#shouldn't write
Text
"Lives on Black Vases"
An online community I am in did a game earlier this year. It was a thread alternating art (ancient, modern, whatever--just not AI) and poetry. You wrote a poem for the art. Then someone found art for your poem. This is one of the poems I wrote. I will be posting the rest later, too. Note: Due to the nature of the game, all of these poems are unedited.
Lives on Black Vases
Alabaster statues, black and white photos
Beautiful vases with gold and black lacquer
Long lists of dates, dry paragraph bios
Why is our history so rarely in color?
Flatten these lives into stories with morals
'Learn from the past or be doomed to repeat it'
Villains and tragedies, heroes with laurels
How much of our history have we omitted?
And what will the future choose to erase
When painting our lives onto a black vase?
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
Senshi is probably the most fandomized character in Dungeon Meshi, and while I don't exactly mind it, I do think he has more depth than that. I find all his little quirks and idiosyncrasies to be fascinating; he's very stubborn and set in his ways about things that seemingly don't matter, he thinks about things that other people don't, he has a deeply set value system that informs everything he does. He cares A Lot, like, this man cares So Much. That's the kind of person you have to be to drop everything to help a random group of adventurers save one woman. But because he feels so strongly about things, he can also be surprisingly immature at times (although he's also the character most likely to admit he was wrong about something). I think part of that is because he's lived in the dungeon on his own so long that he's not used to working with other people. He will extend empathy and friendship to almost anyone, but he does things his own way, and he doesn’t always feel the need to explain his way of thinking because again, he's usually on his own. He's both incredibly wise and kind of childish in ways that seem contradictory at first, but make more and more sense the more we learn about him. Major kudos to Ryoko Kui's writing and pacing to make that transition so seamless and have all those details from his backstory click into place perfectly. And on a wider thematic level, Senshi is kind of a perfect counterpart to characters like Thistle (or any other dungeon lord). Senshi understands the dungeon in ways that even its creator doesn't. Although everyone is scrambling to take control of the dungeon, Senshi is the one who actually takes care of it. He's the one who thinks about things like nutrition and proper sleep and the ecosystem, all those things that it's easy to ignore when you get swept up by the grandeur of it all. He's the most important character to have present in a story that explores life and death and hunger. His constant, invisible presence holds everything together.
#I'm not finished it yet so I don't want to make any big sweeping claims about what his story means in the greater context of the manga#but. I really like him so. Senshi thought dump#I really thought this was going to be shorter...idk if I really got what I wanted to say across but once I started writing I couldn't stop#dungeon meshi#dunmeshi#delicious in dungeon#senshi#senshi of izganda#edit: yeah I should probably tag this#dungeon meshi spoilers#shouldn't I
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
One of my favourite brain rotting tcf ideas is Cale having some tremor disorder. Basically, he has hands that randomly tremble without any reason.
It may be genetic to him, or he developed it as Cale because of not eating his meals properly and inevitably developing some vitamin deficiency.
Now comes the best part.
Imagine Cale, perhaps in some really gruesome battle, with blood of enemies and allies mixed around him. Imagine his family seeing Cale's stoic face, wondering how a person so young can be so brave, and then they see his hands shaking under his raven coat, even as they're curled tightly into a fist.
Imagine Cale looking at Jour's portrait, admiring her beauty and her alike face with his own. But then his family sees him, his gaze fixated on his mother's image and his hands trembling slightly.
Imagine him, standing at the forefront of some battle with his shields raised, with his hands trembling uncontrollably, even though he is not straining himself. The people protected under him can only tear up at his selflessness.
Imagine Cale after attacking the enemies with a wave of firebolts, but his hands again started shaking badly, even if he has them covered under his sleeves. His family misunderstands that as Cale hiding his pain.
Imagine Cale, resting on a couch after some battle, and when Raon, On and Hong excitedly climb upon his lap, he only smiles slightly and pats them with his trembling hands. The kids then worriedly inform Ron of this and Cale recieves sweet lemon tea for a whole week.
Imagine Cale talking about territory matters with Alberu, and Alberu is once again amazed by his dongsaeng's witty and almost experienced approaches to problems like war. But then he sees Cale's hands shaking while holding the tea cup, and he realises how absolutely not normal it is to not be nervous in such a situation. (Alberu later pledges to himself to give Cale the slacker life he always wished for.)
Just imagine Cale in any situation with trembling hands and it literally creates the most hilarious misunderstandings with some really wonderful angst.
#I'm absolutely gonna write this in whole later#it also helps you realise how much Cale is used to stuff that he shouldn't be used to#and the fact that no one in his family questions it. and just. goes along with it.#its really funny till you realise how traumatised this guy is#genuinely one of my most favourite brainrots to daydream about#trash of the count's family#lout of the count’s family#cale henituse#tcf#lcf#tcf novel#tcf prompt#kim rok soo
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
from the homumiko mines
#dgs#tgaa#dgs spoilers#tgaa spoilers#homumiko#idk why mikotoba is taller in the kiss. hes on his tiptoes#the first one is inspired by the moment when sholmes puts his hands on ryu's neck so he can feel how cold they are from blood loss lol#anyway i continue to be deeply fascinated with early years homumiko#i feel like my view of their relationship is more slowburn than most#like. they were both not at their best when they met and i can very much see a scenario where they start living together w/out necessarily#liking each other#the last one in based on a line in 1-5 where gregson (?) says that after an hour of blood loss even sholmes piped down or something#which makes me think he would not shut up beforehand. and i think he'd say some stuff He Really Shouldn't Have#but susato wrote it off as delirium + she was too worried abt her dad and messing with the crime scene#que like 5 months later her going .........ohhhhhh#thats not how you write que i think. anyway
563 notes
·
View notes
Photo
Due to recent issue with some people arguing about how ‘AO3 should have algorithm’ and such... I feel like these tweets need to be shared out more. Saw this tweets thread by chance and I had to admit it's a great advice esp on fic writing or fanworks in general.
[Edit] Also since I noticed this post blowing up, if anyone ever tell you that AO3 doesn’t have a function to RECCOMMEND fics you like to others or read other people’s fic recs on the site point them to this post.
[Edit 2] Check source for the original tweet.
[Edit 3] Not OP, but usually when ppl talk about ‘rude or demanding comments’ it usually refers to those that tend to message fanwriters to write according to what they want to be either on the flow of the plot, shipping, etc to the point of harrassment/toxicity. And that would make writing not be fun anymore for some.
#fandom#twitter#i mean#it's not that i can't relate cos I was young once too#and used to obsess about getting kudos and comments#but new kids need to understand that there's a reason why fic archives shouldn't work like socmed#ao3#psa#self reminder when I get concerned abt kudos and comments again#also if you really want ppl to notice your fics... you can actually... promote it?#also in response to 'rude comments' it's more on situations where strangers demand writers to write according to what the readers want and n#or demands asking writers to create something when they didn't want to#which can be excessive#that aside I don't understand why ppl are relating this with published books etc#cos then that'll be a separate issue
6K notes
·
View notes
Text
Guilty Pleasures ( chapter two )
18+ 3.8k homelander x plus size f!reader. workplace harassment, stalking, voyeurism, masturbation, lite humiliation kink, lite somnophilia, breaking & entering, petty theft, sublander flavored. nebulously takes place post s1. part 2/4. AO3 link. CH I. CH 3
Homelander is the most powerful man in the world, and all he wants is to be yours.
After spending the majority of your evening and the following morning anticipating being fired, walking into work the next day feels like traversing a thinly frozen lake, each step webbing out in precarious cracks.
Clearly you’re not the only one who thinks so: you clock a handful of surprised looks from coworkers who’d attended the meeting and took note of the tension between you and Vought’s golden boy.
Maybe they’d taken bets on whether or not you’d be coming in this morning.
There’s no sign of Homelander on your way in. Not that you were expecting him–yesterday was the first time you actually saw him in person–but you still find yourself on the lookout. It’s hard to say whether you’re anticipating or dreading him. Part of you is still expecting to open your door and find a letter on your desk politely informing you that they’ve determined you aren’t a good “culture fit” for the company, and that your probation has been terminated.
After all, who in their right mind would take your side over Homelander’s?
You push open your office door, and sure enough, there is a letter waiting for you, but not in the way you expected. You stand in the doorway, staring in quiet incomprehension. The envelope, crisp and bright white, is propped up in a bed of rich red roses sitting in a pretty vase upon your desk. You glance behind you before you step inside, closing the door behind you, and approach the desk cautiously. You pluck the paper out of the bouquet, taking a moment to smell the flowers–they smell as good as they look–before you carefully rip open the envelope, tearing the small american flag sticker that sealed it.
Inside, there’s only one word on the folded piece of paper, scrawled in surprisingly elegant handwriting.
Truce?
You can’t help the incredulous little bark of laughter you give at that. It’s not even an apology. It’s a demand that he expects a gratuitous bundle of flowers will help you swallow, like taking medicine with a spoonful of sugar.
“You’re ridiculous,” you say quietly to the letter, setting it down on your desk. You give the roses one last sniff, testing one of the soft petals between your fingers. You wonder if what you said actually got through to him.
Homelander has no real reason to smooth things over with you: you’re no one. He’s posed no risk to himself by coming after you. He could no doubt have you fired by complaining that your marketing tactics don’t align with his brand. It’s hard to imagine Vought denies him much.
Yet he is apparently negotiating peace. It’s not nearly enough, but it is a start.
Or maybe it’s just more than you expected.
You sit, idly tapping the letter against your desk. You’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t still think him handsome. Homelander wasn’t the first man to ogle your tits while you gave a presentation, but he was certainly the first to fluster you like that when he did. His sly smile had made you want to slap him, but there was a questionable little part of you that thought about kissing it better afterwards.
Taking in a steadying breath, you slip the letter into your desk drawer and adjust the flowers to the side, admiring them a moment before you pull out your laptop.
If Homelander can behave himself enough to let you do your job without public humiliation, you can afford a truce. You don’t need to forgive or condone him to be civil, or even to continue having your own private fantasies. A little guilty pleasure now and again never hurt anyone.
You can’t know that Homelander is observing you throughout this internal conversation, watching through several layers of steel and concrete, his parted lips curving into a slow smile as you accept his offering. You can’t know that you haven’t just acknowledged a truce, but an invitation.
No, you can’t possibly know what’s to come.
Two days later, you diligently change the water that the roses in your office sit in. They’re doing well, the crimson buds having unfurled into a splay of velvety petals. You pinch one between your thumb and forefinger and stroke it absently. Homelander has continued to be a scarcity, but that doesn’t mean you haven’t seen him. Quite the opposite: you spend most of your working hours either looking at or thinking about his face to the point where it’s starting to follow you home each day.
That’s what you tell yourself when you think of him outside of work hours, anyways.
It’s been long enough now that you wonder if the flowers were the end of it. He was simply covering his ass with a half hearted gesture that slightly resembled an apology so that you could both comfortably drop the subject. That was entirely fine by you so long as he actually did improve his behavior.
A familiarly brisk knock at your door catapults your heart up against the cage of your ribs like a spooked hare. It’s the exact same beat, you’re sure of it. You stay quiet, half expecting to be barged in upon, but when nothing happens, you move from your desk and open the door yourself, intentionally blocking it with your body.
Sure enough, Homelander stands tall on the other side. He flashes his signature smile while your eyes narrow suspiciously. “Can I help you?”
“I think I’m the one who can help you,” he says brightly, that spread of teeth downright wolfish. He lifts a handful of papers that have been stapled at the corner, gesturing for you to take it.
Still wary, you take them from him and shift, wedging your foot to keep the door firmly in place while you flip through the pages. Your brows furrow as you recognize chunks of your own presentation. Understanding dawns when you realize that he’s annotated them.
“You read my presentation,” you say, unable to mask your surprise.
“Obviously. It’s my image on the line, right? Got some notes for you, but I have to say: y’mostly nailed it,” he says, reaching out to rest a gloved hand on the doorway.
“Mostly?” You echo, quirking an eyebrow at him as you look up from the pages.
“Yeah, mostly. Again, I have some minor notes,” he says, wiggling his other hand in a vague gesture. “But I figure I owe you praise on a job mostly well done.”
You’ve got to be kidding me.
Crossing your arms, you abandon your stern foothold on the door in order to shift your weight, your incredulity showing in every inch of your body language. “What you owe me is an apology.”
Homelander’s grin softens into a smile that’s no less challenging. “Looks to me like you’ve already been enjoying my apology,” he says, leaning slightly to gaze past you, to the bundle of roses sitting prettily on your desk.
You briefly glance over your shoulder, but your expression remains impassive. Unimpressed. “That? That isn’t an apology. An apology would include the words I’m sorry.”
He scoffs a dismissive laugh, swaying back to look away, but you persist.
“I’m serious,” you say, luring his ocean blue gaze back to yours. “I want you to say to me ‘I’m sorry for the way I behaved during your presentation. It won’t happen again.’ “
The two of you hold each other’s gaze with all the magnitude of two gunmen in a duel, hands steady over your proverbial pistols.
To your surprise, Homelander does not fire back. He raises a dainty white flag.
“I’m sorry for the way I behaved during your presentation,” he says, words slow and measured. You watch his tongue flash over his bottom lip, wetting it attractively. You fight to not let your eyes linger on it. “It won’t happen again.”
You swallow, suddenly finding thought and speech an impossible task. You weren’t prepared for such raw, ready obedience from him, nor the intensity in his gaze that follows it. He reminds you of a charmed snake–docile so long as he is transfixed.
“Good,” you say, the word half a sigh. Homelander’s lips part and he breathes in like he’s caught wind of something particularly delicious smelling. “I accept your apology, and I appreciate that you took the time to do this,” you say, gesturing with the documents in your hand. “I’ll go over them and get back to you.”
He reaches out, bracing his hand on your office door. You half expect him to push it open, but he merely holds it there. “We could go over them together,” he suggests slyly.
“No,” you say, clearly disarming him. He looks as though he’s forgotten the meaning of the word. “I’m in the middle of another project at the moment.”
The leather of his gloves creaks faintly in your ear as he flexes his grip on the edge of the door. While what you’ve said is true, it’s also serving as a test. Words and flowers are pretty things, but only actions always speak the truth.
“At the moment,” he repeats, gears visibly turning in his eyes. “So… Later?” He extrapolates, displaying an uncharacteristic tentativeness alongside his obvious displeasure at the taste of rejection. You even see a glimmer of hope in the mess of his expression..
He did pass the test. You suppose you can reward him for that.
“Another time,” you say, giving your door an exploratory push. He relents, his hands sliding down the length of it before falling away as he takes a half-step back. “How about tomorrow on my lunch break? 1:00 o'clock sharp.”
He splits into a smile that looks more genuine than any of his you’ve seen before. “Aaalrighty-roo. Sounds gooood to meeeee,” he says, drawing out his vowels more the closer he gets to actually having to leave. At your silent, amused stare, he claps his gloved hands together with a muffled thump! and takes a few more steps backwards. “Yooooou’ll see me… tomorrow.”
Your smile pinches along with your brows. What a strange way to phrase it. “See you then,” you say, watching as his face is eclipsed by your closing door. You wait a beat and then let out a thin thread of breath from your pursed lips, resting your weight on the door.
Looking down at the papers in your hand, you push off from the door and head to your desk, flipping through them.
Such a strange man, you think, carrying the notes to your desk. You set them down next to the vase of roses and try not to think too much about the unconscious smile your lips keep settling into for the rest of the day.
Homelander’s got you hook, line and sinker. He’s certain of it. He lingers on the other side of your door just long enough to watch you through it while you settle, a charmed smile set on your lips. He can already imagine how those lips would feel against his own, how they’d taste. He swallows thickly and looks around before he departs, already plotting his next move.
The two of you have a date tomorrow, and in order to be at the top of his game, he’s going to have to do a little additional research. Knowing your work was a good first step. The next one will be learning about you.
Following you home is the easy part. It ultimately feels chivalrous to do so once he realizes you walk home even at this time of year, when the sun sets long before the work day ends. He drifts above you, cocking his head curiously. No wonder you walk. The streets are packed as tightly as sardine cans, and your apartment garage isn’t much better. The claustrophobia of it all serves as a stark contrast to the openness of Vought tower.
The interior of your apartment provides an even sharper juxtaposition to his penthouse. It’s tidy, but the comparatively low ceilings and minimal floor space still make it look cramped. Somehow, you simultaneously have too much and yet not much at all, the confinement of a downtown apartment making what minimal affects you do own seem crowded together.
That only becomes more apparent once he’s inside, slipped in through your balcony after sleep has taken you. Why would you bother to lock your balcony when you live on the 8th floor? It works out perfectly for him.
In all fairness, your living room feels cozier once he’s standing in the center of it. Your walls are lined with an assortment of art pieces and photographs, and the shelves are well stocked with books and knick-knacks. You have a decent film collection displayed on your media console, and he can’t help but snoop through it, bending at the waist, examining through the rows. He cocks his head.
Odd. You’d think an employee of Vought would have at least a few VCU films. He runs his index finger along the spines, slightly adjusting them flush as he goes. Pursing his lips, he straightens up and looks at the closed cabinets on either side. The left one yields an untidy assortment of electronic odds and ends, cords and the like. Nothing of much interest other than an indication that while you like to keep up appearances, you aren’t quite as together as you’d like people to think.
It’s on the right side, however, he finds what he’s really looking for.
“Bingo,” he whispers, smiling to himself as he scopes out your little hidden collection of Vought hero flicks. Specifically, his films. He’s less interested in the handful of others you own (Queen Maeve: Her Majesty, Black Noir: Insurrection, Lamplighter: The Bright World, etc) and more so in the fact that you have nearly his entire catalog tucked away.
Nearly. You’re missing his eighteen part miniseries, Homelander: Brightest Night.
At least that gives him something to gift you.
Closing the cabinet, he meanders about the rest of your apartment. You have some plants in varying states of decay, with only a few cacti looking to be in decent shape. Either your work keeps you too busy to properly mind them, or you just like the idea of them more than the reality. It tells him that you’re looking–and failing–to fill a void in your life. You want to feel less alone in your home, you want to nurture something. You just haven’t found the right something yet.
Striding into your kitchen, arms folded behind his back, he peers through the cheap wood veneer of your fiberboard cupboards, unveiling an unusually broad assortment of mugs. There doesn’t seem to be any particular theme: holidays, locales, characters, and a menagerie of patterns.
He hums softly, pivoting out of the kitchen and down the hall, his steps preternaturally light. He listens for the beat of your heart as he draws near, tunes it in alongside the shallow cadence of your breath. Deep asleep. Good.
The walls are lined with pictures of you and others. Friends or family, he can’t say, but you look to have an abundance of both. He rarely sees himself in photos that aren’t promotional material. He pauses to straighten a picture frame, and finds himself so viciously jealous of the man sharing the frame with you–his lips pressed to your cheek, your laughing smile so genuine he can nearly hear it–that he almost knocks it to the ground.
Running his tongue along his teeth, he continues on.
Your bedroom door is open. He slips in silently, pausing just through the doorway. Your bed's a queen, too big for just you. You’re sprawled comfortably amidst pillows, limbs splayed in just such a way that he can easily imagine fitting himself in the empty spaces between them. He can smell the lingering burn of the candle you’d lit when you got home. He picks it up off your dresser, reading the label: Cup ‘o Joe.
Eugh. He never cared for coffee, and the artificial sweetness surrounding the note is cloying. Your perfume, on the other hand, he doesn’t mind. He notices the bottle alongside a few other of your things and puts the candle down in favor of that, popping the cap off. The smell hits him before he sprays it: vanilla first, then amber and something more woodsy. It’s less impressive by itself than it had been on you.
Still, it’s yours. You chose it for yourself.
Slipping off one of his gloves, he lightly sprays into the inside of it before he sets the bottle back down, recapping it. It won’t be the same, but he’s driven by the compulsion to spirit away any little pieces of you that he can. Just enough to satiate himself until he can have you properly.
That’s when he sees your blouse from today in a careless heap at the top of your laundry basket next to your dresser. Licking his lips, he tests the feel of the garment between his bare fingers. He’s always been sensitive to fabrics, and while the blend of this one is fairly cheap, it’s been worn and washed enough that it’s soft against his skin. He grabs a handful of it and lifts it to his mouth, brushing it along his lips, under his nose, and he deeply inhales your lingering scent mixing with the fresh pump of perfume.
He bites back a moan, screwing his eyes shut. His cock gives a dull little throb. Fuck, the spell you’ve cast on him makes him ache just for the smell of you, makes him salivate. He swallows it back, letting out a rough little breath as he reluctantly puts the shirt back down. Under it, he spies a little flash of something black and lacy. His stomach clenches, and he’s reaching for it before he can stop himself, fishing the black panties out of the heap and twisting the fabric between his fingers.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
He can’t afford to overindulge. He won’t be able to control himself if he does, but he also can’t bring himself to put the little slip of fabric back down. He imagines he can almost taste where your sweet cunt had been pressed to it. Christ, he’s practically drooling. Out of sheer impulse, he yanks down the zipper of his pants with a quiet hiss of metal against metal and hastily pushes your underwear into his cup, biting down hard on his lip. He grinds once against his hand, savoring the feel of the fabric against his cock.
He’ll enjoy them far more than you’ll miss them.
Zipping himself back up, he carefully pulls open your top dresser drawer. He curiously pushes the contents around, mindful not to overly disturb, and his knuckles bump something solid. He shifts one of your bras–another near painful pang of arousal at the reminder of your breasts–aside and finds, to his delight, what any good marketing department would describe as “a large purple massage wand.”
A vibrator. He chews his bottom lip briefly, turning it over in his grip. An exciting find on all fronts. It’s smooth and decently hefty, good quality. You deserve even better. You might be capable of indulging yourself with this, but he could make you scream. You’ll never need a silly little toy again. Not when you have him.
Homelander moves to put it back in the drawer, but–
“Fuck!” He hisses when the button catches on his finger, and suddenly the damn thing is buzzing.
Shut up, shut up, shut up, he chants mentally, jabbing at the buttons in an attempt to silence it, but pressing the same ones only makes the accursed device louder. In a frantic move, he grips the neck and squeezes. There’s a soft crunch beneath the silicone, and as abruptly as it had begun, the buzzing ends. His heart is thudding heavily in his chest. He listens to the silence, to you.
He looks over his shoulder. No movement. Your breaths remain shallow.
Christ.
So much for leaving no trace. He slips the busted toy back amidst your underthings and snatches his glove off of your dresser, tucking it under his arm. He hones his attention on you as he approaches your bed, assuring himself that you really are still asleep. He stands there for a while, admiring the part of your lips and the haphazard splay of your pajamas and where they cling to your body.
No bra.
His bare hand flexes. Being so close is too much of a temptation. He wets his lips with a quick slide of his tongue and bends down. He ghosts his fingers just over your cheek, not quite daring to touch. He can smell the faint remnants of your toothpaste on your breath, your shampoo, and beneath it all, you. It's intoxicating, it's…
Your brows furrow slightly in your sleep and you make a soft noise, interrupting his thoughts. He wonders if you’re dreaming–dreaming of him, perhaps. He’d like to think so. He’d like to think that you’re just as affected by him wanting you as he is, and that’s the real reason you invited him to lunch. He saw it in your eyes when he echoed your words, the thrill that went through you. He could have gone to his knees for you in that moment and had you in giving himself to you.
Desperate for just a taste, he kisses ever so gently between your brows, his own breaths matching the cadence of yours. Divine. You're divine. So effortlessly perfect and so aware of your own power. How could he not want every part of you?
He means to leave it there, to walk away with nothing but the slight salt of your brow on his lips, but the pull is too great. He's greedy, drunk on the smell and the taste of you, on the feel of your panties pressed up against his cock, and he can't stop himself from sampling your lips against his.
It’s the barest hint of touch, and yet the contact lances electricity through him like he’s been struck by a bolt of lightning. Your lips are soft, soft, soft. He knew they would be. Everything about you is so fucking soft. It takes everything in him to pull away, standing back to his full height.
He's aching, yearning so intensely he could rip the covers away and take you just like this, shake you awake, declare himself and have you. Would you scream, or would you have that same look of affronted understanding of him? You see him in a way few are ever brave–or stupid–enough to dare.
Not yet.
He won’t spoil the game. He agreed to play by your terms. As far as you’re concerned, he’ll do precisely that. You’ll be none the wiser in regards to his little reconnaissance mission–anything could have happened to your vibrator–and the two of you can play your little game as if you stand on equal footing.
Sucking in a silent breath, Homelander leaves alone, but not empty handed.
He’ll make very good use of his little trophy tonight.
( chapter three )
#i have no self control ENJOYYYYY#praise me it's shocking i finished this so quickly#although it's not really finished bc i'm stretching it into 3 parts but#couldn't help myself i needed him to be a little weirdo#next chapter is already started tho and shouldn't take long!#ALSO I MADE THIS GIF#i'm so happy lol#my writing#homelander x reader#homelander x you#homelander fanfiction#homelander#plus size reader
563 notes
·
View notes
Text
Danny moved to Gotham.
Freakshow is touring in Gotham.
Freakshow knows Danny is in Gotham.
Danny knows Freakshow is still after him.
Danny's faith in heroes has been shattered.
Danny turns to the only person powerful enough to run Freakshow out of town, hopefully for good.
Danny turns to the Joker for help.
The Joker is looking for a new punching bag sidekick after Harley Quinn left him.
Danny is just the perfect person to be shaped by the Joker's hands.
Danny becomes the new Joker Junior.
#pondhead blurbs#dpxdc#how we feeling about this fellas#i think it's an ideal angst fic#but i don't wanna write it lol#the younger danny is the worse it gets#someone said that danny shouldn't be afraid of the joker because he's a clown and freakshow is a ringmaster. not a clown#if i find that post i'll tag the creator cause i can't remember rn#but i'm imagining danny who is heavily traumatized and scared and lonely#finding out that one of his worst enemies he hoped to never see again is hunting him and is so close danny has to check his eyes every day#just to make sure they haven't turned red#his anxiety is out of control and he's not about to go find a Bat or Bird to talk to#who would believe him anyways? he's a monster#but danny needs help cause he will not survive this on his own and he knows it#freakshow haunts his every waking dream#but freakshow isn't from gotham. he doesn't have the city's curses engraved into his blood. he never died and he's not truly teasing death#so danny chooses to plead for help from the only predator bigger than freakshow (in his eyes) who IS from gotham#danny goes to the Joker. prepared to offer everything but his free will and free mind. he can't give those up. it's all he has.#danny is a feral house cat asking a tiger to take care of a mountain lion for him by offering the tiger his own liver on a silver platter#joker is...delighted? maybe? no one is quite sure. but he takes what danny offers.#here is this little boy. almost the same age as the second robin when he died. pleading for the JOKER to be his savior. this will be fun
492 notes
·
View notes
Text
Maybe this is me just trying to articulate the same thing over and over in different ways, but I think some people in fiction (fanfiction and original fiction) circles have overcorrected and basically ended up at "all writing is value-neutral and nothing that is written is bad and nobody ever has the right to tell anyone not to write anything ever and we can never criticize old books with modern sensibilities."
And I think we should figure out how to have a useful and nuanced conversation about the fact that some things are bad and probably shouldn't be put out in public. And that's not me saying that anyone should be drawn and quartered or or harassed or cancelled or whatever. But we have to be able to think critically of writing and get past the knee-jerk reaction that any criticism ever is purity culture or censorship or conservativism in a gay hat.
#ethical writing#this also requires the recognition#that not all criticism is saying the thing shouldn't exist#not all criticism is saying the author is bad#and saying “this probably shouldn't be given a platform” is not actually censorship
540 notes
·
View notes
Text
#a man who DESERVES A SLICE OF PIE
#mobius#owen wilson#mcuedit#lokiedit#marveledit#loki#loki spoilers#owenwilsonedit#dianagifs#for y'alls sake some ep4 moments instead of a hundred gifs of him being silly and kind over the course of the series but#please stop writing characters to exist solely for conflict when they don't have a leg to stand on ;;;;;#so it's fine to get a jump on refilling the straw machine while the timelines are in constant danger but pie during a break crosses a line#okay sure tell me more 💀💀#of COURSE he has coping mechanisms when the comfort and kindness he naturally extends is rarely returned#free will for all utilized as someone else says?? idc i wouldn't look myself up either and he shouldn't be pressured to#she's only even able to yell at him bc some of the first things he's done since pushing past brainwashing have been saving her life 🙃#ANYWAY peace and love on earth when the dilf of all time is a sweetheart who takes responsibility for his actions 🥰💖#marvel#loki s2 spoilers
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
Poison, they say, is a woman's weapon.
As if that makes it lesser.
As if poison does not betray a deeper anger
Any fool can grab a weapon or throw a fist
The so-called weapons of men are
Weapons of the moment, of passion
Poison demands foresight, patience
What does it say that the woman's weapon
Is one that requires a simmering affront
A banked fury growing ever hotter
Even while hidden behind the required smile
They say we're too emotional
But our weapons tell the truth
Poison is a crime of the slowly boiling,
Of people who know exactly what they're doing
And poison, they say, is a woman's weapon.
#reasons why ailelie#shouldn't write#poetry#murder#poison#do you see where I was trying to go with this?#there's this idea that poison is for women or cowards#and there's this idea that women are overly emotional#but poison is SUCH a cold and calculating weapon#sure it *could* happen in a moment of passion (adding bleach to dinner or something)#but it is far more likely to be carefully planned#and like if you go back to that idea that women are emotional and poison is bad b/c it is womanly#you get this weird situation where 'they' both call women emotional and ascribe to us the colder murder weapon#like do they not realize how their dismissal makes poison the perfect weapon? a weapon of slow rage rather than quick passion#am I making any sense?
5 notes
·
View notes
Text
Luo Binghe blatantly manipulating Shen Qingqiu, and Shen Qingqiu just going along with it
Wei Wuxian: Is that healthy?
Shang Qinghua: That's just their kink
Wei Wuxian: 🤔
Lan Wangji: No.
#wei ying: cmon lan zhan#when we were younger you would forcibly press me again a tree while i was blindfolded#and kiss me senseless#what happened to you??#lan zhan: i learned that I shouldn't do that!!#shang qinghua: somone (me) should write a book about these two#shen qingqiu#luo binghe#wei wuxian#wei ying#lan wangji#lan zhan#shang qinghua#bingqiu#wangxian#mxtx#mxtx svsss#mxtx mdzs#svsss#mdzs#scum villian self saving system#mo dao zu shi#the grandmaster of demonic cultivation
302 notes
·
View notes
Text
this is kit, please commission some art from them on social bunny 🙏
#ts4#sims 4#just wanted to test out relight but now i have a whole new gameplay i wanna do#my house wifi's been down since friday so i'd nothing better to do lol#assignments shouldn't exist. i should be able to play video games all day >:(#i think i'm going to remove this font replacement cus it can't do accented letters :(#i had to uninstall wickedwhims cus my uni friend wants to play sims on my laptop tomorrow LOL#anyways kits cool though#they're in the same save as virgil's tjol :)#so they might meet him!#uuughhh i fuckin hate thursdays. i'm out of the house for like 14 hours :((#going to england in 8 days tho i'm so excited to see my family again :) they got a new dog too!! a jack russell named paddy lmaooo#i got tagged in kmik posts but i'm saving them for friday night when i'm not busy <3#goodnight simblr#it's 11:50pm and i need to start writing my essay due tomorrow D:
572 notes
·
View notes
Text
Jessica Hawkins allegedly having better lap times than Felipe Drugovich while he's out here liking shady tweets about Lance Stroll 😂
#the jokes write themselves#he really shouldn't have turned down those FE and Indycar test drives#jessica hawkins#felipe drugovich#f1
449 notes
·
View notes
Text
Okay, my brain refuses to think about anything other than Murderbot, so I looked at every use of the word "friend[s]" in TMBD and... created some pie charts. Normal human activities.
Some Thoughts™ I had while putting this together (under the cut):
In All Systems Red, Murderbot notes that the PresAux crew are all close friends (twice! and goes on to explain their internal relationships which I think is very cute). This is pretty much the only use of 'friends' in ASR, except for when Murderbot says that SecUnits can't be friends with each other.
It seems that this may be one of the first times Murderbot has ever really been around a group of friends before? Murderbot notes that this is not the norm for its contracts and admits that the fact that they are all friends and the way they interact with each other make it actually enjoy that contract (before!!!! the hostile attack, so it already enjoys this contract before they start seeing it as a person etc ghghhhh). [Inference: Friendship seems enjoyable.]
The first character that calls Murderbot its friend is ART in Artificial Condition. Murderbot immediately refutes this (and then goes on to call ART its friend to its clients for the rest of the book). [Inference: Maybe ART is Murderbot's friend. And maybe that is... agreeable]
Rogue Protocol has more than twice as many instances of the word 'friend' as any of the other novellas. Why? Miki. Friendship and its implications for non-humans are a central theme because Miki is friends with everyone. Murderbot initially scoffs at the notion that Miki and Miki's humans are friends. At the end of the book, after witnessing how desperately Don Abene tried to stop Miki from trying to save them, and her grief after its death, Murderbot has to admit that she had in fact been Miki's friend. [Inference: Humans can be friends with bots and can sincerely care about them]
In Exit Strategy, Murderbot tentatively uses the word "friends" for its humans for the first time (several times actually). It questions whether it can actually call them its friends or not and later realizes that it had been afraid what admitting that the humans are its friends would do to it. At the end of the book, Mensah tells Murderbot the PresAux crew are its friends, which is the first time a human has directly said that to it (at least on-page). [Inference: Humans can and want to be Murderbot's friends]
In Network Effect, Murderbot seems to be more habituated to the word 'friend', confidently calling ART and Ratthi its friends, like it is no longer just trying the concept on unsure if it fits. There are many instances in which other characters refer to MB as ART's friend or the other way around and Murderbot's humans refer to Murderbot as their friend several times. Generally, there seems to be less hesitancy, because yes, all of them are Murderbot's friends, why wouldn't they be. [Inference: SecUnits can have friends. This SecUnit has friends. They care about it a lot.]
Conclusion: The Murderbot Diaries tell the story of a construct that does not seem to consider the possibility of friendship for itself and is fine with that - until it accidentally starts caring a little too much and suddenly more and more people annex it as a friend (ew) to the point where it can no longer deny that this is happening and has to begrudgingly admit that yes, it has friends now and maybe that is actually not a bad thing.
#the murderbot diaries#murderbot#𓄿#hi i'm READY to write a thesis about murderbot i am having way too much fun with this#i created a pretty excel spreadsheet and everything#i don't know why i did this but now i can look at them while i think about this more! so i figured i'd share them haha#i didn't count uses of 'friendly' but special shoutout to when MB is all alone in its cold cubicle missing 20% of its body mass#and starts putting on a show because 'the friendly noise would keep it company' 😭😭#i feel sick thinking about murderbot all alone on its own not knowing what its like to have friends watching media for 'the friendly noise'#also YES okay i wanted to make a point about miki there but i just#couldn't bring myself to talk about that more so... yeah#also uhhh this data is very subjective#i didn't count particularly ironic uses of 'friend' and generally did not count every instance of friend and sometimes it was a hard call#also i probably shouldn't have counted the times murderbot refered to drones or secsystems as its friends (often after hacking them)#but murderbot does seem to care about them and shows kindness and respect and sometimes points out that a system is friendly#so while i don't think MB means “friend” in the same way referring to them as when it refers to ART for instance#i still think its CUTE and also kinda funny how many times that happened so i decided to keep those!!!#but yeah take my data with a grain of salt lol
743 notes
·
View notes
Text
GLaDOS's insults are interesting. Because they're so clearly prejudiced, right? She's making fun of Chell for being fat and adopted. These are scummy things to make fun of someone for, and things that would realistically be punching bags for prejudiced people interacting with this character.
But I don't think GLaDOS actually holds the sentiments she's expressing. Rather, they're a means to an end.
I get this mostly from her lines in co-op on the subject:
"Did you know humans frown on weight variances? If you want to upset a human, just say their weight variance is above or below the norm."
She calls Chell fat not because she thinks she's fat or that she personally finds anything wrong with weight variances, but because she knows calling humans fat makes them feel bad, and she's bitter about being killed and wants to make Chell feel bad.
Same goes with her being adopted. As soon as it doesn't emotionally or pragmatically benefit GLaDOS to make fun of Chell for being fat or adopted, she actively refutes Wheatley's attempt at bullying her for these things:
"And...? What, exactly, is wrong with being adopted?" "Also: Look at her, you moron. She's not fat."
She walks back her previous derogatory assertions as if they don't mean anything to her, because they don't. She never believed them in the first place.
She treats Rattmann's schizophrenia much the same way. She uses it to try and manipulate him, to make him doubt himself enough to come out of hiding where she can kill him, the same way she tries to make Chell doubt herself and turn back when she's escaping the facility back in Portal 1. The ableism she expresses is not a genuinely held belief, but a means to an end that she has no qualms about using.
Whether that makes it better or worse, I have no idea! I'd say worse on account of the intention to cause doubt or hurt to the target. But it's a very unique combination of values, isn't it? You're much more used to seeing the inverse: people being insulting, with no actual malicious intent, as a result of unchecked biases. Like, for instance, friendly little Wheatley unintentionally being super condescending about Chell's brain damage and muteness.
#for the record this isn't a condemnation of either character#in the 'therefore you shouldn't like them' sense anyways#like obviously these are immoral intentions and actions#but so is murder#moral slights are nothing new for her#i just found this really interesting#glados#yeenwords#portal#portal 2#character analysis#portal analysis#skall got into the ramble jar again#i do think glados is legit ableist in regards to wheatley#but so is the writing itself#so it's hard to make a character judgement off of that
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
"Wysoki i szczupły, K. był kwintesencją elegancji, od nienagannego ubioru, szytego według najnowszej mody, przez starannie ułożone, piaskowe włosy, po sposób w jaki się trzymał."
#my art#nat tries to write#oc#original character#rough translation from translator xD#Tall and slender K. was the epitome of elegance#from his impeccable fashionable attire to his neatly styled sandy hair to the way he held himself.#I wanted to introduce you to my new character#let's call him Mr K. for now#I spent entirely too much time trying to draw this guy the way he should look like and tbh I'm not sure I'm 100% happy with the result#he kinda looks... so freaking generic like “every pretty dude ever” and he shouldn't idk#though in the story he is pretty#he probably looks too young here too but whatever#maybe I'll change his design later#anyway#if you've seen one of my boys you've probably seen them all#enjoy
484 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
swamizine
Swãmï
ai5lang
无标题
thisisretarted
Untitled
stinkman007
THE CHOICE IS YOURS
joelwindows7
Perkedel Technologies