#or perhaps they simply got a better understanding of their characters?

[mhevarujta]

I was always Elucien and A.C.O.S.F. parallel for Elucien and Nessian confirm for me!

Elaine blinked and blinked, eyes clearing again. As if the understanding, our understanding … it freed her from whatever murky realm she’d been in. Lucien just stared and stared at my sister, as if he’d never seen her before. (A.C.O.W.A.R. 33)

Her eyes had returned to the blue-gray he knew so well. Stunned surprise and a little fear lit her face. As if she’d never seen him before. (A.C.O.S.F. 31)

I love this parallel because Nesta is seeing Cassian for the first time after a moment he helped her out of and Lucien is seeing Elaine for the first time after she was pulled out of the realm thanks to the sunshine he told her to get! (High lady of Day foreshadowing is so heavy here and sooooooooooo many Nessian’s parallel proves it.!)

And yet the context is entirely different, isn't it? It's not an actual parallel. Let's REALLY break this down, shall we?

Nesta is scrying, she's losing herself to it, and Cassian brings her back to herself. She blinks and it's as if she sees him for the first time because for some moments she was lost to the world.

On the other hand in your supposed e!ucien parallel Elain finds her way back and clears her head on her own, but it's after Azriel sees her, not Lucien. If you recall ACTUAL canon, Elain did not get better because of sunshine (that too she got with Azriel though). She got better because someone understood what was happening to her and that was enough to make her push through. It's as if Lucien sees her for the first time after SHE gets a grip on herself because he actually never saw her before. It took Elain fixing herself for Lucien to have this little moment. He didn't see her or listen to her, despite wanting her because she's his mate. You know who did?

It made sense, I supposed, that Azriel alone had listened to her. The male who heard things others could not … Perhaps he, too, had suffered as Elain had before he understood what gift he possessed.

And to his credit, Lucien DID try. He tried to use the mating bond to help. But it's so clear that an externally enforced bond is not enough for mates to really be compatible and to get each other. SJM shows time and time again that Lucien has good intentions but nevertheless doesn't get Elain.

Even after this moment, SJM goes to lengths to demonstrate how superficially Lucien sees Elain. For example, he knows she likes gardening and gets her a thoughtful gift that COULD have appealed to someone else. And yet:

“And torn up by thorns,” I mused, recalling a morning this past summer when Elain had come into the house, her right palm bleeding from several gashes thanks to a stubborn rosebush that had pierced her gloves. The thorns had broken off in her skin, leaving sharp splinters that I’d had to pull free. I didn’t dare mention that if she had been wearing the enchanted gloves Lucien had gotten her last Solstice, nothing would have pierced them at all.

“Enchanted gloves,” she read from the card. “That won’t tear or become too sweaty while gardening.” She set aside the box without looking at it for longer than a moment. And I wondered if she preferred to have torn and sweaty hands, if the dirt and cuts were proof of her labor. Her joy.

SJM is not subtle and she repeats herself so that readers will get what she's doing with these characters, but it seems that the point she's making will keep going over people's heads until the next book.

There's also absolutely zero foreshadowing of Elain becoming the High Lady of Day. If anything, Elain is mostly likened to dawn, but that doesn't mean she'll end up being part of the dawn court. Some of you are just confused and reading too much into imagery that is simply meant to highlight how ethereal my girl is.

[hoppipolla]

Evergray — Jiwoo

My love, you're bound Til we're raining down

THE TIME OF FEVER dir. Yang Kyung Hee (2024)

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

Villains vs. Antagonists (Guide For Writers)

Hey there, fellow writers and wonderful members of the writeblr community! 📚✍️ It's Rin here and...

Today, we're diving into a topic that's close to many writers' hearts: villains and antagonists. These characters often steal the show, driving our plots forward and giving our heroes something to push against. But here's the thing – while these terms are often used interchangeably, they're not quite the same. So, let's unpack this, shall we?

First things first, let's break down the difference between a villain and an antagonist. It's a distinction that can really elevate your storytelling game!

An antagonist is simply a character (or force) that opposes your protagonist. They're the obstacle, the challenge, the thing standing in the way of your main character achieving their goal. Here's the kicker: an antagonist doesn't have to be evil. They could be a rival love interest, a stern parent, or even nature itself.

A villain, on the other hand, is a specific type of antagonist. They're the bad guy, the evildoer, the character with malicious intent. All villains are antagonists, but not all antagonists are villains. Mind-blowing, right?

Let's look at some examples to make this clearer:

In "Romeo and Juliet," the feuding families are antagonists, but they're not villains. They oppose the protagonists' desire to be together, but they're not evil.

In "Harry Potter," Voldemort is both an antagonist and a villain. He opposes Harry (making him an antagonist) and he's also evil (making him a villain).

In "Cast Away," the island and the challenges of survival are the antagonists. There's no villain in sight!

Now that we've got that sorted, let's dive deeper into how to create these characters and use them effectively in your writing.

Creating Antagonists:

Define their opposition: What specifically does your antagonist do to oppose your protagonist? This could be physical, emotional, or ideological opposition.

Give them a reason: Why are they standing in your protagonist's way? Even if it's not justified, there should be a reason that makes sense to the antagonist.

Make them strong: Your antagonist should be a worthy opponent. They need to pose a real challenge to your protagonist to keep things interesting.

Consider their perspective: Remember, your antagonist is the hero of their own story. Try writing a scene from their point of view to understand them better.

Create contrast: Your antagonist should in some way contrast with your protagonist. This could be in values, methods, or personality.

Creating Villains:

Establish their evil: What makes your villain "bad"? Is it their actions, their beliefs, or both?

Develop their backstory: How did they become evil? A compelling villain often has a tragic or twisted history.

Give them dimensions: Pure evil can be boring. Give your villain some complexity – maybe they love their cat or have a soft spot for classical music.

Create a strong motivation: What drives your villain? Greed? Revenge? A twisted sense of justice? The stronger and more relatable the motivation, the more compelling your villain will be.

Make them smart: Your villain should be clever enough to pose a real threat. They should be able to anticipate and counter your protagonist's moves.

Now, let's talk about how to use these characters in different genres. Because let's face it, a villain in a romance novel is going to look very different from one in a fantasy epic!

In Romance: Antagonists in romance are often rivals for the affection of the love interest, or perhaps societal norms or family expectations standing in the way of true love. Villains are less common, but when they appear, they might be abusive exes or manipulative friends trying to sabotage the relationship.

Tip: In romance, make sure your antagonist's motivations are clear and relatable. We should understand why they're opposing the main relationship, even if we don't agree with their methods.

In Fantasy: Fantasy is ripe for both antagonists and villains. You might have a Dark Lord seeking to conquer the world (classic villain) or a rival magic user competing for the same goal as your protagonist (antagonist).

Tip: In fantasy, world-building is key. Make sure your antagonist or villain fits logically into the world you've created. Their powers, motivations, and methods should all make sense within the rules of your fantasy realm.

In Mystery/Thriller: In these genres, your antagonist is often the perpetrator of the crime your protagonist is trying to solve. They might not be evil (maybe they committed a crime of passion), or they could be a full-fledged villain if their crimes are particularly heinous.

Tip: In mysteries, your antagonist needs to be clever enough to challenge your detective protagonist. Leave subtle clues about their identity or motives, but make sure they're smart enough to almost get away with it.

In Literary Fiction: Here, antagonists are often more abstract. They might be societal expectations, personal flaws, or even time itself. Villains in the traditional sense are less common, but morally grey characters who oppose the protagonist are frequent.

Tip: In literary fiction, focus on the nuances of your antagonist. They should be as complex and flawed as your protagonist, with their own rich inner life.

In Sci-Fi: Science fiction offers a wide range of possibilities for antagonists and villains. You might have alien invaders, oppressive governments, or even well-meaning scientists whose creations have gone awry.

Tip: In sci-fi, make sure your antagonist or villain is consistent with the technological and social aspects of your imagined world. Their methods and motivations should make sense within the context of your sci-fi setting.

Now, let's dive into some tips to make your antagonists and villains the best they can be in your novel:

Make them believable: Whether you're writing a mustache-twirling villain or a morally grey antagonist, their actions and motivations should make sense within the context of your story and their character.

Give them a personal connection to the protagonist: The conflict becomes much more engaging when it's personal. Maybe your antagonist and protagonist used to be friends, or they're fighting over the same goal.

Show their impact: Don't just tell us your antagonist is a threat – show us the consequences of their actions. Let us see how they affect your protagonist and the world of your story.

Give them wins: Your antagonist or villain should have some successes along the way. If they're always failing, they won't seem like a credible threat.

Humanize them: Even if you're writing a truly evil villain, give them some humanizing traits. Maybe they have a pet they dote on, or a tragic backstory that explains (but doesn't excuse) their actions.

Make them adaptable: A good antagonist doesn't stick to one plan. When the protagonist foils them, they should be able to come up with new strategies.

Give them their own character arc: Your antagonist or villain should grow and change throughout the story, just like your protagonist does.

Use them to highlight your protagonist's strengths and weaknesses: Your antagonist should challenge your protagonist in ways that force them to grow and change.

Consider their presentation: How do other characters react to your antagonist? How do they present themselves to the world versus who they really are?

Don't forget about henchmen: If you're writing a villain, consider giving them some underlings. This can add depth to their character and provide more challenges for your protagonist.

Remember, whether you're crafting a dastardly villain or a complex antagonist, these characters are crucial to your story. They're the ones who push your protagonist to grow, who raise the stakes, and who often drive the plot forward.

But here's a gentle reminder: while it's important to make your antagonists and villains compelling, be mindful of the impact your writing might have. If you're dealing with heavy themes or traumatic events, handle them with care and sensitivity.

Now, I know we've covered a lot of ground here, and you might be feeling a bit overwhelmed. That's okay! Writing complex characters is a skill that develops over time. Don't be afraid to experiment, to try different approaches, and to revise and refine your antagonists and villains as you go.

One exercise I find helpful is to write a short story from your antagonist's or villain's point of view. This can help you understand their motivations better and ensure they feel like real, three-dimensional characters.

Another tip: watch movies or read books in your genre and pay special attention to how they handle antagonists and villains. What works well? What doesn't? How can you apply these lessons to your own writing?

Remember, there's no one "right" way to create these characters. What matters is that they serve your story and engage your readers. Trust your instincts, and don't be afraid to push boundaries or subvert expectations.

As you work on your antagonists and villains, keep in mind that they're not just there to make life difficult for your protagonist. They're an integral part of your story's ecosystem. They shape the plot, influence character development, and often reflect themes or ideas you're exploring in your work.

And remember, writing is a journey. Your first draft of an antagonist or villain might not be perfect, and that's okay. The beauty of writing is in the revision, in the gradual sculpting of characters until they leap off the page.

Lastly, don't forget to have fun with it! Creating antagonists and villains can be some of the most enjoyable parts of writing. Let your imagination run wild, explore the darker sides of human nature, and see where your characters take you.

I hope this deep dive into antagonists and villains has been helpful and inspiring. Remember, you've got this! Your unique voice and perspective will bring these characters to life in ways no one else can.

Happy writing! 📝💖 - Rin. T

Before you go, why not join us at The Write Right Society? We're a supportive Tumblr community where writers lift each other up. Whether you're a newbie or a pro, we'd love to have you! Share your work, get feedback, and connect with fellow wordsmiths, writers and aspiring authors. 

[seumyo]

This is the first time I dare to do something like this, but I saw you were writing for Rook one of my favourite characters. So I was wondering if you could do something with a French!Reader, not necessarily a romantic one but someone who would understand what Rook says perfectly. It would be better if they spoke Japanese since their arrival and he doesn't know they understand him until they surprise him by responding.

ROOK HUNT ✰ UNDERSTANDING YOU

NOTE. This is so sweet, I’m clawing at the walls. Rook, my love (◞ ⸝⸝ ◟ ) Thank you so much for this beautiful request <33 Also forgive me French speakers if the translations are rough/grammatically incorrect—I was fighting for my life against most online translators for this

You’ve always known that Rook had a way with his words. He was convinced no one at Night Raven College could fully appreciate his words, so he freely spoke his mind in his native language.

It became his way of processing emotions and, at times—his frustrations—without anyone understanding his deeper thoughts. Because of this, he was more unfiltered and vulnerable when speaking French, a luxury he thought he alone could enjoy.

That is, until you came into the picture.

You were seated in your usual spot in the library, books spread out in front of you as you studied, when Rook appeared seemingly out of nowhere. How does he do that? You could never truly know.

“Quelle concentration exquise! (What exquisite focus!) A sight you are, [Name],” he smiled, taking a seat next to you and peering over your shoulder to see what textbook you were reading.

You, exhausted from hours of reading and too distracted to think, responded automatically.

“Tu es vraiment bruyant, Rook. (You're really loud, Rook.)”

Pause.

Stop.

Rewind.

Rebooting.

“Ah-ha!” Rook almost cheered in glee, but you were able to stop him from doing so—because you were sure the librarian was keeping a stern eye on you two by now. He chuckled, murmuring this time, “Merveilleux. (Marvelous!) You speak French.”

“I—“

He, however, was already leaning closer, his grin full of delight—as if unable to stop himself from chatting your head off upon this revelation. “Why have you hidden this from me for so long? Ah, quel bonheur. (What joy!) I had thought myself alone in this vast sea of languages, but to know that you too carry the melody of French upon your tongue—it is as though fate has brought us together.”

Caught somewhere between embarrassment and amusement, you duckled your head, resting your head against your propped arms on the table. “Ce n'était pas intentionnel. (It wasn’t intentional.)”

“But why?” Rook pressed, tilting his head. He almost looked like a child—unable to hold his curiosity in one place. “Was it shyness? Or perhaps… a desire to keep your origins a secret? Oh, the mystery only adds to your allure.”

“I just... didn’t see the need to?” You mirrored his head tilt, now pondering why you never spoke much French when you got to this college.

He gasped.

“But why deny yourself the pleasure of our beautiful language?”

“Je ne sais pas, Rook. (I don't know, Rook.) Maybe I just liked keeping it to myself? I’m not really sure.”

Rook studied you for a moment before smiling, softer this time. “Well then, [Name], if I may be so bold… would you indulge me in conversation every now and then? It is rare to find someone who understands the true essence of our mother tongue.”

There was something warm about the way he said it, a genuine happiness beneath his usual theatrical flair. It’s that unfiltered, unparalleled joy of finding that specific connection with someone.

You said yes, of course.

And just like that, things changed.

Where before Rook had simply been another student you occasionally encountered and was in the same dorm as you, he now became a frequent presence at your side, always eager to chat. At first, it was strange—you weren’t used to speaking French so casually in this school, but with Rook, it felt natural.

“Regarde comme le ciel est beau aujourd'hui! (Look at how beautiful the sky is today!)” Rook says as you two walk through the gardens, gesturing delicately.

“Mhm, it’s nice out,” you replied, amused at his enthusiasm.

Or, when you were focused on something, he would suddenly appear beside you, whispering in your ear, “Tu as un esprit si captivant… Que pourrais-tu bien être en train de penser? (You have such a captivating mind… What could you possibly be thinking about?)”

To which you’d flick his forehead and respond, “Que tu es agaçant. (That you're annoying.)” He’d laugh as you continued, “Really, stop creeping up behind me like that—I could’ve elbowed you.”

“Violent, how endearing.”

He, of course, took it all in stride, laughing as if you had just paid him the highest compliment.

Despite his dramatics, you found yourself enjoying his presence more than you expected. There was something comforting about having someone else who understood your language, who could switch between playful teasing and deep, poetic musings without hesitation. It felt like home in a way you hadn’t realized you missed.

A friend that made you feel at home. As you did with him.

One evening, as you sat by the lake, watching the water ripple under the fading sunlight, Rook sighed contentedly.

“Tu sais, (You know),” he said, voice softer than usual, “depuis que je suis ici, je me suis souvent senti comme un étranger dans mon propre monde. (Ever since I arrived here, I’ve often felt like a stranger in my own world.)”

You were surprised by his change of tone.

“Pourquoi? (Why?)”

Rook smiled, but there was a wistfulness in his expression. “Parce que la langue est une chose étrange. (Because language is a strange thing.) It is not just words—it carries culture, memories, the very essence of who we are. And though I love the way words dance in many tongues, there is a loneliness in being the only one to understand a particular melody.”

You had never thought about it that way.

He really had a way with words.

And an even more

You nudged his shoulder lightly. “Tu n’es plus seul maintenant. (You’re not alone anymore.)”

Rook blinked, then beamed at you, warmth radiating from his smile. “Ah, quelle déclaration magnifique! (Ah, what a magnificent declaration!) My dear [Name], you are truly a treasure!”

You laughed, shaking your head.

“Ne sois pas dramatique. (Don’t be dramatic.)”

“But it is my nature!” he declared, throwing an arm around your shoulders.

You sighed quietly but didn’t move away.

You supposed that, just this once, you could let him be as dramatic as he wanted. Because Rook really did feel like he was home whenever he was with you, and that made his heart more contented than anything.

SEUMYO © 2025. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[bestlilithian]

☆ {17942} WHITERABBIT

-my favorite astrological asteroid-

W.R. is undoubtedly my favorite asteroid in astrology, simply because of the insanely potent energy it holds. I would even dare to say that it is within the same ranks as our favorite astrological beasts - Pluto, Lilith, Uranus, Neptune.

Personally, I would describe W.R. as a mix of Pluto and Neptune.

Whiterabbit represents: being drawn into something; finding oneself in a strange, possibly dangerous situation; life-transforming events; fascination; danger; sea-changes, and, yes, drug abuse.

Whiterabbit rules dangerous fascination. It is our darkest intrigues, the kind of curiosity that got the cat killed, a deeply alluring yet eerie energy. It describes where we can get pulled down and lost into a rabbit hole, where we are addicted. It is the thing for which you will walk in places you normally wouldn't go with a gun, that's the kind of pull Whiterabbit has on you.

¿ Whiterabbit dominants ¿

(W.R. conjunct personal planets, MC, ASC, IC..)

- these natives are extremely mesmerizing. they are lethaly persuasive and have a way of drawing people in.

- their world is always at least a little dangerous, and they can never be fully understood. they seek surreal experiences, and may therefore dabble in the use of drugs.

- they may prefer hallucinogens, and even deliriants, something that can give them a truly otherworldly experience.

- they may be fascinated with creepy aspects of life, horror, cognitohazards, mysteries.

- those with W.R. strongly aspecting their ascendant have an uncanny valley beauty, a dangerous, almost addictive quality to their charm.

- they may have obsessions, strong fascinations (different depending on the house and sign)

- they tend to transform other's lives tremendously (for better or worse), and constantly bring life-altering changes to the people in their life, as well as themselves.

- W.R. is prominents in the charts of pornstars and dictators, which is an amusing combination, but a real pattern nonetheless.

◇ Whiterabbit in synastry ◇

- when W.R. is highly prominent in the synastry, you will feel an irresistable pull to them. it does not have to be romantic or sexual, you can even despise their guts, but if your W.R. is conjuncting their personal planets or angles, you will be drawn in and need them like an addict needs their fix. for the charm of the white rabbit energy to be resisted, there needs to be significant self-mastery and personal understanding of the energy, which is why natives with prominent natal W.R. are better at recognizing that magnetic pull when they encounter it, and bending it in their own favour. they are better equipped to handle such intense energy because they've been dealing with it their whole life.

Feel free to comment your experiences, or perhaps some characters you headcannon as having prominent Whiterabbit energy. Here's mine:

( Mads in general has such a W.R. dom appearance and mannerisms. Wouldnt be surprised to find it aspecting his ascendant.)

[testyqwcde]

Many of you are already familiar with my enthusiasm for the theory that Haladriel may have had an intimate relationship in Eregion. This idea has been subtly hinted at in the context and discussed in detail within the meta. Today, I'd like to explore one more aspect that could further suggest the possibility of intimacy between these two characters.

Being the spirits tied to the elements of Arda, the maiar can draw energy from the natural forces and elements of the world. This connection is often linked to the specific domains they control. For instance, Sauron, who has dominion over the fire, draws power from this force. This is evident after the eruption— he gets the dark power back and while he obviously pretends to be wounded, there’s a shift to darkness in his appearance.

When he arrives in Eregion, he heals and then works with Celebrimbor and Galadriel, appearing almost rejuvenated as if the very light of Valinor is shining upon him, something burns within him as though a flame has been awakened.

However, after the reveal of his true self, his look begins to change once again upon his return to Eregion. His once radiant appearance darkens. In my opinion, it signifies not only his fall into darkness, but also the loss of Galadriel’s light, which had once been a guiding force for him, shining upon him. His dark powers are no longer balanced.

Sauron made it clear that he wished to be bound to Galadriel's light. He wants to harvest it for himself.

How does he envision this process?

It’s not about her physically standing beside and her literal light shining upon him, right?

There’s a deeper connection to be explored here.

This is primarily an emotional bond, where two individuals find comfort in each other's presence, sharing warmth and feelings that create a sense of mutual understanding. This is the feeling they shared in Numenor and Southlands. This is when Halbrand looked like this.

However, in Eregion we have even a better improved Halbrand 2.0 version, he is so fuckingly handsome here, not only being in the light but radiating this light himself.

Where did he get this light? I may assume because Galadriel was generous and shared it with him.

How?...

Many of you know the story about Melkor and Arien. Arien, a Maia who governs the Sun, is a fiery spirit whose light powers the Sun. Melkor, in his desire for her light, ravaged her, causing her to be released from the world of Arda. Many Tolkien enthusiasts interpret this act as a form of violation—Melkor essentially took Arien's light in a brutal and destructive manner, meaning raped her when she refused to become his wife.

In the case of Galadriel and Halbrand, Sauron’s desire for her light can be seen as a similar longing. Instead of merely desiring her physical presence and support, it’s about him trying to harvest her light through intimacy. In many cultures, sexual intercourse is viewed as a ritual for sharing energy, perhaps, Sauron sought to get her light in the same way.

He could be sleeping with her, harvesting her light to magnify his own strength. He knows the depth of her radiance, a force that could overwhelm him completely. And unlike Arien, she has been offering it to him freely because she's been in love with Halbrand. That's why it cuts deep and stirs a storm of anger when she refuses his offer to remain eternally bound.

He returns to Eregion to forge the rings alongside Celebrimbor and though he is still handsome, he is no longer radiating this light because he lost its source.

He desperately tries to get Galadriel back and harvest her light that he got so addicted to and when she refuses to become his wife queen again, he ravishes her in a similar way Melkor did to Arien. Brutally, taking her by force.

However, much like in the story of Melkor and Arien, it won't quite work. Arien released her spirit, burning Melkor and leaving him ashen and grey. As for Galadriel... she simply leapt off a cliff, once again denying him the light he so much desire.

[softantlers]

i don't talk much about shauna but if there's anything i feel passionate about contributing to the discourse on her is that i think it's incredibly crucial to her character that everyone understands that she feels wronged on a visceral level. the feeling of being wronged is absolutely buried in her skin.

idk how this attitude toward the world came about-- perhaps there was parental fuckshit, perhaps it was living in jackie's shadow, perhaps it was a reaction to living in the 90s as a woman, perhaps it was never speaking up when people around her did things that bothered her (jackie calling her ship, going along w soccer despite not liking it), etc etc etc.

all of that can be conjectured and worked through by better minds than mine! however, it's just biblically true to me that she feels WRONGED and that this is her baseline orientation toward the world. and therefore, the cope shauna has constructed for herself necessarily has to be an absolute neurosis around the notion that she could ever be wrong. on a survival level, she simply must blame other people for everything (here: i am not arguing that other people don't hold blame, but i am suggesting shauna will never accept her role in what can be blamed).

if you think about it, this is a deeply protective strategy on shauna's part. there's a lot that shauna could blame herself for if she let herself go down that route, not least jackie's death. (this is not a very serious take but i think it's very interesting that jackie asks shauna if she has any secrets big enough to crash a plane... and the look on her face... she knows she wronged jackie, but she can't be wrong. her brain will do anything, jump any hurdles, to justify herself.)

to shauna, she's suffered so incredibly that admitting to a wrong would be psychic annihilation. she cannot do it. and so i mean what do you expect? she's surviving herself as much as she's surviving the wilderness-- she can't be wrong or she'll fucking die about it-- and that's how we got here.

[avelera]

Ok, I feel like there's three writing concepts that Tumblr needs to get reacquainted with when it comes to understanding fiction:

Catharsis - Sometimes, fiction engages with horrifying, disgusting, painful, or scary concepts in order to bring about a positive experience for the reader. This can be through the hero defeating a disgusting evil, like defeating an abuser for example. One might also get catharsis not out of the defeat of something bad or uncomfortable, but simply from the experience of living it vicariously, such as joy at successfully hiding the body of a murder victim. There are literally countless examples of catharsis in fiction, but most importantly it must be understood, it is completely harmless to real people whether you're experiencing catharsis at something good happening or something bad happening that you get to live vicariously because it is literally fiction. Indeed, there's a lot of evidence that getting to experience catharsis through fiction at evil things, say, living vicariously through a fictional character committing adultery, even if you would never want to cheat on your own partner, actually helps purge the desire to do evil things oneself.

Pleasures of the genre - some genres have expectations that go with them. If you, as a writer, don't include those pleasures, you might turn off the audience. For example, the Western genre has a certain expectation of being set in the 19th c American West. There's usually cowboys and horses involved. If you write a story that's advertised as a "Western" that takes place entirely in a New York City apartment, it might be novel for the genre, but it might also piss off a bunch of readers who were expecting horses. You can do it, obviously, but don't be surprised if readers are confused and perhaps disinterested in the work. More salient to Tumblr perhaps - Marvel believes it is creating action/adventure superhero stories. If a Marvel movie suddenly became a psychological exploration of the internality of a character's relationships, without a single laser beam or fight scene in sight, Marvel expects its audience to be confused and unhappy. We, as fanfic writers and readers might be dying for that story, but that is not the pleasure of the genre that Marvel thinks its audience wants when it walks specifically into a superhero film.

Power Fantasy - this might be one of the most misunderstood or perhaps narrowly applied terms. Yes, sometimes a power fantasy is a 16 year old boy watching a superhero dude with 8 pack abs destroy the bad guy, get the girl, and save the day. Living vicariously through that character is definitely a power fantasy. BUT, a power fantasy can also be fantastical things that the audience wishes would happen in a way that would empower an audience member or make them happy. For example, a billionaire industrialist merchant of death like Tony Stark getting hit by his own weapons and deciding to become a crusader for justice in a way that actually helps normal people is, in fact, an audience power fantasy. We want to believe that if the right bad guy like a billionaire got the right comeuppance like a near-death experience at the hands of their own evils, they'd learn their lesson and become a better person. This is a power fantasy. This is not a thing that actually happens. It's honestly not that different from the power fantasy many gun owners have that if they own a gun, they're more likely to stop a crime in progress with their perfect marksmanship, rather than that they're more likely to kill or be killed by a member of their own family. Understanding the application of power fantasies in terms of good things you hope would happen happening in fiction is not only important for dissecting fiction as an intelligent viewer, it's also important in terms of recognizing when you're being influenced by certain stories and choosing what lesson you take away from it and what lesson (if any) you want to take away from it.

I just feel like these 3 terms are what I see most lacking in a lot of "discourse". Fiction is trying to engender emotion in the audience. Great fiction engenders a wide range of emotions in the viewer, not simply good emotions. Thoughtful fiction might (but not always!) try to impart a lesson. But great fiction can also just want to give you great emotions and make you think outside the usual box of your usual experiences. It's also completely fine for great fiction to just want to give you a great emotion experience like catharsis, or the thrill of a power fantasy. And I really wish these three separate but interrelated concepts were discussed more when it comes to dissecting fiction here on this site.

[clumsydolly]

Can you do Obey me x deuce spade!reader + bonus is obey me meeting reader's mom?

Obey me x Deuce Spade!Reader

The 4 elder brothers!

Warnings!⚠️: mentions of gang violence

Thank you for the ask! Please send more I'm loving these! The others will be coming up in the next 2 posts since this is sooooooo long!

Lucifer

The first time Lucifer met Y/n, he assumed someone had mixed up the exchange student files again. Surely this wasn’t the actual candidate Diavolo had approved. Not the one currently bowing so hard they nearly headbutted a House of Lamentation pillar. Not the one tripping over their own shoelaces trying to salute him.

“Permission to be a model student, sir!!”

“…You may… stand normally.”

Y/n tried. And then promptly knocked over a very expensive vase.

Lucifer pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered something about fate testing him on purpose.

Mammon immediately declared Y/n his new favorite chaos buddy. Levi fled. Satan watched like a scientist witnessing a lab rat chew through uranium. But Lucifer? Lucifer didn’t toss them out, despite every possible warning bell ringing in his brain. He just… sighed.

Because at least Y/n was polite.

Which made their explosive entrance into the Devildom the most baffling kind of paradox: they were courteous, earnest, rule-abiding until the moment someone insulted their cooking, questioned their work ethic, or heaven forbid said anything remotely shady about their mother.

Then it was punches first, diplomacy later.

“You have a... unique interpretation of decorum,” Lucifer said after dragging Y/n away from a bar brawl they’d instigated because a demon sneered at their hair.

Y/n, eyes wide with shame and adrenaline, bowed again. “Sorry, sir! I’m working on managing my temper. It’s just he said I looked like a rotting goblin fungus!”

Lucifer paused. “You don’t.”

“…Thank you?”

Somewhere between the formal salutes and the unintentional arson (long story, demon microwave), Lucifer began to tolerate Y/n. Then admire them. Then perhaps against his better judgment enjoy their presence.

They tried so hard. So embarrassingly, unreasonably hard. Studying obscure demon laws at 2 AM. Volunteering for dangerous assignments because “it’s character-building.” Refusing to swear even when possessed by a low-level poltergeist. All of it reeked of someone desperately trying to prove they belonged.

Lucifer saw the cracks in the performance before anyone else did. The way Y/n would downplay praise. How they’d snap upright when criticized, like bracing for a storm. How every failure, even minor ones, clearly haunted them for days.

“Perfection is not a requirement,” Lucifer told them once, after they spent seven hours trying to rewrite a single Devildom history essay.

“But what if it’s the only thing I’ve got going for me...the only thing I want right now?” Y/n mumbled, eyes low.

Lucifer looked at them for a long moment, then said quietly, “You have far more than that. But if you insist on proving it through unnecessary self-punishment, I will deduct house points.”

That earned a choked laugh the kind that startled both of them.

From then on, things shifted. Lucifer still lectured. Y/n still caused chaos. But there was something else beneath the surface a kind of understanding. Trust, maybe. Or something softer. Something that settled into their silences like an unspoken agreement.

Y/n stopped bowing so much. Lucifer stopped sighing quite so dramatically.

And once, when a visiting noble mocked Y/n’s background at a diplomatic dinner, Lucifer simply raised a brow and said, “You’ll want to choose your words more wisely in my presence.” The air went cold. The noble shut up. And Y/n didn’t say a word, but their ears turned red.

The next day, they broke a chandelier trying to install magical LED lights. Lucifer screamed into a cushion.

Balance.

_____

Bonus

It was supposed to be a routine visitor’s day.

And then she arrived.

Five-foot-four. A trench coat. The energy of a retired boxer and a school principal rolled into one. Y/n’s mom stepped into the Devildom like she owned it.

Lucifer was ready for demons. His younger brothers. Monsters. Celestial horrors. Maybe even his father.

He was not ready for this woman.

“Lucifer, right?” she said with a firm handshake that nearly crushed bone. “Thanks for keeping my kid from dying. Mostly.”

“I… try,” Lucifer said.

“You’re doing great,” she said. “I brought muffins.”

The demons descended like a swarm of hungry puppies. Beel cried. Mammon tried to flirt and got handed a wallet budgeting spreadsheet. Satan was given a bookmark labeled “For Calming Down.” Asmodeus received unsolicited skincare advice. Levi tried to sneak away and got roped into a lecture about posture.

Lucifer stood there, utterly blindsided, while Y/n nervously hovered nearby.

“She, uh… can be a bit intense,” Y/n muttered.

Lucifer straightened his coat. “She is… formidable.”

“Yeah. She once grounded me for sneezing too suspiciously.”

Y/n’s mom leaned over to whisper in Lucifer’s ear.

“You’re the one my kid respects, huh?”

“…It appears so.”

“Well, don’t break their heart. Or their spirit. Or their GPA.”

Lucifer nodded solemnly. “Understood.”

And that was how the mightiest demon in the Devildom found himself cleaning the House of Lamentation top to bottom before her departure because you don’t disappoint Y/n’s mom.

Even Diavolo looked nervous.

Lucifer decided, privately, that he’d rather face an angelic rebellion again than be scolded by that woman.

Mammon

Mammon knew you were gonna be a handful from day one.

You marched into the House of Lamentation wearing your school uniform like a knight’s armor, chest puffed out, eyes determined, and immediately tripped over a carpet and knocked over a priceless antique lamp. Then you stood up, saluted, and shouted, “I’ll repay the damages with honor and integrity, sir!!”

Lucifer nearly popped a blood vessel. Mammon fell in love on the spot. (Not that he’d say that out loud.)

“You’re weird,” he said. “But like… the good kind.”

“Thanks! I practiced.”

“...Huh?”

It was over from there.

You and Mammon were chaos incarnate. Not because you meant to be (well, not always) but because your combined energy was what scientists would call “statistically improbable and legally concerning.”

Mammon loved your “good student” act. Loved how you saluted teachers, color-coded your schedule, and got genuinely emotional about doing your best. He also loved how it all unraveled the second someone insulted your shoes, looked at you funny, or made a crack about your background.

“Y/n! We’re supposed to be undercover! Why did ya punch that guy?!”

“He said my tie was crooked.”

“IT WAS CROOKED!”

“It’s the principle of the matter, Mammon!”

You made everything dramatic. Mammon lived for it.

But what really did it for him what really made you his favorite human (don’t tell the others) was the fact that you genuinely cared.

Like, really cared.

You tried to do the right thing, even when it blew up in your face. You apologized when you messed up (usually loudly, with several bows). You panicked over minor failures like you'd failed your ancestors. And you looked at Mammon, Mammon, the one everyone underestimated like he was capable of doing something right.

No one ever did that.

“Hey, Mammon? You were really cool in that mission today.”

He blinked. “Huh?”

“You distracted the guards like a total pro. I bet I could never pull that off!”

His cheeks turned red. “W-Well of course ya couldn’t! I’m the Great Mammon, after all!”

And sure, he said it cocky. But that grin stuck around the rest of the day.

You backed him up in every dumb scheme, and he covered for you every time your “upholding justice” turned into “accidentally lighting a demon's hair on fire with pure intent.”

You once both got stuck in a magic vending machine because Mammon told you it “probably had hidden treasure,” and you responded with, “Then it’s my duty to protect it!” Three hours later, Satan pulled you out with a crowbar and a threat.

The two of you had a rhythm. You’d panic, he’d lie. You’d overthink, he’d distract you with snacks. You’d yell “FOR HONOR” and Mammon would scream “FOR MONEY” right next to you as you both charged into deeply inadvisable situations.

Lucifer aged ten years.

But behind the comedy, Mammon saw the cracks.

How hard you were on yourself. How you tried to hide it by being extra loud, extra formal, extra everything. How when you messed up (even just a little), you’d get real quiet and say stuff like:

“I bet you think I’m just a screw-up.”

And Mammon the certified King of Regret would shake your shoulders and go, “Hey. Stop that. You’re awesome, okay? So what if you messed up? That just means we get to fix it together, duh.”

You’d blink. Then salute.

“Yes sir, Partner in Crime, sir!”

He liked the way you said “we.” Like you meant it.

_____

Bonus

Mammon didn’t know fear. Not really. Not even when Lucifer threatened to hang him upside down by his ankles.

But the second he met her?

Y/n’s Mom?

He squealed.

She showed up in a trench coat and a sharp bob haircut, holding a thermos labeled “Mom Fuel” and wearing the expression of someone who’d personally fought a god and won.

“Oh, you’re Mammon, right?” she said, voice chipper. “The one my kid won’t shut up about?”

Mammon beamed. “Heh… yeah, that’s me, the Great Mam—”

“Good. I brought photos.”

She proceeded to show the entire demon population of RAD baby pictures of you covered in glitter, crying next to a broken tricycle, and winning a third-place ribbon for an egg-and-spoon race. Levi printed one and put it in his locker.

Mammon tried to escape but tripped on a chair leg.

Y/n groaned and whispered, “She does this to assert dominance. Don’t resist.”

Satan, who had feared no mortal, bowed respectfully. “Ma’am. You terrify me, congratulations, not even Lucifer can do that.”

Lucifer handed her tea. Diavolo cleared his entire schedule to meet her. Barbatos took notes. Asmodeus asked for parenting advice.

And Mammon?

He hid behind a curtain.

Until she found him, looked him in the eye, and said, “Thanks for looking after my kid.”

Mammon turned redder than a cursed strawberry.

“I mean, yeah, of course, they’re my—uh—my best human! I always—uh—yeah. No problem. Ma’am.”

She smiled. “You ever hurt them?”

Mammon gulped. “Not… on purpose?”

“Good.” She patted his cheek. “Because I will find you.”

He believed her.

And he knew, in that moment, that if anyone hurt you — Mammon included — they’d have to answer to both your mom and him.

Which meant they wouldn’t survive the week.

Leviathan

Levi was fully prepared to ignore you.

You were loud. You were earnest. You saluted Lucifer like a JRPG side character. You declared your goal in life was to become “a model RAD honor student who brings pride to their family name” on your first day in homeroom. You even wore a shiny tie clip with a little lightning bolt on it, because, quote: “It’s motivational. Like, zap! Good grades!”

Levi immediately typed “NPC energy” into his D.D.D. notes app and avoided eye contact for the first two weeks.

But then. Then. You sat next to him during demon history class, leaned over in the middle of a pop quiz, and whispered:

“I totally bombed this. You got any anime recs to cry over my failure with?”

And Levi… froze.

Because what kind of normie fails a test and then asks for anime to mourn with?

And worse, worse, what kind of normie already watched all the ones he recommended and wanted to debate the lore??

You two spent an entire lunch arguing about whether the twist in Witch Princess x Hell Blade Academy was a metaphor for generational trauma or just bad writing. You had a spreadsheet. Levi had footnotes. It was… incredible.

From that day on, he stopped avoiding you. He started anticipating you.

Because you weren’t just some cheerful honor-student wannabe you were a disaster in a tie who went full anime shonen protagonist every time you failed a quiz. You didn’t study because you were “already a failure” you studied because you wanted to make your mom proud. You didn’t eat instant noodles because you were lazy you did it because “that’s what the heroes eat when they’re struggling!”

“You’re a walking redemption arc,” Levi muttered one day, as you poured energy drink into a mug shaped like your head.

“Thanks,” you said, completely sincere. “But I’m still in the filler episodes. Just wait until my next season. Character development arc incoming.”

Levi had never met anyone who treated real life like an anime and meant it.

He tried not to get too attached. Really. But then you called him “Master of the Game Caves,” gave his streaming setup a respectful bow, and offered him a limited-edition co-op controller you’d won in a quiz raffle.

“For our destined battles,” you said dramatically.

Levi short-circuited and had to lie face-down on his beanbag for fifteen minutes.

You two became inseparable in the dumbest way possible.

You cheered for him during tournaments like he was saving the Devildom. You forced him to drink water and stretch during long raids. You lent him your study notes meticulously color-coded with stickers that said things like “YOU’RE SMART!” and “YOUR MOM LOVES YOU!” (He didn’t cry. You cried.)

And when you were spiraling when you failed a test and whispered, “I can’t even get my grades up. I’m letting her down again,” Levi didn’t give you a pep talk.

He handed you a game controller.

“This one’s hard. You’re gonna die in the first five minutes,” he said. “But if you beat it, I’ll believe in your future. And so will you.”

You blinked. Then nodded. “Okay. But we’re taking turns. Co-op style.”

So you died in the first two minutes. Screamed. Respawned. Tried again. Yelled louder.

Levi didn’t say it, but he was proud. Of your determination. Of your glitter tie. Of how hard you were trying not to give up on yourself.

You were his favorite protagonist. Just… not one from any show. You were your own series.

_____

Bonus

One day, in the middle of a peaceful afternoon gaming session, a chime rang out from Levi’s portal mirror.

“Delivery for one Y/n!” came a voice. “Special message from: MOM.”

You screamed. Levi nearly fell out of his chair. A magical hologram popped up… and there she was. Your mom. Power stance. Smiling like she’d just beaten up Satan (the biblical one and the one in The House of House of Lamentation).

“Hi sweetie!” she chirped. “Just checking in! Don’t forget to drink water, and remember: bad grades don’t make you a bad person. Also, I will fight any demon who makes you cry. Including the Avatar of Envy!”

Levi screeched. Hid under his desk.

“Ma’am I-I didn’t—! I swear I only encourage healthy coping mechanisms and gaming-as-bonding—!”

She gave him a wink. “Relax, I like you. You’re the one who got my kid into that murder mermaid show, right?”

He blinked. “You watched—?”

“I binged it twice. That betrayal arc? Devastating. Anyway—carry on! I love you! BYE!”

Pop. The magic hologram vanished.

You and Levi sat in stunned silence. Then you looked at him, pale and wide-eyed.

“She’s always like this.”

Levi stared into the middle distance. “I think I saw my life flash before my eyes. But… it had good subtitles.”

You snorted. “She likes you, you know.”

“She threatened me with love.”

“And you deserved it.”

Levi turned pink. “I… guess I kinda did.”

He didn’t admit it. But the next time you rage-quit a study session, he whispered, “Honor student arc unlocked,” and handed you a juice box.

Because if anyone was gonna power-up into greatness with friendship and drama, it was gonna be you.

Satan

Satan’s first impression of you was… confusion.

You showed up to the Devildom with the kind of energy usually reserved for teen detective novels and delinquent-turned-valedictorian anime arcs. You introduced yourself in homeroom by accidentally knocking over your desk, then immediately saluted and said, “It’s okay! I’m turning over a new leaf!”

He assumed you were a lost cause.

Then you turned around, fixed your chair, and muttered under your breath: “I’m gonna be an honor student. I swear. For Mom.”

Satan blinked. Now that... was interesting.

You had rage. You had guilt. You had potential. And worst of all, you had no idea how to direct any of it.

Satan watched you bomb your first paper because you forgot the citation format, then beg Lucifer for extra credit like your life depended on it. He watched you march into the library with fire in your eyes and twelve color-coded highlighters. He watched you punch a vending machine because it ate your study snacks and yell, “This is just like failing calculus!!” at full volume.

He was obsessed!

Not that he’d admit it.

At first, he tried to help you the normal way lending you a study guide, asking simple questions, sending notes with little corrections. But your brain was like a cat in a laser pointer factory. You got flustered easily, tried way too hard, and had exactly two settings: Determined Anime Hero or Absolutely Panicking.

“You don’t have to act like this is a battle to the death,” Satan said one afternoon, watching you stare down a pile of demon law textbooks like it had personally insulted your ancestors.

You tightened your tie. “Every quiz is a step toward redemption. A test is never just a test. It’s a challenge… for my mom’s respect.”

Satan almost dropped his cup of tea.

Because here’s the thing: he got it. The anger. The drive. The feeling that if you could just fix this one thing this one part of yourself maybe everything else would finally feel okay.

He saw the cracks under your shiny honor student dream. The way you clenched your jaw every time someone called you “surprisingly competent.” The way you nearly cried after finally getting a B+ on your magic theory quiz and then laughed it off like it was nothing.

“You’ve got something to prove,” he said one night, catching you scribbling flashcards in the library at 2 a.m. “To yourself. To your mom. To everyone who ever looked at you like you’d never get it right.”

You stared at him.

Then nodded, slow. “Yeah. But… mostly to her.”

You didn’t say who. You didn’t have to.

After that, Satan became your unofficial mentor. He pretended it was because he “hated inefficiency” and “couldn’t stand bad study habits,” but you both knew better. He liked helping you. He liked watching you improve. He liked seeing someone want to change and actually fight for it.

He made you read three books a week and quizzed you on them out loud. You nearly died of embarrassment the first time you had to summarize Dante’s Seven Rings of Infernal Logic in front of Lucifer. But you did it. And Satan beamed like a proud tutor from the shadows.

The two of you developed a language of chaos.

When you were spiraling, he’d toss you a book and say “page 74.” You’d know it meant “breathe, refocus, you’re fine.” When he was fuming after an argument with Lucifer, you’d sneak him a cookie with “FIGHT THE SYSTEM” written in frosting.

He called you a gremlin. You called him “Professor Kitty Ears.”

You got kicked out of the library once for screaming “IT’S NOT JUST A POP QUIZ, IT’S MY FUTURE.”

Satan bought you a planner that day and wrote in the front: You are more than your worst day.

You cried. He pretended not to notice.

And the best part? He never mocked your goal.

He took your desire to be an honor student as seriously as you did. He didn’t laugh when you practiced your speeches. He corrected your posture when you bowed to professors. He even helped you rehearse your “model student monologue” for the academic awards and only made fun of you a little.

“You realize your dramatic flair borders on theatrical delusion, right?”

You grinned. “Thanks! I’m working on adding background music next.”

One day, when you finally got an A on a test you’d bombed before, you sprinted into the kitchen, waving it over your head.

Satan looked up from his tea. “You did it?”

“I did it,” you said, out of breath. “I did it, and I didn’t light anything on fire this time.”

He smiled. “That’s progress.”

You weren’t perfect. You weren’t even close. But you were trying. Fighting. Changing.

And Satan, the Avatar of Wrath, respected that more than anything.

So when you asked him if demons could write letters to human moms, just to say hey, your kid’s kind of amazing, he didn’t hesitate.

He handed you a pen.

And watched you write.

_____

Bonus

Y/n had warned Satan about their mom. Stern. Proud. "Carries a slipper and the wrath of generations before her." He thought they were exaggerating. Until he saw her.

She didn’t even flinch when Satan offered his name and title. In fact, she just raised an eyebrow.

"Demon or not, if you lead my child into another mess, I’ll have your tail on my mantle."

Satan blinked. A long silence passed.

Then he smiled.

"I see where Y/n gets their spine. It’s an honor."

Surprisingly, they got along great after that. He brought her old books. She grilled him on his intentions like a commander. She didn’t fear him. And he? He found that strangely comforting.

"So, you’re the one making my child believe they're not stupid. Good. Keep doing it."

"Yes, ma’am."

And that was the moment Satan officially feared one human on Earth.

Thank you for reading! As said the others will be out soon! As always Reblogs are encouraged and loved!

[cipheramnesia]

Can I ask what the difference is between deconstruction and contempt for the genre, and how Cabin in the Woods fits into that?

Cabin in the woods is trying to deconstruct the horror movie genre, but in order to successfully perform this task, it requires understanding the genre enough to pull apart elements common across the genre, playing with the audience expectations and transforming the work into something new and interesting, both thanks to the audience re-examining expectations, and speaking to what those expectations mean and so forth. A really successful deconstruction can redefine a genre (Scream for example), or simply result in something exciting and creative, such as Lowlifes (2024). There's a bunch of approaches, but to pull in the third element, a successful deconstruction tends to make the elements of the film more engaging for an audience or for critical assessment.

So horror movies overall are a big topic, and it's not feasible to deconstruct them entirely. However, the slasher genre has a lot of easy to remember, established which makes it ripe for deconstruction (again, Scream), and the title Cabin In The Woods plus the specific details outlines at the outset confirm the film explicitly is working with the slasher (and often also "spam in a cabin") expectations. At which point the movie proceeds to introduce a flood of other genres which have nothing to do with slashers, and lands on "boring redneck zombies" as a kind of... not really related element? And fumbles its way through while leaning on the slasher elements as a crutch while surrounding it with subgenres that have no relation to the ostensibly necessary archetypes for the plot.

It's very much a Joss Whedon type of movie in that viewers can "I got that reference" their way through the entire film without ever connecting anything in a meaningful way to any element of the genre other than character types in slasher movies - which have nothing to do with movies like Hellraiser, or Aliens, or with ghost stories, or aquatic horror, or creepy pastas, or zombie movies - to name a few genres checked over the course of the movie. It wants to feel like a love letter to horror but the very overt and near total lack of genre knowledge mostly expresses contempt. It wants the "rules to survive a horror film" of Scream, but it doesn't understand why that worked for Scream. It even goes so far as to suggest the premise of the film exists on a global scale, which is insulting on so many more levels, in one broad stroke dismissing vast swathes of other cultures as interchangeable with the USAmerican slasher.

There's so much about it that falls apart at a touch, even if the entire rest of the mess is dismissed, the writing is juvenile at best, with the worst of the Wheadon style call and response gags (I hope XYZ and then O'Henry twist on XYZ happens), there isn't any real character depth or progression, the whole story is a glossy, expensive "fuck everyone" attitude being shouted out of an expensive sports car at a homeless person on the corner.

This would all be fine if it was supposed to be taken as a careless thrill ride like the Thirteen Ghosts remake, a movie without any intellectual ambitions or offerings to an audience. But it doesn't present itself that way and it has this reputation as a smart, genre savvy deconstruction of horror. Which it's not, it's a movie which wears its total contempt for horror and the audience on its sleeve. Perhaps there's no better way to illustrate this when the Killer Redneck Zombies are "chosen" and treated as a boring, disappointing choice. Which, they are. The movie knows it, the audience knows it, and the movie tells the audience right up front how lazy it's going to be.

[freyito]

How about Argenti with a GN reader that gets sick easily?

(ex: crying can cause them to get sick the next day, etc.)

✭ pairing(s): argenti x gn reader

✧ a/n: this one is really cute!! im a freak for writing my favorite goobers taking care of reader no matter the circumstances. if we couldnt tell. (GOD REACHED DOWN AND GRABBED ME BY THE THROAT AND MADE ME SICK WHICH SPURRED ME ON TO FINISH THIS FIC ((i am also fighting MAD burnout so. i apologize in advance just incase.))

✦ taglist: @fffrost, @shinysora

🗒 cw: gn reader, just fluff :3, not proofread

✎ wc: 1.7k

ꜰᴇᴀʀ ɴᴏᴛ

Argenti is used to this. Coming home to you, cuddled up in bed voice raspy and body too warm yet too cold at the same time. Even waking up to you simply feeling miserable, tugging at his arm to get you some water. He doesn’t mind it, not one bit. He has always enjoyed taking care of you, even when you didn’t need it. He doesn’t mean to coddle you, but sometimes the honor of taking care of you overwhelms him.

However, you’ve been getting sick easier lately, and it has him worried. Rather than the usual offenders (cold weather, idiots who didn’t understand what a mask was, and many such cases), all you had been doing was… working. So, why were you so miserable when Argenti came home?

You were practically trapped in bed, every time you stood up your head started spinning. Your throat felt like hell, all scratched up and painful, making your voice deeper and gravelly. It was a constant battle between you and your blankets, one minute you’re way too hot for them, the next, you couldn’t bear to be without the blanket. Ultimately, you chose to stay wrapped up in the blanket, seeing as the shivers never stopped.

When Argenti came home, he found you, quite obviously, stuck in bed, watching some cheesy romance movie you didn’t even put on. You were in and out of consciousness, letting the streaming service auto-play movies and shows. Somewhere along your little horror marathon, the algorithm lost track of the original memo and now you were stuck with some sparkly male protagonist pining after his love interest in the silliest of ways. He kinda reminded you of Argenti. Or perhaps that’s because Argenti was standing in front of the TV, in the perfect position where he was covering the MC entirely, yet the character’s aura of sparkles framed your knight perfectly. Or maybe it was Argenti himself. It was hard to tell with your fizzled out mind.

“My love! Oh, it’s happened again,” He sighs, yet his voice sounds almost ecstatic. “Have you eaten well? Drank water? Maybe some apple juice or orange juice will help?”

He prattles on about ways to make you feel better, or at least soothe the discomfort you're in, while immediately starting on chores. He doesn’t even take off his armor before he’s throwing clothes into a laundry basket. Even then, he doesn’t take long to come back to your side after throwing the clothes in the washer. He’s got a big, loveable smile on his face as he does so, resting the back of his hand on your forehead, then drifting to your cheek.

“Would you like me to draw a bath, dear? Would that help?” His voice is oh-so-gentle. You don’t have the heart to say no, even if you took one earlier. Regardless, you don’t even get to answer before he’s off once more. You cozy up in the bed for another minute as you listen to the sounds of water running in the other room, and Argenti’s muffled humming.

As much as you hated being sick, and how often you got sick, you can’t deny that Argenti’s enthusiasm helps you a little. At least mentally. The fact that he’s always been so ready to take care of you without a word of protest has been comforting. Even with all he’s been tasked with, he never seems more proud of his work than he does with you.

He comes back in all too happy, scooping you up in his arms without another word. It’s like clockwork for him, treating you like royalty in general. He does the same even if you aren’t sick, taking his time to take care of you and pamper you in any way possible, even in the domestic ways. He would do this even before dressing his wounds if he were to come back with any. Nothing stops him.

The bathroom smells of lavender, an opened bag of epsom salt on the counter. Argenti sets you on the counter with a humble smile. He leans over the bathtub, finally taking off one of his gauntlets and dipping his hand in the water to make sure it isn't too hot. He pulls his hand out and shakes off the water, before turning back to you, holding out his hand to help you off the counter.

He begins to take off your clothes, gently and reverently. There are no lingering touches, no traces of embarrassment as he does so. Once you are naked, he presses a kiss to your forehead and ushers you into the bath. You settle in nicely, the warm water a balm against your skin. Though you were sweaty and so damn hot, it felt infinitely better. You don't know what made this bath feel so much better than the one that you took, but you simply chalked it up to Argenti’s making.

You sink deeper into the bath, til the water is up to your chin. You close your eyes and take a deep breath, the steam helping to clear your nostrils. For once it feels like you can breathe, and lord, is it heavenly. Sure, the scratch in your throat is still there, but it doesn’t feel as significantly damning as it did before. You feel yourself relax, the fuzziness in your head lessening. You can’t help but let out a groan of satisfaction as you allow the water to wash away your woes, or what it could, at least.

It was so comfy that you could practically fall asleep in the bath, running your fingers over the texture of the bottom of the bath just to keep yourself awake as you fight your own consciousness.

“May I come in?” Argenti’s voice breaks you out of your drowsiness, and you catch a glimpse of his hair through a very small crack in the door. You give him a groggy ‘yes’, and he walks back in with a clean pair of clothes for you. He sets them on the counter, before kneeling down next to you in the tub. “I changed the sheets on the bed for you, and the blanket is in the dryer…”

“Mh, thank you,” You mutter, closing your eyes as he places his hand on the top of your head.

“Can I ask what you’ve been doing lately?” His voice holds concern, head tilting to the side.

“Not much,” You shake your head, opening your eyes and looking up at him. You notice now that he has finally shed his armor, wearing nothing but a simple black t-shirt (that fits his body too well), and some sweats. “Just working…”

“I’ve noticed you were working more hours than you’re usually scheduled recently,” He hums, leaning back and taking his hand away from your head. You can’t help but chase after it for a second, sitting back up in the tub. “Perhaps you are working too hard, my dear.”

It is a possibility. Not that you’d mention it. Yes, it’s been a stressful couple of weeks at work, and you swore you had gotten through with it. You did feel like you were working a lot more, but c’mon, you got sick from anything. It couldn’t have been stress, could it? Perhaps you just ran into someone who was sick while working one of your shifts…

Argenti chuckles at your reluctance to admit it, and shakes his head. “It’s alright. I assume it can stay a mystery,” He then stands up, leaning over you once more. “Come on. I don’t want you to prune up in there.”

You groan, yet reach out for his hands, standing up and out of the tub. You’ve never felt so much grief for leaving a bath, though the water was starting to cool down. And while your throat, head, and nose feel better, you can feel the sickness fighting back. You let out an ‘ugh’, unprompted, and Argenti gives you another concerned look, before grabbing a towel and drying you down. He’s a lot quicker this time, though doesn’t neglect to show you the same amount of love as he always has done. Once you are dry, he hastily dresses you, turns around to drain the tub, then picks you up once more.

You groan, yet reach out for his hands, standing up and out of the tub. You’ve never felt so much grief for leaving a bath, though the water was starting to cool down. And while your throat, head, and nose feel better, you can feel the sickness fighting back. You let out an ‘ugh’, unprompted, and Argenti gives you another concerned look, before grabbing a towel and drying you down. He’s a lot quicker this time, though doesn’t neglect to show you the same amount of love as he always has done. Once you are dry, he hastily dresses you, turns around to drain the tub, then picks you up once more.

The bed dips next to you as Argenti climbs in, shuffling closer to you. Then, even closer, throwing his arm around you and pressing a kiss to your forehead, then, after a pause, to your nose, your cheek, then your mouth.

“Stoopppp…” You grumble, pulling your head away weakly. “You’re gonna get siiick…”

“A sacrifice I’m willing to make,” Argenti jokes, placing his hand on the back of your head and tucking it into his chest.

You two stay like that for a while, his fingers fidgeting with your hair as you fall in and out of consciousness once more, languidly stretching an arm over him like he was your teddy bear. Then your leg, to get more comfortable. He stays trapped beneath you, simply watching as you finally end up falling asleep for the upteenth time today. He himself cannot find sleep, too enraptured by the sleeping beauty in his arms, though disheveled and snotty.

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[physalian]

“Why doesn’t the villain just kill the heroes?”

Ah, plot armor. If you want to be a real go-getter and think up a more creative way for the heroes to always narrowly escape death out of sheer dumb luck, the villain being too slow on the draw, or the villain simply not thinking of it in the moment, you have to come up with a reason for why the villain doesn’t just kill the hero.

Four examples today.

1. Zhao & Aang

In “The Blue Spirit,” Aang is captured by Zhao, a man normally not above anything to further his agenda, including murder. The Avatar is the largest obstacle in his way, second to the Earth Kingdom, and all he has to do to take Aang off the gameboard is to kill a twelve-year-old. He’s got Aang in chains, not quite powerless but harmless enough, and could do it quickly.

So why doesn’t he? Per Zhao himself, if he kills Aang, the Avatar cycle will continue, born into some random water bender that may take them years to track down. Sure, they’ll be harmless for a few years and the Fire Nation might get lucky and find them easily, perhaps even sway the new one to their side, but what if the waterbending Avatar is born into the Foggy Swamp? Or they end up having to kill them, too, and then have to track down an earthbending Avtar across the entire Earth Kingdom? Does Zhao really want to take that chance when he can just keep Aang alive? Just barely?

Of course not.

Killing the hero in this case might stop the immediate threat, but it will just delay the inevitable, thus it’s in the villain’s best interest to exploit a loophole while likely committing war crimes in the process. He gets to secure a Fire Nation victory and make Aang suffer for the rest of his life.

Ozai doesn't kill Aang until the first chance he gets, which just so happens to be the series finale. And we all know why Aang has a no-kill policy.

2. Sam, Dean & The Angels and Demons

Hahaha it’s the show known for its refusal to kill its heroes. We’re gonna ignore everything past season 5. There’s obviously meta reasons—kill the main characters and you have zero supporting cast that could realistically take over the show.

But in season 4, despite multiple deaths already for both of them, so begins the “if you die we’ll just bring you back” threat, because they’re angels and angels can do that. Similar to Aang, Sam and Dean risk a fate far worse than death if they don’t cooperate with Zachariah’s plans. He happily gives them both a slew of diseases and illnesses to get his way whenever he gets the chance and reminds them both that if they just kill themselves to escape the Apocalypse, he’ll happily revive them. The Demons won't kill Sam and Dean because they're necessary to further their own plans by breaking certain seals on Lucifer's cage, though they're not above breaking bones and killing bystanders.

Fate worse than death is a popular threat, but usually the heroes offing themselves is still a viable, if deeply unpopular, option. Supernatural removes it entirely and for such a simple little detail, it does a lot to make their survivability believable.

3. Batman & Joker

Ahh the age old furious rant by people who don’t understand Batman: If Batman killed his villains they’d stop busting out of Arkham and murdering innocent civilians, Batman has so much blood on his hands—

Babe. Babe, he’s a comic book character. By his very nature, he can’t kill his villains otherwise he’d have no rogues gallery. Comic books are like a giant board of Monopoly, going around in circles and occasionally having a timeout in jail.

But the in universe reason there’s no killing has been essayed about extensively and so has why Joker doesn’t try harder to kill him, but I couldn’t not include these two. Batman does not kill because he is not judge, jury, and executioner of his villains, most of whom have mental health issues and while they certainly know better and their crimes aren’t justified, his villains need actual therapy and help and medication, not death. Even those who he might agree must be stopped and there’s no other way except murder, Batman himself will not be the one to pull the trigger. He must remain a hero, so that no matter who he comes across in the dark alleyways of Gotham, they know he’s not here to kill them, be it criminal or victim.

Joker doesn’t kill Batman for a much simpler reason, and Heath Ledger literally says it: “I won’t kill you because you’re too much fun.” He does not need a more convoluted reason, he enjoys the game, the chase, the tug of war (most versions of him, at least) and to kill Batman would be to end his greatest form of entertainment, and the only person probably in the whole world who is neither afraid of Joker nor dismissive of him as simply a freak.

4. Optimus and Megatron

Optimus Prime and Megatron are very similar to Batman and Joker but with literal eons of history between them. In most serialized Transformers media, as opposed to movies where the plot is more urgent, Megatron both wants to win Optimus over and just can't quite let himself finally win. Who is he without his rival, after all this time?

Optimus is in the same boat, refusing to kill him because he's still holding out hope for Megatron's redemption, that there's a peaceful way to end this war (no matter how much collateral both leaders end up causing). Shit gets real whenever Optimus breaks the unspoken rules of their no-kill rivalry and Megatron gets incredibly pissy about it because he's in love.

—

Suggestions to workshop this plot hole in your own narrative:

The hero staying alive is absolutely paramount to the villain’s plan (in which case, you have to have rock solid reasons for why they keep narrowly escaping capture)

The villain is so confident in their plan that they don’t even consider the hero a proper threat

The villain doesn't really have a bodycount, but if they kill the hero, suddenly all the other powers that be will take them seriously and they'll have a huge mess on their hands

The villain is so full of themselves or so in love with their rival that it’d break their heart to have to kill them just to win

The villain is simply not capable of murder either physically or morally (perhaps because the hero is a child)

Killing the hero would make them a martyr and the villain would end up with a far bigger mess on their hands when the lone hero is replaced with an avenging army

The villain is too proud to simply kill the hero and wants to win fairly in a proper fight on the battlefield and not take the cheap and easy shot

The villain does not have a phyiscal form or real presence in the plot, acting through their minions, and their minions are incompetent

It’s simply not fun if the hero dies/the hero is the only one who understands them and they’d lose far more than they’d gain by killing them

The villain still wants to try and win the hero over and is so dedicated to this path that they regularly sabotage their own plans desperate to change the hero’s mind

The villain firmly believes in a fate worse than death and while the hero’s survival isn’t crucial to the main plan, they want the hero to watch their own failure/become the villain’s minion/ prisoner/ partner by the end

There’s a million examples out there to pull from and I could keep listing them all night. So long as whatever it is doesn’t come out of nowhere or open a plot hole of “why didn’t they just do that earlier?” you can get quite creative.

One last example that’s a personal favorite of mine to implement: In Eternal Night of the Northern Sky there aren’t too many opportunities to ask this question, but when it does arise, Villain A has Hero B as a meat shield, and while Hero B’s love interest, Hero C, is more than happy to shoot through them to incapacitate Villain A, the person they take orders from isn’t so reckless, which later leads to Drama and Issues.

[topazadine]

Okay, okay, here's perhaps my spiciest and most controversial take yet.

Now, before I even say anything, please note that I am talking specifically about fantasy. Not retellings of myths, not historical fiction set in different countries, nothing like that. This is for second-world fantasy, where you're creating a whole different world.

Ready?

Stop making everything so damn complicated!

This is not to say that you can't have a rich and exciting world filled with lore, religion, different societies, traditions, unique geographies. Not that. Of course we want that: it's the whole reason we read fantasy. I'm talking about something else.

This is my simple takedown, and you can read the rest to better understand what I mean:

Stop jamming your story with five billion weird words.

Don't use super complicated nouns.

Keep the characters to a minimum so we can know and like them.

Don't yammer on about all the backstory.

Stop making readers do homework just to understand things.

Focus on the feeling a story gives instead of the intricate worldbuilding.

And lastly, a pre-emptive note to those who are putting their hackles up and telling me why they are an exception.

Why is it important to keep things simple?

A lot of people shy away from fantasy because they assume that every fantasy story is going to be so complicated that their head will hurt. Not in terms of plot - many people like complicated plots - but in terms of terminology and history. Things that ultimately don't really matter to the plot.

We as writers often assume that everyone cares about our story as much as we do and is equally captivated by every detail. This is simply not true.

To your reader, your story is not their life's work: it is entertainment that they want to be able to enjoy at their leisure. It's a distraction from their difficult lives and all their real-world frustrations. If they get really into it and, say, write fanfic or whatever, that's amazing! But they're not likely to do that if they feel like they'll be jumped on for doing something wrong or that they have to include every single little detail.

For example, I wrote over 1 million words of Touken Ranbu fanfic. Touken Ranbu, at its heart, has a very simple premise: you've got a bunch of legendary swords that were turned into hot men and fight evil time-traveling monsters. You can understand it with just that. There are layers to it, though, that you can slowly untangle. That makes for good writing because it works on multiple levels depending on how much you care about it.

I would have given up on the story if I felt like I needed a dictionary just to understand the plot. Most people would. Language needs to be accessible and premises need to be clear, or no one is going to want to go deeper.

Subtle little details that people can pick up are way more enjoyable than tossing every single factoid at people so that they feel overwhelmed and can't think. It's wonderful to have rich layers of symbolism, mythology, etc. That's excellent. But you can only get people to care about those things if they can actually comprehend your damn story.

A lot of the things that turn people off from fantasy are all about a writer's ego, and it oozes through the work. People can tell that you're wanting them to pat you on the back for putting so much shit in your story. It's annoying and a total turn-off when you make readers work so hard to comprehend what you're saying.

So what exactly am I talking about? This.

Using made-up terms for everything that could easily be explained with a normal English word

When I am writing fantasy, I imagine myself as a translator. After all, my made-up societies have their own made-up language (Seinish) that is referenced a few times.

However, I'm not using Seinish words all the time. I'm writing in English. I didn't write out a Seinish dictionary or even come up with most of the terms because, honestly? Most readers don't care. They want to understand what's going on in as simple of terms as possible, with only a few specific terms that remind us that we're somewhere different.

I may use some specialized terminology, but it's always couched in context clues that make us aware of what it is without actually having to just say "sdlkjfslkdjf, also known as a marketplace."

For example, in The Eirenic Verses, the High Poet Society has religious centers called meronyms. (Which actually isn't a made-up word.) We know they're religious centers because we see all the religious leaders living there. Someone sees the term "meronym" and goes "oh yeah, that's the religious place" and moves on.

It's one of the only confusing, specialized terms in the book other than place names, which people expect whenever they're reading fantasy. Because of that, it stands out and is easy to remember. It's not one of 1029310283012830132 different terms someone has to remember in order to follow along.

Even Tolkien, famed for literally writing an entire extra book full of lore for his stories, doesn't really use that much specialized terminology except for place names. My favorite author, China Mieville, only uses specialized terminology for things that have absolutely no basis in our reality and that can't be explained otherwise. And he's an extremely eloquent guy who uses the weirdest words possible whenever he can. If he can write a book that's mostly comprehensible without a cheat sheet, you can too.

If there is an English term for what you are trying to explain, just use that, for the love of god. The point of writing a story is not to show how smart and special you are: it is to tell a story. You need to remove as many barriers to access as possible.

Things that get a pass and can be made up most, if not all, of the time:

Place names (as in specific places, not categories of things)

Peoples' names

Languages

Species that don't exist in our world

Modes of transportation that don't exist in our world

Magic that can't be explained in any other way

Technology that can't be defined by our language

Look, if you have an animal that is basically a dragon, just call it a dragon. If you've got a wheeled carriage, call it a carriage. Call earth magic something based in earth terms, like "terravitae" or something, idk. There should be some connection to our world in your terminology because you are writing this in English for an English-speaking audience.

It doesn't make you a lazy writer, it makes you one that wants people to understand what you're talking about. Again, imagining yourself as a translator is a good way to keep yourself from going ham on the nouns.

Proper nouns that are way too complicated

Let's look at some well-known proper nouns from fantasy.

Middle Earth

Narnia

Earthsea

Discworld

Westeros

Ankh-Morpork

Bas-Lag

Wonderland

They're all ... simple. They're not a million syllables with weird intonations and accents and all that. If you showed this to a medieval peasant, they'd probably be able to pronounce them and would likely understand that they were place names.

Unless there's a good reason to have a weird name, don't use one. Come up with something simpler.

All of these I mentioned are three syllables or less, making them easier to remember. In fact, I'd argue that nearly every proper noun in your book should be no more than three syllables. Maybe one or two four-syllable ones.

Any very weird name should be balanced out by several easier ones so that it stands out.

40 million characters

Younger writers often want their world to feel very lived in, so they introduce dozens of characters with their own names, descriptions, backstories, etc etc etc. The problem is that this is a huge mental load on your reader, especially if a lot of the characters have very similar names. It makes reading your stuff into a chore rather than an enjoyable experience.

Now, some literary greats do have a lot of characters. But they get away with it because they're great.

I'm not great, so I don't do that.

I'd also suggest that you don't do that, regardless of how good you think you are.

To see if you have too many chracters, write out a dramatis personnae and rank it in terms of importance. Does your top tier have like 15 characters? Cut some. Figure out where they are in the story and if they don't exist for more than a few pages, delete them. Absorb them into someone else.

If a character is only in one scene, don't bother naming them. They don't matter enough. This reduces the cognitive load for your reader because they can see that character for what they are: a background person who exists only briefly.

Any time you name a character, they need to have deep plot relevance. The more unusual your character's name, the more important they should be. And they should have some sort of relationship to another character, preferably the main character. Otherwise, why are they there? Why do we care? Go away!

Way too much backstory

I am an adult and my brain is filled with 50 million other things. I have to remember stuff for my job, I have a to-do list, I have family I care about who needs me.

Your story is not the end-all be-all of my existence. Hell, my story is not the end-all be-all of my existence either. I want to be able to pick up your book, understand what's going on, and then delve a bit deeper or even make up my own headcanons.

I do not need the entirety of your story's world thrown at me right off the bat. It is overwhelming and tiring. Imagine if you visited a different country and someone immediately came up to you and started spewing the whole history of the country right after you stepped off the plane. That's what you're doing to your readers!

Think also about how you approach your everyday world. Do you reel off a million facts about your personal history the instant you meet someone? No, of course not. It'd be weird and creepy.

Are you constantly recalling facts about your city while walking down the street? Do you even know any major facts about your city? You probably know a few little trivia points and that's it. Because it's not relevant to you, and it's not relevant to your readers, either. I can't recall off the top of my head when Cleveland was settled, but I can tell you that we have the world's first Dunkleosteus fossil in our museum, because that is interesting to me. That's the kind of thing that makes a place feel lived-in, not four hundred thousand pages of exposition about the place's history.

Give your readers time to settle in, and reveal things slowly as they make sense. Maybe we hear a little bit about the country's government as they pass a parliament house, or because they have to visit the city center for a different reason. If it's not pertinent to the current scene, then don't put it there.

I've got tons of lore for my world. Some of it may be referenced one singular time, and some of it may be never referenced at all. That's okay, because it's just for me to get a better sense of the place I created. If a reader doesn't need it, then I don't bother putting it in, because it might detract from their enjoyment.

Overall: stop making your readers do homework!

We do not want our readers to feel like they are working when they are reading our stuff. Excellent writers can infuse deep themes and symbology into their stories without making it feel like work. These are the writers who are remembered forever, because not only have they made a good story that you can enjoy at a surface level, but they have also twined in deeper themes that you can dive into after you've digested the story.

I did my undergrad in British literature, so I read a lot of Shakespeare and contemporaneous authors. Shakespeare is considered complicated by modern standards because of the Elizabethan language, but if you translated it into modern terms, his stories are simple. People betray each other and stab each other, or fuck each other, or get transported to weird magical worlds.

You could watch a Shakespeare play and think absolutely nothing of the themes, but still enjoy the story. You could know absolutely nothing about Greek history and still get the gist.

This is because Shakespeare specifically wrote his plays to appeal to a mass audience. He was a god-tier author when it came to balancing symbology and plot. To be like Shakespeare, be simple. Remember that your reader does. not. really. care. all that much. They don't.

It's very unlikely that your writing is going to become someone's life's work and they're going to spend their whole existence studying. Cool if true, but unlikely.

Your job is to make a story that people like and want to read. Only when you've gotten people liking and reading do you get permission to go ham with the backstory and the characterization and the weird names, because they trust you to create a story that they will like. Otherwise, your primary objective is making people feel things so they want to feel more things and read more stories.

People care more about how a story makes them feel than the specifics

Yes, of course there are outliers to this who really want every single detail of the world, but those are few and far between. You should not tailor your story to these exceptions. Think about the average everyday person.

I have many books that I love, but I can't tell you everything about them now. I can, however, tell you how I felt when I was reading them: the plot twists that made me gasp, the thing that made me cry. I can give you a general, sweeping impression of whether I liked or disliked the story and what made me feel something. This is what people recommend books based on: how they felt.

Your story should focus on the plot and the emotion. People watch movies, listen to music, read books, or look at art to feel something, not to memorize factoids for later usage. Even if they do want to memorize factoids, they won't do that if they haven't built an emotional connection to the story.

While in life, we want facts over feelings, it's opposite in creative writing. We want feelings over facts. The emotional resonance, the mood, the characters, the plot: that is what is important, not showing off how smart you are and how much you have thought about your story.

"But Topazadine, I am special and different! I'm not going to follow your advice."

Sure. Go ahead. I can't stop you. If you want to have a million characters and an entire dictionary to explain everything, that is your choice.

No one can tell you how to write; my advice is just advice.

If you don't like what I have said here, then feel free to ignore it. You don't need to justify it to me or anyone else.

However, you must recognize that this may not resonate with readers. It will turn people off.

I'm not a completionist, and neither are many others; they'll roll their eyes and click out when they are faced with ten pages of character names upfront.

Of course you should always write for yourself first, but if you are planning to write fiction for any level of commercial appeal and you intend to make any amount of money on your work, then audience does matter. If you want kudos or comments on your AU, audience matters. You won't get engagement if you are alienating people.

Your writing decisions are always your own and no one can demand you do something different. You just need to decide whether your personal satisfaction in writing your story in a certain way outweighs your desire for validation, and, perhaps, money. I can't tell you the answer for that; it's up to you.

If you enjoyed this, maybe you'll consider reading my fantasy book, 9 Years Yearning, which does not have 121238103 characters and 3230123 strange words. It does, however, have double-tsundere-mutual-pining-gay-boy-awakening. And horses. It's also just $3.

[risswirly]

Frayed Edges

SYNOPSIS: The plan was to attend a vortex party to get your mind off the argument you'd had with Warren, but things take a turn when he unexpectedly shows up, begging to talk to you GENRE: Angst and fluff NOTE: It's a bit out of character I can't lie but I just rlly wanted to write something with a bit more conflict T^T (Song inspo: No. 1 Party Anthem, Arctic Monkeys) WORD COUNT: 3.4k

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Typically, this would be the last place you'd want to be. The smell of alcohol, weed and impulse hangs thick in the air as blasting music numbs your eardrums. You'd only gone to a few Vortex club parties in the past and it seemed they never got any less wild. Somehow, your friends' promises of "it'll be fun", "it'll make you feel better", and reassurance to stick with you the whole night successfully got you to come, although, after only a few drinks, she was now nowhere in sight.

You make your way into the kitchen, deciding that if you had to be stuck here until she reappeared, you would at least spend that time drunk. Grabbing and filling a red plastic cup, you gulp down a glass of punch. You wince at the unexpectedly strong concentration of vodka, which you probably should've seen coming.

Perhaps this party wouldn't be so bad, you reconsidered, filling your cup again. Just a few more drinks and you could actually see yourself having a good time, dancing to the music, catching up with people, and.. maybe even meeting someone?

You immediately feel your heart grow heavy as you remind yourself why your friend had thought it would be a good idea for you to come. You chug down another cup.

It had been about two weeks since you last spoke to Warren, no calls, no texts and most certainly no face-to-face interactions, simply spotting him in the hall was enough to make you feel sick to the stomach. It was nauseating how quickly someone you once needed to breathe could make you feel like you were suffocating. The worst part was you really did miss him. His smile, his corny references you didn't understand half the time, his hand on the gear shift in his car, the feeling of his fingertips tracing your-

You shut your eyes tight and knock back your head, letting the alcohol fill your system. What was this, your 5th drink? If it could make you forget for just one night, it was good enough, was all you thought as you stumble to refill the cup. For the first night in two weeks, you wouldn't question your self-worth, you decided tonight would be your night.

You crush the plastic cup in your hands and throw it into the bin with a newfound determination coursing through your veins as you make your way toward the music. The living room is swimming with people, music blaring from a makeshift DJ booth at the front of the room, and coloured lights flicker and illuminate the blurry crowd of dancing students.

You make your way to the dance floor and begin to move along to the music. Although you start a little awkwardly, over the next hour you gradually feel the warmth and haziness from the alcohol engulf you, feeling the thudding of the bass sync with your heart as you become more and more confident.

In your dancing you suddenly notice the empty coffee table that's situated in the middle of the room right next to you. In a moment of impulsivity, you hoist yourself up on top. You wobble a little at the sudden movement, but looking out over the crowd, the world feels like your oyster. You giggle to yourself as you sway your hips drunkenly, trailing your hands over your body and through your hair, showing off, even winking at a cute guy in the crowd, feeling like the hottest girl alive.

You close your eyes as you dance, and the room feels electric, everyone staring at you, cheering, dancing along to your rhythm, their cameras flashing as you feel the best you have in two weeks. You reopen your eyes and feel your breath hitch in your throat, in the corner of the room, standing with a drink, you spot Warren, his gaze fixated on the same thing as everyone else's: you.

You feel your heart begin to pound, now wanting nothing more than to disappear. You quickly try to step off the table, but the crowd of tightly packed bodies gives you no room to escape. You feel as if you're about to throw up and try your best not to panic, looking for an exit from being the centre of attention.

Among the sea of faceless people, you see a hand extending toward you. You look and see it's the guy you had winked at before reaching to help you. You grab his hand and sigh in relief as he pulls you down from the table, holding you steady as you stumble out of the crowd. You look back to try and spot Warren but can't see him through the dancing mass of students. "Woah, you are totally gone", he chuckles as he leads you away from the lounge room. "Yeah, that was the idea", you mumble, holding your head in your palm as he brings you back towards the kitchen.

You lean against the counter and contemplate every decision you've ever made. Why the fuck was he here? Warren never came to these kinds of events, so why, of all nights, did he come here? Tonight? You groan into your hands and feel like crying. "Hey, this might help" You feel a hand on your back and, upon uncovering your face, are greeted with a glass of water. "Thanks", you mutter before taking a sip. Now in the better-lit kitchen you could get a decent look at this guy. It would be a lie to say he wasn't good-looking and he had been considerate enough to help you out, but the thought of Warren just a few rooms away gnawed at you.

He leans his hip on the counter, facing you with crossed arms. "I, uh, saw you wink at me during your little moment" he grins coyly. You bury your face in your palms once again as you remember, "Fuck. I did, didn't I?" You groan, questioning if Warren had seen that or not. "Yeah, you seem pretty wasted" " he chuckles before unashamedly looking you up and down, "How 'bout we ditch this place huh?" he suggests, an eagerness lacing his voice. You shut your eyes and curse your previous spark of confidence under your breath, now being faced with the chore of turning this guy down. "Like you said, I'm pretty drunk and I'm actually waiting for my friend so.." you manage to stammer as you slowly take a step back. "Oh come on. We'll be done before she even realises you're gone," He insists with a smirk, taking a step toward you.

You try taking another step back, but something blocks you. You let out a small gasp and your body shudders as you feel a hand trail its way from your lower back to your hip. You don't even need to turn around to know who the hand belongs to. "She's with me." Warren's voice is sombre and harsh as he glares at the boy who uncrosses his arms and laughs, "Excuse me?" he asks, raising an eyebrow. "I said she's with me, so back the fuck off", Warren repeats, tightening his grip on your waist, pulling you closer to him.

You look up at him and your heart stops as you realise how close his face is to yours. You notice the definition in his jaw as he clenches his teeth, eyes narrowed as he shoots daggers into the guy standing in front of you both. Warren was far from intimidating, but in this moment, all traces of his unserious and lighthearted self disappeared. The boy chuckles and brings his gaze back to you, a sceptical look on his face as if to say, 'no way he's serious'. You let out a shaky breath and reluctantly nod your head, facing Warren would be better than leaving with this guy. He scoffs and looks over your one last time before putting his hands up in surrender with a shrug, "Whatever, bitch", he mutters as he turns and leaves.

You let out a sigh and take an unsteady step away from Warren, his hand slipping from your waist. You now stand before him, barely able to look him in the eyes, "What the fuck was that?" you ask, your voice laced with more anger than intended. Warren shakes his head confused "Excuse me? That was me helping you", he states as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Oh, thank you Warren, my night in shining armour. Please. do you want a medal?" You snap back. His eyes fill with hurt as you mock him, he takes a shaky breath, "(Y/n) please, I just want to talk. I want to fix this" he pleads. Your throat tightens hearing the ache in his voice and you immediately regret drinking so much earlier, wishing you weren't so intoxicated right now. You sigh, "I'm still here aren't I?" You roll your eyes. You see his gaze soften as you agree to talk but the anxious look in his eyes quickly returns, "Not here", he insists as he looks around at the other people in the room.

Before you can say anything, he takes your hand and begins leading you through the house, taking you upstairs and into a bathroom far from the main action of the party, although you can still hear the music and chattering faintly. The two of you stand alone in the dim light, thoughts racing and hearts pounding, the millions of things you've wanted to say and yell and ask him over the past 2 weeks seem to escape your mind. His eyes gaze over you, taking in every feature and curve of your face as he stands in front of you, breathless. You take a small step back and he snaps back to reality, "S-sorry. I just.. haven't seen you in so long", he mutters apologetically. "Well, you wanted to talk? So talk" You murmur, your tone not so harsh now that it's just the two of you.

He anxiously rubs the back of his neck, clearly nervous, "I don't even know where to start", he whispers quietly. "What you said to me two weeks ago might be a good start" " you reply, a tang of bitterness still in your tone. He places a palm on his forehead, "That stupid argument", he groans painfully.

Your brows furrow, "Stupid?" you echo his words, the anger in your voice raising with your temper. He shakes his head "No- no, that's not what I meant" he tries to correct himself, clearly frustrated.

You turn your back to him trying to hide the pain in your face, "I gave you my ALL, Warren. Every part of me and you just.. it didn't mean anything to you. Do you know how much that hurts? But no, you're right, it's just stupid" You spit back, the alcohol from earlier making it hard to control the shake in your voice.

He takes a hesitant step toward you, wanting nothing more than to reach out and comfort you, but he refrains. "(y/n).. You know that's not what I meant-" he pleads. "Really? Do I know? I thought I knew two weeks ago too, but clearly, I was wrong" Your scolding sounds more like a sob as your emotions bubble over. "I never meant to hurt you", He whispers just loud enough for you to hear.

You take a shaky breath trying with all your might to stop the tears that sting your eyes. You turn and face him, "No, Warren, you don't get to play the intention card. I asked you what we were, what I meant to you and you couldn't even give me an answer. Months of sneaking around and keeping things a secret, I couldn't take it anymore. I want more, Warren. I want us. I want real, genuine love, not this friends-with-benefits bullshit!" You step toward him and point a finger into his chest, "You knew how I felt, and you knew you didn't feel the same. You knew how this would end, but you kept leading me on.. and you wanna say you 'didn't mean to hurt me'?" You sob, feeling the tears roll down your cheeks and onto the cold tile.

He stands with his mouth agape, unbreathing, still and completely silent as he takes in what you said. He inhales shakily before speaking. "Is that what you thought I meant?" he breaths. His question is genuine. You hear the anguish and guilt in his voice as his face melts into despair. Seeing you cry, his hesitancy instinctively disappears, and he begins to comfort you, with one hand, he softly holds your shoulder, placing the other on your cheek, gently wiping your tears with his thumb. "No, no, (y/n)... You can't seriously think that's how I felt, please.." His begs, utterly crushed.

You continue to cry, giving up on holding it in anymore, "'I don't know', that's the only answer you could give me Warren. Do you know how much it hurts to hear someone you've loved for so long tell you they don't know what you are to them ?" You break down into tears, taking his wrists and weakly trying to pull his hands away as you sob. He continues to wipe your cheeks despite your protest "I couldn't even think straight that day. I was scared out of my mind-" You cut him off, "You think I wasn't scared?" You cry, pushing his hand away forcefully

He shakes his head in distress, "No (y/n), that's not what I meant! You have it all wrong!" His retorts back exasperated. His voice is raised, not by a lot, but just enough to get you to stop interrupting him and hear what he has to say.

"God. I feel like everything I say is being misunderstood or comes out wrong!" He holds his head in his hands, taking a step back to breathe. "You think I don't also want more? I want to be so much more. I want to be more than just friends with benefits, I want to be more than just casual hookups, I want to be more than whatever the fuck we were before. That day, in your room, when you asked me what you meant to me, I froze, okay? My brain shut down and I went into panic mode and all I could say was 'I don't know' over and over because in all honesty, I don't know how to even begin explaining just how much you mean to me."

He goes quiet as he calms down and takes a deep breath before continuing, "That day, I was scared if I told you how I really felt you'd get freaked out and I'd end up fucking it all up and losing you. But I lost you anyways.. and on top of that I ended up hurting you."

He rubs the nape of his neck nervously leaning his head back as he finally confronts his feelings, "I've never felt this way about anyone and I don't know how to deal with it. Every time I see you I feel like I'm going insane. You have no idea how much of an effect you have on me."

He rubs his hands across his face restlessly, "These past two weeks without you have been absolute torture- I only came to this stupid party because I hoped that by some miracle you'd also be here and I'd see you. I knew I had to fix this because.. I'd never forgive myself for being stupid enough to lose the person that means the most to me." His breathing is fast as his heart beats out of his chest as he finally opens up to you about how he truly feels, something he's been too afraid to face for so long.

He places both his hands on your shoulders and looks deep into your soul, his eyes filled with longing and need, " I want us more than I've wanted anything else in my whole life.. Please"

You stand in shock, unable to speak. You look at him, instead of the heartless villain you'd convinced yourself he was, you see the boy you'd fallen in love with, vulnerable and honest, giving you his heart. You realise that all this time you'd let your anxieties manifest and cloud your vision, that all along you were just two teenagers in love too scared to admit what you felt. You see the desperation in Warren's eyes as he tries to fix the mistakes he's made, and you feel yourself melt from the inside out. You nod softly as you lean into him.

He wraps his arms around you, holding you close as he gently pats your head, letting you cry into his shoulder. He buries his face in your hair, breathing you in as he squeezes you tighter. You feel him exhale shakily as he holds you, the tension and anxiety slowly dissolving from his body as he grasps the fact you're in his arms again. "I really thought I'd lost you", he quietly whispers into your neck, you hear the tears in his voice as he brings you closer.

You grasp the fabric of his shirt tightly as you finally embrace him after weeks apart. "I missed you so much" " you mutter as you close your eyes and feel his warmth blanket you. He caresses your head softly, "I'm not going anywhere", he reassures you.

You pull away slightly and look him in his eyes. You see his cheeks are wet from his tears and he looks away embarrassed. You softly cup his jaw, pulling him to face you again and begin to gently wipe his cheeks dry. He looks at you through heavy eyelids as he leans into your touch. He places his hand over yours, "I want to be official this time." he says nervously. He pauses and takes a deep breath as he swallows his fears, "(y/n) would you.. be my girlfriend?" his words are quiet and nervous as the questions hangs in the silence between you.

Time stops as you hear the words leave his mouth and you feel his heart pounding through his chest. Your mouth falls open, and your eyes widen as you feel your own heart explode. As the words register in your mind your eyes soften and you smile back at him softly, "I'd love nothing more" you whisper just loud enough for him to hear. You watch as the worry leaves his face as he takes a deep breath and he smiles back at you tenderly.

He slowly brings a hand to your jaw and leans in as you close your eyes you stand on your toes. He erases the gap between you, kissing you gently. He breathes you in, missing every part of you as he's reminded of how addicting you are. "No more secrecy, no more hiding" He continues kissing you as he talks "I want everyone in this town to know I'm yours" " he mutters into your lips, his words muffled by his kisses. You giggle at his eagerness as you kiss him back, "I like the sound of that".

As you laugh you suddenly hear a familiar voice from outside "(Y/n) are you in there?!" you hear your friend call drunkenly from outside the door. You and Warren both become paralysed, your attention snaps toward the world outside the bathroom as you hear her open the door without warning. "(Y/n)! Guess what! Apparently Warren is here tonight an-" she freezes in her tracks, eyes wide and jaw on the floor seeing the two of you in a heated embrace, his hands on your lower back and your fingers in his hair. She blinks in shock before speaking, "Oh, hi Warren..." She says awkwardly, glancing at you with a look that screams 1000 words before she begins to back away. "Okay, I'm just gonna..." she trails off as she closes the door, leaving the two of you alone again.

You stand in silence for a moment, still looking at the door before you burst out into laughter. "Oh my god, I have so much explaining to do", you groan as you lean your head on Warrens chest. He chuckles at your embarrassment, "It'll be okay",  he reassures you as he pats your back, still holding you tenderly. You look up at him, "Yeah, it'll be okay", you echo back. He looks at you, eyes filled with warmth and affection. He was right, it would be okay, because right now in his warm embrace, nothing had ever felt more right.

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[ninja-confession-go]

I'm not here to start any arguments really as I'm sure there has been plenty I'm just here to share a bit of the whole ""#jayinwomenfields"" stuff cuz I think I may be able to explain it in a way that non Jay fans can understand as a non Jay fan myself who kinda agrees with them

As someone who's has at least been an og watcher of the show I honestly don't blame Jay fans for believe that Jay revoles entirely around Nya cuz the show doesn't do a good job showing otherwise

Liek Jay from the beginning was infatuated with Nya and as such so many of his actions were made to impress her

His biggest(and honestly only cuz I do NOT count Prime Emprie) arc that led to the most development for him was entirely brought in by his desire to get Nya back. Sure it wasn't the only focus and it wasn't the only thing in that season that led for Jay to change but their relationship WAS the catalyst for everything that followed and was even the catalyst for the conclusion(it was due to Nya dying that Jay was able to find the correct words to resolve everything)

And then from then on Jay...ceased being a complex character

Jay became more and more simplifed down to just being the comedic relief, his intelligence, his skill with machinery and inventing skills were all wiped away and he became a dumb, goofy character with nothing else too him who's main focus (and honestly only interesting thing) was his relationship with Nya.

His relationship with Nya was THE one thing they kept and as such was pretty much the only good and relevant thing about Jay in those seasons

Than PE showed up and it was finally the chance for Jay to get some developement.. it was all set up to finally have a season focused on him that didn't involve his relationship with nya

But then...the rug was pulled out from under Jay fans feet

The seasons had nothing to do with Jay, in fact he got NO focus except for the final episodes where he talk-no-jutsu'd his way to victory

Stripping Jay fans of thier shot of seeing Jay get some individual focus

Now about Nya

She was treated like absolute shit by the writers In the early seasons I'm not even gonan fake. She was barely a character and while she had some good moments (aka being the badass samurai and her intelligence with machinery) she still suffered from misogynistic writing

But then eventually the writers got their head outta their ass and realized that she should actually be a character and staring working on such

In the beginning it was ROUGH as they were trying their damn hardest to undo all the misogynistic shit they had about her

Eventually though they started fleshing her out. they started giving her hopes and desires and a wish to choose her own path and it was exciting to see! Nya was finally get some interesting development!

Than she became the water ninja and we really got to see her shine even more! She just kept growing and becoming better and it was awesome to finally see her get the development she deserved!

Fron then on Nya became better and better, she got more and more development and became more complex to a point where i would say she was becoming more complex than the boys

Than seabound happened and that's where it hit peak for her character. She became so much more and got the praise from the citizens of ninjago that she deserved they mourned her loss so much more than the others ninja. She was essentially a legend and it's what she deserved.

So why bring this up?

Simple.

The reason many Jay fans say they believe Jay's Arcs revolve around Nya oz cuz the writers had one Arc for him that essentially did and proceeded to do nothing else with him. Stripping him down to nothing and making his relationship with Nya the only interesting thing about him in the later seasons

As time went on Jay became more and more simplied down to a bare bones character while Nya became more and more complex, a more individual character with perhaps the most development out of all the ninja! She went from being a character with no personality to being one of the most complex characters in the show

While Jay went from being a decently complex character to being one of the least with his relationship with Nya being the ONLY thing interesting about him in those later seasons

Nya got development that didn't focus on jay

Jay's only Arc was driven by his relationship with Nya and then his relationship with her proceeded to be the only interesting thing about him later on

If it sounds like I'm repeating myself a bit that's cuz I am. I want to drive home that these reason are why Jay's fans feel the way they do and why as someone who isn't a Jay fan I can kinda agree with them

Alright I'm done with this I've been typing for waaaaay too long I just wanted to share this cuz it's been in my head for a while

Sorry lol

.

[crayonsquadlilac]

I had to scribble out his ending dialogue. I just couldn't lose this image i had in my head, of this poor charachter who tried his best still (for lack of a better word) dying, and not screaming or crying when it's happening but instead saying this and then gently apologizing, like it's his fault, and that's the last he ever says. I think this scene's gonna stick with me for a while.

I'm actually so sick about him like god like "I've wasted my whole life hiding, I think I should try saying hello." God. Me when the character is kind and well meaning and funny and silly and yet tragic by nature. Me when the character never gets the good ending they deserved (in a well written way.). What the Hell. God

Super Ultra Rambling under the readmore if you're curious about my elaborate Thoughts;

Ik is my favorite charachter because he is very silly and my best friend ever in the world but also because of the Tragedies. He's a person used to fear, a people pleaser, who let mr. Sob manipulate him and turn his hotel into something he never wanted, simply pretending it was still the same, who spends the whole game trying so hard to keep you in high spirits and unworried even when he himself is terrified. Someone who cares too much and tries so hard and probably never even gave nearly as much to himself as he did to others. Even at the end, as he describes to you all the horrors that unfolded on earth, he makes jokes and quips and keeps up his goofy manner of speaking despite the information clearly disturbing him.

When he tells you the story of his death, he never once mentions anything about how sad it is, and if you respond with "I'm sorry," he says like basically "oh it's fine," before hesitating with a concerned look on his face. His death may be something he avoids thinking about a lot.

And describing him, i can't help but relate to him, understand him, perhaps that's why I am so Insane about him right now.

I think this game is about, no matter what happens, at the end of it all it will still be the end. It may even end sooner than you'd expect. The human race before dying out solved all their problems and created a perfect world, Ik tried hard to do good and make people happy, Mr. Sob gained his own twisted control over many souls of the afterlife, you the player just kept going onward as much you could, but they all came to the same unceremonious end. I suppose it all matters on your perspective- do you focus on the ending, or how you got there?

When Ik tells you about his death, he describes how he saw the stars, and the view of his town from all the way high up, how he stopped and looked for a long time. But he couldn't stay forever, he had to keep moving. I think that's the part that mattered most. Even in so terrible a situation, he got something beautiful out of it. And like i guess part of the game is, "we can't stop what's coming, there's no use hiding, so we may as well face it with a smile and a greeting." Or maybe more like "the time will pass anyways" type of thing. If that makes sense.

I've seen some people interpret the Morning as everyone is brought to a final resting place peacefully. And of course, it's wide open for everyone to interpret it however, but for me personally I thiiiink Ik was probably right about it being the end of time. The thing seemed a little bit too obliterating-you-type-deal in the final cutscene. All the humans are dead and it's time for their afterlife to go too now. Maybe it's to make room for something that'll replace us, or to start over from scratch with everything, but for all the human souls, it's the end.

Maybe the sole survivor of all existence is Shrimp, in the afterlife, always running from the Morning, wandering for eternity. Which i say to be silly but also that would be really sad actually. He'd be alone... he'd get hungry and there'd be no one there to feed him lounge chairs and tables and glass vases..... poor shrimp..........

I don't know if it would have been better or worse if you could just find his abandoned collar on the ground somewhere before that last lantern. Probably worse actually. Yeah no I'm glad that's not a thing. I'm sorry for saying that.

But anyway, what a damn good game. I'm sad it didn't get more attention when it came out, it feels like such a passion project. I feel bad for only finding out it exists recently. I'll try my best with telling all my friends to play it too though. Cause like oh man. Good god. It made me laugh, it made me scared, and now it's made me cry, drawing and typing this post. It's a thinker. I love existential wonder in media, but this one is more like, existential indifference or something. but it doesn't feel cynical at all, i don't know. I like it a lot. Putting it right up there with my favorites.

also actually nevermind fuck all that noise good ending where the morning never comes and they just wander the woods forever together yippee wahoo!! who needs themes and messages and meanings !!!! when The Characters could be happy !!!!!!!

jtjfjfjdhdjskfskdkdsfdhdhsfjcjdhfhshsfhd everything is fine i am Fine definitely not Crying More why would you think that