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confessedlyfannish · 6 months

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Writing Prompt #12

Bruce is reading the paper when the pour of Tim's coffee goes abruptly quiet. It would be hard to pinpoint why this is disturbing if it wasn't for the way the soft, tinny sound the vent system in the manor makes cuts out for the first time since being updated in the 90s. The pour, Bruce realizes, has not slowed to a trickle before stopping. It has simply stopped. And there is no overeager clack of a the mug against the marble counter or the uncouth first slurp (nor muttered apology at Alfred's scolding look) immediately following the end of the pour.

Bruce fights the instinct to use all of his senses to investigate, and instead keeps his eyes on the byline of the article detailing the latest set of microearthquakes to hit the midwest in the last week. Microearthquakes aren't an unusual occurrence and aren't noticeable by human standards, which is why this article is regulated to page seven, but from several hundred a day worldwide to several hundred a day solely in the East North Central States, seismologists are baffled.

Bruce had been considering sending Superman to investigate under the guise of a Daily Planet article requested by Bruce Wayne (Wayne Industries does have an offshoot factory in the area) when everything had stopped twenty seconds ago. That is what he assumes has happened (having not moved a muscle to confirm) in the amount of time he assumes has passed. His million dollar Rolex does not quite audibly tick but in the absolute silence it should be heard, which confirms the silence to be exactly that—absolute.

While Bruce can hold his breath with the best of the Olympian swimmers, he has never accounted for a need to remain without blinking without being able to move one's eyes. Rotating the eyeballs will maintain lubrication such that one could go without blinking for up to ten minutes. But staring at the byline fixedly, he estimates another twenty seconds before tears start to form.

These are the thoughts Bruce distracts himself with, because he doesn't dare consider how Tim and Alfred haven't made a (living) sound in the past forty-five seconds. About Damian, packing his bag upstairs for school after a morning walk with Titus that was "just pushing it, Master Damian".

There is a knife to his right, if memory serves (it does). In the next five seconds—

"Your wards and guardian are fine, Mr. Wayne," the deepest voice Bruce has ever heard intones. For a dizzying moment, it is hard to pinpoint the location of the voice, for it comes from everywhere—like the chiming of a clocktower whilst inside the tower, so overpowering he is cocooned in its volume.

But it is not spoken loudly, just calmly, and when he puts the paper down, folds it, and looks to his right, a blue man sits in Dick's chair.

He wears a three piece suit made entirely of hues of violet, tie included. He has a black brooch in the shape of a cogwheel pinned to his chest pocket, a simple chain clipped to his lapel. Black leather gloves delicately thumb Bruce's watch (no longer on his wrist, somewhere between second 45 and 46 it has stopped being on his wrist), admiring it.

"You'll forgive me," the man says with surety. "Clocks are rather my thing, and this is an impressive piece." He turns it over and reveals the 'M. Brando' roughly scratched into the silver back. He frowns.

"What a shame," he says, placing it face side up on the table.

"Most would consider that the watch's most valuable characteristic." Bruce says, voice steady, hands neatly folded before him. Two inches from the knife. To his left, there is an open doorway to the kitchen. If he turns his head, he might be able to get a glance of Tim or Alfred.

He doesn't look away from the man.

"It is the arrogance of man," the man says, raising red eyes (sclera and all) to Bruce, "to think they can make their mark on time."

"...Is that supposed to be considered so literally?" Bruce asks, with a light smile he does not mean.

The man smiles lightly back, eyes crinkling at the corners. He looks to be in his mid thirties, clean-shaven. His skin is a dull blue, his hair a shock of white, and a jagged scar runs through one eye and curving down the side of his cheek, an even darker, rawer shade of blue-purple.

The man turns the watch back over and taps at the engraving. "Let me ask you this," he says. "When we deface a work of art, does it become part of the art? Does it add to its intrinsic meaning?"

Bruce forces his shoulders to shrug. "It's arbitrary," he says. "A teenager inscribes his name on the wall of an Ancient Egyptian temple and his parents are forced to publicly apologize. But runic inscriptions are found on the Hagia Sophia that equate to an errant Viking guard having inscribed 'Halfdan was here' and we consider it an artifact of a time in which the Byzantine Empire had established an alliance with the Norse and converted vikings to Christianity."

"The vikings were as errant as the teenager," the man says, "in my experience." He leans back in his chair. "I suppose you could say the difference is time. When time passes, we start to think of things as artistic, or historical. We find the beauty in even the rubble, or at least we find necessity in the destruction..."

He offers Bruce the watch. After a moment, Bruce takes it.

"The problem, Mr. Wayne, is that time does not pass for me. I see it all as it was, as it is, as it ever will be, at all times. There is no refuge from the horror or comfort in that one day..." he closes his hand, the leather squeaking. And then his face smooths out, the brief severity gone. He regards Bruce calmly.

"You can look left, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce looks left. Framed by the doorway, Tim looks like a photograph caught in time. A stream of coffee escapes the spout of the stainless steel pot he prefers over the Breville in the name of expediency, frozen as it makes its way to the thermos proclaiming BITCH I MIGHTWING. Tim regards his task with a face of mindless concentration, mouth slack, lashes in dark relief against his pale skin as he looks down at the mug. Behind him, Bruce can see Alfred's hand outstretched towards the refrigerator handle, equally and terrifyingly still.

"My name is Clockwork," the man says. "I have other names, ones you undoubtedly know, but this one will be bestowed upon me from the mouth of a child I cherish, and so I favor it above all else. I am the Keeper of Time."

"What do you want from me?" Bruce asks, shedding Wayne for Batman in the time it takes to meet Clockwork's eyes. The man acknowledges the change with a greeting nod.

"In a few days time, you will send Superman to the Midwest to investigate the unusual seismic activity. By then, it will be too late, the activity will be gone. They will have already muzzled him."

"Him."

"There is a boy with the power to rule the realm I come from. Your government has been watching him. The day he turned 18, they took him from his family and hid him away. I want you to retrieve him. I want you to do it today."

"Why me?"

"His parents do not have the resources you do, both as Batman and Bruce Wayne. You will dismantle the organization that is keen on keeping him imprisoned, and you will offer him a scholarship to the local University. You and yours will keep him safe within Gotham until he is able to take his place as my King."

This is a lot of information to take in, even for Bruce. The idea that there could be a boy powerful enough to rule over this (god, his mind whispers) entity and that somehow, he has slipped under all of their radars is as frustrating as it is overwhelming. But although Clockwork has seemed willing to converse, he doesn't know how many more questions he will get.

"You have the power to stop time," he decides on, "why don't you rescue him? Would he not be better suited with you and your people?"

"Within every monarchy, there is a court," Clockwork. "Mine will be unhappy with the choice I have made," he looks at Bruce's watch, head cocked. "In different worlds, they call you the Dark Knight. This will be your chance to serve before a True King."

Bruce bristles. "I bow to no one."

"You'll all serve him, one day," Clockwork says, patiently. "He is the ruler of realms where all souls go, new and old. When you finally take refuge, he will be your sanctuary." He frowns. "But your government rejects the idea of gods. All they know is he is other. Not human. Not meta. A weapon."

"A weapon you want me to bring to my city."

"I believe you call one of your weapons 'Clark', do you not?" Clockwork asks idly. "But you misunderstand me. They seek to weaponize him. He is not restrained for your safety, but for their gain."

"And if I don't take him?" Bruce asks, because a) Clockwork has implied he will be at the very least impeded, at worst destroyed over this, and b) he never did quite learn not to poke the bear. "You won't be around if I decide he's better off with the government."

"You will," Clockwork says, with the same certainty he's wielded this entire conversation. "Not because he is a child, though he is, nor because you are good, though you are, nor even because it is better power be close at hand than afar.

"I have told you my court will be unhappy with me. In truth, there are others who also defend the King. Together we will destroy the access to our world not long after this conversation. The court will be unable to touch him, but neither will we as we face the repercussions for our actions. I am telling you this, because in a timeline where I do not, you think I will be there to protect him. And so when he is in danger, even subconsciously, you choose to save him last, or not at all. And that is the wrong choice.

"So cement it in your head, Bruce Wayne," the man says, "You will go to him because I tell you to. And you will keep him safe until he is ready to return to us. He will find no safety net in me. So you will make the right choice, no matter the cost."

"Or, when our worlds connect again, and they will," his voice now echoes in triplicate with the voices of the many, the young, the old, Tim, Bruce's mother, Barry Allen, Bruce's own voice, "I will not be the only one who comes for you."

"Now," he says, producing a Wayne Industries branded BIC pen. "I will tell you the location the boy is being kept, and then I would like my medallion back, please. In that order."

Bruce glances down and sees a golden talisman, attached to a black ribbon that is draped haphazardly around the neck of his bathrobe, so light (too light, he still should have—) he has not felt its weight until this moment.

Bruce flips the paper over, takes the pen, and jots down the coordinates the being rattles off over the face of a senator. By his calculation, they do correspond with a location in the midwest.

"You will find him on B6. Take a left down the hallway and he will be in the third room down, the one with a reinforced steel door. Take Mr. Kent and Mr. Grayson with you, and when you leave take the staircase at the end of the hallway, not the elevator."

The man gets up, dusts off his impeccably clean pants, and offers him a hand to shake.

"We will not meet again for some time, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce looks at the creature, stands, and shakes his hand. It feels like nothing. The Keeper of Time sighs, although nothing has been said.

"Ask your question, Mr. Wayne."

"I have more than one."

"You do," Clockwork says. "But I have heard them all, and so they are one. Please ask, or I will not be inclined to answer it."

"What does this boy mean for the future, that you are willing to sacrifice yourself for him?"

There is a pause.

"So that is the one," Clockwork says, after a time. "Yes. I see. I should resolve this, I suppose."

"Resolve what?"

"It is not his future I mean to protect," the man says. "It is his present."

"You want to keep him safe now..." Bruce says, but he's not sure what the being is trying to say.

"I am not inclined," Clockwork repeats, stops. His expression turns solemn, red eyes widening. In their reflection, Bruce can see something. A rush of movement too quick to make heads or tails of, like playing fast forward on a videotape. "Superman reports no signs of unusual seismic activity. With nothing further to look into, you let it go in favor of other investigative pursuits. You do not find him, as you are not meant to. He stays there. His family, his friends, they cannot find him. His captors tell him they have moved on. He does not believe them, until he does. He stays there. He stays there until he is strong enough to save himself."

Clockwork speaks stiffly, rattling off the chain of events as if reading a Justice League debrief. "He is King. He will always be King. He is strong, and good, and compassionate, and he is great for my people because yours have betrayed his trust beyond repair. He throws himself into being the best to ever Be, because there is nothing Left for him otherwise. We love him. We love him. We love him. My King. Forevermore."

The red film in his eyes stall out, and Bruce is forced to look away from how bright the image is, barely making out a silhouette before they dull back to their regular red.

"I am not inclined," Clockwork says slowly, "To this future."

"Because of what it means in the present," Bruce finishes for him. "They're not just imprisoning him, are they."

"They will have already muzzled him."

Clockworks is right in front of him faster than he can process, fist gripping the medallion at his neck so tight he now feels the ribbon digging into his skin.

"Unlike you, Mr. Wayne," and for the first time, the god is angry, and the image of it will haunt Bruce for the rest of his life, "I do not believe in building a better future on the back of a broken child."

"Find him," the deity orders, and yanks the necklace so hard the ribbon rips—

Clack!

"sluuuuurp!"

"Master Timothy, honestly!"

"Sorry Alfred!"

#i feel like I'm going to reread this and want to add other stuff #but I also just want to post it and get it out there #fun fact i scribbled a bunch of lines down at 2am bc i didn't want to forget them #im bad at multiple drafts #my writing #dp x dc #dp x dc au #dp x dc prompt #dp x dc crossover #danny phantom #batman #i live to make everybody dramatic #but also i subscribe to a world where clockwork doesn't know how NOT to be dramatic #lol he's a ghost from all of time he doesn't know how to speak to humans and tailor it to the century let alone the decade #and his favorite little girl who calls him clocky loves how he speaks so #he doesn't need to change for nobody #nor feels inclined to #also I feel like as god he's way more inclined to threaten to get what he wants than like...be vulnerable #jazz: let's unpack that #clockwork: we never do #jazz: are you saying that because it's true or because that's what you want to be true?#clockwork: ...#also I cannot take credit for BITCH I MIGHTWING #wish i could #that is cash money right there #shoutout to 11thsense

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radioroxx · 10 days

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i do not have . the energy or time or motivation to make Whole comes for how scenes and bits would play out in the bonnie in the loops au. this one i did for a lil fun :)

also important note but not really important bonnie was nooooot invited to the loop hangout :/ they came anyway which complicated things but dw about it

#isat #in stars and time #isat bonnie #isat loop #isat siffrin #roxx art #isat au #isat spoilers #guy who hates writing dialogue. is . very unfortunate. considering my interest in making comics #in stars and thyme au #also upside to drawing greyscale. my computer cant fuck up the colours :> yippie!#anyways i dont have much to say abt this jfkdf the other doodles i tried to do for the au were noooot working #so. oh well #my final message. goodnight. it is nearly 2am #i meant to add a textless version but im lazy

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dear-ao3 · 6 months

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i think the japan update of the f1 silly season post may in fact be the thing that kills me. this is all for you all.

#im quietly loosing my sanity #i think ive been writing this since a very solid 4pm and it is now 9 #the race has not happened yet #it is on sunday #today is thursday #the post is already too long #and i accidentally got stuck down a nico rosberg youtube rabbit hole and had to go on lestappen ao3 #this is what i get for not writing the whole thing in a mad dash at 2am #not a tag #from saph #f1 #im loosing my sanity so much that my brain registered disturbia by rihanna as by brittney spears #tho maybe thats because i got stuck down the nico rosberg rabbit hole #katya said i need to go touch grass and hes probably right

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darby-rowe · 3 months

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cw/tags. STEPCEST, suggestive

inspired by @spideyhexx ‘s stepbro!coryo posts 🫶

when you noticed that you accidentally pavlov’d yourself into getting weak in the knees every time your stepbrother walked within proximity of you, your stomach churned. and suddenly, the minty toothpaste coating your teeth tasted like bile.

you spat messily into your shiny, porcelain sink and quickly rinsed away the foamy, sudsy paste down the drain. the sounds of the birds singing their morning song are muffled outside your bathroom window, and for a moment, that’s all you had the energy to focus on as you stared at yourself in the mirror. you wipe away a rogue toothpaste stain on your oversized t-shirt.

“safety pin?”

coriolanus’s voice brings you back down to earth as you deeply inhale through your nose. “what?” you ask, tiredly rubbing at your eyes with the back of your hands. “safety pin? for what?”

“for my shirt. it looks too large on my body,” coriolanus answers, and for the first time that morning you two make eye contact.

something about the look on coriolanus’s face makes you wonder if he’s hoping you’d turn your back to him so he can sneak a peek at your body.

“you have your own bathroom,” you tell him, leaning against the doorway and crossing your arms. “or call your cousin tigris. i’m sure she has a shit-ton of safety pins that she’d be more than happy to let you use,”

“or i could come and ask you since you’re right here,”

you press your lips together tightly, feeling your cheeks burn deeply as your eyes wander coriolanus’s disheveled form of being halfway dressed: untucked shirt, dress pants with no belt…

you hug your arms closer to your body as coriolanus’s eyes also wandered your body.

“i don’t have any safety pins, coryo,” you say, trying to act nonchalant as you force yourself to look away. “sorry. wish i could be of better assistance this morning, but it appears that i am useless,”

coriolanus’s eyes squint at your odd humor, and you can’t bring yourself to look back at him. not even when he squeezes past you to enter your bathroom. and before you could protest, he’s searching through the medicine cabinet and pulling out a lone safety pin.

the feeling of his hand on the small of your back as he exits nearly makes you faint.

“guess you aren’t as useless as you make yourself out to be,” he says as he finally walks away. you feel the sound of his shoes on the hardwood floor deep your chest.

you wonder if coriolanus also gets weak in the knees when you enter the room.

#♡; dally writes!#cw stepcest #didnt feel like writing graphic smut tonight #and no one will see this bc it’s nearly 2am when im posting this LOLOL #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x you

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pillowspace · 1 year

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NOTE: although I've now finished Ruin, this was written for fun when I had only seen the first half. Its relation is limited

(Wasn't) Worth Fixing by clutterspace

You find the Daycare Attendant of your childhood hidden behind your apartment building, severely damaged.

You... probably weren't intended to.

G | Words: 1,386 | Chapters: 1/1

∘₊✧────────────────────✧₊∘

Your mother used to work as a technician at the pizza place half-way across town when you were little. It took some time for you really memorize the name—Freddy Fazbear's Mega Pizzaplex—when all you did as a young child was raise your hands up high to your mother so tall and ask when you could go to pizza.

For every day she had gone to work, she brought you with her. You boundlessly scribbled in Freddy Fazbear themed colouring books with crayon on the near silent bumpy car ride there, as she had always requested the quiet before the cacophany of shouting noise the mall offered its full family guests. And much too young to be let loose among the older children, you had always been dropped off at the establishment's daycare before her shift.

The place had once held a charm to it, a brightly coloured wonder of dizzying family fun that evolved into a more thoughtful appreciation for the advanced robotics you eventually grew old enough to possess. Even the daycare had been attended to by a single machine, and to this day, you genuinely wondered sometimes if the bounciness of life its creaky frame held had really been there at all, a marvel of technological advancement, or if it was only the low standard magic that all little eyes saw the world through. Your memories were few and far between, but it had been a joyous place that looked upon you kindly, and much of that credit went to that very machine in place.

It was enough to make you feel a little bad for just how much you begged your mother to let you freely roam outside of the daycare later on, but life went on and on for little minds, and it wasn't a thought worth lingering upon.

When you blessedly just barely became old enough for it, you had gotten your wish granted to you by your exhausted mother, and stuck closely around the Glamrocks and their masses of crowds from then on. It was an endlessly exciting change from the norm, and the musical daycare of childish screams and brightly enthused words of encouragement that had welcomed you with open arms became an afterthought.

You had asked your mother one day where Bonnie went. The older kids had spoken in jokes that fell like cruelty upon your ears, and it was only your mother who might as well have been the CEO in your eyes who you could trust. Older now, you knew there was no harm in the jokes the other children had made among one another, but that a mind so easily swayed could only listen in horror.

Your mother had not sugar-coated it, much too used to the more grown-up side of her occupation to bother. You would have been fine to hear that he was on vacation, or off to bigger and better performances across the globe. You would have smiled, proud to hear of his accomplishments. But the words she told you had been without care.

He wasn't worth fixing, so they got rid of him.

It had been a nagging fear that crept over your spine for a year afterwards that the same could ever happen to you, childishly lacking in the understanding of your differences in value to the surrounding world.

And it was as you silently stared back into the wild, frozen, broken eyes dimly illuminating the dark, filthy alleyway between apartment buildings in vibrant yellow and red hues, with a right hand on your own open back door's handle and a left hand tightly gripped around a filled garbage bag at your side years later, that those very words rung back to you.

Police sirens blared in the distance, but that was the usual.

People talked, but knew little. There had been something off from the usual in town lately, police cars circling the area endlessly. They were looking for someone, or something. And your neighbours speculated, but they all speculated different topics amongst themselves, bringing all that mystery down to a he said, she said, who cares anymore. It all became naught but a backdrop with no follow-up.

Maybe no one wanted to hear a possibly dangerous animatronic was on the loose. Or- no. Maybe just no one wanted to admit to the potentially catastrophic failing, what with the previous rumours already spiralling out of control. A silent capture was in play.

The animatronic looked banged up, shattered holes all along its body. Fabric was littered with rips and tears, while not an inch of casing went uncracked. Its rays adorned with a familiar blue hat were broken, and its faceplace was almost entirely shattered in half. But despite all of the horrific damage it bore, you could recognize the animatronic for the daycare of your early childhood from anywhere, even though only an hour prior, you would not have recalled its form. It held itself still under your gaze, and you too did not move, for there was a shocked terror in the way it held itself firmly pressed against the bottom of the wall, too-thin metal fingers cracking the pavement beneath it.

It looked so scared for something (someone?) that could easily do to you what it was doing to the pavement. Though you doubted that it had any desire to do so.

You didn't know how long you two stared, until finally, you took the slowest step you could towards the garbage bin that stood only a couple feet away in the dim alleyway. The second you moved even an inch, a mechanical hum rose in volume from the wary animatronic's metal body that reminded you of the sounds your own computer makes. It didn't move, didn't talk, only watched you out of the corner of your eye as you ever so slowly made your way towards the bin. You lifted the garbage bag into it, and the clattering sound of its contents shifting within rung out much too loud for the careful silence you required. You internally recoiled from the noise, but outwardly showed not a reaction as you inched your way back towards your door as if nothing out of place had been seen at all.

Your hand fell upon the door as you stepped up across the threshold. You did not walk any further, and instead looked over your shoulder at the vulnerable state the broken, hiding animatronic you had unintentionally spotted was in. You inhaled, feeling doubtfully uncertain, but reminiscent for the sounds of shrieking laughter and the ever so foggy memory of a large sunshine grin poking into a play structure to announce that you had been found. As advanced as its facial recognition likely was, you sincerely doubted that it could connect you back to the toddler you had once been. It had no idea who you were, and therefore had no intentions of ever having been seen by you. But even if it did, would that matter at all? You couldn't be but a single file and a brief, fading memory to its systems.

(It seemed smaller like this, but you knew that you had only grown taller.)

He wasn't worth fixing, so they got rid of him.

"They check this alleyway," you whispered into the cool night air. A small clicking sound of an unknown origin sounded out from the animatronic at the sound of your voice. It did not respond, but you did not expect it to.

You turned away and walked inside of your home, intent on brushing your teeth and going to bed.

You did not close the door behind you. An unspoken invitation, because surely you would not be to blame if the ever so frightening machine found its way into your home all on its own.

You stayed in your bedroom for the rest of the night, and when the muffled sounds of police sirens finally circled back towards your street, you just barely heard the almost inaudible sound of your back door quietly clicking shut. You did not emerge, no matter what shuffling noises you heard afterwards, and instead rolled over in bed to play a song from your phone's lit screen into your newly pushed in earbuds.

If anyone asked, they had been in all night.

#pillowspace writing #i wrote this at 2am but it's fine. looking away #dca fandom #um im gonna use x reader tags but it's platonic #eclipse x reader #dca x reader #ruin eclipse #fnaf daycare attendant #ruin dlc #pillowspace art #ok bye i am making pasta rn

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amvro · 9 months

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pairing: amuro tooru x reader

summary: he is home late (again) but you love to stay up for him

cw: i would not say suggestive but a lot of kissing implied ? IDK IM SORRY, it’s very short

It wasn’t rare for you to be staying up waiting for him to come home, but tonight he was especially late coming home and he truly did not expect you to still be up. The clock almost ticked 3:30am and he truly wished he didn’t have to stay out so late if he knew you would still be up. He was going to ask why you were still up and tell you about how you should’ve just slept without him, but he knew you would tell him you would be too worried to fall asleep regardless.

“I’m so sorry I was so late,” he said, apologetically. “But really, next time you shouldn’t mind me. It’s far too late.”

“And it’s far too late for you to be out with no one to greet you when you come home,” you replied with a soft smile. Gosh he was in love with you. “Waiting for you to come home is one of my happiest times, at least let me do this much. Besides, it’s a Friday we get to sleep in tomorrow.”

And you were absolutely correct. Although he’d tell you every single time to go ahead and sleep, it still warmed his heart when he saw you reading a book or scrolling through your phone with a warm tea, waiting for him to come home. The way your face would brighten up when he came home was truly the only thing that could heal him from a long day at work.

“I’ll hop in the shower real quick, so go to sleep okay? It’s still not good to be up this late,” he said as he took off his coat and put his stuff down, getting ready to step into the bathroom.

“Wait,” you said, almost subconsciously.

“What is it, love?”

“Oh, um,” you said, you hadn’t meant to say it out loud. You looked up at him slightly embarrassed. “....kiss?”

A faint blush covered his face as his eyes narrowed and lips pursed. He did not understand how you managed to make his heart flutter from such simple words after all this time, but he did understand that this wasn’t going to go away. He walked right back to you and pressed a kiss on your lips. He was going to kiss you again when he resisted the temptation and kissed you on your forehead instead.

“Why not?” you asked quietly. You were going to kill him if you kept this up.

“Because I’m not going to be able to stop at this rate,” he said, but you went and kissed him instead.

“But I don’t want you to...” you said. That was it, he was giving in. Saving the country was a whole lot easier of a challenge than the ones you gave him it seemed.

“Okay, now you’ve done it,” he said, kissing you again.

The shower will have to wait a little.

#furuya rei x reader #amuro tooru x reader #amuro x reader #furuya rei #amuro tōru #amuro tooru #detective conan x reader #NOTTTTT PROOFREAD #i sat down at like 2am and dumped whatever words would come out of me #so truly if i wake up and this is literally the most horrid thing ive written in my life please forgive me #um i am BACK !!!!#ALSO I SEE THE ASKS I PROMISE I WILL GET TO THEM #THEY ARE COMIGN #I AM SO EXCITED TO WRITE THEM ACTUALLY #I HOPE TO FINISH ALL OF THEM WHILE IM IN WINTER BREAK SO HOPEFULLY WITHIN THE NEXT FEW WEEKS THEY WILL BE WRITTEN #THANK U SO SO MUCH FOR READING I HOPE U ENJOYED #im sorry this is so short so consider it a drabble i was going to make it a blurb but it is past blurb length i fear

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sumbei · 3 months

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og!rokcale shippers. I don't wanna read Cale being a weak looking feminine wife bottom in the fics because that's not really what he is. His body only becomes weak looking being krs refused to do any actual exercise while he was there. My boy had (some) muscle, he knows how to use a sword.

And I understand that og!krs is big and buff, but (correct me if I'm wrong) isn't he also lazy? Wasn't he buff out of necessity for the situation? Like,, isn't he basically a pillow princess or something?

I wanna see some malewife krs and Cale being there like "yeah he would make a good wife"

PLEASE IM TIRED OF SEEING TOP OGKRS ON AO3 MAKE HIM THE BOTTOM HE WAS MEANT TO BE

#lcf #fanfiction #ao3 #rokcale #og!rokcale #shipping #its 2am #im sick #i cant sleep #i would write the fic myself but there's so much more pleasure in finding an already existing fic fitting the concept i want #pillow princess rok soo believer #tcf

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doufudanshi · 2 years

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for anyone who criticizes jyl for bringing soup to yiling instead of like, money—

we should first ask: could jyl actually have given wwx money? she must have something, you say. the jins are rich! she could even give him some of her betrothal gifts.

but realistically jyl probably didn't have much money at all! let's think this through. not only did she not marry jzx yet at the time of her yiling visit, but (based on many, many imperial palace tv shows lol) all her worth would be in betrothal gifts of jewelry, fine clothing, or other misc items, which is 1) heavy and difficult to transport without notice, but that doesn't actually matter bc it's ultimately 2) disrespectful to sell and worse to have the gifter find out when they come by for tea and you begin chatting about the event in two days and they say oh where's that one-of-a-kind jade bracelet I gave you wouldn't it match the also one-of-a-kind silk garment that lady jin gave you sooo well oh you will look so lovely in it won't you wear it.

or worse, have it recognized in some random pawn shop on the street by someone who has never really liked you and WILL get you in deep shit for it.

does jyl have any money from the jiang side? well, jc has been busy at work rebuilding lotus pier and the clan since before wwx's defection, and even if he's not borrowing a shitton of money from the jins (which he almost certainly is), he definitely has the opposite of surplus funds. he's also busy organizing and buying gifts for the wedding too, making him go more in the red because you know the jins aren't going to want cheap-ass things even if you don't have money.

let's say jyl did get a significant bride price (aka given money money)—not only does that go to her family (jc), but it is given during the ceremony (which, again, hasn't happened yet). and, realistically, jc probably will have to use it to offset the costs of the above.

beyond that, let's just take this scene from a storytelling perspective. sometimes it is simply about the emotional resonance. the vibes. let's say jyl did have some funds to give wwx. but imagine if jyl was like here a-xian take all this money 😐 ok sure useful for some period. but is that the gift that wwx would want during the first time he's gotten to see her in months, and likely the last time he will see her in a long, long time (possibly years)? would that be impactful for the story?

meanwhile, the soup she brings represents her love. we hear in the extra, from wwx's own words, the care she put into selecting the ingredients, making sure the lotus root is fresh and perfectly ripe. it also takes hours for her to even make iirc. wwx derives so much comfort from it—that's why it comes up again and again. it is one of his first memories of feeling safe in lotus pier, of home. it provides wwx some semblance of normalcy. he hasn't had any this entire time, and is likely something he aches for whenever he's homesick or sad or questioning his choices. it is simply, given the circumstances, incredibly thoughtful. (and how meaningful was it to see wn treat it with such respect? seeing that is literally the moment in the chapter when wwx realizes—ah. the wens are people I cherish as well.)

and regarding jyl coming in her wedding dress—it is not for herself. it is for wwx. we saw how devastated wwx was just to even hear that jyl was getting married because he had to hear it from someone who wasn't jc or jyl. and to immediately then realize he cannot go? even more heartbreaking. and jyl, who clearly knows wwx extremely well, would know, without having to ask, how upset wwx would be to miss such a huge occasion in their lives that was previously a given. this is what she can do to offset that, even just a little. because jyl came in her dress, wwx gets to experience a piece of her wedding even though he cannot physically be there. not to be a 2000s mastercard ad, but there really are some things that money can't buy.

idk there's also some fist-shaking at the class discrepancy in the scene. and I get it. it sucks! her dress is certainly lavish, and the wens are farming on a corpse mountain and have only just started making a bit of money. yes, it's fine to think that if you were in the character's shoes, maybe you would've found it to be in poor taste—but the story isn't about you. it is about these characters, and what this scene means to them. and I'm of the camp that if there is no indication that wwx is upset by any of this, and in fact moved by it, there really isn't reason for the reader to be righteously indignant about these things on a character's behalf. that's just not the focus or the point of the scene.

plus, jyl is sharp. she is likely more aware of the discrepancy than most people think. she has also been shown in the text to not just be another sheltered, spoiled noble (re jzx soup incident). but if what you want is guilt from jyl—I personally think that guilt is performative, and accomplishes nothing. her guilt would've only made wwx unhappy. instead, here is an action that is meaningful and brings joy to wwx. to share her joy with him is not selfishness, nor is it some lack of awareness of their situation. if in this moment, she shows off her dress, if she revels in her joy, her happiness, it is for wwx, and wwx is incredibly moved by it.

and let's face it—wwx, of all people, would want to see jyl in a wedding dress that cost more than rebuilding lotus pier from the ground up. he wouldn't want anything less.

#cultural context is as always important people!#idk i just see a lot of jyl slander and it rubs me very much the wrong way #anyway this is not the jyl thread I intended to write but it's a subset of my thoughts #get ready for more later o boy #jyl #cultural meta #mdzs #mine #ps I think ppl should question their assumptions and reactions to the most traditionally feminine character in the novel #im writing this at like 2am after being unable to fall back asleep btw if there are mistakes whoopsies #jiang yanli

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silverskye13 · 6 months

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how do u write fighting or do u have any tips? i have an idea for a fanfic not mcyt related but im terrified ill write the fight scene poorly as it makes up a majority of the fic.

Fighting and fight scene tips! I have a couple I guess! The tricky thing is fight scenes are really subjective. It's hard to give a "and here's all the puzzle pieces you need for a good one" kinda answer. But I can at least tell you the stuff I think about while I'm writing.

You know the drill, writing tips under the cut:

1. Research

I feel like I put this on every tip list. Research the thing you're doing. The Internet is your greatest friend and confidante. Look up YouTube videos of fighting competitions. Look up the weapons your characters are using. Figure out how many bullets are in the magazine for the gun type your character is using. Research how far you have to be to survive that explosion. Figure out if the cool sword breaker was actually useful in combat and why. Get a reasonable measure for how much blood your blorbo can lose before they pass out. This will help you paint a clear picture for yourself about what needs to happen, and why. Your readers don't necessarily have to have that clear picture, but the more you, the writer, know, the more likely you are to write a consistent, understandable narrative.

2. Character POV is important!

What does your character even know about fighting anyway? <- the most important question to ask of your POV character. This establishes what your character can tell your audience about what's going on. Has your character never fought before? Are they familiar with the weapons used? Do they know counters for fighting styles? Do they even know how to throw a punch? Do they have a high pain tolerance? These things will inform how the character informs us, the readers, about what's going on. Generally speaking, lack of consistency is what makes fight scenes frustrating, in my opinion. Sitting there and going "hey wait, how did that teenager know better battle tactics than the general they're fighting?" Takes you out of the moment and ruins whatever cool thing that teenager just did. Going "hold on, what do you mean the sniper didn't realize he was out of bullets?" Does the same thing. Keeping the characters consistent stops your readers from questioning the validity of the scene.

3. What can your readers see, and is it the same as what the characters see?

Similar to above, but a little more meta. Fight scenes are often played for drama. You're putting the character in peril, and that peril is for a reason: to make the audience have an emotional response. Can the readers see an ambush because of your 3rd person omniscient perspective, but the characters can't? Is that a good thing? Will it ruin the shock and surprise of the ambush, or will it induce dread and up the stakes? The enemy has a poisoned sword. Is this obvious to the audience in a way that isn't for the character? This is playing with suspense in a fight, adding and subtracting stakes for the readers, and it needs to be balanced against what the characters know.

I'm mentioning this as a thing because revealing your hand to the audience can be a really interesting way to add suspense, but if the audience feels like a character should've been able to see it coming [ex. How come the assassin didn't anticipate someone poisoning a blade during a fight?] it ruins the immersion of the scene, and makes it feel like you the author are shoving the characters in a direction. Generally speaking if the readers can see the hand of the author moving, it breaks immersion.

[Notably, I don't write in 3rd person omniscient. I write in 3rd person limited. I don't often have a chance or reason to reveal information to the audience that the main character doesn't know, because the audience is observing the world through that character.]

4. What are the guys in the back doing?

Everyone knows the Main Character has to fight the Antagonist at some point, but normally the MC isn't alone. They have friends and allies, or their pet dog. They have a supporting cast, and that supporting cast wants to help the main character. So... where are they exactly? A pitfall I see in Big Final Fight Scenes pretty often is, the MC brings an army, or their crew, or their super friends or whoever, and yet somehow, they end up fighting the bad guy alone, and the writer just... Doesn't address the other people in the room. And you the reader are left going, "Wait, why is no one intervening?" This gets especially immersion breaking when the main character inevitably starts losing their fight [because drama, few fights are easy]. Our MC might die! Why is no one trying to run even a basic distraction on the Antag? This isn't to say you have to have your supporting cast get involved in the final fight -- sometimes you need that solo showdown! But you do have to have a convincing reason to keep the rest of the cast away. If we the readers are under the impression there's six other people in the room just standing there, because you the writer forgot they were there, it gets kinda awkward.

5. Zoom in! Feel it. Zoom out! See it.

Okay so, you now know: Basic information on how your character(s) fight, what your POV character(s) know, what the readers can see (either the same or different from your characters), and you know where everyone is and what they're doing. You have your god's eye view ready. How do you show it?

Zoom in, zoom out.

There is a balance to fight scenes, in about the same way there is a balance to an art piece. There is a foreground, middle ground, and background. Each have importance, each need focus. The foreground is what is happening immediately in front of your POV character, it's their thoughts, what their weapon feels like, any wounds they've taken. It's bullet time, and observations, and right in their face. The middle ground is the surrounding 5-10ft. It's the people beside them, it's what's just past their opponent. It's the rest of the room, or the sound just out of view, or the object just out of reach. The background is everything past that. It's distant explosions. It's their friend getting wounded. It's an archer on the next rooftop.

How much of that you want your audience to see, how you want to vary that, depends on what you as an author view as important. If you want to focus more on the character, their struggle, their opponent, you will write most of the fight scene in the foreground. Focus on what the character feels, the sensation of movement, the pain, fear, exhilaration. Focus on the words they're saying [or not saying]. Focus on what they know, what they're telling the audience. If you want to highlight the battle, how the main character is working in their surroundings, you will focus on the middle ground. This is what the character looks like from an outside perspective, how they fight against their opponent. This is them trying to reach an item, or shove their opponent into something. This is running, and kicking, and trying to figure out if your friend is still by your side. This is seeing your comrade go down out of the corner of your eye, or admiring someone's fighting style, or screaming orders at someone. The background is anything further away, a distant problem that is putting on pressure. A ticking time bomb. This is the building catching fire, the lightning in the storm overhead. This is superman fighting off the alien army while your MC is trying to kill the general. This is you reminding the audience the rest of the world hasn't stopped turning while the MC has been doing MC things.

Generally speaking, I like to move through all three spaces several times during a fight scene? The main character is hurting and holding onto their sword, and breathing is hard. The antag is pressing the advantage, trying to back them through the space. But they can't lose too much ground, because their friend is fighting the second antag over there, and they're bleeding from a fresh cut. They have to win, they have to escape, because the sound outside says the building is groaning on its foundation-- and the main character stumbles as the building rocks. [And I've just moved through all three types of ground, giving the audience a clear view of what's happening].

You don't have to bounce reliably through the space. Not showing the background for a long time means you can surprise your audience with a new hero or villain swooping in! Or leave us in suspense about that magic ritual we're supposed to be stopping. Not showing a middle ground side character implies your MC is so distracted they won't know their friend is hurt until it's too late -- etc.

If it helps, I like to imagine there's a little invisible camera panning around, taking dramatic shots of everything, like you're making a movie, and writing accordingly.

Uhm!! Hopefully that's helpful?

Some broader quick tips:

Fight scenes are very fast, and generally happen over a period of a few minutes. That time will feel significantly longer because it's jammed packed with Stuff Happening, but the fact remains, it's only a few minutes. Keeping the timing in mind helps you figure out if backup can arrive to help, or if it's reasonable for someone to miss the fight happening, etc,

On that note, if it's a battle specifically, battles [especially medieval ones] are short. They don't last all day, unless they're a siege, and even then, sieges are long periods of digging in and waiting with short clashes peppered around.

This might just be me, but try not to overuse metaphors? We get it. The swordsmen look like they're dancing. But not everything they do is graceful or dancer-y. Sometimes you can just say "and he punched him in the face." Unless your writing style is naturally super flowery, in which case, do continue. Consistency is key.

Do some basic research on wounds. Suspension of disbelief can only carry so far, and pain is genuinely debilitating. Also, yes coughing up blood is a very dramatic "the character is dying" cue, but in real life it only happens on very bad lung/throat wounds. If what you're writing is Super Realistic, maybe don't throw that in there.

Write confusion with care. You might not want your audience to know what's going on all the time, but if your audience genuinely can't figure out what's going on, why something is happening, or who it's happening to, you will eventually lose your immersion.

Write comedy with care. If your fight is non-serious, or if your character in a serious fight doesn't normally take things seriously, jokes are allowed to happen. But sometimes if you don't take it seriously enough, you will chop the knees off your drama. Maybe save some of the jokes for after the life-threatening battle is over.

I think! That's everything I can think of just now! I hope it helps :'D

#answering asks #anonymous #writing advice #writing tips #writing #apologies if this was incoherent at all #its 2am im very tired and this week has been hell #i wanted to answer this before i forgot it and it got buried

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parkermunson · 2 years

Text

I just know Peter Parker would eat you out like a man starved

Minors DNI. I mean it.

He'd start by kissing both your knees gently, little pecks so full of love and devotion

Then he'd open your legs a little. He'll place a kiss on the inside of your knee, a little sloppier and wetter

He can smell you and it consumes his thoughts. His mouth gets so watery just at the thought of your taste

He'll start placing more kisses on the inside of your thigh. He'll lick the skin, then suck on it to form a little bruise

The marks won't stay longer than a day but it's like a map to his meal

The inside of your thigh is sparkling with his saliva, and the closer he gets to your core, the sloppier his kisses

By the time he reaches your cunt, your upper inner thigh is dripping from his kisses

He'll look up at you with the biggest eyes, so full of admiration. He can't believe he has you, and that you're letting him do this

He'll kiss your mound, breathing in your scent until he's intoxicated

Then he'll move down to your clit, giving it little pecks

He'll kitten lick it while looking up at you, taking in every reaction and sound you make

Soon enough he can't take the teasing and just starts devouring your clit

He'll spit on it and slurp up his mess, hum against you because he loves your taste so much. The vibration is euphoric

He almost cums untouched in his pants when you grip his hair and practically ride his face

His tongue moves down to your entrance to suck up your leaking juices. You almost made a small puddle on the floor, but he's thirsty and didn't miss a drip

He has to snake an arm over your hips to keep you from moving too far from his mouth. It's a little too much and too little at the same time

Peter wants his fingers in you but that's for later so he's keeping them curled into your hip and thigh, flexing and gripping so hard its leaving bruises

Sometimes he won't pull back for breath until his vision is clouding over and he's getting lightheaded. He'll happily suffocate from eating you out. Tears fill his eyes from lack of oxygen

The sounds his mouth makes 😳🥵🥴

You couldn't feel embarrassed if you wanted to. His mouth is sucking the soul out of your body

His knees are screaming but he couldn't care less. This is his absolute favorite meal. The crease in his eyebrows telling you he's concentrating so hard

He creates a suction with his mouth and licks your clit. It has you pulling his hair and arching your back

This man is seeing Heaven when he looks up and sees your face in pure bliss

When you cum, he uses his thumb to rub circles on your clit so his can lick up your juices. He doesn't stop until you force him away from overstimulation

Then he's licking his lips from anything that remained

He'll give you a minute or two before he's on you again for round two. This time he'll fuck you with his fingers

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