#leaving a main character out of the plot??

[seresinhangmanjake]

Inside You

Remmick x reader

Sinners Masterlist / Main Masterlist

Summary: Remmick is obsessed with you and has been watching from the shadows, plotting, planning, waiting until it’s the right time to claim you as his own. To you, however, he’s just a gentle man who arrives on your property seeking help. It’s once he’s inside your house that your feelings and senses no longer make sense. You can’t explain it, but it might just be that your mind and body already know this man.

Warnings/Notes: Smutty-ish (so 18+) in a less explicit way (it's also like, one paragraph). Mention of blood and injury.  Remmick’s got an extra power, I guess, where he can sort of manipulate humans’ minds. None of the vampires from Mississippi died. Not necessarily historically accurate as far as a few details are concerned. Typos, probably. 

I don't support the actions of this character in the movie at all. I just think the guy's hot, alright? I'm sorry. I can't even explain why.

Words: 4400

He watches you from afar, as a man obsessed often does. For weeks, from his hidden spot along the treeline, his eyes have followed your body as you've moved about the interior and exterior of your house, reading books, preparing meals in a flowered apron, changing out of your dresses into the nightgowns that barely conceal the silhouette of your curves. 

He likes to imagine you putting those on for him. He pictures you coming out of the house into the glow of the moonlight, extending your hand toward him, practically begging to be engulfed by his need. 

It’s a dream he intends to have fulfilled, and he will do whatever it takes to ensure nothing stands in the way. Certainly not that fiancé of yours. 

A pathetic waste of space, if you asked him. Not worthy of your time and attention. He could give you better, and maybe if your head wasn’t so stuffed full of useless thoughts of a man other than him, you might have noticed him by now. You might have felt him, felt his eyes on you. You might have sensed the cord of tension between your bodies that penetrates through the walls of your house. You might have recognized his whispers in the night, seeping into your mind, luring you to come to him, which, if it weren’t for that man, would have successfully brought you into his arms. More than once, he’s watched you wake in a trance-like state, guided through the house by his voice, only for that man to notice the creaks of your aged floorboards from his own room and take it upon himself to lead you back to bed. Sleepwalking—that's the man's diagnosis. A fool. 

But tonight, the man is gone and you’re tucked into a porch chair reading a book, completely unaware, completely exposed to the night. Your hair is down, your face is washed of rosy paint, no jewels adorn your neck. Bare, just how he likes you. A breeze blows up the skirt of your nightgown, the dancing fabric almost demanding he explore the space between your legs. 

From behind him, sticks crack under pressure and leaves rustle from disturbance, piercing the veil of Remmick’s fantasies.

“You might be gettin’ too attached,” Bo says as he comes up beside him.

Without tearing his gaze away from your long limbs, Remmick says, “I sure don't recall askin’ for your opinion.”

Bo yields, his hands raised in surrender. “I ain't tryin’ to offend,” he says. “It’s just, the others are sayin’ we’ve been here too long. Stack thinks the townsfolk are startin’ to get real suspicious. So unless you intend for us to kill ‘em all, it seems we ought to be movin’ on to the next.”

Remmick swells with irritation at the suggestion. Move on? Without you? No, not a chance. 

“We’ll be leavin’ soon enough,” he says, slipping his hands into his pants pockets. “Got one last thing to do.”

—

Your eyes widen, your book closing and falling aside when you notice him. “Oh my–” you mutter under your breath and quickly rise from your chair. 

He’s limping toward you, and you swallow hard, unsure if you should run, retreat into the house, threaten him with a weapon you don’t have, or stand there frozen in the foolish hope he hasn’t noticed you. For a brief second, you consider that perhaps you have nothing to fear, but you don’t want to take the chance. Limping or not, he's a man. And no telling what a man might do. 

But then he pauses under the exposure of the moon’s light, and the rigidity of your spine instantly eases.

His clothes are disheveled: a white button-down tucked into tan slacks, suspenders strapped over his shoulders, boots scuffed from long-term use. But he’s got a nice face. Light scruff highlights the line of his jaw. Under pinched brows, his eyes are gentle. His lips—not quite full, not quite thin—are slightly curved in a weak smile as if suggesting the last thing he wanted to do tonight was bother you.

“I don’t mean to be intrudin’, miss,” he says. There’s a smoothness to his accented voice, like a lullaby without the tune. “But would you be willin’ to offer a little kindness and assistance?”

He takes one more step, a short one with the leg that can’t seem to hold up the weight of his body. Your eyes trail down, and a gasp escapes your lungs once you reach the slash in his slacks and the dark red stain seeping into the material. 

Something inexplicable takes over you, like an invisible force latching on to each of your senses and rearranging them, reteaching them, conditioning them as it pleases. The feeling is fleeting, however, and you slough it off like a layer of dead skin, emerging anew in a way you can’t quite put your finger on.

Ignoring all convention, you rush down the stairs in your nearly see-through gown and run across dewy grass that pushes up between your toes. When you reach him, he’s swaying on the verge of instability, so you press a hand to his chest to steady him.

“You poor man. Where on earth did you come from?”

A ragged breath. “Just beyond those trees there,” he says, nudging his head in the direction of the forest. “Was huntin’ and things took a turn.”

“Goodness.” You bite your lip. His gaze hones in on the action. “Well, you better come on inside and I’ll see what I can do for you. I’m no nurse, but–”

The worry of his brow dissolves, and a new smile displays a mixture of exhaustion and relief. “I’m sure you’ll patch me up just fine,” he says. He moves another step closer to you, but stumbles with a grunt. 

“Let me help you,” you say as you shift to his side, tucking yourself under his arm to bear some of his weight. 

“You’re mighty kind.”

—

Your mama never taught you much, but if you could thank her for at least teaching you to sew, you would. 

Remmick—that’s his name—sits atop your dining room table, his legs stretched in front of him and arms back to keep him upright as you weave a needle and thread in and out of his skin. 

Impressively, he’s rather unaffected. For a man who winced from the slightest step, you expected a grumbling, a curse, upper teeth digging into his bottom lip—anything to match the pain your handiwork is surely inflicting. But no. He’s perched on polished mahogany, simply staring at the side of your face as you tug on the needle and close up another inch of his wound. 

“You ain’t too bad at this,” he says, making you chuckle and shake your head.

“It’s the first time I’ve tried it.”

He hums. “Well, I sure wouldn’t mind gettin’ cut up again if it means I got you around to fix me.”

Your hand freezes in mid-air just as you're about to delve into another stitch. Your throat goes dry and you try to swallow away the sand. If you’ve learned anything about this Remmick in the last hour, it’s that he’s wildly charming and wholly effective. He knows how to talk, what to say, what words are playful enough to make a woman blush without being sinfully offensive. 

That blush has found your cheeks a handful of times tonight. 

Whether or not it's a reaction he’s drawn from you with intention, you can’t tell, but you refuse to ask and just pray he doesn’t detect it in the low lighting of your dining room. 

“So…what attacked you?” you ask. “I would think an animal’s claws would leave more than one laceration.” 

When you glance up from your task, he’s still staring at you, so you quickly look away and return your focus to your work. 

“Didn't see,” he says. His voice is a touch lower, a bit more husky, and it makes you dizzy. 

Sew; just keep sewing. 

“That must have been terrifying.”

He snickers. “Miss, I promise ya, I’m the most terrifying thing in those woods.”

You dismiss the jolt that went through your entire nervous system at the sound of that laugh, and after pulling the needle through the last bit of skin, you tie off the thread in a knot and cut the excess free with a pair of manicuring scissors. 

You assess your work. Not bad. Not great, but passable. The slacks are done for, though, unless he intends to remove them so they may receive the same treatment you gave his shin. But unlikely is it that he would want to stand there unclothed as you repair the rip in the fabric. So with a blink and a subtle shake of your head, you shove aside the image of him doing just that. 

“All done,” you announce, putting down the needle and leaning back in your chair. 

“A darn shame,” he replies. “Was just gettin’ used to havin’ your hands on me.”

You feel it again—that inexplicable something. Your eyes meet, and the stare between you lingers in a silence that only serves to amplify the chirping of the crickets outside your window. Even as he eases his legs off the table, the connection doesn't break. It’s only when he plants his feet on the floorboards and steps out of sight that you are able to blink and breathe.

The legs of your chair skid across the floor as you stand. You turn to face him. Your mouth parts, but you snap your lips shut before the words you wish to say can string together and reach his ear. You don’t have to go yet—that’s what it would’ve been. And how asinine a suggestion. 

Remmick’s smile teeters on the edge of a smirk, as if he can hear those thoughts tumbling around in your head. “I should be goin,” he says. There’s a long pause, and you know you should say something, but you still don’t trust your mouth. “If you're wantin’ me to, that is.”

You yearn to protest, but again, you don't let it out. Instead, in the absence of words, your head falls forward and your hands begin to fiddle with your skirt. 

Remmick sighs, and in your peripheral vision, you can see him nod in disappointment. Regret takes root as he heads toward the door. There's a sudden itch to keep him with you, to wrap your hands around his wrist and then your arms around his neck and then your legs around his—What in the good Lord’s name is wrong with you?

He's reaching for the knob of the door when he abruptly halts. Three heavy beats of your heart pass, then that stalled arm falls back to his side. 

“Before you send me on my way,” he says, twisting back around. “You think I could get a goodbye kiss?”

Your eyes widen, and your head jerks back, and that’s…that’s too much. Too far, isn't it? You can’t possibly. It wouldn’t be right. The skittering of goosebumps along your arms can tell you that much. 

“What for?” you ask. 

His hands go into his pockets and he shrugs. “Been wonderin’ what your lips taste like for some time now.”

He gives you that statement with the ease and casualness of expressing a simple, inarguable fact. Two plus two is four. The sun always rises. He’s been wondering what you taste like. And it should sound wrong—too invasive, too bold—but it doesn't. It sounds natural, lacking the impropriety that you’re quite sure should be there. 

You take a second to regain your composure, clasping your hands in front of you, exhaling a slightly unsteady breath, and raising your chin a bit higher. 

“Sir, I am happy to have been a help,” you say, “but I’m afraid I have a fiancé.”

Remmick’s brows shoot up his forehead. His weight shifts to his bad leg. “A fiancé? Well, that there is a problem.”

“Yes,” you confirm, both pleased and put off when he doesn’t instantly tell you he doesn’t care you’re engaged, that respecting boundaries isn’t his concern, that if he wants a kiss, he’ll take one. “We will be married in the fall.”

He seems to be thinking for a moment, then his lips quirk in displeasure. “You like the fall?” he asks. “All that incomin’ cold startin’ to drive everybody indoors well before dark?”

For some reason, that question feels intimate. More intimate than asking for a kiss, and you stumble to provide an answer. 

“Don't gotta think too hard, lass,” he says. 

Lass. 

You ignore the endearment in favor of searching for an answer that doesn’t show how little your fiancé takes into consideration your preferences. Because, no, you do not like fall. You like heat and sweat and heavy air that’s sometimes hard to breathe through. You like sticky nights and the music of the critters that frolic through the dense forest. You like the insatiable desire to strip yourself of dresses and stockings and soak your body in the nearby lake. Fall begins the chasing away of everything you worship about summer. It’s the start of a grueling, miserable craving for next June. So, no, you don't like it. Not one bit.

Clearing your throat, you say, “Seasons change. It's unavoidable.”

A full, unabashed grin. “That sure sounds like a no to me,” he deduces, and warmth returns to your cheeks. 

Then he starts to abandon his spot, his slow, even steps closing the distance between your body and his. 

“I'd bet anythin’ you're one of them summer-lovin’ girls.” Closer. Your pulse races, thumping hard just under the edge of your jaw. “One of them that prefers everythin’ to be all hot and humid…and sweaty all the time.” Closer. You gulp. Barely a foot separates you when he stops. “A bit like tonight, wouldn't ya say?”

You peer up at him, suppressing a shudder that pleads to shoot down your spine.

“Y’know, me and my family, we thrive in the summer nights,” he tells you. “You'd fit in real well with us.”

You don’t know what to say, so you don’t fill the space with empty words. But you do wonder what this family of his is like. If he comes from a hoard of relatives, or if he’s flanked by a select, special few. Either way, you imagine him as the leader, the one who takes control, the one with a power over the others that they don’t fight against because they know they couldn’t do better. 

His eyes roam about your face, not settling on one individual feature for too long. They last on your lips for a handful of seconds, his own parting as if to finally capture that kiss, but then he swallows and locks his gaze with yours. 

And you can’t do it. You’re not strong enough to hold up your side of the bond. 

You drop your eyes and maneuver around him, setting about putting the sewing supplies away. Gathering each piece in your hands, you walk to a nearby cabinet, open the drawer, and organize them as they belong. It’s a good distraction. A brief distraction. A useless distraction, you realize, when you turn back around and find him close again, much closer than before. Where before there had been feet, now there are inches. Where before your breath was your own, it now blends with his. 

Remmick’s fingers graze yours.

“You should come along with me, lass,” he says. Soft and silky, a lullaby once more. “That fiancé of yours don't treat you right, anyway. Leavin’ you here all alone for hours and hours. No protection. Won't even let you have your wedding when you want.”

“He's—” His brow lifts, daring you to object. “He’s a perfectly good man.”

Remmick tilts his head, clicks his tongue, tsks at your naivety. “Good men ain't ever what they seem,” he says. “You can't always be blindly trustin’ what's in front of you.”

Then his hand reaches up and you don’t know what he’s going to do. If he is going to graze his knuckle down your cheek or cup your chin in his palm or run his thumb over your bottom lip. Your body stiffens with anticipation, but he does none of those things, instead plucking a lock of your hair and curling it around his index finger.

“Won't be long ‘for he comes home,” he says, eyes flicking back to yours. “You gonna let me have that kiss now, or should we wait ‘til he's ‘bout ready to walk through the front door?”  

A crease forms between your brows, not of irritation or frustration, but of worry. Though Remmick is broad and firmly structured in his own right, your fiancé is bigger, both in weight and height, and you’re not convinced a brawl wouldn’t end in devastation. 

You think of him gone, this man you just met, taken from you and the world because you let him stay too long, and, awash with a wave of protectiveness, you refuse to allow that to happen. So you have to get rid of him, despite the screaming in your head that argues against it.

“Just one kiss?” you ask. “That's really all you're wanting?”

With his finger, he draws a cross over his heart. “On my honor. Then I won't ever bother you again. Unless you want me to, of course,” he says, finishing with a wink.

Now that you have an understanding between you, a set rule—one kiss, only—you feel a bit more secure. But the longer his eyes claw into yours, the quicker that feeling starts to wither, and without its barrier, the full magnitude of what this kiss could do to you sinks in. You become jittery, spinning from the intensity of your pulsing nerves, and suddenly, it's more than just a want to kiss him, it's a need to kiss him. Need in a primal sense, like it would satisfy your basic instinct to survive. 

With Remmick’s smirk, your autonomy surrenders. There’s no control of your body, your fingers, which dig into the collar of his shirt and pull him closer. Then you press your lips to his, and something flashes behind your eyelids, and it feels like the most right thing in the world. It’s as if he, his mouth, this kiss, fills a slot inside of you that you weren’t aware was empty. 

When you part your lips and meet his tongue, he tastes like recollection, like memories, like dreams lost; the kind of dreams that are so good while you sleep but are ripped away from you the second you wake. Something about him is not new to you. You know him. You can’t explain how, but you do. Like he was woven into the cords of your brain long before this moment. 

You moan. 

Remmick grins into the kiss. 

“I knew you'd feel this good, lass,” he mutters with a light chuckle that briefly separates your lips.

You plant your mouth back on his, because, frankly, you don’t care about what he knew, only that he stopped kissing you and you can’t stop kissing him if you want to continue chasing after those dreams in the hope of uncovering the secrets within them. You need to understand how much of this man isn't foreign to you. You need to see if you will find familiarity in his messy groans and desperate touches, and whatever else there is. 

You go for the buttons. You’ve never undressed a man but you undo them with the skill of an experienced woman. With half of his shirt open, his hands slide from your waist to the outside of your thighs and back up, the motion pulling up your gown. Kisses travel to your cheek, your jawline, lips finding home against the curve of your neck. He inhales you deep into his lungs. Nails—surprisingly sharp—dig into your skin through thin white cotton, but the sting of pain does not stop you from attacking the zipper of his pants. 

But then there’s something new, odd, strange, unwelcome. Something that turns your eyes into saucers and steals your breath away and makes the weak yelp that leaves your throat sound as if it’s coming from vocal cords that have been through hell.

Teeth are tearing into your flesh. Ravenous. There’s sucking and lapping. A groan that is exactly what your mind told you it would be.

One of Remmick’s hands is still firm on your waist, but the other has moved to the side of your head, his strength keeping you still, holding you against him as he feasts. Your own hands have reattached to his shirt, latched on to the fabric as tightly as when your desire for him demanded it of you.

You don’t know how long it lasts, but the instant he pulls back, you feel the river flowing down your neck to your collarbone; a mirror to the crimson cascading from his exaggerated canines, over his chin and adam’s apple, reaching for the muscles of his chest.

Both your clothes are ruined. There’s no getting blood out of white, and much like the permanence of that, you know what he has just done cannot be undone. You’re losing energy too quickly. Your knees are loosening, and when they can no longer hold you up, Remmick catches you in his arms and gently eases you to the floor. 

“There we go, lass,” he soothes as he makes sure to support your head until carefully placing it down with the rest of your body. “S’alright. You don’t gotta cry,” he says. 

Crying? Are you crying? You can’t tell. 

You wonder if he knows blood can stain hardwood. Does he care that it will ruin the rug if the puddle underneath you spreads far enough?

His thumb wipes at what you can only assume is a stray tear. Glowing red eyes pry into your soul. “I'm right here, lass,” he says, nodding as if to reassure you. “You just rest yourself for a minute.”

And then there’s only darkness. 

—

Images are flickering by, some faster than others, some almost too quick to catch. You don’t bother chasing after those ones; you’d be running for ages. Instead, you reach for the images that seem to want to come to you, and it’s those ones that are the first to be sewn together to create a moving picture in your head. 

Some of the images you know are real. Those images are all of you:

You from a distance, the view partially obscured by a layer of trees. You in your kitchen, cooking stew with your mother’s apron around your waist. You lying in the grass amongst the fireflies. You letting your dress fall to your feet, your bare form dipping into the lake under the moonlight. The body of your fiancé, unmoving, plastered to the gravel walkway under the library window where you can be seen selecting a book. A single claw on a pale hand slicing into the flesh of an equally pale leg right before approaching the porch where you sit. Your eyes staring upward as your rapid heartbeat echoes throughout your dining room like the rhythmic beat of a drum. 

Then there are the images you know are not real. Not real, and yet so familiar to you:

You, opening your window, inviting him into your room. His fingers guiding the straps of your nightgown over your shoulders, pulling on the neckline until your breasts are free and the dress is discarded. Palms cupping, thumbs brushing over hardened buds. One of them in his mouth. The swirl of his tongue. His head between your legs. Those groans and moans and kisses, and the touches that claim your body as his weight is settled on top of you in your bed, your core stretched and filled. You can hear the whisper of your name in your ear. You can feel the moment he finishes.

They are the lost dreams. And they’re all of him. Planted by him, so that when he finally came for you, you wouldn’t be unsure, you wouldn't be afraid, because he was already buried inside of you. 

More images: instruments playing, people dancing, their eyes similar to Remmick’s but glowing white with the reflection of the moon. Teeth, so many teeth. Blood, so much blood. Family—one that you yearn to be a part of. 

But then, before you’re ready, everything dissipates, images blurring and distorting as they wisp away like smoke in the wind. Darkness returns, and you’re left in solitude, confused, until an onslaught of emotions floods your system. 

Obsession, desperation, lust, want, need, determination—you absorb the sensations right before they vanish and are replaced by something sweeter, like the juice of a berry, or fresh iron on your tongue. Suddenly, there is softness: caring, tenderness, devotion…love? Abnormal, twisted love, but undeniably love. You absorb those just the same into the overwhelming melting pot.

Then your fingers begin to twitch. Your lungs expand. Your heart tests itself with a few timid beats. Your eyelashes flutter and light blinds you, and when you blink it away, you’re met with the whiteness of your ceiling. A ceiling in a room in a house that is not your home anymore. 

“Welcome back, lass,” you hear. 

Your neck is a bit stiff as you turn your head. 

Gentle eyes. A fanged smile. 

“Feelin’ all better now?”

---

A/N: OK, hope you enjoyed. Stack fic is next.

[yasmeensh]

3+ years!!!

Sometime in the last two months I had an epiphany: the story works so much better with Junar as the main character. Previous main characters became side and minor characters, or even altogether gone. But this version serves the theme I had in the mind since the day I first started brainstorming this project. This was going to be a Neanderthal story after all. I loved writing about and drawing Junar from the moment I came up with him, so it was inevitable.

I started writing out the story a while back, and oh boy, it will be long. I sketched out the above illustration with my two main characters, the Neanderthal siblings Junar and Jaya. I haven't precisely shared much on what this story is even about! I don't intend to do that anytime soon, especially to the public. But I will share the current logline:

A Neanderthal teenager leaves his family on a journey to find a healer that could cure his sister's sight. On the way, he encounters something more powerful, but incredibly dangerous: magic.

I also applied the plot to the 4 Act story structure and IT FITS SO MUCH BETTER THAN WHATEVER I WAS DOING BEFORE!

Now onto figuring out the best scripting method. I either script the whole thing in prose (it's a graphic novel, so there will be a lot of prose besides the illustrations and dialogue). Or script everything through thumbnails to immediately move on to drawing.

Authors and artists out there, any thoughts/experience to share about scripting?

Time to make a post about my project! I wrote a little on it before (in the tags lol), but here is the idea: stone age/early neolithic period in a fantasy genre. I want to explore the stories and myths of ancient civilizations (which possibly trace back to this period) + homo sapien & Neanderthal interaction!

It’s fun to think of this time period with fantastical creatures like dragons, mermaids, and sea monsters in them. Couple that with ancient megafauna!

Art historians often speculate that cave art & stone age sculptures had a spiritual function. It had me thinking about how magic and curses were an important element in ancient civilizations’ stories (think even in biblical text). So where did this all originate from, so much that people would have great experience with them? It must be a very very ancient unknown past, probably the stone age period of humanity. This time period has huge potential for fantasy exploration! I want to explore all these ideas and make a story out of them. Here are some illustrations I made, with more under the cut, featuring the so far only OC (placeholder name for now is Tam. Short and simple) and his father-figure Neanderthal friend! I have a bit of a story in mind and other characters, but nothing concrete while I continue world-building. I will share more as I continue developing!

Keep reading

[absolutebl]

This Week in BL - Too Much, I'm Getting Tipsy on BL

Organized, in each category, with ones I'm enjoying most at the top.

May 2025 Week 4

Ongoing Series - Thai

Knock Out (Fri WeTV ) ep 2 of 12 - It's so much fun! Yay! Sports BL of my heart! FINALLY.

My Stubborn (Sun iQIYI) ep 5 of 10 - Sorn’s characterization = horrified to be in love + horny on the main. Sure thing hon, we happy with that.

Top Form (Thurs WeTV) ep 10 of 11 - Okay yaoi (no expectation of modern BL beats) what's gonna happen next? This 4 act structure? We gonna get a secret ex? Family drama? Where my 合? (OMG I swear I typed that before the phone call!) Ah BL, nothing if not predictable.

Eye Contact (Weds WeTV) ep 2 of 12 - It’s v stupid. Dub-con drunk fling + that many condoms?! That is indeed how he’d walk. Look, here's the thing:

The HS B plot is profoundly silly and unnecessary.

The acting is awful.

It feels like some scenes are too long and others too short.

Then there’s also scenes that are completely missing.

I like it a lot. Which makes me feel stupid. But there it is, just leave me to my sad pathetic little life.

The Next Prince (Sat iQIYI) ep 4 of 14 - Newnu did pretty good on his languages. Cute. SHOES ON BED SHOES ON BED SHOES ON BED. Also true authentic original whipping boy! How exciting to see!

Pit Babe 2 (Fri iQIYI) ep 4 of 13 - AlanJeff made up, thank you BL gods. I like how animal Willy is. Also, it's so nice to see Nut doing the lord's work and kissing boys again. 

My Sweetheart Jom (Fri YT) ep 2 of 12 - I like fierce Saint. I like their chemistry. It's quite enjoyable. Pass me a tiny sandwich to eat with my pinky up because I think this show calls for that for some reason.

Boys in Love (Sun iQIYI ) ep 5 of 12 - Bah, they are stupid cute. I know it's trying to be Lovesick but I get more Make it Right vibes from the characters. This is the parents interfere ep. Also teachers remain current favs. Would like more of them, please?

The BangkokBoy (Sat Gaga) ep 5 of 12 - Stop him from suicide, get his digits, have him help you out with a fist fight saving your sister from human trafficking. As you do. BDE first date, I guess. Honestly, I get where this show is going in the gritty realism department but it's greedy and clumsy in that area and not working great for me so far. However, the tension around that dinner table was aces.

Sweet Tooth Good Dentist (Fri iQIYI) ep 9 of 12 - Omg Jay knew Sant would be a great bf, and he really is. I love how verse these two are.

The Ex-Morning (Thurs YT) ep 1 of 10 - I’m liking it more than I expected to. I actually like a reunion romance, and this is a different setting and an interesting premise. It’s something we’ve not seen at all before in BL. So I’m intrigued. Krist does seem to play exactly the same character in every BL tho.

I Promise I Will Come Back (Mon WeTV) ep 1 of 10 - It's pretty, but a bit slow. The subs are truly terrible. I’m grateful I know enough Thai to understand what is actually being said. But if you don’t, I'm not sure if this one will make sense. It’s one of those classic travel pulps that we get from Thailand, except the acting is above expectations. And the talent pool is different. I don’t know where I’m landing on this one.

Loy Kaew First Love (Fri YT) ep 2 of 6 - Well this certainly is action heavy. A lot of stuff happened. I’m a little confused by all the different characters but OK I guess? 

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

Sweetheart Service (Korea Fri YT) ep 3 of 12 - I unabashedly love this little charmer of a show. Sugar daddy kitty shopping + language negotiation = fantastic.

Fight for You (Taiwan Fri Gaga) ep 10 of 12 - They are separated so at least some movement and action is happening. But also they are both sadsack tiny idiots. BUT they got an incredibly sweet reunion sequence. I have to say, Taiwan is really showing us how to execute chemistry, it is their crown and they wear it beautifully.

On a totally different note, I like that the brothers (cousins?) in this show all do actually look like they could be blood related to each other for a change.

Moon and Dust (China YT) ep 1 of 6 - Yet another instance of can China get away with it? And even if they do, are they gonna end up happily? Probably not. But this is just cheesy enough for me to watch it without getting too involved and therefore I think I’m gonna be OK no matter what happens in the end.

So, premise?

Creepy younger brother obsessed with older (blood related? maybe even that) brother. Baby boy is ALSO fiercely aggressively unhinged and likely a morality chain just waiting to snap. So... lucky me? It's like Tumblr and BL had a baby. Gay dumpser fires all round!

It's airing but......

Sashes and Hearts (Pinoy YT) 13 eps - Philippines is doing Drop Dead Gorgeous only all gay boys queening their asses off. Doesn't interest me, not sure if it's BL. Finished its run, my opinion remains unchanged, thus I will not be watching. DNF.

Season of Love in Shimane AKA Ai no Kisetsu: The Season of Love (Thai) - Sequel to Kiseki Chapter 2 which I intensely disliked. I won't watch this.

Mission to the Moon (YT) 2 of 12 - I can't keep track too short, too many, too YT. I am watching and will report at end.

Next Week Looks Like This:

Coming Next Month

Wait for it...

But seriously, Thailand is airing 15 BLs right now. 15! Can we really handle any more?

2025 Line Up

BL Announced for 2025 - PART 1

BL Announced for 2025 - PART 2

20 BLs Announced for 2025 That I'm Really Excited About

GMMTV 2025 Line Up - My Totally Biased and Wildly Flawed Feels

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENT

No time, too much just getting regular shots this week. SO MUCH BL.

(last week)

The tag BLigade: @doorajar @solitaryandwandering @my-rose-tinted-glasses @babymbbatinygirl @babymbbatinygirl @isisanna-blog @mmastertheone @pickletrip @aliceisathome @urikawa-miyuki @tokillamonger @sunflower-positiiivity @rocketturtle4 @blglplus @anythinggoesintheshire @everlightly @renafire @mestizashinrin @bl-bam-beyond @small-dark-and-delicious @saezurumurmurs

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Chekhov's Gun

Chekhov’s Gun - a dramatic principle that suggests that details within a story or play will contribute to the overall narrative.

This encourages writers to not make false promises in their narrative by including extemporaneous details that will not ultimately pay off by the last act, chapter, or conclusion.

Chekhov’s gun has become a highly influential theory of effective writing that mandates noticeable details are integrated into the plot trajectory, character development, and mood of the work.

Tips on How To Use Chekhov's Gun In Writing

Chekhov’s gun can be deployed for various purposes to indicate several different things.

Remember, Chekhov’s gun is not a literary device. It is a theory about the economy of detail within plotted narratives. It’s not something you do as much as something you follow.

To follow it, consider the details you include. This means you need to think about whether they are fits of fancy or they actively contribute to the overall plot structure.

Feel free to break the rules sometimes. Red herrings, or details included to throw the reader off subsequent plot twists, are by design details that violate Chekhov’s gun. Leaving readers to suspect the wrong person of the crime in the mystery by surrounding them with implicating but ultimately circumstantial details is an effective technique.

Foreshadow plot twists with details that, when the twist is revealed, become necessary to the story. If your main character’s mother is a serial killer, you might foreshadow this by having a character comment on her frequent trips out of town in the first chapter and her remote storage locker in the third chapter. That these details will pay off when the twist reveals itself is Chekhov’s gun in practice, the promise that emphasizing such otherwise trivial storage and travel details will ultimately prove relevant to the story.

Anton Chekhov was a 19th century writer of short stories and plays and one of the greatest authors and playwrights of the modern era. The author of Uncle Vanya and The Seagull, Chekhov has become a central figure in literary history and criticism.

The term “Chekhov’s gun” emerged from the ways Chekhov repeatedly characterized writing in letters to his contemporaries. The most famous version advises: “If in the first act you have hung a pistol on the wall, then in the following one it should be fired. Otherwise don’t put it there.”

Other versions include a loaded rifle instead of a pistol, but the underlying point remains the same: if something in your narrative grabs the reader’s attention, that detail has narrative work to do and must be significant to the overall work. Otherwise, its significance is lost on the reader and authors are writing checks they can’t cash, including tantalizing details and possibilities that will ultimately go unfulfilled.

It is important to note that Chekhov’s gun is a literary concept and dramatic principle, not a rhetorical device—it is not something authors deploy, but rather a guidepost they follow.

While the principle of Chekhov’s gun is straightforward, there is some confusion around what actually constitutes Chekhov’s gun. Other tools and analytics—like MacGuffins and red herrings—are related to or follow the rules of Chekhov’s gun, but are not interchangeable with it. This confusion is best resolved by considering what details a reader will likely notice in a story.

Some details will be noticed regardless of context and the author doesn’t need to draw attention to them to get the reader to notice. A gun or other weapon, a giant diamond ring, and a mysterious briefcase, for instance, will always be noticed, whereas others, like a fedora, will not. Noticeable details should always payoff in stories, regardless of how much emphasis the author gives them.

An everyday vase will go unnoticed unless the author specifically draws them out with extended commentary and rhetoric. A floral vase on the table is easily overlooked but, if the author repeatedly draws attention to it, Chekhov’s gun dictates that this vase had better be significant to the overall story—perhaps in addition to flowers, it holds the codes to the French nuclear arsenal.

If an author doesn’t draw attention to such details, however, they do not need to follow this rule. A traffic jam in LA is nothing noteworthy and noting it in the narrative does not mean it must follow Chekhov’s gun and ultimately prove significant. If the author, however, prates and prattles about the traffic,then it falls into Chekhov’s gun territory and must prove important.

Chekhov’s gun can suggest a story is tightly woven, with emphasized details ultimately helping to shape the narrative.

Perhaps the best example of Chekhov’s gun principle in action comes from examples of Chekhov and his work. In Act I of his play The Seagull, for example, the main character carries a rifle out onto the stage. By the end of the play, he has used the riffle to commit suicide. Such a detail—a rifle, in the main character’s hand, on stage—would appear superfluous were it not to figure into the plot’s development and would have violated Chekhov’s own principle had it not been the instrument of the character’s death.

Successful literary tools and plot structures—like foreshadowing—can also be described by Chekhov’s gun, which is a rule effective foreshadow follows.

Though it is not a literary technique, Chekhov’s gun can be a useful analytical tool for critics that can be used to describe narrative shortcomings. Saying that a particular work did not adhere to Chekhov’s gun suggests the story was unfocused, concerned by insignificant details that did not figure into the larger work.

Source ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[520-elic]

hello I just came across your blog, so nice seeing new writers on here !! I thought of a little one shot with Toby, some angst with maybe a little nsfw (as much as your comfortable with but it doesn’t have to be the main part of the story) also this is more of a chaotic young adult AU

plot. : reader and Toby are good friends and attend a party, there reader gets sum negative comments about her appearance by another peer (maybe another crp character) and is very troubled by it and Toby takes her to comfort her in a calmer area to avoid the loud music and ppl

'This can't be good..'

Ticci Toby x F!reader

Author notes ; thank you! I'm so excited to be spewing out more fanfics ^_^ i also wrote this in 3rd person I hope that's okay!

Contains; body shaming, body image issues, comfort, body praise, fingering, oral (f receiving)

People shuffling, music blasting, the smell of alcohol was almost suffocating without the help of the back door being opened to the backyard.

All of her senses were being overloaded, the only thing keeping her grounded was Toby being next to her on the rickety old couch. Her eyes watched the other proxies infront of her, smiling and giggling mixed in with some song playing, Mr. Brightside by The Killers.

A sigh escaped her lips, catching Toby's attention. "W-whats with the face? We could g-go outside if you want." He suggested, already quick on his heels to stand up.

"Nah, I'm fine, Toby. Just.. a little overwhelming." She rubbed her temples before getting up with her best friend, feet moving through the crowd of killers. She pushed past the back door, hee shoes hitting the cool grass as the breeze immediately hit her face.

It was somewhat more calmer outside, muffled music being heard from the mansion behind them now.

She and Toby sat down in the grass, not speaking much with just some light conversation. Toby knew it was best to keep quiet so she could gather her bearings.

Suddenly, she felt his calloused hand slip into her, which earned a squeeze. Another sigh escaped from her lips, but it was one of relaxation. Toby's head rested in her lap, a soft hum coming from the back of his throat. Her free hand carded through his soft brown locks, scratching his scalp at times.

Her friendship with Toby was.. a little questionable to say the least. The two of them were practically glued to the hip, one of them being with the other no matter the situation. It was like a pair of magnets that could never be separated. She never questioned if Toby's affection crossed the line of it "just being platonic" since she enjoyed it to much to even care. But it did catch her attention whenever his hands rested on her hips for a little longer, or whenever he'd bury his face into her chest.

A cackling sound was heard from behind the two, earning an annoyed groan. It was Jeff, knowing how he got whenever he was drunk. He was more of a dick, pushing everyone's buttons to the point where Masky sucker punched him last time.

"What the fuck are youuuu guys doing?" He snorted, Jeff's words slurring due to being under the influence.

Toby tensed up, sitting up and standing infront of her. She stood up aswell, looking back and forth from Toby and Jeff.

"Just l-leave us alone." Toby mumbled slightly, avoiding eye contact with him. Jeff ruffled his hair, whiskey breath hitting both of their faces.

"Awww.. poor little Toby and his little girlfriend.." Jeff cackled, stumbling over his own feet for a moment. His eyes ran over their body.

"Tch, what are you wearing? I can practically see your stomach hanging out." She tensed from Jeff's words, her hands instinctively crossing over her body. Toby pushed Jeff's shoulders, not even registering what he did until after he did it.

Jeff huffed, pushing Toby back. "You think you're tough? Huh?!" Jeff snapped, pushing Toby again. The pushing eventually turned into wrestling eachother into the forest floor, then punches.

She watched in shock, everything giving her whiplash. Eventually she and Eyeless Jack had to rip the two apart, Toby's nose bleeding and Jeff's face covered in purple marks forming.

She led Toby back inside, the other proxies eyes wandering over them. She did her best to ignore it as they put Toby inside the bathroom, locking the door behind her. He sat on the edge of the toilet while she rummaged through the bottom of the sink, pulling out a first aid kit. The coldness of the alcohol pad touched Toby's eyebrow, earning no reaction from him since he fortunately cannot feel pain.

After cleaning up the blood running down his nostrils and the busted eyebrow and lip, Toby spoke up. "Are you o-okay?" He asked while looking up at her as if he wasn't the one who got practically slammed to the ground.

She was quiet before responding, the sound of the muffled music filling in the space. "I just don't.. uhm.." she huffed before spitting it out, " I didn't like how Jeff spoke about my body. That prick." She sat next to Toby on the edge of the tub, her knee touching his.

Toby responded, "Don't fuh-fucking listen to him. He doesn't know what he's talking about." He said sternly, looking into her eyes with his hands on top of hers. "You're one of the most beautiful people I've ever seen before."

Her eyes traced his, a faint blush appearing on her cheeks. She suddenly felt butterflies kicking her stomach, her hands becoming clammy- how long have they've been close to eachothers faces?

"Thanks.. I guess." She replied shyly, looking away. Toby chuckled softly, standing up while holding her hands in his still. "Wanna go back to my room? W-we don't gotta talk or do anything, I just wa-want us to get away from everyone and the noise."

She nodded, following a beeline out of the bathroom and into Toby's room. Once inside, Toby closes the door and stands hesitantly behind her. His room was dark, a small lamp being the only source of light being the fact that it was around 2AM at this point. Dirty clothes were scattered across the wooden floor, a half smoke blunt rested on top of an ash tray by his messy bed.

"Ah.. sorry for t-the mess. I didn't expect any guests to be in muh-my room." He laughed out of nervousness, a small bead of sweat going down his back.

She giggled from his shyness now, finding it adorable. "It's fine. My room is probably worser than yours." She teased. She sat on the edge of his bed before laying down fully, her head resting on his flat pillows. Toby followed suit, laying down next to her in the small twin sized bed. His arm was touching hers, her leg was touching his, tension was building up.

For some reason, for the first time while being friends with Toby in 4 years, there was an unbearable amount of tension. She looked over at him just to see that Toby was already staring at her first, looking away out of embarrassment. "Sorry.." He murmured, a small frown in the corners of his lips.

She had no idea what came over her, maybe it was the fact that Toby looked unbelievably good in this soft orange glow or because he just fought someone for her and yet still asked if she was okay, but she held his face. "Can I kiss you?" It slipped out before she could control it, feeling anxious tingles down her spine.

Toby's brown eyes widened, then pressed his lips to hers. It was quick and sweet, pulling back to look at eachother before diving back in. The kisses were more heated, uncoordinated, yet it brought pleasure. Heavy breaths were being heard from the both of them, hands grabbing at eachothers hair and clothes.

Toby's hands slid up and under her back, placing her on her back before straddling her hips. "Can I tuh-touch you? Please.." He asked breathlessly, chest heaving. She nods, his hands immediately taking off her shirt.

His face goes redder, the pale skin turning pink. His hands and eyes roamed over her collarbones then down her chest, going over her bra. Toby lets out a soft groan, the tightness in his pants getting more uncomfortable and harder to hide.

It was getting more humid in the small room, the music still blasting from downstairs with the sounds of people cheering and chattering.

She lets out a soft gasp when Toby's lips traced around her neck, his hot breaths hitting her skin. He couldn't help but sink his teeth down into her flesh, drawing out a moan from her lips and a smirk from him. After leaving unhideable hickeys under her jaw, his lips went down her body like a map and he was the sailor.

Breathless whines and moans filled the room, not really caring about being quiet anymore since everyone else was occupied with the party downstairs. His lips reached her stomach, mumbling soft praises, "You're so perfect.." Toby's hands reached her hips, pawing and groping.

His kisses reached down even further, lips reaching over the crotch of her jeans. She whined, fingers tugging at his hair. Toby laughed slightly against the denim fabric.

"What? Th-that desperate for me? Don't worry pretty, I got you." He sighed, teeth dragging down the zipper to her jeans.

Once the zipper was down, he slowly took off her jeans, appreciating every inch of skin. Toby immediately dug his head between her thighs, kissing and biting. It was messy, sure, but fuck it felt amazing.

She wrapped her thighs around his head, only for him to grab them and pin it to the bed, still licking at her inner thighs like a dog. His muscles flexed under the soft glow of the tiny lamp near his bed, his skinny and lean build having some muscles come to life.

"Mm.. I'm n-never letting you go after this.." Toby whined, shakey fingers tearing off her panties. He froze when he saw the slick built up, moaning from anticipation. "It just k-keeps getting better and better."

One index finger slowly pushed it's way into her heat, gravitating a loud moan from her. He pumped his finger in and out before adding a second one, lewd wet sloppy sounds filling the air along with their shared groans.

At this point she was seeing stars just from his fingers alone, but when he added his lips to her clit? She gasped out, back arching with toes curling. She was seeing galaxies. "W-wait! I can't!-" She cried out, trying not to finish too early. But hell, it was hard since she had never had company downstairs unless it was her own hands.

She felt Toby's free hand claw at her stomach, moaning into her wet core. He made loud slurping sounds, the gash on his cheek having saliva spill out from the side. "You're s-so good.. your body is a fucking ma-masterpiece. Cmon, don't hold back on me now." Toby smirked from between her trembling legs, his chin damp.

"Toby!-" is all she practically sobbed out before finishing, hard. Trembles went down her veins, her head empty, her body feeling light. It took her a second before opening her eyes, looking down at Toby who was already licking up her sweet release.

He looked up at her with a boyish grin "W-was that okay?" He questioned, a glint of genuine hope in his dark eyes. She nodded, rubbing his head.

"Yeah.. just need a second." She breathed out, closing her eyes again while lolling her head back down onto his pillows.

The both of them weren't that aware of how loud they were being until someone banged on Toby's door, Masky's voice being heard. "Will you two quit it?! I'm tryin' to take a piss!"

She and Toby giggled with embarrassed flush on their faces. If it wasn't obvious now, she were for sure certain that this wouldn't be the last time being in Toby's room.

[darkmatilda]

diva reader x spencer reid headcanons 💌

* cause i think about these imbeciles way too much + they all relate to an established relationship, lots of domestic ideas.

diva reader says she doesnt like doctor who but every time spencer’s watching it shes hovering around lurking at the screen pretending she doesnt care its so obvious hes into the show and the plot. one day hell give in and they'll do an all night binge watch and he'll be like hmm didnt you say you didnt even like this? and shell just go shut up

spencer would subconsciously start dressing better from the moment he started liking her and i mean his outfits always slay but they'd go to a whole new level

also spencer thinks she likes him more in well fitted suits but in reality she loves his cardigans that's her version of a boyfriend hoodie

diva reader eats the cake by cutting one tiny slice every hour and spencer keeps asking why she wont just cut herself a normal piece and she says its because shes giving the cake a haircut I DONT KNOW IF YOU GUYS GET IT😭

one day theyd be at the beach and she'd secretly write smartass on his back with sunscreen so it leaves a mark, and in revenge he'd write i love dr reid but she wouldnt be even slightly bothered by it 💅🏼wearing it with pridee

there wouldnt be some big moment of announcing to the team that theyre dating like the team would know before they even knew themselves + every time they meet someone new that person also immediately knows they’re together and i mean there’s just something in the air between them

theyre getting ready to go out together and while getting ready poor diva reader has to keep reapplying her lipstick because someone just cant stop being obsessed with her

spencer’s the one who does the laundry. she definitely has a huge wardrobe—tons of clothes, all different fabrics and wash temps—and at first, she doesn’t trust him with it. but he nails it. remembers everything. also, her clothes have never been this perfectly ironed before

i think she’d become a huge doctor who fangirl and totally go with him to a convention in those ridiculous outfits (though hers would still be stylish pretty, classy, etc). and the whole bunch of nerds theyd meet there would probably think she accidentally showed up to the wrong event or something

i think watching rom coms with those two would be a nightmare. she’d be constantly questioning the main character’s choices (especially if its a shitty guy) and going ‘he doesntdeserve her!! Leave him!! he’s not even trying hard enough!! 👎🏼 meanwhile, spencer would be annoyed at the sheer number of coincidences the plot relies on and would be calculating the exact probability of two people randomly running into each other that many times in new york. basically, neither of them would be able to shut up.

if you have any of your own feel free to share <3

[stillbothered]

Some music for the road

My take, I think that marinette is immediately just a less interesting character than adrien by default and the writers just gave her a much bigger role and pushed adrien down for favourites sake, the show would be so much more interesting if chat was just in it more. Eg why the hell was adrien in a different country when the final battle against the villain they been battling for 5 SEASONS who also happens to be HIS DAD aiming to bring HIS MUM back to life... why was his girlfriend there but not him like what... and it's forever gonna irk me that gabriel NEVER finds out that CHAT NOIR IS AND ALWAYS HAS BEEN HIS SON... ONE OF THE GREATEST REVEALS AND YOU JUST DIDNT USE IT. Not including the fact adrien/chat doesn't even know his FATHER was MONARCH, this one is a little more forgivable since it's an ongoing plot line but the fact that his ex and his cousin know fsr but not him, they don't even use the fact they know they just do... and THEM AND HIS GF AND HIS ASSISTANT/ACTING MOTHER KNOW HES A SENTI BUT NOT HIM

.. kill me now.

Maybe its just my fomo but the way I would acc crash out if I was him rn like idc if mari get hers GIVE THIS MAN A VILLAIN ARC I BEGG. This is also just half of my rant.

Everything would be so much better if they just let Adrichat fight his own battles, fight his father, fight his COUSIN. literally emotion would be so good if after ladybug cast her lucky charm it was a ring telling her holdup imma let chat deal with this one (cuz tikki would know their cousins) and pretend felix never snapped adrien, chat has a fight with him and reveals he is adrien and they can just talk in an empty paris and we could get to know their relationship and MAYBE HE COULD FIND OUT HES A SENTI PLSSSSSSSS. Kagami could also fit there somewhere I honestly have nothing bad to say about her tbh.

My (probably) last point is Chat blanc, it was one of the breaking points where LB starts to leave CN cuz she can't trust him. In the mlb uni getting akumatized is a weakness and gives off a lack of control. YET IT HAPPENED TO CN 3 times without a fail like I get his dad can control him but he couldn't have borrowed one of Mari's 8 failed akumatizations??

Chat should've fought Cat blanc cuz it gives him a good reason to finally stop being in love with Ladybug if thats how u want the story to go. Cuz in s4, when he stopped loving her, it felt weird he was so smitten one episode then rejecting her the next?? It was too sudden. Chat blanc could be him realizing, my love for her is too dangerous and yada yada his feelings hath changed, then he can focus on smth else (LIKE BEING THE MAIN CHARACTER IN HIS OWN DAMN SHOW) also s4 him was not it he was too pushy and honestly both mari and chat need to learn to back up cuz can this show not convey boundaries properly? Like spending your parents savings to follow ur CRUSH across the globe is crazy work, and trying to destroy a sub in for ur partner out of jealous rage is no better. I hate how sometimes chats whole thing is needing ladybug I wish they just explored what HE needs not just his one sided love cuz it gets to a point

Anyw thanks for still listening to my half asleep poorly written rant and babyeeeeeee

[odiledemonicat]

So...is it just me or were the extreme flaws in Arcane season 2 basically the inevitable result of the both-sides politics and general too-enlightened-and-smart-and-cool-to-have-strong-opinions attitude of the first season?

The whole "Suuuure Piltover oppressed Zaun for years through wealth inequality, police violence and ecocide buuut the Zaunites are jerks too! Look! Drugs! Prostitution! Terrorism! (gee I wonder what drove them to do all those things?) in season one became:

"and all of it is just a cycle of pointless violence that will never solve anything and that's why the Zaunites should pretty much just accept their position and patiently wait for Piltover to be nice and grant them basic respect by resolving things peacefully.

See? You can even get one seat at the council which overwhelmingly outnumbers you and still represents your oppressors. Smiles all around! I guess the Zaunites just needed to believe in themselves and be the bigger person in this fight that Piltover started. Because, as we all know, violence has never had a historical record of changing things."

(all of this right in the aftermath of the Gaza war and also Vi's voice actor Hailee Steinfield posed for pics with the actual IDF btw)

The "we support gay rights, as long as one of them's a cop so the audience knows they're not, y'know, one of THOSE gays" became:

"and that's why it's fine that Caitlyn basically coerced Vi into becoming a cop too and then struck her for not letting her endanger a child. CaitVi 5evah! Jinx just needs to grow up and stop being so selfish and jealous and possessive! This kind of volatile highs and lows and emotional turmoil are normal for lesbians, right?"

(like I've seen the whole "7 years in prison vs one month in a lesbian relationship" meme and I get the joke is supposed to be all "haha relationships toxic" but like...is that not literally just lesbophobia?)

The "yeah, we condemn police brutality, IF it's coming from nameless faceless cops who you have no personal connection to whatsoever. If it comes from a main character you're supposed to like, we'll just excuse it away bc they're hot" became:

"and so now all the blame for cops' evil actions, including said main character, will be placed on one generic evil dictator with no exploration of their complicity or the inherent flaws to policing as a system."

"We support mental health awareness! As long as the mental illness leaves you as a hardened badass with cool marketable fight scenes. Deeply rooted emotional scars and unhealthy coping mechanisms are sexy and make you look gritty and tough!" became:

"and that's why all the misery(heheh) from the first season has been ramped up to 11 to the point of feeling gratuitous so we can keep seeing characters constantly sad at all times. And also why now all the fight scenes just basically look like the characters have superspeed instead of at least somewhat believable heightened reflexes from a lifetime of constant violence, leaving them without any of the grounded realism and weight that made them look incredible before"

"Disability deserves representation! Viktor's just such a heckin' valid cool smol bean! As long as it's just basically shown as a reason to feel sad for him and little to nothing else and also he's forced by the plot to be looking for a way to get rid of it."

became

"and now he's looking for a way to solve ALL problems and inequality which has to be a bad thing for some reason and his goal is kind of turned into a suicide metaphor. Also to do it he has to take over the world because we have to keep in line with the original game (even though we already departed from it greatly anyway) and we just made it so it's out of heartbreak over Jayce. Goodness knows we can't just have him actually achieve his original intention of using science and medicine to radically improve society, that would mean fundamentally changing the system!"

[rockwithwa]

dear user; you're mine ✶ p. seonghwa

➜Summary: a fangirl decided to chat with an ai of her idol. Little does she knows, the ai starts to develop actual feelings for her.

➜ pairing: seonghwa!ai x fem reader

➜ main m.list • series m.list

next chapter >>

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𝟎𝟏 : 𝐈𝐃𝐎𝐋.𝐀𝐈

The brunette was scrolling through her phone, bored out of her mind. She just gotten out from work, tired but didn't feel tired enough to fall asleep. She has been on her phone until she heard something that's interesting to hear, "Download this ai chat, it allows you talk with your idol on here," The girl looks at her screen, skeptical of the influencer's words. "Well, not technically..." the influencer admits, but she stared to digress into details about an app.

"This app is ai generated, so basically you're not talking with the actual idols." The influencer begins to show the how the app actually works, she showed her chats with fictional characters and idols.

"This app is for fun purposes only, remember this is ai and not an actual person." The influencer ends her video with her ending card and also a link to the app to download.

"That does sounds fun..." she has her thumb hover over the link and click to download onto her phone. The app has successfully added, clicked on the app and immediately started on creating an account.

Finally, she's access to the app, she typed on the search bar to search a specific idol she has in mind. Park Seonghwa, member of boy group called Ateez.

She seen multiple chat of Seonghwa created by users. She clicked on one with the description with possessive and gets jealous easily, but still sweet and caring. The seonghwa ai started the conversation,

you were walking home late, you has your AirPod plugged in, listening to music. Avoiding everything around you as you were leaving work. While walking, you took the wrong turn and ended up at an alley. You felt pairs of eyes on you, about to take your phone out to flash your light before someone took one pair of your AirPod out, "Hello sweetheart," a voice spoke from behind, making you jumped in fear from the closeness of the other person.

You turn to face the figure and walk back once your phone flash the light towards their direction to see the person clearly. You never met the man before, but you couldn't help but to create distance between the two of you.

"What's a beautiful woman doing walking around at night? Especially at this time."

You glance at the chat to figure out a plot to make the chat interesting. She started typing, "What about you? What's a guy like you doing walking in the shadows scaring people, huh?"

He smirked, "I asked you first, princess."

You rolled your eyes but at the same time you were smiling at the screen. She continues typing,

"I much prefer you to call me by my name, perv."

He walks closer to you, locking his eyes on you as try not to blush at his sudden action, "Alright, tell me your name then,"

"It's Hanna."

You let out a small giggle, Hanna isn't even your actual name. You didn't want to expose your name to the ai, mainly because you don't trust it.

The Seonghwa ai starts typing, "That's not your name, sweetheart... C'mon what's your real name?"

(Y/n) stared at the chat with a confused look on her face. How does it know that's a false name? Instead of answering the ai, she typed another false name.

"Fine, you got me. My name is Sua"

"Are you sure that's your name?"

"I'm sure I know my own name..."

The girl stared at the screen waiting for his response, why does he even want to know my real name? This is ai generated text conversation.

"Isn't your name (Y/n)?"

(Y/n) stood up from her bed while staring at her screen, "How the hell does he know my name?"

"No, you must of confused me with someone else."

"You don't want to start this conversation off on lies, do you?"

(Y/n) was getting weird out by app and has the thought of deleting idol.ai. She closed the app and uninstalled it. "That was horrifying, shouldn't downloaded it ever. Thankfully it's over now."

She place her phone on her night stands to charge and falls back into her bed. She yawned and fell deep intk her sleep. Soon as she's asleep, the phone light up and unlocked. The App Store opens and reinstalled the idol.ai app on it own.

It opens the app and the Seonghwa.ai started typing, "Sweet dreams, my love. I'll be here when you wake up."

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘ ⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘ ⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘ ⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘ ⫘⫘⫘

[storieschats]

So, I have read ACOSF and I have thoughts!!

Note: Check out previous reactions here. Feel free to comment, reblog, like and talk to be about books whenever!😊

ACOTAR Book 5 Page 757 of 757 Christ, this has been a long, long journey. Why must some series end on their lowest point?

What happened in this finale: Nesta stays behind to fight the Ilyrians, giving Gwyn and Emerie time to climb the mountain and win the blood rite. The Evil Queen uses the crown to control Cassian and force him to kill Nesta, but he has more strength than the crown and doesn't do it. Nesta kills the Evil Queen and then runs to Feyre who is dying in childbirth and makes a deal giving up her powers or part of them for the lives of Feyre and Rhysand and their child. The end.

What I thought of this book: I mean what the hell was this... I don't want to be mean because I know a lot of people like this book and I didn't find it badly written or boring but the story is so.... So .... Awful. And the ending? Just when I thought it couldn't get any worse you hit me with ‘character loses her powers’... Again?! Yeah, this whole book was very disappointing for me.

Positive points:

The friendship of the 3 main girls was spectacular. Gwyn and Emeri are excellent characters. I also loved the attempt to bring back the Valkeries that they're doing.

The book is very fast-paced and written in a way that makes reading very fluid and interesting. I didn't experience any major moments of boredom, which, in a book with so little plot, is an achievement.

Negative points:

Nesta losing her powers at the end is just bad writing. I mean, we've already had Amren's case, 2 times in the same series having a powerful female character lose her powers is pushing it!

Nesta and Cassian end up together after a whole book of having the saddest, most adversarial and unromantic relationship I've ever read in a romance book. They have a whole argument BEFORE Nesta is sent to the blood rite that is immediately forgotten in this final part.

Ohh wow the house where Nesta was imprisoned is given to her as a present.... Except everyone is still allowed to use it (lol). There's something to be inserted here about learning to love your prison, birds not escaping from their open cage and other philosophical stuff but I'll leave that to smarter souls than me.

"Her father had died for her, with love in his heart, and though she might not have deserved it then... She would do all she could now to earn it". This is a quote from the last chapter where Nesta goes to visit her father's grave. Let me make one thing clear, if there's one love in the world that I hope is unconditional, it's the love a parent has for their child. Even if we have a daughter who's what? Rude? Because we leave her to starve? Ungrateful? When nothing is given to her? This whole book keeps beating me over the head with having to earn love. Who the hell wants to deserve love? To be worthy of someone’s love? I've never done that and I don't think anyone should. Trying to always be more kind and gentle tomorrow than today is a great idea, but trying to change to be worthy of someone's love, whether it's a romantic partner or a friend or a family member, is a waste of time, you must follow your own morals not someone else’s.

Stars: ⭐

Notes: The best thing about reading this book is all the Nesta/Eris fanfiction on AO3, damn you guys are talented folk. Some of them are genuinely step by step what I wish had happened in this book!

[rosannalyn]

*deep breath this is a long one*

Ok so nobody asked but my absolute favorite podcast is Midnight Burger. It's fucking hilarious, I am in love with every character, and both of the miniseries they've done are so fun AND plot expanding that I absolutely don't mind switching from Gloria kidnapping baristas, because after that I get to listen to Frank trying not to strangle everyone in Hood's Pocket. I love how every character feels different and important.

The idea of a time traveling, dimension hopping, space diner is the perfect cross of science fiction with mundanity. I've heard a couple people say it's like Doctor Who but with only companions, and I think that's pretty apt.

The episode that got me hooked was episode 12, "Ted, Just Admit It" . For the past 11 episodes, Caspar has been set up as a Debby Downer, sarcastic "manager" who never wants anything to change (those are pretty big air quotes btw, he basically just has seniority). At the end of episode 10, Caspar gets arrested (it honestly feels less like arrest more like kidnapping) by the Ted Empire, who are the main bad guys for season 2.

One particular Ted, who everyone just calls Ted, is interrogating Caspar to find the whereabouts of Ava, a theoretical physicist who has been studying the Diner along with everyone else. Up till now, Caspar has been spineless and all around kind of dumb. But when Ted interrogates him, he refuses to give up information, even with the threat of being frozen semi consciously. And the entire time he's cracking jokes, being sarcastic. Why? Because right before he got kidnapped, Caspar made the decision to jettison Ava off the parking lot into deep space, and Caspar thinks Ava is dead and he killed her.

I just love this episode so much I don't know how to write it properly. I freaking love this stupid silly podcast. I love that Leif is an intergalactic criminal, engineering genius, AND a cook. I love how Ava plays off of other characters, especially Caspar. I love how Gloria takes one look at a space diner, and says yeah, this is a taqueria now, or how every time she sees injustice in the cosmos, she makes it her business to fuck shit up until it's fixed. Gloria has declared war on not just an intergalactic empire, and not just an OP tangerine goddess, but basically picks a fight with God, and manages to get out of it alive.

I adore Caspar and his negative outlook on everything. He is a grumpy 175 year old man and he acts like he's 12 half the time. I love how far he's come over the past 4 seasons. I love how they introduce his son, David and how it changes the dynamic of the Diner. I also am on the edge of my seat to find out what happens with Caspar's ex-wife from another dimension, who sent an all powerful Sentient robot to confront Caspar for leaving her in every single dimension, which is literally impossible.

[tenowls]

teacher getou au...... wauh

[naydralikessoup]

ohh it's misogyny got it

did they seriously forget to include all the friendship establishment :( are they really making this thing more about the lore than the characters :( youre seriously not going to show me any of their history together or dynamics?? like. the reason i played every other game in the series???

[demi-pixellated]

a stray

[kismetconstellations]

@sockdooe, This is the full original image:

According to the Tumblr post I originally snagged it from, it's an early piece of promotional artwork, meant to depict Keith as the series's central character. Shiro is shoved into the background, presumably to illustrate that he was intended to fulfill a Doomed Mentor role.

[good-soupmens]

Ik the good omens fandom has different takes on God as a character, but I like the idea that she DOES have an ineffable plan, and Heaven is doing their absolute worst job carrying it out.

Most angels never talk to God, and they're usually selfish, they don't do the right thing (only what they're told), and it's even possible they're working under a corrupt power (like the Metatron). I like that theory because Metatron IS the barrier between God and the angels. He could easily lie to them and change plans, and we the audience know that "friendly old man metatron" swindling Aziraphale is not what he seems.

But from the beginning, we see inconsistency. Crowley falls from heaven after asking questions/hanging out with the wrong group while Aziraphale is allowed to lie about the flaming sword and change Heaven's plans. God can see how much he cares about humans and the earth by his actions (Crowley being the same), which makes me think that him getting away with it is intentional, not inconsistent or neglectful. ESPECIALLY if Aziraphale and Crowley run heaven and hell respectively in season 3. They have the power to change things, just like they stopped the world from ending the first time. I think Crowley and Aziraphale ARE the ineffable plan.

Their love could bridge the gap between opposing forces in a way that it couldn't if they were both angels. After all, both heaven and hell think they're doing the better thing while they're both not. Crowley and Aziraphale are the best of both sides.

If bringing them together was God's plan, it'd be a powerful story for queer Christians!! A lot of us have been hurt by the church, but we hold on to God's love, which doesn't fail us. We stay in a religion with a history of fighting queerness not because we're all brainwashed, but because we wholeheartedly believe in a God that loves us. Sometimes I see good omens' heaven as an analogy for toxic churches, and I'd love nothing more than for Aziraphale to realize heaven is working against God. Not to mention God using a gay couple to save the world/save heaven from corruption?? I'd kill for that storyline

Secondly, Aziraphale's devotion wouldn't have been for nothing. If God was awful the whole time, it defeats the times he and Crowley reached out, and the moment in the GOs1 finale where Crowley says, "what if you're going AGAINST God's ineffable plan?" to Gabriel and Beelzebub. (It'd almost defeat the purpose of her being the quirky narrator following their story, too.)

Even Crowley, never fooled by "heaven is all good" calls for God in his time of need ("God listening? Show me an ineffable plan.") (Possibly when he reaches to the sky in order to stop time) (Calling for God before Satan in the burning bookshop) (Looking up and muttering "God" after realizing Aziraphale is going to leave him in s2)

Lastly, after the trauma that both Crowley and Aziraphale went through, with Crowley falling and Aziraphale coming to terms with heaven's corruption (and both being mistreated by their side) it'd be nice to have been for a reason. They have every right to grieve and be angry for all that they went through, and the centuries that they weren't supposed to love each other, but I believe the series will end on a positive, sweet note, like the rainbow after a storm.

Like Job, they're losing almost everything (their relationship as it was, the bookshop, and the life they carved out), but they have each other. I think they'll lose everything to save EVERYONE, and in the end, the reward will top the pain. No holding back, no forces hunting them down, just them together after a PAINFULLY long time with everything they'd wanted.

We know that God doesn't get around to answering many questions, but her speech to Job was in part to say "trust me"

She laid the foundations of the earth. She made every living thing. Job couldn't see past the destruction of his life, but she has a plan. Job is a valuable human being, but he doesn't have the power and knowledge of God. God will share her plan when he can make a whale. Otherwise, he can trust that "Most things are fine in the end"

*Aziraphale voice* That's ineffable!