhythm in balance with his jerking hips. Michael succumbed to a sound; it had escaped him; one of being pleased too well, nearly beyond anything he had ever felt from a call girl, a prostitute, his wife, Amanda.

Amanda …

The headlights of a car nearly eluded him, shining through the adjacent windows; Michael almost panicked, but in that moment, he came inside T's mouth. His cum rushed out of him in a torrent, collecting behind Trevor’s parted lips. He watched as the muscles in his throat undulated, guzzling his seed with every flex of Michael’s pulsing cock. He swallowed every bit, excited for it; enthusiastic. He made a loving croon of sorts before Michael scrambled backwards and pulled himself from out of his greedy gullet.

“Trevor!! A-Amanda’s… “

The garage door opened; Trevor heard it. He had been gazing into Michael’s steely blue eyes; they were hypnotizing, but then he faltered - he wouldn’t do that to the man. He had to leave, and fast. But first, a kiss.

He wiped his mouth off with the back of one tattooed hand, gruffly sweeping away the remnants of his meal. He leaned forward, snuck to the highest step that Michael had been propped up against, and planted a long, slow sensation across his lips.

He prodded with his tongue, and he was surprised when Michael allowed it. He let him taste him; it was a tease. He heard the rattling of keys.

Trevor stood and turned, running for the door that was still wide open. He wasn’t thinking, and he had slammed it closed. It made a sound loud enough for his wife to hear, as she came in carrying bags of takeout, staring at her husband who was standing unexpectedly right in front of her, sweaty, perspiring, suspiciously out of breath. And he smelled …

“What the fuck, Michael?!?! Did you have a WHORE in our house??!”

“What?! No! I …"

Amanda threw down what she was carrying and stormed in her leather thigh-high boots to the front of their garish mansion. She threw the door open, and Michael prayed to God in heaven; he was Irish Catholic, after all.

She saw something. He hadn’t waited for the automatic gate. Trevor’s boot disappeared beyond the garden wall and out onto the street.

She sighed, held her breath, took a moment to herself. It was better than a woman, and she knew this much about them. It had never been a secret, and she might never live it down. They had always snuck around.

Amanda faced her husband in the foyer, and he had used a hand to slick his hair back. He looked around nervously and she didn’t say a word. She calmly left the room, and Michael could only expel a haggard breath. His heart was racing, but he was unsure of as to why; was he afraid of his own wife, or how much he had liked it?

#Trikey #Trevor Philips x Michael De Santa #Trevor Philips #Michael De Santa #GTAV #GTA V #Grand Theft Auto V #Amanda De Santa #Angst #Unrequited Love

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moonshine-nightlight · 5 months

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Being sick for the past week meant that I had nothing better to do today than lay in bed and refresh tumblr waiting for chapter 34, and seeing it at the very top of my dash was the highlight of my day! The wait was definitely worth it, my health for the duration notwithstanding lol

SPOILER WARNING FOR PAST CHAPTERS IDK HOW TO PUT READ MORES IN ASKS I'M SO SORRY

You made the right call taking the extra time to edit this doozy of a chapter—figuring out how to share Dale's exposition in a way that made sense and fit into the events of the story while maintaining tonal consistency must have been quite the process, between the restrictions of Sana's POV, regency genre conventions, and the story's (heh) natural climax being Dale's identity "reveal" followed by the wedding. I'm very curious if you currently have any ideas for how you're going to tackle this exposition in the novelization, or if you're inclined to handle it differently at all!

@weasellyferret

i hope you're feeling better! i'm so glad you enjoyed the new chapter!

i hav no idea if u can even put a read more in an ask anymore and i can't hide it now but my answer will be under the read more

thanks! i think some people really underestimate how helpful even self editing is to make things coherent, especially for a long chapter like this one that covered so much but also was literally just two ppl talking to each other (ppl lov to say they'll take any update, but lik, thats cuz they dont knooow lol and i dont just want it to b passable, i want it to b good).

with lore/backstory like this i also have to make sure it makes sense to readers who havent read any of it before nor know any of the even more info that I know because there's even more worldbuilding and dale backstory that wont end up in the story.

i'm glad u think i pulled it off to any degree because i was still pretty nervous when i was posting it that it did make sense, fit in the world, was followable, interesting but not just exposition monologue, etc

yeah, chapter 30 where they have the reveal convo is the primary climax of the story and that's also 'just talking' in a sense so its interesting to write this story in that sense lol

while i had the broad outline of the world and dale's backstory from the beginning (i did a little exercise where i sketched out a sort of Dale POV of chapter 6 to get into his mindset which was super helpful) as I wrote the story a lot more of that info became fully fleshed out/defined. so for the novelization, i'll probably try to work more of the info in earlier or have better allusions to it, which will make some of the info in chapter 34 more of a quick confirmation than the exposition itself

ie i might add a chapter with more detail on Sana researching with Dale's books that Bilmont smuggles and plant suspicions of what went wrong with the summoning; i might adjust the chapter after the attack to be more of a convo about the assassination that the grandparents interrupt where Sana can suspect more of Dale's past etc and generally spread out what i can so its more foreshadowed/natural - things like that

other aspects sort of have to be told to Sana because its POV limited, evn when it is updated to 3rd POV. i'll probably do a straight POV swap and minor edit ; then take a look at it as a whole, reassess things on my own, run those ideas by some writer friends/betas and get their thoughts, and finally my editors (who i used for DSM) are also very good with making sure worldbuilding fits in right and so their advice will be helpful - especially since they will only get the draft i giv them without knowing how it was and what changed etc

once chapter 35 is out (which i'm still writing because smut is a challenge to right and i write it more slowly than other things) i'll start slowly editing and passing along to betas the rest of the story (i've got thru chap 11 done and betas who only read those and who are chomping at the bit - u think u've had a long wait? lol) but it will be spring by the time i do any big edits/revisions and then i'll giv it to the editors, who i already lik, semi-lined up for that time period and idk how long they will take because its a long book and then i'll need to process their edits too so it'll be a lengthy process, but i hope everyone knows it will 100% b a novel and i hope they enjoy it!

now back to stabbing away at the smut writing ;)

#asks #writing asks #story asks #nothing's wrong with dale #worldbuilding #exposition #backstory #lore dump #editing #my process?#lol idk - i think i went on for too long #hope someone finds this interesting #especially u #weasellyferret

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soaps-mohawk · 1 month

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Hey love! 🖤

I got a bit of a random tumblr related question for you! Why do people who want you to know that it's specifically them, send you asks anonymously and then add something specific to them as a signature of sorts, instead of just asking without hiding their username? 🤔

I have absolutely nothing against people doing this and everyone should be free to do as they like! I'm just genuinely curious 😅

It just seems like a lot of extra effort and a change of people getting mistaken for other people, you know?

I've only recently started being social on this site, even though I've been lurking for years, so some things are a bit of a mystery for me still 😖

Anyway, I hope this isn't something rude of me to ask and that you have a wonderful day! 🖤🖤🖤

p.s. English is not my first language, so I hope I worded this coherently enough 😅

Hello love!!! Hmm I'm gonna try to answer this in a way that makes sense lol.

People have been doing this since probably before I joined tumblr almost ten years ago. I know back in the olden days, people would send anons because they didn't have accounts or didn't want to make an account. I don't think tumblr lets you do that anymore? Or perhaps I'm wrong and they never let you do that 🤷 I just vaguely remember seeing asks on other blogs from anons that didn't have tumblr accounts.

A lot of it, I think, is just for anonymity. People prefer to keep their blogs private for any number of reasons. Perhaps they're just shy or anxious and would prefer to not be known, or maybe they follow and interact using a side-blog but tumblr won't let you send asks as a side-blog, only from the main blog or anon (if that's enabled). (We literally just got the ability to reply as side blogs on posts so here's to hoping they'll give us the ability to send asks as side blogs soon). That being said, I think it's just a lot of anxiety or preference for remaining anonymous for their own personal reasons.

I don't mind either way. I know some people prefer it and that's fine with me. I get it, I hate being perceived sometimes (I'm looking at you fart anon when I find you it's over for you 😡). I haven't had established anons since my Kpop days (shudder) but I'm fine with however people want to chat.

So yeah, that's what I think it boils down to. Just personal preference and I'm sure they all have their reasons and that's okay. Definitely no pressure on them to have to share their reasons, either.

#definitely not a rude question #just simple curiosity #answered

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melonteee · 6 months

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I’d like to state that I love the One Piece live action very much. And I like it precisely because it changes stuff up a bit. I don’t need a panel for panel re-shot, I think those are boring. One Piece live action to me feels more like one of those myth retellings, same people, same key events, some themes are the same but you add a new sprinkle to make your own artistic choices or to highlight something that you feel important even if the original version didn’t.

For instance, I think pulling Garp forwards is pretty clever. It gives a more Western feel to the story by having the antagonist tell half of it. Western stories oscillate between A and B plots (or more) quite a bit and thrive off of conflict. It’s not necessary for a story to function obviously but it’s part of the new style, namely it being a Netflix show. It is for a decidedly Western audience, it’s okay to use the tools of Western story telling. It changes the pace and the urgency, there’s an external pressure looming over the whole season and I like it when shows can do that.

I also love that we get the Cory and Helmeppo story more centered. Oda had only place in the chapter covers because of how vast One Piece already is. I appreciate the change that I get to spend more time with them and be part of their budding friendship. But you need at least parts of the Garp story for this to feel coherent within the show.

The live action reminds me of why I love writing fanfiction. Not to be disrespectful towards the original artist, far from it, but because I want to experiment with the things the original has and, importantly, doesn’t have. To keep the heart of the story and its key elements - which I think they did by and large a good job at, and to change it up for the new idea this iteration is presenting. In this case: What would One Piece be like if made for Western audiences?

Another guiding question is, what would One Piece be like if as realistic as possible? It not being a drawing anymore changes the tone and perception significantly, so they have to adjust for that. The over the top humor of Oda doesn’t work in this new medium. It’s a difficult needle to thread as Oda’s humor is so integral to everything, characters, plots, world building and so on. But that’s the challenge they set and I do think they caught quite a huge portion of it.

For example, Zoro isn’t as goofy and doesn’t grin as broadly as in the manga because no one is. Ruffy is less goofy so Zoro has to adjust down as well. He still smiles and cracks jokes and is his chaotic self. To me, in this world this version fits.

Overall, I love this live action a lot. It’s the best of its kind I’ve seen. And I love all the little scenes and gifs people make from it, they make my One Piece heart beat proudly. All the details that went in to the show I appreciate, the changed by and large I respect. It’s not the same but good.

And as someone who follows your tumblr, that opinion feels sometimes a little lost in all the asks you get about it. So I wanted to let others of your followers now, who - like me - might’ve felt a little discouraged by reading some of those asks and answers: It’s great if you’ve loved this show. That’s what it was made for. 💚

I appreciate all this but I need you to know, I am in the minority here in regards to not enjoying the live action - positivity for this is everywhere. Like I really do appreciate what you're trying to do here and I appreciate you like it a lot, but if my honest opinion regarding a live action adaptation discourages people then...idk there's plenty other places to turn to, my opinion on it shouldn't be the end all be all of opinions.

All the questions you brought up are fine, but the thing is if they're gonna change it up, then that's not an adaptation - that's a reinterpretation. You change an adaptation and its fidelity to fit the medium, that is not what this live action did. Through producer interviews they even stated that's what they WANTED, they WANTED a panel for panel adaptation, and they literally failed to do so. I'm glad you wanted something different, and clearly a lot of people also seemed to want that? But I personally didn't want One Piece to be different? I didn't want it to be 'realistic'? I also couldn't care less how the west wanted to make One Piece?

Making Zoro and Luffy less goofy means they are not the same characters, it shouldn't be more 'realistic' to make them more 'serious'. If anything that's just disappointing that these Netflix producers think realism means sucking the fun and humour out of characters. Those changes in characters is what bugged me the absolute most and, to speak frankly, I absolutely hated this version of Zoro. I would argue this whole adaptation does not make One Piece's heart beat loudly at all, if anything it feels embarrassed for what the original characters are meant to be and want them to be something else entirely. It feels like it needed to be 'edgier' and 'grittier' for literally no reason.

Different strokes for different folks I guess, and I'm sorry if I sound kinda miffed in this ask but it's because you will literally find positivity for all of this anywhere else. I'm sorry if I discouraged you but, again, my opinion on a piece of media shouldn't be the end of the world lmao. I'm happy people found joy in something I couldn't, but respectfully, I don't need it thrown at me when I've seen it everywhere else constantly and am just speaking honestly on my own little blog here.

We can agree to disagree and continue loving the ACTUAL thing that brought us all together, which was the original animanga!

#ask #oplatalk

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tellthemeerkatsitsfine · 8 months

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Here's a compilation I made of six different comedians (two per podcast) on three different podcasts saying something about different types of comedy, specially how it's different in Britain and American. Tumblr won't let me embed it even though I compressed it down to be under the max file size, so I'm using a Google Drive. It's just audio, but I made it a video instead of an audio file so I could add text to show what people and podcasts are playing at a given time.

I put those together and then I wrote down a bunch of thoughts about it, which I think start out somewhat coherent but get less so as I go along. It's a whole bunch of stuff I've been thinking about all shoehorned into one post just because they're all on a vaguely similar topic, like a hastily thrown-together Edinburgh show. The point is that I'm going to listen to Mike Birbiglia's albums. That's... that's the upshot. That's how all this started.

I found the chat with Hari Kondabolu especially fascinating, having heard a few of Hari’s comedy specials and albums, and heard him on The Bugle a lot over a bunch of years (also I saw his Problem with Apu documentary, everyone should watch that, and should know that he says all the time on The Bugle he doesn’t get royalties for it anymore so doesn’t mind how people find it, just watch it).

He’s an interesting presence on The Bugle, an outsider as an American, who was there from the very beginning of their reboot in 2016, so you can kind of watch him figure out what this is in real time. At first he audibly has no fucking idea what he’s signed up for, and as it goes along, you can hear him settle into an area of “Well I still don’t really understand why you’re doing this, but I see what it is now and have found a way to do my thing beside your thing and that’s fine.” That’s partly a reaction to Andy Zaltzman, because no one really knows what to do with Andy Zaltzman unless they’ve had a long time to get used to it (except for John Oliver, I’m pretty sure they just met at a student comedy gig in about 1999 and instantly said “Oh look, my comedy soulmate”). But some of it is also a reaction to the British stuff. The references to British politics and history that you get on a topical and political comedy show, and the way they approach all their material. I like hearing Hari Kondabolu on there, an outsider perspective who can pick it apart a bit.

So I found his Comedian’s Comedian podcast interview interesting – honestly the whole thing is worth a listen, even if you don’t really know Hari Kondabolu’s work, as a good analysis of political comedy and the mechanics of good comedy bits and British vs. American comedy and the comedy industry more generally. But for this post, my interest is the British vs. American stuff.

I cut out a big chunk of their Brit vs. American discussion on that episode, and put it in the video above. I debated how long to make the clip, to create what was meant to be a compilation of people discussing British vs. American comedy, and ended up leaving in some stuff that’s a bit off topic where they fawn over Daniel Kitson. I realize comedians fawning over Daniel Kitson is hardly such a rare and exciting event that it needs to be preserved, but I particularly enjoyed hearing Stuart Goldsmith and Hari Kondabolu do it, so I left it in when cutting out the clip. I’ve heard Hari bring up on a couple of other occasions, as well, that he’s wildly impressed and amazed by the Hotmail address.

Anyway though, the Kitson stuff aside, the clip from the Comedian’s Comedian podcast is mostly Hari Kondabolu and Stuart Goldsmith discussing how the Edinburgh Fringe Festival shapes British comedians’ careers into something different from what they are in America. They have to write a new hour every year, because there will be reviewers there who saw last year’s hour and will catch them out if they try to recycle material. Also because it’s a smaller country, so they can only tour one show in so many places before everyone’s heard it and they have to do a new thing. Hari Kondabolu is impressed with the work ethic but mildly horrified by the whole thing, and can point out some aspects of the system that people who are used to it just wouldn’t notice because they seem normal.

I think there are two major factors that mark out the Edinburgh-influenced British model of comedy careering building as being different from, say, American stuff: the new hour every year and the way each hour has to be themed and coherent and structured and preferably built around some story or message. In Hari Kondabolu’s podcast episode he mainly talked about the new hour every year thing, but also briefly touched on the concept of themes. Stuart Goldsmith mentioned that tides seemed to be changing, as it used to be that themes would make you different and interesting, but not anymore, so they’ll become less common soon. I’ve just spent three weeks listening to 38 shows performed at Edinburgh 2023, and I can say, I’m pretty sure that prediction was inaccurate. Themes and throughlines abound, and I’m happy about that. I like a good theme.

I do think there are pros and cons to it, though, and Hari Kondabolu points out some significant cons. If you look at the list of shows by any British comedy who's been doing Edinburgh for a long time, there are going to be some filler years. Some years when they did a show just because it's a new year and Edinburgh is up there so they'd better write a show, even if they don't have much to say. Hari is right to say that British comedians work fucking hard to turn over a new hour every year, but that doesn't mean the quality will always be top-notch.

Also, themes can be limiting. I'm sure there are some themed shows out there that would be better if they were just freestyle, if the comedian let themselves say all their best stuff, rather than cutting good material due to not being on theme. Or adding weaker material because it is on theme.

So that’s an American going on a British person’s podcast to tell them how fucked up the British comedy system is. I’ve made this compilation to compare it to a British person going on an American’s podcast, in which the American thinks the British system is great and in fact what he wants to do as well. Nish Kumar on Mike Birbiglia’s podcast, from just a couple of years ago. It’s an interesting contrast. A couple of people have told me before that Mike Birbiglia is like a British comedian but in the form of an American person. Including @my-excellent-bicycle, who told me ages ago that he's very good, and I said I'd watch him, and then I didn't, so sorry about that. Absolutely no offence to any of the people who'd already told me about him, but I have to admit, when the "Mike Birbiglia is so cool, he's like an American who does British comedy" endorsement comes from Nish Kumar, that does mean a little extra. Enough so I have now downloaded Mike Birbiglia's stuff, will listen to it next.

I can't really speak to the accuracy of what Nish Kumar said in that clip, since I haven't yet actually heard Mike Birbiglia’s shows. But I see what Nish means. He means shows that are built around one topic and/or narrative and/or theme and/or message, and stay on that, or at least around it and vaguely adjacent to it, for an hour.

Later in the 2021 podcast episode from which I took that Kumar/Birbiglia clip, Nish mentioned that actually, even though this is a generally British thing to do, he personally doesn’t tend to do it much, and he’d like to do it more. That was true, as of then. I’ve heard Nish’s 2014 (might have been originally his 2013 show, actually, whichever one got recorded for the Soho Live thing on Amazon Prime), 2016, and 2019 shows, and none of them were all that structured. They were coherent, particularly the latter two, which stayed on the topic of politics. Even that earlier one had some throughlines and underlying bits that kept coming back. But he didn’t do a really carefully constructed narrative show until 2022, the one that just had a video come out, Your Power Your Control.

So I found it interesting to hear Nish Kumar in 2021, just before he wrote Your Power Your Control, say he’d like to do more narrative-type stuff. And then the next year, he did it. Good for him. Nish Kumar just did a new episode of the Comedian’s Comedian podcast as well – it was recorded very recently, to go with the release of his latest special – and in that one, he mentioned that he was pleased with the way he managed to Birbiglia-fy this show in a way he hadn’t done with previous ones, making it a structured narrative the way Mike Birbiglia does. But actually, the way most British comedians do, and apparently this one American guy that it’s time for me to check out.

Then I added a clip of David O’Doherty from a very recent podcast, in which he talks about getting backlash from Americans for not being what they expect, which is just a bunch of unconnected jokes. I added that clip to the conversation because he brings up Hannah Gadsby and Nannette, and I think that’s an interesting point.

Hannah Gadsby got a huge amount of backlash for Nannette, and most of it was misogynistic. Not all of it, I guess. I guess it’s technically possible for someone to just really not like Hannah Gadsby’s style of humour, and they hated Nannette for perfectly legitimate reasons. Just like probably, some of those people on those cesspits of toxicity that were those Josie Long-related comedy message board threads in 2007, just legitimately did not share her sense of humour. Maybe one or two of them. But mainly, it’s the misogyny.

However, DO’D makes an interesting point about Hannah Gadsby’s show. Most “Edinburgh hour”-style shows do not get as massively world famous as Nannette did. So they got hit with misogynistic backlash, but it was fueled by the fact that it was being seen by a lot of Americans who are not used to that type of comedy, and just don’t understand. They thought Hannah was taking the respectable genre of doing 50 punchlines in 20 minutes, and making a mockery of it. Just because it was the first time they’d seen a comedy show with some sad bits. They thought Hannah Gadsby was doing comedy wrong.

So many people – mostly American people – who saw Nannette didn’t realize that ending a show with 10-15 minutes of sad bits is so commonplace in certain comedy circles that it’s also common to make fun of it. You hear comedians all the time, make jokes about the standard hour that’s funny for a while and then has a sad bit. There’s even a term for it: dead dad show. A dead dad show isn’t just a show about a dead dad. It’s any show that’s funny for a while but also poignant and touching and sentimental and has sad bits at the end and wants to make you cry as well as laugh. People joke about it because it’s been done a lot, it’s been done in some hack ways and some bad ways, it’s also been done in some brilliant ways, it runs the gauntlet like anything else.

It’s fine for people to say they’re not into that kind of thing. But Nannette got so big that people who’d never heard of that genre started seeing it, and they had no idea what they were seeing. So that’s how they ended up saying Hannah is not a comedian, this isn’t comedy, Hannah tricked a comedy-expecting audience into seeing a one-woman show! How dare you bring trauma into a comedy show? As though comedians talking about trauma aren’t a dime a dozen in Britain and Australia.

And I think that has pros and cons too. I like a show that works some serious stuff in, that has some deep personal or political message. But also, sometimes, people have a point when they say a comedy show has focused so much on the personal or political messages/trauma dumping that it forgot to also be funny (not with Nanette, though, people forget that Nanette had lots of good jokes in the first 45 minutes, it was a funny show, people just watch clips that have been cut from the last little bit and are then say this so-called comedy show isn't funny). And I guess it's up to each individual comedy audience member how much humour they'll allow a show to sacrifice for other stuff before they get sick of it. How much sad stuff or angry stuff or introspective stuff or educational stuff or heartwarming stuff or philosophical stuff or narrative stuff a show can have at the expense of funny stuff, before they'll say, "Okay, I need more comedy than this in my comedy shows." But I think it's a pretty shallow view of what comedy can be if you're not okay with a show that has any of that other stuff.

I am conflating Britain/Ireland and Australia/NZ quite a bit in this post, and that’s because I think when it comes to this sort of thing, they’re very similar. I’m also conflating Canada and the US, because I think they’re similar, in that neither of have this tradition that I’m pretty sure developed at Edinburgh and MICF. And I’m not talking about any other countries because as far as my comedy knowledge goes, those may as well be the only ones that exist (sorry Anuvab Pal and Aditi Mittal, I do know a couple from India too, but as far as I can tell, the special type of comedy they do in India is “say some stuff and hope you don’t get arrested for it”).

There is an obvious reason for that: Australia has a festival that’s similar to Edinburgh. British and Irish (and Irish, sorry for having forgotten to add “and Irish” in the earlier bits of this post, I just saw Dara O’Briain’s newest special – called So Where Were We, just released by the BBC, by the way, I recommend it – and it’s chock full of trauma, proving the Irish can do dead dad/never met my dad shows with the best of them) comedians develop their careers around Edinburgh, and Australian/NZ comedians develop their careers around the Melbourne Comedy Festival. North America doesn’t have anything like that.

Obviously North America has yearly festivals too, but not ones that are so big that every single comedian in the area wraps their whole career around it. I think the only one big enough to do that around here would be Just For Laughs, but Just For Laughs isn’t nearly the same thing, since people have to audition for it. You can’t just set up a show and show up. People can’t start writing a show in September with the assumption that they’ll take it to JFL next summer, because unless they’re already very famous, they can’t be sure they’ll be accepted into JFL’s lineup.

I found the David O’Doherty clip interesting, as he lists storytelling shows as just one of the many things that are, in fact, comedy, but get called “this isn’t comedy” by mostly Americans on the internet. But also, it’s not like all Americans just do 50 punchlines in 20 minutes and that’s it. They do lots of stuff! They have alternative comedy there, and at this point I’m getting out of my depth, because I have a sort of idea in my head of what American alternative comedy means – the vague idea involves things like Eugene Mirman and Fred Armisen and Kristen Schaal and improv shows in New York – but I don’t really know what I’m talking about. This post would be better if I knew what I was talking about more.

I guess the basic rule I’m working with is: British/Irish/Aussie/NZ do a new hour every year and it has themes and throughlines and narratives and coherent structure and they workshop it all year and then take it to Edinburgh and then scrap all that material and do a new one. And American comedians just write one joke(/bit/funny story, not just the classic type of one-liner “joke”) at a time, and at any given time are performing the combination of their best crop of jokes, and whenever they write a new joke it replaces the worst one in their set, so they evolve that way. I’m trying to understand why that difference exists, and part of the problem with my efforts to understand that is I don’t really know what I’m talking about, and the other part of the problem is that stating the difference that way is a massive oversimplification. It’s difficult to understand why a phenomenon exists if that phenomenon doesn’t really exist in nearly as simple a way as I’ve stated it here.

I know there are exceptions to that rule I just stated, even though I’ve not listened to any Mike Birbiglia yet. For a really famous example, I watched John Mulaney’s new show Baby J earlier this year (fuck him for the Dave Chapelle thing, the divorce and addiction are his own business and people who don’t know him shouldn’t have tried to get involved in his personal life, but fuck him for the Dave Chapelle thing, I didn’t watch his new show in any way that could translate to view count/profit for him – but I did love all his previous shows and was curious about what’s in the new one so I watched it), and that was pretty much all around one story. Even Hari Kondabolu’s new-ish special has a little bit of a theme, about being political while having a kid. And there are plenty of others, so it’s not like this stuff doesn’t happen in America. And there are plenty of British comedians who just do one joke at a time.

I don’t know – I’m not completely making this dichotomy up, right? That’s why I made that compilation in the video at the top of this post. Other people talking about that thing I’m talking about and proving that it is somewhat based in reality. It would help if I knew more about American comedy. You can’t really compare British and American comedy unless you know quite a bit about both, and I don’t know nearly enough about American to really understand this.

That’s why I asked my brother about it the other night, because he’s been doing comedy in Canada for a long time and most of the comedy he watches/likes is American. I asked him if he knows what I mean when I talk about this dichotomy, and why it may or may not exist. And he didn’t really know what I’m talking about, which means 1) the difference is so significant that someone who mainly follows North American comedy doesn’t even know about the dead dad Edinburgh show so can’t compare anything to it, and/or 2) I didn’t explain it very well. Because we had a whole conversation where at some point I realized we were talking past each other. He was using the word “alt” a lot, and it meant one thing to him and a different thing to me, so neither of us really knew what the other was talking about.

That in itself is interesting to me, because it shows that comedy is too big to really make these generalizations. You can’t talk about “alt comedy” as a coherent thing, because it means wildly different things in wildly different places. You can’t talk about “British comedy” or “American comedy” because Britain and America both have a lot of people in them who all do wildly different things.

At some point in my conversation with my brother, I said that when I say storytelling comedy I mean “like the thing Mike Birbiglia does”, and he has seen some Mike Birbiglia but says he doesn’t think what he does is particularly different from what most American comedians do, and I couldn’t refute that because I haven’t actually heard Mike Birbiglia yet. All I could say on that was… well one time I heard Nish Kumar say Birbiglia is like a British comedian, so that’s probably true, right?

So I really don’t know what I’m talking about well enough to understand this, or even explain it. Then again, my brother told me that he thinks British comedians write regular jokes in a way that American comedians don’t, and I said no, I think of the opposite as being true, and when I asked him for examples of why he thinks British comedians are like that, he said Jimmy Carr and Ricky Gervais. So he may not know enough about British comedy to know what he’s talking about. Is it possible that no one knows what they’re talking about? That’s kind of interesting to me too, I assume anyone who actually does comedy must know everything about it. I mean, I try really hard to know about comedy, but I don’t know nearly enough about it to properly do it. So the people who do do it know way more than I do and understand everything. But my brother’s been doing it 13 years, had traveled to perform in the States and nearby cities somewhat often, never made enough money from it to quit his day job but has made quite a lot of money from it over the years, and he may also not know what he’s talking about.

At some point we got talking about recorded comedy, and he said when he listens to audio-only comedy, and then watches a video of those people, he’s often surprised because he was picturing someone young and hot but it turns out to be a balding man in his fifties. I said that often, I can hear hours and hours of audio-only comedy by someone, and have an image of them in my head, and then see a picture of them, and I’m always surprised by how different the picture looks. Because I’m always picturing a person in their forties or fifties, maybe a bit overweight, slightly balding if it’s a cis man, and then I’m often surprised to learn they’re actually around my age or younger (many exceptions there too, Kitson is currently mid-40s and balding but I tend to picture him the way he looked in 2003, though I’m sort of updating my mental image of him now). Which I’m pretty sure says something about the difference between the comedy I watch and the comedy my brother watches, that we have such different images in our head of the “default comedian”, what we picture when we don’t know how someone really looks.

This may or may not be related to the fact that my brother recently started putting clips of his own comedy on Tik-Tok, and has things to say about how the engagement is going that make me despair at the soullessness of humanity. So what does he know? At some point I worked out that when he talks about writing jokes in a classic way, he doesn’t just mean one-liners, he means anyone who actually writes their material instead of just doing crowd work and “comedian destroys heckler” videos for social media. Apparently doing anything besides that is old school now, and he thinks British comedians do more old school stuff than American comedians, and again, I despair at the soullessness of humanity. But to be fair to America, I’m sure there are plenty of soulless British comedians on Tik-Tok too.

That’s part of it though, isn’t it? That my brother thinks of Tik-Tok-type comedy as American and British comedy as stuff that doesn’t do that. You can’t cut out a clip of a good dead dad show and put those 90 seconds on social media. I mean, you could, and I guess some people do, but that’ll ruin it. The British Edinburgh hours need their context, the good ones aren’t nearly as good without it. But maybe American comedy can be clipped more easily, since it’s not written to all flow together. But also, British comedians cut bits of their show out all the time to shoehorn into their twenty seconds of screentime on a panel show. Stewart Lee had a whole thing about that like 15 years ago, how no comedian can be that funny if their set can be cut up for a panel show. But, you know, we can’t all be Stewart Lee (though it’s my understanding that many people have tried). I’m pretty sure this is the sort of thing Stewart Lee knows about, and has strong opinions about. That was my mistake, asking the wrong comedian. I asked my brother, I should have been asking Stewart Lee.

So I still don't have an answer to who invented the dead dad show. I mean, I think I might know that one, Russell Kane may have invented the shows about dead dads specifically. But I don't know how the storytelling comedy with sad bits and themes started, or why it took off in Britain/Australia and not in North America, or if it's even true to say that happened. I feel like Kitson invented it, because it feels a bit like Kitson invented everything, but I know he didn't. I feel like Stewart Lee knows who invented it - I don't feel like he invented it, because he's constantly talking about the alt-comedy godfathers (gendered term there, but they were mostly fathers and not mothers at that time, that is an issue) from the 70s and 80s on whose shoulders he stands. And I don't really know anything about those people, so that doesn't help.

There's a guy named Oliver Double and I think he knows. I just got paid again, my bank account is looking a bit more stable than it did a little while ago, I think I'm going to buy his books. I'm also going to listen to Mike Birbiglia, I'll let you all know if he knows anything. Maybe most people don't know anything. Maybe everything has a smaller cause than I assume and we'd all be living in a radically different comedy world if Russell Kane's dad were still alive. Maybe it's fine to think the British comedy style is to write classic jokes because Jimmy Carr tours arenas and therefore gets to be their representative. Maybe the storytelling/pure joke telling comedy dichotomy doesn't even matter anymore, it's all about the dichotomy between improvised stuff on Tik-Tok and anyone who actually writes material now. Maybe improv just means crowd work now? But I hope not.

...This was going to be a post about how Hari Kondabolu thinks British comedians should scrap the concept of "recycling material" being bad, and just tell their best jokes even if they don't all fit a theme. Then I had a conversation with my brother the confused me and now I don't know. Does anyone else know anything that they want to share?

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