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#and actually writing stories in it
lgbtlunaverse · 3 months
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There's a version of the "don't go grocery shopping while hungry" rule specifically for writers where you should never under any circumstances be allowed to touch your draft within 3 hours of reading a really good story. Because sometimes when you read something great your head goes "fuck this is so much better than my stuff I should make that more like THIS instead!" Look at me. That's the devil talking and you should close the document NOW.
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descendant-of-truth · 9 months
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Shipping is fun and all but I swear every single time someone makes a comment, whether as a joke or in a legitimate analysis, about there being "no other explanation" for a pair's interactions, I lose just a bit more of my sanity
Like, no, you guys don't get it. Romance is not about the Amount of devotion, it's about the COLOR. the FLAVOR of it all. a character can be just as devoted to their platonic friend as they are to their romantic partner, and they don't love either of them more, just differently.
But because the majority of people still have it stuck in their minds that romance exists on the highest tier of love, I'm stuck seeing endless takes that boil down to "these two care about each other too much for it to NOT be romantic" as if that's the core determining factor to how literally any of this works
In conclusion: stop telling me that I don't understand the story if I don't interpret the leads as romantic, I am TIRED
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erraticprocrastinator · 2 months
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A reminder to all my lovely fellow writers: progress is progress, even when it isn't. Writing four thousand words in a session is progress. Writing a hundred words in a session is progress. Removing an entire scene because it doesn't flow well is progress. Rethinking your plan for the plot in order to get unstuck is progress. Development looks different for every writer and every story.
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ivaspinoza · 2 months
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not me writing this giant synopsis of my own wip to myself so i can understand what i am actually trying to create
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nibbelraz · 4 months
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A writer and His number one fan hater
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jvlianbashir · 1 month
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"the creator said in a reddit thread -" "the official twitter account posted that -" "the actors confirmed in a livestream that -"
i don't care and that's not real to me. put it in the text.
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inkskinned · 9 months
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you're grabbing lunch with a nice man and he gives you that strange grimace-smile that's popular right now; an almost sardonic "twist" of his mouth while he looks literally down on you. it looks like he practiced the move as he leans back, arms folded. he just finished reciting the details of NFTs to you and explaining Oppenheimer even though he only watched a youtube about it and hasn't actually seen it. you are at the bottom of your wine glass.
you ask the man across from you if he has siblings, desperately looking for a topic. literally anything else.
he says i don't like small talk. and then he smiles again, watching you.
a few years ago, you probably would have said you're above celebrity gossip, but honestly, you've been kind of enjoying the dumb shit of it these days. with the rest of the earth burning, there's something familiar and banal about dragging ariana grande through the mud. you think about jeanette mccurdy, who has often times gently warned the world she's not as nice as she appears. you liked i'm glad my mom died but it made you cry a lot.
he doesn't like small talk, figure out something to say.
you want to talk about responsibility, and how ariana grande is only like 6 days older than you are - which means she just turned 30 and still dresses and acts like a 13 year old, but like sexy. there's something in there about the whole thing - about insecurity, and never growing up, and being sexualized from a young age.
people have been saying that gay people are groomers. like, that's something that's come back into the public. you have even said yourself that it's just ... easier to date men sometimes. you would identify as whatever the opposite of "heteroflexible" is, but here you are again, across from a man. you like every woman, and 3 people on tv. and not this guy. but you're trying. your mother is worried about you. she thinks it's not okay you're single. and honestly this guy was better before you met, back when you were just texting.
wait, shit. are you doing the same thing as ariana grande? are you looking for male validation in order to appease some internalized promise of heteronormativity? do you conform to the idea that your happiness must result in heterosexuality? do you believe that you can resolve your internal loneliness by being accepted into the patriarchy? is there a reason dating men is easier? why are you so scared of fucking it up with women? why don't you reach out to more of them? you have a good sense of humor and a big ol' brain, you could have done a better job at online dating.
also. jesus christ. why can't you just get a drink with somebody without your internal feminism meter pinging. although - in your favor (and judgement aside) in the case of your ariana grande deposition: you have been in enough therapy you probably wouldn't date anyone who had just broken up with their wife of many years (and who has a young child). you'd be like - maybe take some personal time before you begin this journey. like, grande has been on broadway, you'd think she would have heard of the plot of hamlet.
he leans forward and taps two fingers to the table. "i'm not, like an andrew tate guy," he's saying, "but i do think partnership is about two people knowing their place. i like order."
you knew it was going to be hard. being non-straight in any particular way is like, always hard. these days you kind of like answering the question what's your sexuality? with a shrug and a smile - it's fine - is your most common response. like they asked you how your life is going and not to reveal your identity. you like not being straight. you like kissing girls. some days you know you're into men, and sometimes you're sitting across from a man, and you're thinking about the power of compulsory heterosexuality. are you into men, or are you just into the safety that comes from being seen with them? after all, everyone knows you're failing in life unless you have a husband. it almost feels like a gradebook - people see "straight married" as being "all A's", and anything else even vaguely noncompliant as being ... like you dropped out of the school system. you cannot just ignore years of that kind of conditioning, of course you like attention from men.
"so let's talk boundaries." he orders more wine for you, gesturing with one hand like he's rousing an orchestra. sir, this is a fucking chain restaurant. "I am not gonna date someone who still has male friends. also, i don't care about your little friends, i care about me. whatever stupid girls night things - those are lower priority. if i want you there, you're there."
he wasn't like this over text, right? you wouldn't have been even in the building if he was like this. you squint at him. in another version of yourself, you'd be running. you'd just get up and go. that's what happens on the internet - people get annoyed, and they just leave. you are locked in place, almost frozen. you need to go to the bathroom and text someone to call you so you have an excuse, like it's rude to just-leave. like he already kind of owns you. rudeness implies a power paradigm, though. see, even your social anxiety allows the patriarchy to get to you.
you take a sip of the new glass of wine. maybe this will be a funny story. maybe you can write about it on your blog. maybe you can meet ariana grande and ask her if she just maybe needs to take some time to sit and think about her happiness and how she measures her own success.
is this settling down? is this all that's left in your dating pool? just accepting that someone will eventually love you, and you have to stop being picky about who "makes" you a wife?
you look down to your hand, clutching the knife.
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thevoidstaredback · 22 days
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Enough Caffeine to Kill an Elephant
Listen. It was an accident. He didn't mean to! It just kinda happened.
So maybe he brought a drink with enough caffeine in it to kill an elephant within a few minutes, and maybe he forgot to put the sleeve on his cup so he could tell it apart from the others, but it's not his fault! He didn't think anyone else was going to have the exact same Yeti cup as him! It's not like he'd seen any of the others carry one before. Besides, he worked with superheros. They should be smart enough to check before drinking someone else's drink.
Danny had been summoned by the Justice League Dark a few years back in order to help with a world ending crisis and he just didn't leave. It's not like he could go anywhere anyway. His ghost half hadn't grown past fourteen and his human half had stopped visibly aging at eighteen. He'd had to leave town as Danny Fenton, but he'd stayed in Amity Park as Danny Phantom. When his parents died of old age, thank god, he'd closed down the portal, stuck around for a few more years, before traveling the world as Danny Fenton.
Anyway, he'd taken up residence in the House of Mysteries after the JLD had summoned him. Constantine, at first, had been wary, but he and the rest of the JLD had grown to accept him. He was an honorary member of the team.
At some point, just after Robin had become Red Robin, Danny had been introduced to the Justice League. He liked those guys, too, and worked with them sometimes. Though, he usually only went to bug them.
Red Robin had been very interested in the fact that his was fourteen and working with grown heros, like he was one to talk, but Danny hadn't explained anything other than saying that he had died and come back. The following conversation was an interesting one that lead to Danny knowing that Nightwing was the Batman he'd met and that Batman was lost somewhere. He'd confirmed that the man was not dead, but he hadn't offered to help look for him. He probably should have, in retrospect.
Back on topic! Everyone in the JLD knew not to touch Danny's drink. They'd all seen him make it before and had been horrified on varying degrees. It's not like it could kill him. He's already half dead! So long as he only drank this specific brew as Phantom, he'd be fine.
The Justice League, apparently, didn't get the memo. He blames Constantine because Zatanna and Raven can do no wrong. No, John, he's not biased.
The point is, Red Robin just had a sip of Danny's drink. The horror he now felt was akin to the fear he held when he'd told his parents he was Phantom. (An interaction that had gone very well, thank you very much.)
Danny knew the exact moment that the vigilante realized he grabbed the wrong drink. His eyes widened to an astonishing degree, and, if he'd been able to seen his eyes behind the mask, Danny knew that the man's pupils would've completely overtaken the irises. His hands started shaking, too. Oh, no. The man's already addicted to hellish amounts of coffee. This is only going to make it worse!
Quickly, and without drawing any attention, thank the Ancients, Danny rushed over. "You, um, you okay, man?" Obviously not, but he tends to talk when he's anxious and he was certainly anxious right now. He could've possibly just killed a man via poison!
"What the fuck is in this coffee?" Red Robin asked, going to take another sip.
Danny pulled the Yeti from his hand and gave him the proper one. "Enough caffeine to kill an elephant."
"Obviously not, seeing as I'm still alive."
"Yeah, I can't tell if that's a good thing or not."
"Excuse me?"
"I-I mean-! I didn't-! You know what I mean." Caffeine is poisonous in excess, and his drink was way beyond excess, but it's the only thing that works for him as a ghost! Superpowered metabolism and all that.
"Do I?" The laugh in his voice answered for him. He took a sip from his drink and frowned at it. "I don't think any coffee will ever be enough again."
"And that's my cue to get my drink very far away from you." Danny turned, fully intent on moving to the other side of the room. Besides, the meeting was going to start as soon as the Flash and Kid Flash arrived, which would be soon. Something about one of their Rouges getting out?
"What?" Red Robin asked, "Why?" If he was a little desperate to get another sip of that coffee, he'd rather not acknowledge it.
"Because you don't need anymore lethal coffee," he muttered, "The sip you took will already keep you awake for three days at least, and it probably jump started an addiction. Best to stop it now. Besides, I need to go have my crisis on how the hell you're still alive after even a sip of this stuff."
"Again, rude." The bird themed vigilante crossed his arms as best he could while holding his cup. "If it's so dangerous, why do you drink it?"
Danny took a deliberate sip as he locked eyes with the technically younger man. "I'm dead. I don't need to worry about my heart stopping or having a seizure."
"Excuses."
"No, it's not 'excuses'. I'm saving your life."
"You're a kid. If I can't have that coffee, then you shouldn't be having it."
"First, I'm older than you. Second, I already told you: I'm dead. This isn't going to hurt me. Third, you can't tell me what to do."
"There's no way you're older than me. You're like, ten."
"I'm thirty-eight!" He balked, "I only look fourteen because I died when I was fourteen. We've been over this."
Neither noticed the entire Justice League looking at them. The two they were waiting on had arrived a few minutes ago and everyone was ready to start the meeting, but they'd been distracted by the two's conversation. Was that true? Had Phantom really died so young? They'd all been made aware he was not living, but they didn't think he'd died so young! Though, that was probably the denial speaking.
The Justice League Dark had been fully aware of this and didn't really bat an eye. Though, someone should probably get this meeting started. A potentially world ending threat was the topic, and that was a pretty important thing to discuss.
Captain Marvel was the first to pull himself together, though that was only after Atlas and Zeus had mentally slapped him out of his stupur. "As, ah, riveting as this conversation is," he stepped between the two boys- er, boy and man? "we really need to start this meeting."
Batman did not clear his throat because he'd not lost his voice in the first place. "He's right. Everyone take your seats."
Part 2
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bottombaron · 6 months
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oh ok so its the usual no-homo bullshit you always hear, good to know.
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strawberrystepmom · 7 months
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cw children, cw families. gojo and f!reader were idiots in love and they are now married and have a baby. my effortlessly good painter gojo hc won out over being normal in my brain today so yeah. reader is referred to as mom/mama/mother and princess, satoru makes a joke about readers breasts. wc 1.1k
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Your morning has started far quieter than they usually do.
The day is overcast, no sunshine through your floor to ceiling bedroom windows, but you don’t mind. It feels good to embrace the cloudy days that have come with the changing of seasons, no harsh light to shock you awake. That job will be for your identical menaces in the coming months, the gummy smile of your morning person nine month old and her unabashedly obsessed father Satoru always eager to be your twin alarm clocks with their giggling and playful babbling at each other.
There’s nothing they love more than giving you the gift of four identical blue eyes blinking at you while you come to your senses every morning. You can almost admit aloud that you’ve become a morning person since becoming a parent, the delightful giggles of your daughter giving you the motivation to conquer anything and everything you can.
For today though, you wake gently, softly rolling from your side to flat on your back but something feels off. There are no hushed giggles, no silly songs being recited with children’s show host precision.
Your bed is empty and quiet and you feel…sad. Perhaps in the past you would’ve found this to be a luxury - no freakishly long limbs of your husband starfished across the bed to keep you pinned to it, no baby to tug at the earrings you forgot to take out last night, but instead it just feels like a less welcome start to the day.
Lingering in bed doesn’t feel good so you roll again, dropping your legs over the edge and sliding your feet into your waiting slippers. Scuffing across the floor, you yawn and stop in your tracks hearing voices from inside Satoru’s closet.
Well, a voice and some baby giggles, anyway.
“Can you say mama?”
Leaning against the door frame of the walk in, you stifle a laugh listening to your husband babble at his little girl who babbles back excitedly. Peeking around the corner, you see him standing in front of the portrait of you that he painted on your 24th birthday, little babe held to his chest and leaning her head on his shoulder.
“That’s her, that’s right. Your perfect mom.”
He sighs and your heart squeezes watching the two of them sway side to side, your baby who is growing into an independent toddler every day reaching out as if she recognizes your face. You’re sure she does, actually; the painting is an impeccable likeness and it still frustrates you 6 years later that he managed to become so good at a craft you’ve spent your life working on in less than a month.
Someday you’ll tell her the entire story, your version of it anyway. For now you’re content to let her father tell his side considering it was one of the most grand and romantic gestures he had performed at the time in an effort to show you how serious he was about your relationship.
“Listen, little girl,” he starts, unknowing that he has captured both of your attention. “I know I’m going to have to tell you this again eventually but do not ever bring a man or woman or anyone else into this house that loves you less than I love your mother.”
She coos at the sound of his voice and he chuckles down at her, kissing the downy white hair atop her head.
“I mean it. If they won’t stay up for four nights straight to get a start on painting your nose from memory, leave ‘em behind.”
With this, you giggle and the attention of both of your menaces is captured. Your daughter squeals from over Satoru’s shoulder, holding one little hand out and making a grabbing motion and he copies her excited babbling with his own.
“My little tricksters snuck out of bed this morning!”
Grinning, you cradle your little girl against your chest and kiss her temple, inhaling the clean smell of her shampoo and skin. She’s been bathed and everything.
“You’re the best.”
You feel the need to remind Satoru at this moment and he grins, bending to give you a good morning kiss.
“Duh.”
Giggling, you let your wiggly daughter settle herself and the three of you stand in front of the painting. You recognize the younger woman permanently captured in it, the soft lovesick look in her eyes, and it amuses you to know he took extra time to capture you exactly like that. Hopelessly in love.
He could capture you using the same medium and you’d look identical to how you did back then - utterly stricken.
“Did you really stay up practicing for four nights?”
“Princess, I stayed up practicing for four weeks.”
You snort, looking up at him from the corner of your eye.
“There’s no need to embellish now, you’ve already won me over.”
He shrugs, pulling the two of you close to his chest. He leans over his little family, cheek resting against the top of your head.
“But what if I never want to stop winning you?”
You reach up and brush his hair off of his forehead affectionately. Every touch you give him is full of love and every glance carries tenderness.
There will come a time when your daughter will be old enough to gawk at the love the two of you have for one another. Maybe she’ll stick her tongue out and roll her eyes just as you remember her father doing more than once or perhaps she’ll simply smile and hide her face in the collar of her shirt, dreaming of a love like what’s in front of her someday.
“I mean, I could paint you again. You are coming up on the big three oh and I have to say that a few things have grown since back then if you know what I mean.”
He waggles his eyebrows suggestively and drops his voice suggestively low. You flick him on the forehead and laugh about it, your daughter joining in on your giggles as a nine month old is apt to do.
The thing you hope she’ll understand the most is that sometimes love isn’t just big paintings and grand gestures and sweet looks. It’s being grounded enough to give each other a hard time when things are good and a good time when things are hard.
You are fortunate enough to have the best of everything with her father.
“Let’s go make breakfast, Monet.”
You turn on your heel and your husband follows closely behind, small steps to match your own. He looks over his shoulder one final time to look at the painting of you on his closet wall and he smiles, soft and warm.
“Whatever you say, my muse.”
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foldingfittedsheets · 27 days
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I had this friend I was living with when I was getting my associates degree in my early twenties. Wait, hang on. So the first thing I need to convey about that time in my life is that I was as full of anxiety as it was possible to be.
I was working, taking classes, and living on my own for the first time. I was drowning. I was a bubbling kettle of stress and responsibilities all waiting to boil over at any moment. Bodies are fickle things. They all react to stress very differently. My body decided that the best possible way to deal with stress was to puke about it.
This was extremely unwelcome not just because throwing up is a violently uncomfortable experience but also because I struggled most of my life to maintain a healthy weight. I’d eat enormous portions but even when my food stayed down I burned through calories like a hummingbird. I tended to hover right around a hundred pounds, desperately trying to gain weight.
My friends were all aware of my struggles. They’d keep granola bars on them for when I suddenly got so hungry I was sick and made me calorie dense meals. They knew the face I made when I realized I was going to be sick and usually had water and back rubs for me afterward.
So that’s where I was. Throwing up generally at least once a week, working and school full time. I was living with three friends. Let’s call them K, D, and E. K and I had been friends since middle school and she and I shared a bedroom with our own bathroom. The boys D and E shared a room, and had the public bathroom.
The last thing you need to know is that D was a sex addict. He was always horny, masturbated several times a day, and made no secret of his proclivities. It was a running joke within the friend group. (As an aside he once had his car broken into while transporting his duffel bag of sex toys to and from a liaison, and the thief ignored everything else in the car to take the toys. It was probably over a thousand dollars of used sex toys but the thief still wanted it more than his iPod)
One night I was doing homework and dinner was sitting poorly. I hadn’t fully developed my brain yet to make a connection between my paper was stressing me out to the fact that I suddenly felt really sick. But to my dismay K was in our bathroom.
So I jumped up, frantically ill, and ran across the living room to the boys toilet to barf.
The walls were thin.
Within a few minutes D came in with a cold wash cloth. He put it on my neck and rubbed my back. He’d brought a glass of water for me, too, which was all very lovely.
When I was done we sat in the miserable aftermath of this latest episode in stomach violence. He finally broke the silence to comment, “I’ve never lost an erection as fast as I did hearing you start puking.”
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runningwithscizzorz · 18 days
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Sacrifice of the flesh for freedom in the spirit
“M-May venom strike the evil from my broken heart, may a flood wash away my sins, may fire scald the demons in my skin. O, only in Death am I free…. I’m sorry, Umm, I’m so sorry…”
Incase y’all can’t read cursive
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matchingbatbites · 10 months
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It's hot in their room.
Yeah, okay, they did just finish having sex like. Ten minutes ago. But still, he shouldn't be this warm. It's the only thing stopping him from burrowing into Eddie's side for post-sex cuddles, just the thought of sticky, tacky snuggles making his skin crawl.
Steve rolls into his back and looks up at the ceiling fan as it spins around, not really doing anything to cool the air around them.
"What direction is the fan supposed to spin in during the summer?"
He hears Eddie hum and shift a little. "Uh, counterclockwise, I think."
Yeah, the fan is definitely going the wrong way. Steve climbs out of bed, ignoring Eddie's questioning "Babe?" as he goes to the bathroom and wets down a hand towel.
He climbs onto the bed and stands on the plush surface, completely indifferent about his state of undress as he carefully stops the fan and begins to wipe the blades with the towel, collecting the dust that has accumulated over the months.
It's not easy, trying to reach above himself while keeping balance, and he glances down and back at his boyfriend. Eddie seems to be absolutely entertained by the sight in front of him, if the eyes glued firmly to Steve's bare ass and the teeth biting into his lip are any indication.
"Babe? Can you hold me steady so I don't fall?"
A bright sparkle appears in those brown eyes, and Steve instantly knows that he's up to something.
"Of course, Stevie."
Eddie moves to kneel behind Steve, hands firm on his hips as the younger reaches up again and finishes his task of cleaning the fan blades. He flicks the little switch on the body of it and watches as it starts to spin in the proper direction, but he doesn't even have time to feel proud of himself before teeth sink into his right ass cheek.
He yelps and jerks forward, and probably would have gone tumbling off the bed if it weren't for Eddie's hands still on him.
"Eddie!"
His boyfriend is laughing as he hauls Steve in close and nuzzles into his shoulder.
"Sorry, sorry sweetheart. How can you expect me to resist when it was right there?"
"You fucking animal," Steve mutters lightheartedly as he turns, shifting just enough so he can bite into Eddie's shoulder in retaliation. It only sends Eddie into another fit of laughter, and Steve can't help but join in as they tangle their limbs together, finally able to relax and cuddle as the room gradually starts to cool down.
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halfbit · 8 months
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ok the last post was infodump friendly. this one is NOT.
i expect you to explain your/something about your magic system as badly as possible. i want to be confused. i want to lack context.
i'll start:
big wyrm gives off radiation that is also magic. ohhh no gas.
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ignitesthestxrs · 5 months
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there's something about the way people talk about john gaius (incl the way the author writes him) that is like. so absent of any connection to te ao māori that it's really discomforting. like even in posts that acknowledge him as not being white, they still talk about him like a white, american leftist guy in a way that makes it clear people just AREN'T perceiving him as a māori man from aotearoa.
and it's just really serves to hammer home how powerful and pervasive whiteness and american hegemony is. because TLT is probably the single most Kiwi series in years to explode on the global stage, and all the things i find fraught about it as a pākehā woman reading a series by a pākehā author are illegible to a greater fandom of americans discoursing about whether or not memes are a valid way of portraying queer love.
idk the part of my brain that lights up every time i see a capital Z printed somewhere because of the New Zealand Mentioned??? instinct will always be proud of these books and muir. but i find myself caught in this midpoint of excitement and validation over my culture finding a place on the global stage, frustration at how kiwi humour and means of conveying emotion is misinterpreted or declared facile by an international audience, frustrated also by how that international audience runs the characters in this book through a filter of american whiteness before it bothers to interpret them, and ESPECIALLY frustrated by how muir has done a pretty middling job of portraying te ao māori and the māoriness of her characters, but tht conversation doesn't circulate in the same way* because a big part of the audience doesn't even realise the conversation is there to be had.
which is not to say that muir has done a huge glaring racism that non-kiwis haven't noticed or anything, but rather that there are very definitely things that she has done well, things that she has done poorly, things that she didn't think about in the first book that she has tacked on or expanded upon in the later books, that are all worthy of discussion and critique that can't happen when the popular posts that float past my dash are about how this indigenous man is 'guy who won't shut up about having gone to oxford'
*to be clear here, i'm not saying these conversations have never happened, just that in terms of like, ambient posts that float round my very dykey dash, the discussions and meta that circulate on this the lesbian social media, are overwhelmingly stripped of any connection to aotearoa in general, let alone te ao māori in specific. and because of the nature of american internet hegemony this just,,,isn't noticed, because how does a fish know it's in the ocean u know? i have seen discussions along these lines come up, and it's there if i specifically go looking for it, but it's not present in the bulk of tlt content that has its own circulatory life and i jut find that grim and a part of why the fandom is difficult to engage with.
#tlt#the locked tomb#i don't really have an answer lmao this is more#an expression of frustration and discomfort#over the way posts about john gaius seem to have very little connection to the background muir actually gave him#like you cant describe him as an educated leftist bisexual man#without INCLUDING that he is māori#that has an impact! that has weight and importance!#that is a background to every decision he makes#from the meat wall to the nuke to his relationship with the earth#and it also has weight and importance in the decisions that muir makes in writing him#it is not a neutral decision that he's known as john gaius lmao#it's not a neutral decision that the empire is explicitly of roman/latin extraction#it's not even neutral that this is a book about necromancy#it's certainly not a neutral fucking decision that john was at one point a māori man living in the bush#when the nz govt decided to send cops in#like that is a thing that happens here! that is a reference to nz cultural and political events that informs john's character and actions#and with the nature of who john is in the story#informs the narrative as a whole#and i think the tiresome part of this experience is that#in general#americans are not well positioned to understand that something might be being written from outside their experience as a default#like obviously many many americans in online leftist & queer spaces are willing to learn and take on new information#but so much of the conversation starts from a place of having to explain that forests exist to fish
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whumpsoda · 2 months
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I. I love vampire hunters turned thralls. Brainwashed into adoring little pets to creatures of which they once chased down with the goal of killing… UGH just someone who used to hate the thing they now address as master… bonus points if they get their memories erased and have no memory of their hunter past :3
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