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phonydiaries · 6 months

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a Dance in The Dark - P x Reader

It’s late when you reach the puppet’s quarters. Long shadows loom along the walls of the hotel and a draft rustles past you, pajama-clad and disheveled from a night of restlessness. You hadn’t bothered to switch your clothes, knowing your dear puppet wouldn’t pay it any mind. You had half expected to find P dormant at this hour, but instead he’s laid out on the floor with his legs kicked over the side of his bed. A book -which he seems thoroughly engrossed in- is held up above his head, its pages illuminated by the yellow-green light of Monad’s lamp, which casts a soft halo about the edges of his face. You rap your knuckles against the doorframe and his eyes jump to you, startled out of their careful concentration.

“Can’t sleep.” You sigh, gesturing down the hall with a tilt of your head. “Walk with me?”

With a twitch of a smile, Pinocchio tosses his book to the side and rolls haphazardly out of his place on the floor, clumsy with excitement.

Knowing the hotel well enough, the two of you make your rounds of its many chambers in the dark, ever so often bumping elbows to each other’s ribs. Your barefoot steps cast dull echoes through the halls as you dip in and out of doorways, poke behind desks and rummage carelessly through shelves. In the deep blue foreignness of nighttime, you feel exploratory; curious like children let loose in an enormous garden just brimming with unrealized discoveries.

Passing through the entrance hall, you seize the coveted opportunity to act a fool behind the front desk. “Hello, you’ve reached Hotel Krat.” You say, picking up the receiver of the hotel’s long-dead rotary phone. You’re sat on top of the desk now, your legs swinging over the side. Pinocchio glances up at you, his hands preoccupied diligently petting the hotel’s beloved orange tabby. You feign listening to the nonexistent voice on the other end of the phone. “Oh I’m sorry, Mr. Spring is busy at the moment. I’m afraid he’s in a very important meeting.”

After thoroughly nosing about, you find yourselves settling in the piano room, you and Pino curiously flipping through pages and pages of sheet music. P’s interest is especially piqued by one booklet and he takes a seat at the piano, attempting to make sense of its pages. An admirable attempt is made as he plinks slowly and diligently away at the piece, tugging at your sleeve when he gets stuck. You barely know more than he does, and as you sit together at the bench your fingers tangle and trip over each other. The resulting notes are dissonant and clangy and you both fall into ripples of laughter at your duet's messy melody.

The night wears on calmly, P fingering through a box of cobwebbed records, most of which are scratched beyond recognition. He retrieves one with some care and blows a layer of dust from the cover, his nose scrunching as it flutters across his face.

You’re lying on the floor, limbs outstretched like a lazy snow angel as P futzes with the gramophone. There’s a few moments of anticipatory static before the record crackles to life; a somber piano score reverberates through the dim and intimate space. You close your eyes as a woman’s wispy voice floats through the room, cool and calm. Something about the melody, the echo, the timbre of her voice makes your ribs fall heavy around your heart like a slowly but surely shrinking birdcage.

Close your eyes,

Come to me,

Feel alright,

Just dance with me all through the night

“I can’t stand it.” You start, “It’s beautiful… but it makes me so sad.”

You wonder if P is affected differently, maybe even more than you are by the emotional quality of the music. He certainly seems to have a fascination with it. “What about you?” You ask, your head turning to glance at the puppet.

P’s eyes flicker towards the ceiling and his mouth twitches to the side in thoughtful consideration. He lifts a finger at you -hold on- while he rises from his place at the piano stool and arranges himself with precision beside the grand. He stands up tall, shoulders back, one arm held out just-so at hip level, the other outstretched as if resting on the shoulder of a ghost. You beam at the fine mimic work in front of you.

“Really?” you ask, your brows knitting with intrigue. “Makes you want to dance, huh?”

He nods enthusiastically and motions for you to join him. Your mouth hangs open for a moment.

“Oh- no really I don’t know the first thing about it.” You stammer. Before your days at the hotel as Pinocchio’s companion, you had never known such affluent people and knew very little of high society or of their practices. Any formal knowledge of dance was utterly foreign to you.

P assumes a swordsman’s stance and shrugs at you, nonchalant, as if combat training and dance were the most naturally drawn parallels in the world.

“Sparring with you isn’t the same.” You say flatly, but P’s already made up his mind, and before you know it his hand is closing around yours and he’s tugging you up off the floor. You laugh nervously as you rise to your feet. “No, I’m serious! I don’t-” You begin to protest, but you catch a glimpse of his face, wide pleading eyes and creased brows. He smiles with all the calculated charm of a fox, handsome and cunning. You exhale deeply, steeling yourself before meeting his gaze.

“Oh fine.” You relent, much to his chagrin. “Just watch your feet, I mean it.”

P’s smile is annoyingly triumphant as he holds his hands palm-up out to you, seeking your guidance. Always so much concern for your comfort, you feel your cheeks warm just barely and hope the low light of the piano room masks it.

“Right. Um. Let’s see, you’ll put your hands…here.” You say, taking his hands in yours and leading them to the crook between your waist and hips. He steals curious glances at you as you do.

“And then I guess I’ll just…” You trail off, as your hands fold neatly together at the nape of his neck. You stand still for a moment, just looking at each other in the dark, the features of your faces obscured and foreign. This isn’t the way these things are normally done, you think, in pajamas, in the dark, but you can’t imagine it gets any better. If not for the undercurrent of music, you may have forgotten your purpose here entirely. P takes the first step, and you follow his lead with a dull anxiousness. Strangely enough, your movements feel still and mechanical compared to his. You try to loosen up, rolling your shoulders back, allowing yourself to be disarmed. P’s presence has a funny way of setting you at ease.

The two of you move slowly in circles through the room, swaying gently like awkward young lovers. You draw into him as the music carries. Your cheek settles against his shoulder and his arms wrap around the small of your back and you breathe easy. It’s a lovely feeling, the way your bodies fit together like this, like they were made to. As you continue to step and sway, you close your eyes and listen to the gentle whirs and clicks of your companion’s heart…although…

You maneuver slightly and press your ear to his chest. With some surprise you notice a skipping in its usual rhythm, bolder than you’ve ever heard it. You pull your head away and look up at P’s face in awe, a glinting smirk crossing your lips.

“Pino, are you nervous?” You ask, cocking your head to the side. His face contorts and he opens his mouth as if to speak, but nothing comes of it. He actually looks flustered and you almost don’t believe it. “It’s just me.” You say simply. At this, Pinocchio’s face softens, his brows turning up as if he’d taken offense.

“Just you?” He asks, and the timbre of his voice surprises you. You spend so much time together, and yet hardly do you hear him speak. Your smile fades slowly, replaced with an expression of curiosity. You nod hesitantly and hum in reply. P shakes his head at you, deliberate and slow.

“Not just.” He murmurs, his gaze holding yours intently. “Never just you.” You realize you’re holding your breath. A ghost of a whisper slips past your lips.

“Oh.��

Your fingers itch for something you can’t quite name and you find yourself pulling the puppet closer. His head dips to meet you and you feel a stray lock of his hair brush your cheek. His breath is warm.

The song ends.

The needle of the gramophone lifts and the air is stretched thin with a cutting silence. You’re left in the dark together again, frozen in place. It feels terribly long, like you’re both waiting for something.

“The music’s stopped.” You say, shattering the stillness of the moment, and as P moves to retrieve the record you immediately wish you hadn't. Your hand extends to stop him, fingers closing around his wrist. “But- we don’t have to, you know.”

In the dark, you think you see him smile. He holds you like glass, delicate, and picks up again, moving leisurely to the music playing only in his head. He hums the tune softly and you follow suit, the two of you meeting in a duet of somber sounds. You wonder if your chests swell the same, if your breaths and heartbeats synchronize, following each other blindly the way you do now. The motion feels like crashing waves, steady and rhythmic, comfortingly repetitive. You fall into the flow of it all over again, leaning against P, sturdy and secure. You wouldn’t mind doing this all night.

Feels alright, indeed.

#shalalalala KISS THE FUCKING. BOY.#P talks more than usual meaning a total of 7 words #piano and gramophone are not in the same room but I realized that too late so you're gonna have to be okay with that #lies of p #lop #lies of p fanfic #my writing #lies of p x reader #pinocchio x reader

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talesofesther · 1 year

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don’t know how to be something you miss | ch 2

Wednesday Addams x Reader

Summary: On a rainy day, Wednesday recalls pieces of your story together through memories, and wonders if you miss her too.

A/N: People asked for a part 2 so I'm delivering. Soft!Wednesday because I can, so I will. I have to say that reading the first part is kinda essential to understand this one. This was based around this song that was suggested by @abelvrla, and this one that was suggested by @tuboficecream. The writing process for this was so weird, I feel like I genuinely blacked out while writing it, I wasn't really thinking about what I was doing and that's what came out. So, sorry if the quality is questionable; but hopefully not.

Masterlist | Read ch 1 here

On the three-week mark, Wednesday goes looking for you.

She hates doing it; admitting that the mistake was hers. But she also hates that it took her this long to do so.

Because each day away from you feels like dying, little by little.

You resemble a ghost to her sometimes. She has glimpses of you every day yet never manages to get close enough to properly grasp you. It's unfair, because you have a hold on her; and it comes with this everlasting longing, a phantom pain in her heart that weeps in your absence.

She still wonders if it's the same for you, or if she fell alone and you don't miss her as she does you.

Wednesday considered, for a brief moment, to let it go — to bury your hoodie in the confines of her wardrobe and never look at it again and just forget about you. The Wednesday from a year ago would do just that, and call the Wednesday from today pathetic for even thinking otherwise.

But living in the past takes her nowhere. Wednesday would never forgive herself for not trying to save what you two had.

So she goes looking, and she finds you in Xavier's art shed. She knows you're there because your bike is leaning against the wall outside.

There's an instant bitterness in her mouth.

It's a gloomy day outside, fluffy clouds coming together to form what looks to be a storm. Wednesday sees it from between the trees as she walks the woods.

A year ago, the prospect of a storm would make her smile.

Not today. Rain brings back memories. And Wednesday doesn't want memories.

Taking in a deep breath, Wednesday pushes open the wooden door. You're sitting on a stool with a big canvas in front of you; there's a brush between your fingers and your tongue is poking out of your mouth as you concentrate on the image you're painting; a stroke of black paint is smudged on your cheek and Wednesday catches a glimpse of a black braid on your canvas — she really tries not to let her mind wander onto what it could be.

The door shuts close behind her with a soft click, finally drawing your attention. The shed feels too cramped for the tension hanging in the air. Breathing is a challenge already.

"Wednesday?" Xavier is the first to speak. Wednesday hadn't even noticed his presence.

"Did you need something?" He keeps going, annoyingly because he's invading her moment with you.

Wednesday doesn't look at him when she speaks, she has an unblinking stare focused on you; "I was hoping we could talk."

You lower your brush, trying to clean your cheek with the back of your hand but you only end up smudging more paint there.

It's been five seconds already and you're not talking. Wednesday takes it as a rejection. And somehow her broken heart still found a way to beat, thundering against her ears. It's almost deafening.

Wednesday bunches up the fabric on the cuffs of her jacket, her nails forming half-moons on her palms to ground herself.

"Give me a few minutes to change," your voice cut the silence and you gestured to your clothes, a little ruined with paint - you always had been a bit clumsy. "I'll find you."

There's an almost nonexistent softness to Wednesday's eyes. Because there's a barely there smile on your lips.

—

Rain is pouring down violently, the power has gone out in the whole school and now candles are the ones that illuminate Wednesday's room.

She hates the sound of the drops hitting her window and the roof above, they're loud, they bring with them the familiar cold air. It feels like loneliness, abandonment.

A knock comes from her door and Wednesday scrambles to open it. You're standing on the other side, a white and red hoodie keeping you warm because you couldn't find your favorite one.

Something about you instantly warms up the whole dorm when you walk in.

"I've been waiting for you," you tell her, keeping your hands behind your back. Ever since Wednesday snapped at you, you've been holding yourself back from reaching out, even if it hurt. If she wanted to make amends, you wanted it to be her decision.

Wednesday gulps, her gaze moving up and down your body before she has the courage to look you in the eyes. She feels out of place, maybe a little lost. She's unsure what's the next step on all this.

"I-" her words are tangled, everything she had perfectly planned is now a mess inside her mind, "I believe I owe you an apology."

You nod softly, the orange glow of the small flickering flame of the candle that rests on Wednesday's desk is reflecting against your skin. You look like her favorite dream.

"Okay," you tell her in all your tenderness, "for what?"

It's most unkind, though; Wednesday thinks to herself as she clenches her jaw. Because you know her, you know this isn't easy, yet you still want to hear her say it.

Wednesday huffs with remains of annoyance and shifts from one foot to another, she wants to reach out and hold you, bring things back to how they were. The distance feels worse now than it did when she saw you from the opposite side of the cafeteria. Maybe because you're just a step away from her, yet she doesn't feel within the right to take that step.

Thunder rumbles outside, and with it, the tight feeling weighing down on Wednesday's chest increases. She blinks once, twice. Her vision blurs over. She feels she's one word away from winning you back or losing you for good.

"I said things I didn't mean the last time we spoke."

You pursed your lips, taking half a step toward Wednesday; "you said your life was better before I showed up."

Wednesday instantly shook her head, "that's not what I meant."

"What did you mean then?"

"That I was scared." The words roll off Wednesday's tongue before she has a chance to filter them, she closes her eyes for a beat, cringing at her own sudden vulnerability. She decides you're worth it.

"I didn't know what had happened to you that day," Wednesday tells you, tone tight, "I never-" she hesitates, and you take another step closer. One of your hands comes up to Wednesday's cheek to tuck back a loose strand of hair there. It's laughable that the small touch is almost enough to get Wednesday to crumble.

"I never cared about someone to the point of feeling like I'm being drowned to death at the mere thought of harm coming to them," she finishes in a rush. So fast that some words almost mend together into one, but you manage to understand.

It's only when your thumb brushes it away, that Wednesday realizes a tear had slipped past her defenses and was rolling down her cheek. She looks away from you then, severely embarrassed.

"Love scares you," you whisper. It's not a question, you know it's a truth.

Wednesday is as still as a corpse, the only things moving are her eyes, incapable of choosing where to focus.

"I'm not going anywhere, Wednesday," you promise, because you knew she had to hear it. Then, you finally bring the hand that was behind your back to rest between both you and her.

When Wednesday looks down, she sees you holding onto a small box. Black in its color and resting perfectly in your palm. She frowns, glancing up at you in confusion. All you do is extend the box further toward her.

Wednesday relents and takes the box from you, careful as ever. She doesn't dare breathe when she opens it.

Inside, rests a necklace. The pendant in it has the shape of a Black Dahlia.

Wednesday doesn't need you to say a word. That's what you went to get on that day.

A sob cuts its way through Wednesday's throat, and she's suddenly losing any last bits of composure she had. Tears make a steady path down her cheeks.

You had come back to her with a physical manifestation of your affections, and she called you an inconvenience.

Apologies stumble past Wednesday's lips before she can stop them.

"We're okay," you tell her in the same heartbeat, sneaking your arms around her waist and pulling her body to yours. You grip her tightly, any last remaining distance between you disappearing.

Wednesday buries herself in your embrace, feeling the cold finally seep away from her skin and be replaced with your warmth.

"I missed you," her lips brush your skin with the confession and you feel the words in your heart.

You hug her tighter; "I missed you too."

There's a soft whimper that slips Wednesday at the knowledge that she was, after all, someone worth missing.

Wednesday's cheeks are a bright shade of pink when she eventually, reluctantly pulls away from you. It gets a warm and fuzzy feeling spreading through your chest.

She's holding the necklace tightly, it makes you smile. "May I?"

You take the necklace from her hands, whispering for her to turn around and she does so without hesitation. With delicate fingers, you close it around her neck.

It's a perfect fit, the dark flower resting perfectly over her chest.

"You look beautiful," you tell her with a smile.

Wednesday brings her hand up, tracing the pendant on her necklace. It makes her feel like she's yours, and she doesn't hate it.

Raindrops are steadily trickling down the window, the flames of the candles around you give the room the most intimate of feelings. You like it when the lights are out. And while looking around, your eyes catch a glimpse of a pop of color resting on top of Wednesday's bed. You walk closer to get a better look — because there wasn't supposed to be color in her side of the room.

And there, beside Wednesday's pillow, rests the lilac hoodie you've been incessantly looking for these last weeks.

With a chuckle, you pick it up, "I've been looking everywhere for this."

"You left it here," Wednesday tells you quickly, she's not looking you in the eye and the blush of her cheeks has just increased. It's almost like you've stumbled upon a secret she didn't want you to find. "I've been meaning to return it." Her voice is as quiet as you've ever heard it, and you think it's all too adorable.

Bringing the hoodie closer to your nose, you could feel Wednesday's perfume on the fabric. Your skin fills with goosebumps upon imagining her wearing it. You walk closer to her and reach around her to drape the hoodie over her shoulders, admiring the blend of her dark braids over the lilac.

Wednesday's dark eyes drift down to your lips, it's like she can read your mind.

You tug at the hoodie, pulling her close to you. You peck her lips, "you can keep it," you whisper against her, "looks much better on you anyway."

And Wednesday kisses the words, her hands sneaking behind your neck and trapping you to her. She kisses you as if she's not sure you're real yet and is trying to convince herself through your lips.

Wednesday can hear the raindrops hitting her window but all she feels is you.

Maybe she'll learn to love the rain again; as long as you stay.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keep me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment if you want. <3

Wednesday’s taglist: @heelaechan @imagine-reblog @sakurarukas @bluetreecloud20 @the-night-owl-blr @imlike-so-gaydude @jjsmaybank20 @dreifhraniquo29 @emeraldevan @simp4nat @boobabietch @impossibleliv1031 @deadpool-in-a-snood @rainbow-love4ever @pompompuri @halleest @wandaromanova @marveloussimp @rainbow-hedgehog @left-and-right-up-and-down @get-the-fuck-outta-here @awolfcsworld @elduster @alexkolax @georgi-salva @imdumbhi @youralphawolf72 @reginassweetheart @justyourwritter69 @yangsroboarmm @8e-h-e8 @irish-piece-of-trash @femalehomosexual666 @wol-fica @wednesdays-woes @vorsdany @v1ci0us @the-nightshades-library @tundra1029 @aahdiieb @greyscxle-is-taken

#wednesday addams x reader #wednesday addams imagine #wednesday addams x fem!reader #wednesday addams #wednesday #wednesday addams x you #wednesdayedit #imagine #fanfic #fluff #angst #wednesday addams fanfic #jenna ortega #wednesday x reader #my story

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crimeronan · 23 days

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listen this isn't a productive sentiment and there's a less condescending way to phrase this but as i'm in pain and irritated:

unfortunately for people with ADHD who are obsessed with being oppressed and having a terrible life, some physical illnesses are actually worse than ADHD. some physical illnesses do worse things to your life. and are more disabling.

some physical illnesses just fucking are objectively worse.

like i'm sorry i know it's hard to hear because you hear "some things are worse than ADHD" and interpret it as "ADHD is a fake nonexistent condition for lazy faker babies with no impact on quality of life," and i truly don't know how i can hold your hand about that. like i shouldn't have to stand up with a megaphone screaming n crying to get you to understand that ADHD is absolutely fucking NOT the worst thing that can happen to your brain or body.

and some physical illnesses will get you TREATED worse than people with ADHD are. by the public and your family and doctors alike. particularly if you're fat or a person of color or elderly or, god forbid, several of these things.

and being visibly physically disabled is not a privilege. because people will Still ascribe it to a moral failing or to faking or to being annoying, exactly like they ascribe your ADHD to being a lazy annoying faker. and you cannot turn it off. you are at the mercy of everybody around you. every day you simply need to pray that others are kind, because you are helpless in how you are perceived.

and of course invisible physical disabilities are subject to the same cruel assumptions that people make about ADHD as well (lazy, faker, attention whore, pathetic).

the difference between certain physically disabled people's experiences and the ADHD experience is that the physical disability is worse.

granted, not every physical disability is worse! physical disability and its impact on quality of life is a Vast Spectrum.

but some are worse.

like. they just are. They Just Are.

it is not oppression olympics to say this. it is just a fucking fact.

there can be no solidarity between ADHD people and people with physical disabilities (or other disabilities that make life Much Fucking Harder than ADHD), until people with ADHD stop fucking assuming that ADHD is the worst thing that can happen to a person.

like. i HAVE cripplingly hyperactive ADHD. but i am fucking TIRED of ADHD bloggers n influencers writing thinkpiece essays like "uwu, guys, maybe we should actually be Nice to physically disabled people!! and stop using them as gotchas in our arguments!! i just learned their lives are hard too!! sometimes doctors even belittle and torture them for funsies!! just like us!!"

like.

......YOU ARE THE DOMINANT ONLINE VOICE ON DISABILITY RIGHT NOW. EVERY VISIBLE NEURODIVERSITY ACTIVIST HAS ADHD. THAT IS WHAT NEURODIVERSITY IS IN THE EYES OF THE VERY ONLINE PUBLIC.

YOU JUST FUCKING LEARNED THIS????

#if i was feeling like an activist this would be a sweet gentle handholding post.#but since i'm just annoyed. COME ON. GET BENT. FUCKING HELL.#saw a post that was well-intentioned and didnt do anything wrong and still made my blood fucking BOIL #this should NOT be a conversation we are still having. you people should FUCKING KNOW BETTER. IT'S 2024. JESUS.#adhd tag #autoimmune tag #negative

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bohemian-nights · 1 month

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Nettles and Daeron is not cut or being replaced with others. They're coming in S3 but they're making Nettles the only Dragonseed not chosen by Rhaenyra which make sense since she's supposed to hate her. I believe Daemon will bring her in the team and she won't trust her immediately.

Even Daeron might be there in s2. Ryan has confirmed he will be there(at some point), however, he won’t say anything on Nettles.

I agree that she’s not cut, but I’m livid that this show thinks it’s acceptable to literally include and highlight everyone except the most important dragonseed. I’m incensed that they don’t think she’s worthy of address.

I don’t care what they do at this point. I don’t like her being treated like a fucking afterthought.

And I’m truly sorry for cursing and I’m not trying to be a hater of other characters cause they have qualities that people like. I’m just mad at this dumbass show and these biased showrunners.

This show needs to give up the giving women a voice crap cause that’s a a God damned lie when you treat the most vulnerable woman during the Dance like trash. Don’t claim that you’re trying to champion diversity and then limit the only canonically Black character because she makes the racist you’re trying to prop up look bad(and yes I have to go there because that’s really what this is about)

You’re not for women if you cut out the most oppressed woman during the Dance and give her role to men and those who have privilege. You’re not telling women’s stories if you won’t show the range of womanhood.

Like this fandom is bad enough with their insistence that she can be replaced, that she doesn’t matter, and that her relationship with Daemon is creepy, or gross, or nonexistent…it’s exhausting. I just can’t get excited for a show that pulls this bullcrap.

She should be there this season, but she’s not. The blatant disregard is too much.

#bnasks #bnask #nettles #anti hotd #this show is a fucking joke #house of the dragon #I’ll take everything back if things aren’t what they appear but it all looks like horse shit to me

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isroji · 1 year

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Different ideas | Attuma

Attuma x reader

﹃﹄

Summary: Attuma and you get involved in an argument over your opposite ideas.

Warnings: Angst, Wakanda Forever spoilers.

A/N: Hey! This is my first time posting some of my writing here in Tumblr :) I never thought I'd do it, but this king here deserves content. I apologize for my English, it's not my first language and I know there be some things written wrong. I still hope you can enjoy it c: Btw, sorry for the gif's bad quality, it was the only that I could found.

thanks for reading!

﹃﹄

You were never Namor's biggest fan. You understood perfectly the reasons of the king of Talokan and above all, you understood his way of thinking, because you shared it. You also believed faithfully in protecting Talokan above all things, you also thought that the city and its people were the most important thing... But you could not, under any circumstances, support Namor's actions.

Declare war on the surface? If history had taught you anything, it was that in wars everyone dies. The good ones, the bad ones and the innocents. It was neither ethical or moral to go and start a war on beings who did not even know of your existence. You refused to put innocent people at risk on the surface lands and you refused even more to put the people of Talokan, your people, at risk. To your family, to your friends, to Attuma...

Oh, Attuma.

If there was one reason for you to remain in Namor's ranks, it was Attuma. That cold-hearted general you'd put your hands on fire for without even thinking about it. You joined Talokan's army in search of the ideals you grew up with, but your only current motive was him; the one who could not see beyond the orders of a blind leader and nonexistent dangers.

The one who at that precise moment was looking at you with great annoyance in his eyes.

"How can you even think of betraying Talokan in this way?" He asked, bitterly and even with a little contempt in his raspy voice.

Your stability faltered. You used to easily forget how incredibly imposing Attuma was. His whole body tensed as a sign of rejection and that look that would break anyone. If you were not so sure of your position, you would have already abandoned the stance and given up.

"It's not a betrayal to Talokan," you managed to find your voice and, surprisingly, make it heard. "You know me, you've known me since I was your student and you know I would never do anything like that. My life is Talokan and that's precisely why I tell you that everything Namor plans is crazy. A madness that puts this city at risk."

He looked at you with even more contempt than before. There was a surprise lodged in those dark irises, like confusion and pain. It seemed that what he heard sounded like craziness, technically desertion and betrayal. It was not a surprise, Namor could be very convincing and you saw firsthand how Attuma absorbed his ideas.

There, in the depth of the sea, between the marine stones and the immense blue, Attuma managed to look even more bigger than the sea itself. He came minimally close to you, keeping the distance that such a conversation required, transmitting perhaps more than you would have liked.

"Talokan is hidden, not to mention that it has the best warriors. You know it because you are part of those warriors." he argued, making clear his displeasure.

He seemed it like it would never understand you.

"They're smart, Attuma! They have resources, they have people who could, if they wanted to, find our city. I remind you that we are not the only ones who know how to fight, and no matter how well we do it, the people on the surface also have an army." You explained.

He still didn't understand you.

"Namor wouldn't do something that would put us in danger, he will ask Wakanda for help-" He tried to talk, but you didn't let him continue.

"Namor is blinded!" You raised your voice "And you too. You are a fool if you think that something good will come out of a war."

That seemed to offend him in the extreme.

"Watch your mouth, kid." He pointed his finger at you.

You bit your tongue. In spite of everything, he was still your general. Older than you, with more rank than you and above all, more important -in every way- than you.

Attuma turned his head, watching Talokan shine. He looked angry, very angry. It took him several seconds to look back at you, and when he did, you found in his look a painful disappointment towards you that hurt more than any possible war.

"In the end you're just that, a kid. A kid who does not understand anything and above all, does not have no loyalty."

Those words hurt. They hurt deeply. They reached the depths of your heart and stabbed you. And maybe hurt more because you knew he said it coming from his blinded posture. It hurt because before choosing to listen to you, he preferred to follow orders.

"You want to support a war, a war where people who don't have any kind of bad intentions will die. You want to endanger Talokan and yourself, but am I the one who doesn't understand anything?" You claimed, letting all absolute pain be heard in your voice.

He, for a second, seemed to empathize with you. He wasn't averse to your pain, He never had been entirely.

"We will not endanger Talokan..." For the second time in that whole conversation, Attuma was interrupted by you.

"Yes, you all will! You will! You will endanger yourself, you will expose yourself to fighting an enemy we don't know" Your voice threatened to break "It is that you do not understand Attuma... how do I make you understand that if something happens to you-

You couldn't go on, you weren't able to say the rest. You had struggled for days not to have that image in your head, but the mention of it in front of him made it so real and palpable that it was terrifying. You knew those superheroes on the surface, now you also knew the Wakandians, imagining Attuma's blood on one of those hands hurt you to levels he would never understand.

A senseless war was not worth the death of the man in front of you.

You ended up hiding, refusing to show how much hurt the mental image that you couldn't get out of your mind now.

Finally, your general understood everything. Or at least the most part. And that only made him look, in his own perspective, like a real jerk.

He may not showed it, but whatever feelings you had for him, they were reciprocated. He was not a person who could afford such personal things as love, in the end, love was a danger and a weakness. However, if something as pure as love could lead to exist in a man like him, it was certain that you were the owner and responsible. Only you.

Insecure, he approached you, the little mess of emotions you were. Hidden in the palm of your hands, squatting. Attuma came down to your height, holding your hands and revealing the face that he allowed to admire in the solitude of his thoughts.

Your eyes met, both pairs sharing similar feelings.

"Do you disapprove of Namor's ideas for fear that something will happen to me?" He asked, unable to avoid being direct.

You avoided looking at him, turning your face. That was the answer to his question.

He let go of your hands and brought his to your face, forcing you to look at him. His hands, big and rough, but strangely comfortable. His eyes, dark, but full of devotion.

That personal contact managed to penetrate deeply into you.

"My little girl... My precious little girl"

He didn't dare to say anything more, because his posture had not changed. In fact, nothing beyond the growing empathy in him had changed. Still, his last words were charged with emotions you never thought he could convey.

He kissed you, kissed you as the only way to communicate without continuing to fight over your different ideas. A kiss that started soft, reflecting his desire to take care of you, but progressed with the passion that you both desired so deeply. Years of getting to know each other, of keeping feelings that came out so easily after fighting over things that didn't even seem so relevant now that you could only think about how good his lips felt over yours.

You two would never agree. He, stubborn and loyal to Namor. You, true to your ideals and to yourself. You only had that kiss left, nothing else.

#attuma #attumaxreader #attumafic #alex livinalli #Alex livinalli x reader #wakanda #talokan #wakanda forever #black panther #black panther 2 #tenoch huerta namor #namor #tenoch huerta #fic #ucm #attuma x reader #attuma fic

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misterier · 7 months

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Hi! Can I request enemies to lovers relationship with Jack Marston and tall Male reader? (Or at least taller than him). It doesn't have to be long, head cannons are fine :)

oo yeah ofc!! I went for head cannons in storyish form so it hope it's not too goofy, also my dyslexic ass read john at first so sorry it took a bit

high honor jack marston is my pookie the idea of him with low honor hurts me so high honor it is

also sorry for pushing the charthur agenda but it's burned deep within my soul, I must release it

also spoilers ig for the first & second game but if your requesting jack you prolly already know all that

i grew up lovin' the marstons and they mean the world to me sorry if i get rambly and long with his hcs</3

Jack Marston<3

-With Jack, it's more rivels than actual enemies, and it likely starts when the two of you are teens; maybe you live in some ranch across from his.

-Your mothers or dads are friends, so they're a little concerned. As far as they know, two teenagers forced to hang out should be great friends.

-Jack is 100% a little mama's boy, so when he's not hiding out reading, he's helping her do housework and complaining about you. It's not like he's got a good reason to hate you either; he just doesn't like you.

-Abigail's heard, John's heard, Uncles heard, and even the dog has heard.

-The entire dinner table is tired of his constant whining about hating your 'annoying' ass.

-Hell, even his aunts have heard whenever they ask about his nonexistent social life, Mary-Beth seems to think it's a crush the way he gets so flustered, rambling on about how much he hates you, but he denies it in an instant.

-Equally, you hate him as well, bragging about your height difference. Every time you're forced over to his house to hang out with him in his room (despite his pleading to not leave him alone with you), you'll put his books on the highest shelves.

-His father was once given permission, and assuming some quality time together would fix your relationship, he takes the two of you fishing. (Jack, of course, complains, asking why he was stuck doing the two things he hates most, fishing and spending time with you.)

-During that trip, John warns you to look out for branches so you don't bash your head in. Jack prays you would so you'd shut up and stop looking at him like that.

-Whenever Charles is able to visit them, sometimes Jack will find him and his mother talking outside in the dead of night, speaking of a man he can only just barely remember the silhouette of--Jack sometimes is glad he can't remember those days when he sees how frustrated his father gets about his past—mostly when his mother mentions the man who had apparently been like his father's brother. It's a painful name to speak in their house, and he refuses to even ask anymore now that they hardly mention him anymore.

-The gist of you and Jack's fighting is just petty arguments and insults. His mother warns him about things like that, saying it's not healthy for a boy his age to be so bitter towards another who's done nothing to him, insisting he tries to make friends.

-He tries to listen to his mother; as much as he teases her, just like his father, he respects her greatly and looks up to her, and if she told him to do something, he'd do his very best to listen to her wishes.

-Jack does a bit better at keeping his insults to a minimum. The two of you are nothing near friends, but y'all slowly stop it with actual hurtful comments.

-Just like annoying ol' uncle grew on his father, he was beginning to tolerate your presence until he and his mother were taken by the government while his father hunted down his old 'family'.

-Once they're home, you're not around anymore, and neither are your parents. You moved due to fear of being caught up in all that, and he's bitter about it.

-The day John and Uncle die, your family sends their condolences.

-For as long as his mother is alive, he does his damnedest to keep the ranch alive and working despite her deteriorating health. Tilly visits a bit more when Abigail gets worse, and her husband tries to help—a respectable man even with his high class—though Jack refuses, wanting to take care of it all himself.

-The day his mother dies breaks him--the only blood family he had left.

-He enhatrets all his fathers' things, nobody to stop him from looking through it, he finds journals, and he reads the older one first confused by the handwriting that he was sure wasn't his fathers chicken scratch, but he reads it anyway, admiring each drawing and word, some even speaking about the writers conflicted feelings about still longing for a woman but beginning to feel himself crave a man, willing to let go of her if it means he has the chance to be happy again--queerness had never been something shamed upon or uncommon in his house, he'd heard of it from hangings and his parents speaking about it being wrong that they'd be hung for love--telling Jack that he shouldn't be afraid to love who he wants and to fight for it.

-The fancy writing nearly seems to abruptly stop when things begin to get dark. Switching to his father's writing gives him an appreciation for his father and what he's been through, but even through that, he can't help but crave revenge. He always was an angry young man.

-He wants to put Edgar Ross' death behind him, trying to be a functioning man of society as his mother wanted for him, though his hand still itched for his gun.

-The land was becoming too dry; there wasn't much he could keep alive, and he needed money, so he decided to try and find work. Not many would take him due to his father's name, so he usually hangs around the blackwater bar to sleep in the rooms above it, only visiting his home on weekends to take care of the house and the graves.

-Eventually he finds work, by some old fella speakin' about how desperate this man was for a ranch hand and how it was nearly sad how much they needed it.

-Late at night, he shows up on your doorstep, looking for work after all these years. You would have laughed in his face if it wasn't obvious how much both of you needed this.

-Similar to Bonnie and John's situation He lived on your property for a while, though there was enough room in your house for him, so he worked for you and slept in the guest room.

-There's no room to argue like you did as children. though only nineteen, the two of you are much more grown than you'd like to be with both of your families gone. Now it's only a few quips and jabs.

-There's no women working for your ranch, so you have to trade 'womanly' chores. Jack used to help his mother with hers, so he doesn't mind, but he forces you to help as well.

-You two become friends, despite still bullying each other a little. Him joking about you hitting your head when walking into the barn (you're tall, but not THAT tall), and you telling him his eyes will go bad from staring at those small print books all day.

-The closer friends you two become, the more possible your relationship is to become romantic. Neither of you are sure when you figured out you were in love with each other; it sort of just happened.

-You kissed his cheek goodnight once before you parted ways with him in the living room to return to your bedroom eary and it became tradition. For months, that was how the two of you parted. The next day, before he left to go back to his family's ranch to clean it up, he called you over to his horse—taller than you—for once and kissed your forehead before turning quickly and spurring his horse off.

-As socially awkward as he is, he's very open, flirting with you, not very romantic, but then again, you two aren't exactly romantic; if anything, your relationship is more of a mean friends with benefits kind of situation.

-If you genuinely want to call it a relationship, you'll have to bring it up to him, or he won't really notice or care.

-If you want to be lovers, he'll accept it. You two still have separate rooms, and yet you fall asleep in his most of the time.

-Even if you can read, he likes reading you, with his back against the headboard and your head on his shoulder. he likes feeling taller than you, though he obviously isn't.

-This man tried nailing broken boot heels to his to make him taller and ended up twisting his ankle and falling flat on his face.

-Learns to deal with and accept the fact your taller, though hes unnaturally bitter.

-Everytime he heads home, times becoming less frequent now. He sits at the foot of his mother's grave and talks about you and his life; he brought you once but never did it again, he prefers his visits to his family's graves to be private.

-Even years into your relationship, he won't stop praying you'll bash your head on the doorframe. The day you do, he marks it on his callender and calls it the day he became a happy man, ignoring your unofficial anniversary and calling it a close second.

#jack marston #jack marston x male reader #jack marston/male reader #rdr1 x male reader #red dead redemption x male reader #jack marston x reader #kacey cant tag for the life of him #im alive omg

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lets-try-some-writing · 1 year

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I’ve been meaning to send this request for a while now, but I let my desire for a seemingly nonexistent “perfect” moment get in the way. 😛

Anyway, your take on the Autobots’ names and their meanings is still one of my favorite posts of yours. I’ve come up with one or two meanings of my own for a couple of the characters, but I’m curious about what you think the meanings of the Decepticons’ names would/should be. :)

I've been meaning to get to this forever. Sorry this took me an eternity and a half to get around to writing for! Hope you like it!

Decepticons and their Names

Just like the Autobots, the Decepticons developed alternate names to keep their true names secret while still hinting at it. They didn't bother trying to appear more human or adjust their body language in any meaningful way. They simply never saw the need to comply with human naming conventions. However this does not mean that their true names aren't known to anyone.

Soundwave knows just about every bot's true name. It was part of procedure when it came to joining high command. A Decepticon couldn't rise through the ranks if they weren't willing to give Soundwave their true designation for security reasons. And while not the most well received of moves, it did end up keeping quite a few revolts from happening with the perpetrators true name on the line.

Soundwave however is not a mech who would abuse what power he has been given. As such, while he knows the names, he does not use them against the bot whom the designation belongs to unless absolutely necessary. Still there are times when he needs to reconfirm designations and he takes great care of them.

Megatron's true designation is long, a testament to his age and a show of his wisdom. His name has changed greatly over the millennia, but core features of it always remain even through every alteration. His name when translated into human language is roughly akin to [Resilient-Spark-Defiant-Fighter-Silver-Tongued-Truth-Speaker-Seeker-of-Change-Sword-of-Vengance]. It is as shortened a version of his designation that can be managed. If his whole name was written out, it would rival Optimus's in length. When spoken aloud his name sounds like a long forgotten chant, one whispering of times long gone all while the grinding of gears echoed quietly amidst it.

Shockwave's designation is an odd one that contradicts itself over and over again due to the changes he underwent on the Council's orders. Its almost painful to look at when written simply because of how unpleasant it is in its contradictions. His true designation is so unsettling to look at that Soundwave has put it away and refuses to even so much as glance at it until it comes time to check his files. The name comes out to be something along the lines of [Kind-Spark-Empty-Vessel-Hopeful-Light-Bringer-Endless-Void-of-Knowledge]. When spoke aloud it is both lovely to hear and painful for the audio receptors. It sounds like the humming of a spark within its chassis combined with the gentle whistle of wind, but is contradicted by the dull and toneless notes of steady clicking and grinding that nearly cancel the musical qualities out entirely.

Starscream's is surprisingly lovely and holds greater meaning than one would expect. Starscream was after all, not always a traitorous glitch fond of cowardly retreats and greed. Once, long ago Starscream was a noble leader for his people, doing everything in his power to protect them only to at some point lose himself along the way. His name comes out to be [Guardian-Star-Guiding-Beacon-Swift-Lord-of-the-Skies-Radiant-Jewel]. Starscream has always taken great pride in his true designation and has never once uttered it aloud, not for anyone. Even when giving his designation to Soundwave, he merely wrote it down and did not speak at all. However based on what can be gathered, if it was to be spoken aloud it would sound a great deal like the swaying of trees, the chiming of bells, and the constant thrum of a jet engine preparing for takeoff.

Knockout's designation is odd considering his personality, but Soundwave has always assumed that it is simply a matter of the medic having changed over his lifetime. However even with that in mind, there are still bits and pieces that apply to the persona Knockout presents. His designation translates into something similar to [True-Sighted-Spinner-of-Dreams-Faceted-Child-of-Visonaries-Bright-Sparked-Healer]. Perhaps his name spoke of an age where things were different for Knockout, a time where he was more hopeful, open, and friendly. But either way, when spoken aloud his name sounds like the distant trickling of raindrops on a tin sheet, the swaying of tall grass amid a storm, and the crackling of distant thunder all soothed by the gentle patter of stones down a hill.

Breakdown's name was by comparison far clearer and easier to see where it came from. His was straightforward, a perfect representation of his character and spoke of his true pureness of spark. His designation almost made Soundwave wonder just what the warrior was doing amid the Decepticon ranks. His name spoke of someone more suited toward the Autobot's ideals of purity, that with his name translating to mean [Warrior-for-Justice-Protector-of-the-Meek-Gentle-Giant-Comforter-Guardian-of-the-Vulnerable]. Even the sound of his name sounds like it should belong to an Autobot, that with it being like that of the quiet humming of a loving parent combined with the war chant of an army preparing to fight for their homeland.

Dreadwing's designation is one that Soundwave has no real opinion on but finds somewhat fascinating due to how it speaks of his character. It is fairly straightforward much like Breadown's, but like all true designations, it is special in its own unique way, even when translated to [Stoic-Watcher-of-Shifting-Tides-Bound-Protector-of-Spark-Shards-Enduring-Warrior]. Its spoken notes are much like the beating of hammers on an anvil accompanied why the bellows of a beast in the deep. However there is a soft undertone of wind rushing past rock, creating a gentle whistling sound. Overall a fascinating mix of sounds and meanings, but not too noteworthy in Soundwave's book.

Then there is Soundwave's name, the one he has not shared with anyone, not even Megatron. His true designation is something he has kept to himself simply because... he hardly remembers it. A true designation should be something a bot always remembers, but with what Soundwave was forged to do, only bits and pieces have stuck over the millennia. It is something that pains him. He wishes he could remember it all, but as he can't he has filled in his name as best as he can using what he does recall, earning him the translated name [Silent-Keeper-of-Knowledge-Custodian-of-the-Dark-in-All-Tireless-Watcher-of-Eternity]. He has not said it aloud, but he guesses that if it was, it would sound a great deal like the near silent murmurings of mecha long dead and the gentle swaying of all sorts of structures. His name would hardly even be capable of being heard if not for the quiet din of a stone falling into water that would echo quietly should his name be said out loud.

So many names, so many meanings, and Soundwave keep them all dutifully.

#maccadam #transformers #decepticons #megatron #soundwave #knockout #dreadwing #shockwave #breakdown #starscream

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goldenhypen · 2 years

Text

❣︎ ⎯⎯ losing you was never an option .

PAIRING ! yang jungwon x reader // GENRE ! angst to fluff // WC. ! 1.0k

PROMPT(S) ! 6. fixing the other’s clothes ;; 12. winking at them ;; 23. brushing strands of hair away // requested by two lovely anons // 2k followers event

A/N. ! here’s the final jungwon drabble y’all wanted :’> i can’t believe it’s already the last :’> this event is rlly beginning to come to an end huh :’> anyways, it’s a long one today so i hope you guys enjoy !! <3

you and jungwon had been dating for six months—six months was what it took for you to begin losing your feelings for jungwon. and to him, it was obvious. you weren’t smiling nearly as much as before, and whenever he would crack a joke, your laughter was almost nonexistent compared to how hard you two would laugh together before, until tears fell from your eyes.

you were falling out of love with jungwon.

but he still had strong feelings for you that only grew immensely for you each day. and so it pained him inside to see the feelings of the one he loved dissipate right in front of him, but he wasn’t willing to let you go that easily.

“y/n, baby,” jungwon started, sitting beside you on the couch before softly taking your hand in his.

“yes?”

his eyes began trailing off from yours, occupying himself with affectionately fixing your clothes and brushing strands of hair away from your face as he was prolonging his time to bring up the situation to you.

“what is it, won? what’s wrong?” you asked, wondering what was taking him so long.

“you’re falling out of love,” he immediately brought up, eyes still avoiding yours as his voice filled with utter sadness. “aren’t you?”

“i—“ you paused, your eyes now also wandering off to anywhere but his own. how did he know? “—what makes you think that?”

“that’s not answering my question, y/n,” he told you, heart still clenched with hurt. “i know you are; i can see it in you every day. your love for me just gets weaker and weaker, and it pains me to witness that, because i still love you, and my heart longs for you each day and my love only grows for you. i wanted to bring this up with you, because we’ve already been dating for half a year; i think this relationship is mature enough to have such a conversation. this is serious, y/n. just the thought of you leaving breaks my heart; i don’t even wanna imagine it, but i can’t help it, because i feel like i’m walking on eggshells, now just waiting for my feet to bleed and to feel the pain. i’m just preparing myself. and i want you to tell me about these things—i want us to be honest with each other.”

he definitely wasn’t wrong: you were losing feelings for him… were. past tense—because after hearing all he had to say, with the passion in his voice to pursue you further, you were reminded just how much you loved him, and what made you fall in love with him in the first place. you loved his brave, ambitious and leader-like qualities. it was always so attractive to you, how could you forget?

“so, y/n?” jungwon started, clenching your hand softly in his own, “what are your thinking? what have you been feeling recently?”

“i—“ you paused, gathering your thoughts to put into words, “won, you’re right in everything you said, and i guess i haven’t been completely honest with you, but yes, you’re right, i may have been falling out of love recently, but i just couldn’t find it in me to tell you that, because i do still love you, and i don’t want to ever hurt you. and i was trying so hard to regain these feelings i used to so strongly have for you, but i could never do anything to get them back.”

jungwon listened with intent, looking into your eyes with every word you spoke, even if you weren’t reciprocating, to show he was focused on everything you had to say.

you continued, “however—today i think you showed me and reminded me why i even chose to date you in the first place. you have so many traits that i love about you and that make you such an incredible partner. i’m sorry for ever beginning to fall out of love and not being able to reciprocate the love you’ve shown me recently.”

“does the mean you wanna break up,” he asked, looking at you sadly, a sign of tears becoming apparent.

“no, won,” you smiled. “it’s the opposite.”

“oh,” he let out, a small grin painting his features.

“i want to try to continue to make this work, because it would hurt so much to lose someone as good as you, even if i don’t deserve you—“

your confession was cut short when jungwon eyed your lips and immediately captured them with his own.

you closed your eyes and melted under his touch, the feelings of butterflies erupting in your stomach for the first time in a while. you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer as he placed his hands around your waist, and you could feel him smiling into the kiss.

he eventually pulled away, and you two just stared into the other’s eyes in awe, speechless.

“how could i ever think of leaving you?” you breathed out, practically in a trance. “you’re so—so handsome, kind, caring, respectful, talented, and can even wink too—wait no. no, you can’t.”

you two both laughed at your playfulness.

you started again, clearly joking, “i guess that’s a deal breaker then, sorry.”

and you two both couldn’t help but laugh again.

“oh, so is that what it takes?” he asked with a chuckle and a smile on his face.

you looked at him, anticipating as you calmed yourself down.

“i can wink,” he said, voice filled with confidence, yet he couldn’t help but avoid your eyes. “see?”

he opened both of his eyes wide before attempting to close his left one, trying to keep his right eye open as big as possible.

“won! you can’t wink,” you laughed. “you’re getting better, though.”

he sighed in defeat, giving up.

“but it’s okay,” you smiled. “i still love you. plus, i find it cute that you can't, yet still try.”

he let out a small laugh before smirking at you, leaning in once more and placing his lips on yours, a feeling of ecstasy arising in his body to be able to confidently call you his once again.

A/N. i hope you guys enjoyed :’> it was angsty but it had a happy ending so i hope y’all liked it. feedback and reblogs help a ton !! <3 thanks for reading ^_^ <3

2K EVENT MASTERLIST.

TAGLIST FORM.

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theokusgallery · 4 months

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What do you think about middle aged sunflower ????

Okay I'm going to pretend I'm normal and didn't just have a conversation about it yesterday within which I had to restrict myself because of Discord's stupid character limit

Anyway. Gonna talk about fanfics briefly, because fics tend to get more complex with characterization.

A while ago, I got really into Marvel, and for two months I did nearly nothing except read spideypool fanfic all day and night. If you know anything about these two (that isn't from the MCU) (I hate the MCU, I hate it so so much, this is not who Spidey fundamentally is, he is supposed to be a friendly neighborhood loner loser and you Cannot just give him an Iron Man suit and a mentorship with Stark and intergalactic missions at 16 or however old he is in those movies when the essence of the character is that he is an average struggling teenager who just happens to get superpowers and fucks up a lot at the beginning of his journey and mostly works alone and quit the fucking Avengers himself) (wow I started rambling sorry. Ignore that), you'll know that they are both around... 25-30ish, currently. Something like that. The only other fandom that I read as many fanfics of was Ace Attorney, where depending on the timeline, they can be from 23 to like, 35 with a kid. So I'd say me being so invested in a ship with 16 year-olds is... kind of an anomaly.

I don't usually like the coming-of-age, teenage love stuff, and I honestly have never found a single sunflower schoolfic I liked (except Spiral of course but even then they're in college) because all of them tend to... infantilize both Sunny and Basil at great length. And also tear down anything that makes them interesting characters. I think a lot of OMORI artists (that includes writers) are very afraid of doing anything substantial with teenagers, despite, you know, the actual plot of the game, and as a result, a lot of the time most fics where the characters aren't aged up tend to be... incredibly boring. Of course there are some that are good — exceptional even — but in the end all I can think of is the huge gap in... quality? that sounds wrong to say about a creative thing... interesting-ness, let's say (a very personal and subjective concept), when I stopped reading Marvel and went back to OMORI. I stopped reading fanfics altogether because I just couldn't find one I liked as much as the average Marvel fic that I hadn't already read.

Maybe it's a result of the writers themselves being young? I know OMORI's fanbase is generally a lot younger than Marvel's, so that could affect it. I mentioned schoolfics because there's a lot of them and because they were mentioned in my rant yesterday, but it's not really about the fact that they're schoolfics, it's about the fact that more often than not, the setting is the plot, and since it's just your average highschooler writing their favorite blorbos into their own environment and projecting (which is very cool btw, 99% of my own writing is projecting), the plot is... basically nonexistant. It's boring. It's boring and the characterization is usually dull. But even outside of schoolfics, I think I stopped trying to read fics that start with Sunny getting out of the hospital after the True Ending for the same reason : it's often plain and plotless and boring. And, fuck, my favorite books and mangas and such are slice of life, I'm all for mundane plots! But there's a difference between a mundane plot/realism and just no plot at all.

(This is not, like, an attack of OMORI writers who make schoolfics or fics that start with the above mentioned premise, btw, I want to make that very clear. It's very much a personal preference. I think it's boring because all of the fics I read in Marvel had a very unique plot/premise is my point. And also because the characters were a lot more mature and complex. Different strokes for different folks)

I think that's what I'm kind of sad about. OMORI characters tend to be complex and morally grey in their own way, and people tend to forget about that because they're teenagers and obviously no one can do no wrong before the ripe age of 18. Children are all innocent and therefore cannot be more morally complex than cinnamon roll soft boys/girls (looking pointedly at Sunny, Aubrey and Basil. But mostly Basil). Also, I think people tend to straight-up forget that 16 year-olds aren't, like, 10? Of course they're not going to be as mature as grown adults, especially Sunny OMORI, Dissociative Amnesia World Champion, but like... When I was 16 reading OMORI fanfics, half the time I was like "a 16 year-old would not fucking say that". But also generally more mature characters are inevitably more interesting to explore to me because I prefer more mature themes — I'm simply extremely upset at the fact that people don't explore the complexity that's already there when they're 16, including the very mature themes that are already there.

TL;DR: I love middle aged sunflower, I love middle aged ships in general ! In fact, I will tend to prefer sunflower when it's aged up.

(... I probably should've led with that.)

#rant #cough. that was one hell of a rant #sorry as i mentioned i literally talked (read: complained) about this to two different people in the last week #i'm kind of insane about sunflower. very deranged. i have many thoughts about them.#don't ask me about characterization because I will make a whole fucking essay #(((ask me about characterization please i will make a whole fucking essay)))#ask #xxl1ghtxx #i am so sorry I spent half an hour writing an answer that shouldve just been 'I like them! :D' with a doodle #unfortunately I am not normal about sunflower and their age.#I NEED TO STOP OR I'M GOING TO RAMBLE MORE IN THE TAGS. JESUS #omori

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lord-squiggletits · 1 year

Text

One TF fandom argument that confuses me is when people put Megatron and Starscream versus each other like, when people say that it's "unfair that Megatron gets redemption but Starscream doesn't" (in regards to IDW1) because like. One, IDW1 in phase 2 was written by like 4 different writers, so you can't try to claim that there was some unified vision where the nonexistent Singular Writer of IDW was like "no Starscream isn't allowed to have nice things."

And second, I don't think the writers would even think of it that way? It's not like the writers were like "okay we have one Get Out Of Jail Free Card and we're going to spend it on Megatron, sorry Starscream maybe in the next reboot you can get it." The divisions fans make between X character likers and Y character likers are completely made up fandom drama and sometimes I feel like people don't understand that the writers aren't privy to fandom infighting/drama and wouldn't write Megatron and Starscream in opposition to each other as if one character's gain must come at the other's expense.

And finally............. IDW1 Starscream literally does get to be portrayed as a more morally gray person, have his feelings shown and treated as human, even make some friends/have people treat him nicely? IDK what fucking comics people are reading where they think that Starscream is treated as an evil villain with no redeeming qualities at all. Maybe it's the same Starscream fans who shit on TAAO/Scott or something, that's the only way I could explain it.

#squiggposting #discourse #plus like i feel like SS just becoming happy and a good person doesn't really make sense for his character #because his thing is that he's unpredictable and mercurial and you never really know what he wants or what he'll do #making him 'a good guy' would fly in the face of the archetype he is which is a scheming manipulator out for his own ends #and i really liked idw1 SS because he's like. he's a piece of shit he's a little meow meow he's traumatized he's a tyrant #as his actions and thoughts and conscience shifts from one plot to the other he does kinda good things but then does bad things #he makes you go from 'well maybe he's not so bad' to 'WHAT THE FUCK YOU PIECE OF SHIT'#because with SS he's not. one. thing. like you can't predict him you can't box him into being on one 'side' or the other #he's on his own side and sometimes his own side happens to include a conscience or people who try to make SS be nicer #sometimes IDW SS pursues his own selfish aims and sometimes he has moments of weakness where he decides he'll be nice #the entire 'will he or won't he' plot of whether SS would be a dick or be nice was part of his whole appeal #also megs' redemption arc is mid anyways #if anything i feel like i could argue phase 2/3 SS is more interesting and has a better emotional arc than M #and i'm not even a SS fan + i like M way more

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butwhatifidothis · 1 year

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I’m gonna put on my nerd glasses for a second to talk about something I find weird with a particular user making the rounds. A while ago, I answered an ask proposing the possibility that Edelgard wasn’t meant to be a villain in 3H by pointing to the myriad of ways the story both directly and indirectly tells the player that she is, even with all of the uwu waifu bait moments dragging down her overall quality of character. The user in question, which I’ll be calling Dolphin, responds with this:

Even setting aside the brazen ableism of “this mentally ill person would totally murder their loved ones because they’re crazy” - even though, um, fucking yikes - it’s just so... completely irrelevant to anything that I said or was brought up. I point out things that objectively did happen in 3H - Dolphin responds by bringing up what they think an unrelated character would do in a hypothetical that never even appears in the game. We as the player are not privy to ever actually seeing any character, let alone Dimitri specifically, directly interact with a spouse of any kind on-screen - the most we are given are the end cards that are essentially our last look into the character in question’s life (and, well, look at that Dimitri does not, in fact, do what Dolphin think he’d do - shocking, I know).

But Dolphin is using this nonexistent hypothetical as part of their grounds for their actual argumentation. They think that Dimitri would do this thing in this setting that never happens in the game, therefore that adds onto the (implicit) idea that he is in fact the bad guy. And not only that, it adds onto the idea that describing Edelgard as a villain over Dimitri is wrong, because Dolphin thinks Dimitri would hypothetically beat his wife in a fit of rage or delusion should the opportunity to do so ever come up.

I could have just as easily said “I could see Edelgard as the kind of woman who would throw slurs at POC who slightly annoy her.” Or I could have said “You know, I think Raphael and his family are secretly Nabateans and he uses the front of a simple young man to hide safely amongst humans - he’s not dumb at all, he invented color contacts to hide his green eyes!” Or I could have slammed my feet against my keyboard and posted whatever garbled mess comes as a result. All of these responses would have been as related to the topic as Dolphin throwing their extremely subjective headcanon into the discussion at hand.

So arguing with this sort of person and getting anything of actual note out of the discussion is just not feasibly possible, because at any moment they will pull out their subjective opinion during a talk about the objective events of the game. And not to make a point about why they, personally, do or don’t like a particular aspect of the game, but to prop it as part of their objective assessment (the front liner of their assessment, no less). Even, again, setting aside the ableism, as well as the general hyper-focus on sexuality seemingly being a determinant factor in a character’s status as villain or Not Villain - there is no point in arguing with this person. They do not care to actually talk about the game, its characters, its themes, its writing, or anything like that; being a bit mean here, it seems like they just want to say words into the air hoping to find a Polo to their Marco.

Sorry, Dolphin, that I can’t bring myself to really care about what you’re saying

#anti edelgard #Anti-edelgard #edelgard critical #edelgard discourse #just to be safe #like omega safe lmao #it's like if we were talking about how chlorophyl makes grass green and someone else walked in and said that grass tastes like chicken #like even ignoring the bizarre statement we. weren't talking about that #it shows off how little they actually care to partake in an actual discussion because they'll just fuckin'. ignore what you're talking abou

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